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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/11857-0.txt b/11857-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b070de --- /dev/null +++ b/11857-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5806 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11857 *** + +Bibliographical Note: + + These facsimiles have been made from copies in the Yale University + Library _The Lay of Marie_ (In.B4645.816L) and the British Library + _Vignettes_ (Il642.bbb.36) + + Reprint of the 1816 and 1818 eds. + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE + +and + +VIGNETTES IN VERSE + +MATILDA BETHAM + +with an introduction for the Garland edition by Donald H. Reiman + + + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE: A POEM + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + +1816 + + + + +TO + +LADY BEDINGFELD. + + + To whom,--as Fancy, taking longer flight, + With folded arms upon her heart's high swell, + Floating the while in circles of delight, + And whispering to her wings a sweeter spell + Than she has ever aim'd or dar'd before-- + Shall I address this theme of minstrel lore? + To whom but her who loves herself to roam + Through tales of earlier times, and is at home + With heroes and fair dames, forgotten long, + But for romance, and lay, and lingering song? + To whom but her, whom, ere my judgment knew, + Save but by intuition, false from true, + Seem'd to me wisdom, goodness, grace combin'd; + The ardent heart; the lively, active mind? + To whom but her whose friendship grows more dear, + And more assur'd, for every lapsing year? + One whom my inmost thought can worthy deem + Of love, and admiration, and esteem! + + + + +PREFACE + +As there is little, in all I have been able to collect respecting MARIE, +which has any thing to do with the Poem, I have chosen to place such +information at the end of the book, in form of an Appendix, rather than +here; where the only things necessary to state are, that she was an +Anglo-Norman Minstrel of the thirteenth century; and as she lived at the +time of our losing Normandy, I have connected her history with that +event: that the young king who sees her in his progress through his +foreign possessions is our Henry III.; and the Earl William who steps +forward to speak in her favour is William Longsword, brother to Richard +Coeur de Lion. Perhaps there is no record of minstrels being called upon +to sing at a feast in celebration of a victory which involves their own +greatest possible misfortune; but such an incident is not of improbable +occurrence. It is likely, also, that a woman, said to be more learned, +accomplished, and pleasing, than was usually the case with those of her +profession, might have a father, who, with the ardour, the disobedience, +the remorse of his heroic master, had been, like him, a crusader and a +captive; and in the after solitude of self-inflicted penitence, full of +romantic and mournful recollections, fostered in the mind of his +daughter, by nature embued with a portion of his own impassioned +feelings, every tendency to that wild and poetical turn of thought which +qualified her for a minstrel; and, after his death, induced her to +become one. + + * * * * * + +The union of European and Eastern beauty, in the person of Marie, I have +attempted to describe as lovely as possible. The consciousness of noble +birth, of injurious depression, and the result of that education which +absorbed the whole glowing mind of a highly gifted parent, a mind rich +with adventures, with enthusiasm and tenderness, ought to be pourtrayed +in her deportment; while the elegance and delicacy which more +particularly distinguish the gentlewoman, would naturally be imbibed +from a constant early association with a model of what the chivalrous +spirit of the age could form, with all its perfections and its faults; +in a situation, too, calculated still more to refine such a character; +especially with one who was the centre of his affections and regrets, +and whom he was so soon to leave unprotected. That, possessing all these +advantages, notwithstanding her low station, she should be beloved by, +and, on the discovery of her birth, married to a young nobleman, whose +high favour with his sovereign would lead him to hope such an offence +against the then royal prerogative of directing choice would be deemed a +venial one, is, I should think, an admissible supposition. + + * * * * * + +That a woman would not be able to sing under such afflicting +circumstances might be objected; but history shews us, scarcely any +exertion of fortitude or despair is too great to be looked for in that +total deprivation of all worldly interest consequent to such +misfortunes. Whether that train of melancholy ideas which her own fate +suggests is sufficiently removed from narration to be natural, or not +near it enough to be clear, the judgment of others must determine. No +wish or determination to have it one way or another, in sentiment, +stile, or story, influenced its composition; though, occasionally, lines +previously written are interwoven; and, in one instance, a few that have +been published. + + * * * * * + +Her Twelve Lays are added in a second Appendix, as curious in +themselves, and illustrative of the manners and morals of an age when +they formed the amusement of the better orders. + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE. + +CANTO FIRST. + + + The guests are met, the feast is near, + But Marie does not yet appear! + And to her vacant seat on high + Is lifted many an anxious eye. + The splendid show, the sumptuous board, + The long details which feuds afford, + And discontent is prone to hold, + Absorb the factious and the cold;-- + Absorb dull minds, who, in despair, + The standard grasp of worldly care, + Which none can quit who once adore-- + They love, confide, and hope no more; + Seek not for truth, nor e'er aspire + To nurse that immaterial fire, + From whose most healthful warmth proceed + Each real joy and generous deed; + Which, once extinct, no toil or pain + Can kindle into life again, + To light the then unvarying eye, + To melt, in question or reply, + Those tones, so subtil and so sweet, + That none can look for, none repeat; + Which, self-impell'd, defy controul,-- + They bear the signet of the soul; + And, as attendants of their flight, + Enforce persuasion and delight. + + Words that an instant have reclin'd + Upon the pillow of the mind, + Or caught, upon their rapid way, + The beams of intellectual day, + Pour fresh upon the thirsty ear, + O'erjoy'd, and all awake to hear, + Proof that in other hearts is known + The secret language of our own. + They to the way-worn pilgrim bring + A draught from Rapture's sparkling spring; + And, ever welcome, are, when given, + Like some few scatter'd flowers from heaven; + Could such in earthly garlands twine, + To bloom by others less divine. + + Where does this idle Minstrel stay? + Proud are the guests, august the day; + And princes of the realm attend + The triumph of their sovereign's friend;-- + Triumph of stratagem and fight + Gain'd o'er a young and gallant knight, + Who, the last fort compell'd to yield, + Perish'd, despairing, in the field. + + The Norman Chief, whose sudden blow + Had laid fair England's banner low; + Spite of resistance firm and bold + Secur'd the latest, surest hold + Its sceptre touch'd across the main, + Important, difficult to gain, + Easy against her to retain;-- + Baron de Brehan--seem'd to stand + An alien in his native land; + One whom no social ties endear'd + Except his child; and she appear'd + Unconsciously to prompt his toil,-- + Unconsciously to take the spoil + Of hate and treason; and, 'twas said, + The pillage of a kinsman dead, + Whom, for his large domain, he slew: + 'Twas whisper'd only,--no one knew. + At tale of murderous deed, his ear + No startling summons seem'd to hear; + Yet should some sudden theme intrude + Of friend betray'd--ingratitude;-- + Or treacherous counsel--follies nurs'd + In ardent minds, who, dying, curs'd + The guileful author of their woes; + His troubled look would then disclose + Some secret anguish, inward care, + Which mutely, sternly, said, Forbear! + + He spake of policy and right, + Of bold exploits in recent fight,-- + Of interest, and the common weal, + Of distant empire, slow appeal. + Skill'd to elicit thoughts unknown + In other minds, and hide his own, + His brighter eye, in darting round + Their purposes and wishes found. + Praises, and smiles, and promise play'd + Around his speech; which yet convey'd + No meaning, when, the moment past, + Memory retold her stores at last. + + Courtiers were there, the old and young, + Of high and haughty lineage sprung; + And jewell'd matrons: some had been, + Erewhile, spectators of a scene + Like this, with mien and manners gay; + Who now, their hearts consum'd away, + Held all the pageant in disdain, + And seem'd to smile and speak with pain. + Of such were widows, who deplor'd + Husbands long lost, but still ador'd; + To grace their children, fierce and proud, + Like martyrs led into the crowd: + Mothers, their sole remaining stay, + In some dear son, late snatch'd away; + Whose duty made them better brook + Their lords' high tone and careless look; + Whose praises had awaken'd pride + In bosoms dead to all beside. + + Warriors, infirm with battles grown, + Were there, in languid grandeur thrown + On the low bench, who seem'd to say, + "Our mortal vigour wanes away;" + And gentle maid, with aspect meek, + While cloud-like blushes cross her cheek, + Restless awaits the Minstrel's power + To dispossess the present hour, + And by a spirit-seizing charm, + Her thoughts employ, her fancy warm, + And snatch her from the mute distress + Of conscious, breathless bashfulness. + + Young knights, who never tamely wait, + Crowd in the porch, or near the gate, + By quick return, and sudden throng, + Announcing the expected song. + + The Minstrel comes, and, by command, + Before the nobles of the land, + In her poor order's simple dress, + Grac'd only by the native tress, + A flowing mass of yellow'd light, + Whose bold swells gleam with silver bright, + And dove-like shadows sink from sight. + Those long, soft locks, in many a wave + Curv'd with each turn her figure gave; + Thick, or if threatening to divide, + They still by sunny meshes hide; + Eluding, by commingling lines, + Whatever severs or defines. + + Amid the crowd of beauties there, + None were so exquisitely fair; + And, with the tender, mellow'd air, + The taper, flexile, polish'd limb, + The form so perfect, yet so slim, + And movement, only thought to grace + The dark and yielding Eastern race; + As if on pure and brilliant day + Repose, as soft as moonlight, lay. + + Reluctant still she seem'd,--her feet + Sought slowly the appointed seat: + Her hand, oft lifting to her head, + She lightly o'er her forehead spread; + Then the unconscious motion check'd, + And, struggling with her own neglect, + Seem'd as she but by effort found + The presence of an audience round. + + Meanwhile the murmurings died away + Which spake impatience of delay: + A pitying wonder, new and kind, + Arose in each beholder's mind: + They saw no scorn to meet reproof, + No arrogance to keep aloof; + Her air absorb'd, her sadden'd mien, + Combin'd the mourning, captive queen, + With _her_ who at the altar stands + To raise aloft her spotless hands, + In meek and persevering prayer, + For such as falter in despair. + All that was smiling, bright, and gay, + Youth's show of triumph during May, + Its roseate crown, was snatch'd away! + Yet sorrows, which had come so soon, + Like tender morning dew repos'd, + O'er hope and joy as softly clos'd + As moist clouds on the light at noon. + + Opprest by some heart-withering pang, + Upon her harp she seem'd to hang + Awhile o'erpower'd--then faintly sang: + + "Demand no lay of long-past times; + Of foreign loves, or foreign crimes; + Demand no visions which arise + To Rapture's eager, tearless eyes! + Those who can travel far, I ween, + Whose strength can reach a distant scene, + And measure o'er large space of ground, + Have not, like me, a deadly wound! + Near home, perforce, alas, I stray, + Perforce pursue my destin'd way, + Through scenes where all my trouble grows, + And where alone remembrance flows. + Like evening swallows, still my wings + Float round in low, perpetual rings; + But never fold the plume for rest + One moment in the tranquil nest; + And have no strength to reach the skies, + No power, no hope, no wish to rise! + + "Blame me not, _Fancy_, if I now restrain + Thy wandering footsteps, now thy wings confine; + Tis the decree of Fate,--it is not mine! + For I would let thee free and widely stray-- + Would follow gladly, tend thee on thy way, + And never of the devious track complain, + Never thy wild and sportive flights disdain! + Though reasonless those graceful moods may be, + They still, alas! were passing sweet to me. + + "Unhappy that I am, compell'd to bind + This murmuring captive! one who ever strove + By each endearing art to win my love; + Who, ever unoffending, ever bright, + Danc'd in my view, and pleas'd me to delight! + She scatter'd showers of lilies on my mind; + For, oh! so fair, so fresh, and so refin'd, + Her child-like offerings, without thorns to pain, + Without one canker'd wound, or earthly stain. + + "And, _darling!_ as my trembling fingers twine + Those fetters round thee, they are wet with tears! + For the sweet playmate of my early years + I cannot thus afflict, nor thus resign + My equal liberty, and not repine! + For I had made thee, infant as thou art, + Queen of my hopes, my leisure, and my heart; + Given thee its happiest laugh, its sweetest tear, + And all I found or conquer'd every year. + + "I blame me now I let thy sports offend + Old Time, and laid thy snare within his path + To make him falter, as it often hath; + For he grew angry soon, and held his breath, + And hurried on, in frightful league with Death, + To make the way through which my footsteps bend, + Late rich in all that social scenes attend, + A desert; and with thee I droop, I die, + Beneath the look of his malignant eye. + + "Me do triumphant heroes call + To grace with harp their festal hall? + O! must my voice awake the song?-- + My skill the artful tale prolong? + Yes! I am call'd--it is my doom! + Unhappily, ye know not whom, + Nor what, impatient ye demand! + How hostile now the fever'd hand, + Across these chords unwilling thrown, + To echo plainings of my own! + Little indeed can ye divine + What song ye ask who call for mine! + + "Till now, before the courtly crowd + I humbly and I gaily bow'd; + The blush was not to shame allied + Which on my glowing cheek I wore; + No lowly seemings pain'd nay pride, + My heart was laughing at the core; + And sometimes, as the stream of song + Bore me with eddying haste along, + My father's spirit would arise, + And speak strange meaning from these eyes, + At which a conscious cheek would quail, + A stern and lofty bearing fail: + Then could a chieftain condescend + In me to recognize his friend! + Then could a warrior low incline + His eye, when it encounter'd mine! + A tone can make the guilty start! + A glance can pierce the conscious heart, + Encountering memory in its flight, + Most waywardly! Such wounds are slight; + But I withdraw the painful light! + + "Fair lords and princes! many a time + For you I wove my pictur'd rhyme; + Refin'd new thoughts and fancies crude + In deep and careful solitude; + 'And, when my task was finish'd, came + To seek the meed of praise or blame; + While, even then, untir'd I strove + To serve beneath the yoke of love. + Whene'er I mark'd a fearful look, + When pride, or when resentment, spoke, + I bent the tenor of my strain, + And trembled lest it were in vain. + By many an undiscover'd wile + I brought the pallid lip to smile, + Clear'd the maz'd thought for ampler scope, + Sustain'd the flagging wings of hope; + And threw a mantle over care + Such as the blooming Graces wear! + I made the friend resist his pride, + Scarce aiming what he felt to hide + From other eyes, his own implor'd + That kindness were again restor'd. + As generous themes engag'd my tongue + In pleadings for the fond and young: + Towards his child the father leant, + In fast-subsiding discontent: + I made that father's claims be felt, + And saw the rash, the stubborn, melt; + Nay, once, subdued, a rebel knelt. + + "Thus skill'd, from pity's warm excess, + The aching spirit to caress; + Profuse of her ideal wealth, + And rich in happiness and health, + An alien, class'd among the poor, + Unheeded, from her precious store, + Its best and dearest tribute brought; + The zeal of high, adventurous thought, + The tender awe in yielding aid, + E'en of its own soft hand afraid! + Stealing, through shadows, forth to bless, + Her venturous service knew no bound; + Yet shrank, and trembled, when success + Its earnest, fullest wishes crown'd! + This alien sinks, opprest with woe, + And have you nothing to bestow? + No language kind, to sooth or cheer?-- + No soften'd voice,--no tender tear?-- + No promise which may hope impart? + No fancy to beguile the heart; + To chace those dreary thoughts away, + And waken from this deep dismay! + + "Is it that station, power, or pride, + Can human sympathies divide? + Or is she deem'd a thing of art, + Form'd only to enact a part, + Whose nice perceptions all belong + To modulated thought and song, + And, in fictitious feeling thrown, + Lie waste or callous in her own? + + "Is it from poverty of soul; + Or does some fear some doubt, controul? + So round the heart strong fibres strain, + That it attempts to beat in vain? + Does palsy on your feelings hang, + Deaden'd by some severer pang? + If so, behold, my eyes o'erflow! + For, O! that anguish well I know! + When once that fatal stroke is given,-- + When once that finest nerve is riven, + Our love, our pity, all are o'er; + We even sooth ourselves no more! + + "Back, hurrying feelings! to the time + I learnt to clothe my thoughts in rhyme! + When, climbing up my father's knees, + I gaily sang, secure to please! + Rounded his pale and wasted cheek, + And won him, in his turn, to speak: + When, for reward, I closer prest, + And whisper'd much, and much carest; + With timorous eye, and head aside, + Half ask'd, and laugh'd, and then denied; + Ere I again petition made + To hear the often-told crusade. + How, knowing hardship but by name, + Misled by friendship and by fame, + His parents' wishes he disdain'd, + With zeal, nor real quite, nor feign'd; + And fought on many a famous spot;-- + The suffering of a captive's lot; + My Georgian mother's daring flight; + The day's concealment, march by night; + Her death, when, touching Christian ground, + They deem'd repose and safety found: + How, on his arm, by night and day, + I, then a happy infant, lay, + And taught him not to mourn, but pray. + How, when, at length, he reach'd his home, + His heart foretold a gentle doom; + With tears of fondness in his eyes, + Hoping to cause a glad surprize; + Full of submission, pondering o'er + What he too lightly priz'd before; + The curse with tenfold vengeance fell.-- + Those who had lov'd him once so well, + In whose indulgence perfect trust + Had still been wise, though most unjust, + Were in the grave!--Their hearts were cold! + His penitence might still be told-- + Told to the winds! for few would hear, + Or, hearing, deem that tale sincere + His patrimony's lord denied, + Who, hardening in possession's pride, + Affirm'd the rightful owner died. + + "A victim from devouring strife, + And slavery, return'd with life; + Possessions, honours, parents gone, + The very hand that urg'd him on, + Now, by its stern repelling, tore + The veil that former falsehood wore! + + "When he first bar'd his heart before thy view, + Told all its inmost beatings--told them true; + Nay, e'en the pulse, the secret, trembling thrill, + On which the slightest touch alone would trill [Errata: kill]; + While thou, with secret aim, collected art, + Didst wind around that bold, confiding heart, + And, in its warm and healthful breathings fling + A subtle poison, and a deadly sting! + + "Where shall we else so fell a traitor find? + The wilful, hard misleader of the blind + And what can be the soul-perverter's meed, + Plotting to lure his friend to such a deed, + As made self-hatred on the conscience lay + That heavy weight she never moves away? + O! where the good man's inner barriers close + 'Gainst the world's cruel judgments, and his foes + Enfolding truth, and prayer, and soul's repose, + Thine is a mournful numbness, or a din, + For many strong accusers lurk within! + + "And, since this fatal period, in thine eyes + A shrewd and unrelaxing witness lies; + While, on the specious language of the tongue, + Deceit has hateful, warning accents hung; + And outrag'd nature, struggling with a smile, + Announces nought but discontent and guile; + Each trace of fair, auspicious meaning flown, + All that makes man by man belov'd and known. + Silence, indignant thought! forego thy sway! + Silence! and let me measure on my way! + + "Soul-struck, and yielding to his fate, + My father left his castle gate. + 'Thou,' he would cry, with flowing eyes, + 'That moment wert the sacrifice! + Little, alas! avails to thee + Wealth, honours, titles, ancestry; + All lost by me! I dar'd to lift + On high thy welfare, as a gift! + To save thee, dearest, dar'd resign + Thy worldly good! it was not mine! + But, O! I felt around thee twin'd + My very self,--my heart and mind! + All that may chance is dead to me, + Save only as it touches thee! + Could self-infliction but atone + For one who lives in thee alone; + If my repentance and my tears + Could spare thy future smiling years, + The fatal curse should only rest + Upon this firm, though guilty breast? + Yet, tendering from thy vessel's freight + Offerings of such exceeding weight, + And free thee from one earthly chain! + Envy and over-weening hate + Would on thy orphan greatness wait; + Folly that supple nature bend + For parasites to scorn thy friend; + And pamper'd vanity incline + To wilful blindness such as mine! + + "'Thee to the altar yet I bring! + Hear me, my Saviour and my King! + Again I for my child resign + All worldly good! but make her thine! + Let her soft footsteps gently move, + Nor waken grief, nor injure love; + Carelessly trampling on the ground + That priceless gem, so rarely found; + That treasure, which, should angels guard, + Would all their vigilance reward! + + "'My mind refuses still to fear + She should be cold or insincere; + That aught like meanness should debase + One of our rash and wayward race, + No! most I dread intemperate pride, + Deaf ardour, reckless, and untried, + With firm controul and skilful rein, + Its hurrying fever to restrain! + + "'Others might wish their soul's delight + Should be most lovely to the sight; + And beauty vainly I ador'd, + Serv'd with my eye, my tongue, my sword; + Nay, let me not from truth depart! + Enshrin'd and worship'd it at heart. + Oft, when her mother fix'd my gaze, + Enwrapt, on bright perfection's blaze, + Hopes the imperious spell beguil'd, + Transcendant thus to see my child: + But now, for charms of form or face, + Save only purity and grace; + Save sweetness, which all rage disarms, + Would lure an infant to her arms + In instantaneous love; and make + A heart, like mine, with fondness ache; + I little care, so she be free + From such remorse as preys on me!' + + "My dearest father!--Yet he grew + Profoundly anxious, as he knew + More of the dangers lurking round; + But I was on enchanted ground! + Delighted with my minstrel art, + I had a thousand lays by heart; + And while my yet unpractis'd tongue + Descanted on the strains I sung, + Still seeking treasure, like a bee, + I laugh'd and caroll'd, wild with glee! + + "Delicious moments then I knew, + When the rough winds against me blew: + When, from the top of mountain steep, + I glanc'd my eye along the deep; + Or, proud the keener air to breathe, + Exulting saw the vale beneath. + When, launch'd in some lone boat, I sought + A little kingdom for my thought, + Within a river's winding cove, + Whose forests form a double grove, + And, from the water's silent flow, + Appear more beautiful below; + While their large leaves the lilies lave, + Or plash upon the shadow'd wave; + While birds, with darken'd pinions, fly + Across that still intenser sky; + Fish, with cold plunge, with startling leap, + Or arrow-flight across the deep; + And stilted insects, light-o-limb, + Would dimple o'er the even brim; + If, with my hand, in play, I chose + The cold, smooth current to oppose, + As fine a spell my senses bound + As vacant bosom ever found! + + "And when I took my proudest post, + Near him on earth I valued most, + (No after-time could banish thence + A father's dear pre-eminence,) + And felt the kind, protecting charm, + The clasp of a paternal arm; + Felt, as instinctively it prest, + The sacred magnet of his breast, + 'Gainst which I lean'd, and seem'd to grow, + With that deep fondness none can know, + Whom Providence does not assign + A parent excellent as mine! + That faith beyond, above mistrust, + That gratitude, so wholly just, + Each several, crowding claim forgot, + Whose source was light, without a blot; + No moment of unkindness shrouding, + No speck of anger overclouding: + An awful and a sweet controul, + A rainbow arching o'er the soul; + A soothing, tender thrill, which clung + Around the heart, while, all unstrung, + The thought was still, and mute the tongue! + + "O! in that morn of life is given + To one so tun'd, a sumptuous dower! + Joys, which have flown direct from heaven, + And Graces, captive in her bower. + + "Thoughts which can sail along the skies, + Or poise upon the buoyant air; + And make a peasant's soul arise + A monarch's mighty power to share. + + "When all that we perceive below, + By land or sea, by night or day, + The past, the future, and the flow + Of present times, their tribute pay. + + "Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower, + Bears her a blessing on its wings; + And every rich and precious flower + Its fragrance on her spirit flings. + + "There's not a star that shines above + But pours on her a partial ray; + Endearments, like maternal love, + Her love to Nature's self repay. + + "Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart, + Close interlace the angel arm; + And with caresses heal the smart + Of every care, and every harm. + + "Amid the wealth, amid the blaze + Of luxury and pomp around, + How poor is all the eye surveys + To what we know of fairy ground!" + + She ceases, and her tears flow fast-- + O! can this fit of softness last, + Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share + The sickly triumph of despair? + Upon the harp her head is thrown, + All round is like a vision flown; + And o'er a billowy surge her mind + Views lost delight left far behind. + + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE. + +CANTO SECOND. + + + Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er, + Lamented that they heard no more; + While Brehan, from her broken lay, + Portended what she yet might say. + As the untarrying minutes flew, + More anxious and alarm'd he grew. + At length he spake:--"We wait too long + The remnant of this wilder'd song! + And too tenaciously we press + Upon the languor of distress! + 'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd, + And in some noiseless chamber laid, + Attentive care, and soothing rest, + Appeas'd the anguish of her breast." + + Low was his voice, but Marie heard: + He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd. + She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs, + Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes; + And, ere they dried upon her cheek, + Before she gather'd force to speak, + Convulsively her fingers play'd, + While his proud heart the prelude met, + Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd, + A loud, high measure, like a threat; + Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell + Which love and sorrow know so well. + + "How solemn is the sick man's room + To friends or kindred lingering near! + Poring on that uncertain gloom + In silent heaviness and fear! + + "How sad, his feeble hand in thine, + The start of every pulse to share! + With painful haste each wish divine, + Yet fed the hopelessness of care! + + "To turn aside the full-fraught eye, + Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear! + To bear the weight of every sigh, + Lest it should reach that wakeful ear! + + "In the dread stillness of the night, + To lose the faint, faint sound of breath! + To listen in restrain'd affright, + To deprecate each thought of death! + + "And, when a movement chas'd that fear, + And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow, + In thrilling awe the prayer to hear + Through the clos'd curtain murmur'd low! + + "The prayer of him whose holy tongue + Had never yet exceeded truth! + Upon whose guardian care had hung + The whole dependence of thy youth! + + "Who, noble, dauntless, frank and mild, + Was, for his very goodness, fear'd; + Belov'd with fondness like a child, + And like a blessed saint rever'd! + + "I have known friends--but who can feel + The kindness such a father knew? + I serv'd him still with tender zeal, + But knew not then how much was due! + + "And did not Providence ordain + That we should soon be laid as low, + No heart could such a stroke sustain,-- + No reason could survive the blow! + + "After that fatal trial came, + The world no longer was the same. + I still had pleasures:--who could live + Without the healing aid they give? + But, as a plant surcharg'd with rain, + When radiant sunshine comes again, + Just wakes from a benumbing trance, + I caught a feverish, fitful glance. + The dove, that for a weary time + Had mourn'd the rigour of the clime, + And, with its head beneath its wing, + Awaited a more genial spring, + Went forth again to search around, + And some few leaves of olive found, + But not a bower which could impart + Its interchange of light and shade; + Not that soft down, to warm the heart, + Of which her former nest was made. + Smooth were the waves, the ether clear, + Yet all was desert, cold, and drear! + + "Affection, o'er thy clouded sky + In flocks the birds of omen fly; + And oft the wandering harpy, Care, + Must thy delicious viands share: + But all the soul's interior light, + All that is soothing, sweet, and bright, + All fragrance, softness, colour, glow, + To thee, as to the sun, we owe! + + "Years past away! swift, varied years! + I learnt the luxury of tears; + And all the orphan's wretched lot, + 'Midst those she pleas'd and serv'd, forgot. + + "By turns applauded and despis'd, + Till one appear'd who duly priz'd; + Bound round my heart a welcome chain, + And earthward lur'd its hopes again; + When, careless of all worldly weal, + By Fancy only taught to feel, + My raptur'd spirit soar'd on high, + With momentary power to fly; + Or sang its deep, indignant moan, + With swells of anguish, when alone. + + "Yet lovely dreams could I evoke + Of future happiness and fame-- + I did not bow to kiss the yoke, + But welcom'd every joy that came. + + "Often would self-complacence spread + Harmonious halos round my head; + And all my being own'd awhile + The warm diffusion of her smile. + + "One morn they call'd me forth to sing + Fore our then liege, the English king. + Thy guest, my Lord de Semonville, + His gracious presence was the seal + Of favour to a servant true, + To boasted faith and fealty due! + + "It never suits a royal ear + Prowess of foreign lands to hear; + And, leaving tales of Charlemagne + For British Arthur's earlier reign, + I, preluding with praise, began + The feats of that diviner man; + Let loose my soul in fairy land, + Gave wilder licence to my hand; + And, learn'd in chivalrous renown, + By song and story handed down, + Painted my knights from those around, + But placed them on poetic ground. + The ample brow, too smooth for guile; + The careless, fearless, open smile; + The shaded and yet arching eye, + At once reflective, kind, and shy; + The undesigning, dauntless look,-- + Became to me a living book. + I read the character conceal'd, + Flash'd on by chance, or never known + Even to bosoms like its own; + Shrinking before a step intrude; + Touch, look, and whisper, all too rude; + Unsunn'd and fairest when reveal'd! + The first in every noble deed, + Most prompt to venture and to bleed! + Such hearts, so veil'd with angel wings, + Such cherish'd, tender, sacred things, + I since discover'd many a time, + O Britain! in thy temper'd clime; + In dew, in shade, in silence nurs'd, + For truth and sentiment athirst. + + "As seas, with rough, surrounding wave, + Islands of verdant freshness save + From rash intruder's waste and spoil;-- + As mountains rear their heads on high, + Present snow summits to the sky, + And weary patient feet with toil, + To screen some sweet, secluded vale, + And warm the air its flowers inhale;-- + Reserve warns off approaching eyes + From where her choicer Eden lies. + + "Such are the English knights, I cried, + Who all their better feelings hide; + Who muffle up their hearts with care, + To hide the virtues nestling there, + Who neither praise nor blame can bear. + + "My hearers, though completely steel'd + For all the terrors of the field; + Mail'd for the arrow and the lance, + Bore not unharm'd my smiling glance; + At other times collected, brave, + Recoiled when I that picture gave; + As if their inmost heart, laid bare, + Shrank from the bleak, ungenial air. + + "Proud of such prescience, on I went;-- + The youthful monarch was content. + 'Edgar de Langton, take this ring-- + No! hither the young Minstrel bring: + Ourself can better still dispense + The honour and the recompence.' + I came, and, trembling, bent my knee. + He wonder'd that my looks were meek, + That blushes burnt upon my cheek! + 'We would our little songstress see! + Remove those tresses! raise thy head! + Say, where is former courage fled, + 'That all must now thy face infold? + At distance they were backward roll'd. + Whence, then, this most unfounded fear? + Are we so strange, so hateful here?' + + "I strove in vain to lift my eyes, + And made some indistinct replies; + When one, more courteous and more kind, + Stepp'd forth to save my fainting mind. + 'My liege, have pity! for, in truth, + It is too hard upon her youth. + Though so alert and fleet in song, + The strain was high, the race was long; + And she before has never seen + A monarch, save the fairy queen: + But does the lure of thought obey + As falcons their appointed way; + Train'd to one end, and wild as those + If aught they know not interpose. + Vain then is strength, and skill is vain, + Either to lead them or restrain. + The eye-lid closes, and the heart, + Low-sinking, plays a traitor's part; + While wings, of late so firmly spread, + Hang flagg'd and powerless as the dead! + With courts familiar from our birth, + Is it fit subject for our mirth, + That thus awakening from her theme, + Where she through air and sea pursues, + And all things governs, all subdues, + (Like fetter'd captive in a dream,) + Blindly to tread on unknown land, + Without a guide or helping hand, + No previous usage to befriend, + (As well we might an infant lend + Our eyes' experience, ear, or touch!) + Can we in reason wonder much, + Her steps are tottering and unsure + Where we have learnt to walk secure? + Is it not true, what I have told?' + Her paus'd, my features to behold-- + Earl William paus'd: across his mien + A strong and sudden change was seen, + The courtier bend, protecting tone. + And smile of sympathy, were gone. + Abrupt his native accents broke, + And his lips trembled as he spoke. + + "'How thus can Memory, in its flight, + On wings of gossamer alight, + Nor showing aim, nor leaving trace, + From a poor damsel's living face + To features of a brave, dead knight! + In eyes so young, and so benign, + What is it speaks of Palestine? + Of toils in early life I prov'd, + And of a comrade dearly lov'd! + 'Tis true, he, like this maid, was young, + And gifted with a tuneful tongue! + His looks [Errata: locks], like her's, were bright and fair, + But light and laughing was his eye; + The prophecy of future care + In those thin, helmet lids we spy, + Veiling mild orbs, of changeful hue, + Where auburn half subsides in blue! + Lord Fauconberg, canst thou divine + What is the curve, or what the line, + That makes this girl, like lightning, send + Looks of our long lamented friend? + If Richard liv'd, that sorcery spell + Quickly his lion-heart would quell: + He never could her glance descry, + And any wish'd-for boon deny! + She's weeping too!--most strangely wrought + By workings of another's thought! + She knows no English; yet I speak + That language, and her paling cheek + With watery floods is overcast.-- + Fair maid, we talk of times long past; + A friend we often mourn in vain-- + A knight in distant battle slain, + Whose bones had moulder'd in the earth + Full many a year before thy birth. + He fed our ears with songs of old, + And one was of a heart of gold,-- + A native ditty I would fain, + But never yet could hear again. + It spoke of friendship like his own, + Once only in existence known. + My prime of life the blessing crost, + And with it life's first charm I lost!' + + "'Chieftain, allow me, on my knee + To sing that English song to thee! + For then I never dare to stand, + Nor take the harp within my hand; + Sacred it also is to me! + And it should please thy fancy well, + Since dear the lips from whence it fell; + 'And dear the language which conveys + The only theme of real praise! + O! if in very truth thou art + A mourner for that loyal heart, + A lowly minstrel maid forgive, + Who strives to make remembrance live!' + + + + SONG. + + "'Betimes my heritage was sold + To buy this heart of solid gold. + Ye all, perchance, have jewels fine, + But what are such compar'd to mine? + O! they are formal, poor, and cold, + And out of fashion when they're old;-- + But this is of unchanging ore, + And every day is valued more. + Not all the eye could e'er behold + Should purchase back this heart of gold. + + "'How oft its temper has been tried! + Its noble nature purified! + And still it from the furnace came + Uninjur'd by the subtil flame. + Like truth itself, pale, simple, pure, + Yielding, yet fitted to endure,-- + No rust, no tarnish can arise, + To hide its lustre from our eyes; + And this world's choicest gift I hold, + While I can keep my heart of gold. + + "'Whatever treasure may be lost, + Whatever project may be crost, + Whatever other boon denied, + The amulet I long have tried + Has still a sweet, attractive power + To draw the confidential hour,-- + That hour for weakness and for grief, + For true condolement, full belief! + O! I can never feel bereft, + While one possession shall be left; + That which I now in triumph hold, + This dear, this cherish'd heart of gold! + + "'Come, all who wish to be enroll'd! + Our order is, the heart of gold. + The vain, the artful, and the nice, + Can never pay the weighty price; + For they must selfishness abjure, + Have tongue, and hand, and conscience pure; + Suffering for friendship, never grieve, + But, with a god-like strength, believe + In the oft absent power of truth, + As they have seen it in their youth. + Ye who have grown in such a mould + Are worthy of the heart of gold!' + + "Ceasing, and in the act to rise, + A voice exclaim'd, 'Receive the prize! + Earl William, let me pardon crave, + Thus yielding what thy kindness gave! + But with such strange, intense delight, + This maiden fills my ear, my sight; + I long so ardently to twine + In her renown one gift of mine; + That having but a die to cast, + Lest our first meeting prove our last, + I would ensure myself the lot + Not to be utterly forgot! + And this, my offering, here consign, + Worthy, because it once was thine! + Then, maiden, from a warrior deign + To take this golden heart and chain! + Thy order's emblem! and afar + Its light shall lead me, like a star! + If thou, its mistress, didst requite + With guerdon meet each chosen knight; + If from that gifted hand there came + A badge of such excelling fame, + The broider'd scarf might wave in vain, + Unenvied might a rival gain, + Amid assembled peers, the crown + Of tournay triumph and renown; + For me its charm would all be gone, + E'en though a princess set it on!' + + "I bow'd my thanks, and quick withdrew, + Glad to escape from public view; + Laden with presents, and with praise, + Beyond the meed of former days. + But that on which I gaz'd with pride, + Which I could scarcely lay aside, + Even to close my eyes for rest; + (I wear it now upon my breast, + And there till death it shall remain!) + Was this same golden heart and chain! + The peacock crown, with all its eyes, + Its emerald, jacinth, sapphire dyes, + When first, irradiate o'er my brow, + Wav'd its rich plumes in gleaming flow, + Did not so deep a thrill impart, + So soften, so dilate my heart! + No praise had touch'd me, as it fell, + Like his, because I saw full well, + Honour and sweetness orb'd did lie + Within the circlet of his eye! + Integrity which could not swerve, + A judgment of that purer nerve, + Fearing itself, and only bound + By truth and love to all around: + Which dared not feign, and scorn'd to vaunt, + Nor interest led, nor power could daunt; + Acting as if it mov'd alone + In sight of the Almighty's throne. + + "His graceful form my Fancy caught,-- + It was the same she always brought, + When legends mentioned knights of old, + The courteous, eloquent, and bold. + The same dark locks his forehead grac'd, + A crown by partial Nature plac'd, + With the large hollows, and the swells, + And short, close, tendril twine of shells. + Though grave in aspect, when he smil'd, + 'Twas gay and artless as a child, + With him expression seem'd a law,-- + You only Nature's dictates saw; + But they in full perfection wrought + Of generous feeling, varied thought,-- + All that can elevate or move, + That we admire, esteem, and love! + + "Thus, when it pleas'd the youthful king, + Who wish'd yet more to hear me sing, + That I should follow o'er the main, + In good Earl William's sober train, + As slow we linger'd on the seas, + I inly blest each wayward breeze; + For still the graceful knight was near, + Prompt to discourse, relate, and hear: + The spirit had that exercise, + The fine perceptions' play, + That perish with the worldly wise, + The torpid, and the gay. + + "In the strings of their lyres as the poets of old + Fresh blossoms were used to entwine; + As the shrines of their gods were enamell'd with gold, + And sparkling with gems from the mine: + + "So, grac'd with delights that arise in the mind, + As through flowers, the language should flow! + While the eye, where we fancy all soul is enshrin'd, + With divine emanations should glow! + + "The voice, or the look, gifted thus, has a charm + Remembrance springs onward to greet; + And thought, like an angel, flies, living and warm, + When announcing the moment to meet! + + "And it was thus when Eustace spoke, + Thus brightly his ideas glanc'd, + Met mine, and smil'd as they advanc'd, + For all his fervour I partook,-- + Pour'd out my spirit in each theme, + And follow'd every waking dream! + Now in Fancy's airy play, + Near at hand, and far away, + All that was sportive, wild, and gay! + Now led by Pity to deplore + Hearts that can ache and bleed no more, + We roam'd long tales of sadness o'er! + Now, prompted by achievements higher, + We caught the hero's, martyr's fire! + Who, listening to an angel choir, + Rapt and devoted, following still + Where duty or religion led, + The mind prepar'd, subdued the will, + Bent their grand purpose to fulfil: + Conquer'd, endur'd, or meekly bled! + Nor wonder'd we, for we were given, + Like them, to zeal, to truth, and heaven. + + "Receding silently from view, + Freedom, unthought of, then withdrew; + We neither mark'd her as she flew, + Nor ever had her absence known + From care or question of our own. + At court, emotion or surprize + Reveal'd the truth to other eyes. + The pride of England's nobles staid + Too often near the minstrel maid; + And many in derision smil'd, + To see him pay a peasant's child, + For such they deem'd me, deep respect, + While birth and grandeur met neglect. + Soon, sway'd by duty more than wealth, + He listen'd and he look'd by stealth; + And I grew careless in my lays; + Languish'd for that exclusive praise. + Yet, conscious of an equal claim, + Above each base or sordid aim, + From wounded feeling and from pride, + My pain I coldly strove to hide: + And when, encounter'd by surprize, + Rapture rose flashing in his eyes, + My formal speech and careless air + Would call a sudden anger there. + + "Reserv'd and sullen we became, + Tenacious both, and both to blame. + Yet often an upbraiding look + Controul'd the sentence as I spoke; + Prompt and direct its flight arose, + But sunk or waver'd at the close. + Often, beneath his softening eye, + I felt my resolution die; + And, half-relentingly, forgot + His splendid and my humble lot. + + "Sometimes a sudden fancy came, + That he who bore my father's name, + Broken in spirit and in health, + Was weary of ill-gotten wealth. + I to the cloister saw him led, + Saw the wide cowl upon his head; + Heard him, in his last dying hour, + Warn others from the thirst of power; + Adjure the orphan of his friend + Pardon and needful aid to lend, + If heaven vouchsaf'd her yet to live; + For, could she pity and forgive, + 'Twould wing his penitential prayer + With better hope of mercy there! + Then did he rank and lands resign, + With all that was in justice mine; + And I, pretending to be vain, + Return'd the world its poor disdain, + But smil'd on Eustace once again! + + "Thus vision after vision flew, + Leaving again before my view + That [Errata: The] hollow scene, the scornful crowd, + To which that heart had never bow'd, + Whose tenderness I hourly fed; + While thus I to its nursling said;-- + + "Be silent, _Love!_ nor from my lip + In faint or hurried language speak! + Be motionless within my eye, + And never wander to my cheek! + Retir'd and passive thou must be, + Or truly I shall banish thee! + + "Thou art a restless, wayward sprite, + So young, so tender, and so fair, + I dare not trust thee from my sight, + Nor let thee breathe the common air! + Home to my heart, then, quickly flee, + It is the only place for thee! + + "And hush thee, sweet one! in that cell, + For I will whisper in thine ear + Those tales that Hope and Fancy tell, + Which it may please thee best to hear! + I will not, may not, set thee free-- + I die if aught discover thee!" + + Where are the plaudits, warm and long, + That erst have follow'd Marie's song? + The full assenting, sudden, loud, + The buz of pleasure in the crowd! + The harp was still, but silence reign'd, + Listening as if she still complain'd: + For Pity threw her gentle yoke + Across Impatience, ere he spoke; + And Thought, in pondering o'er her strains, + Had that cold state he oft maintains. + But soon the silence seem'd to say, + "Fair mourner, reassume thy lay!" + And in the chords her fingers stray'd; + For aching Memory found relief + In mounting to the source of grief; + A tender symphony she play'd, + Then bow'd, and thus, unask'd, obey'd. + + + + + +The Lay of Marie + +_CANTO THIRD._ + + "Careless alike who went or came, + I seldom ask'd the stranger's name, + When such a being came in view + As eagerly the question drew. + 'The Lady Osvalde,' some one cried, + 'Sir Eustace' late appointed bride, + His richest ward the king's behest + Gives to the bravest and the best.' + + "Enchantments, wrought by pride and fear, + Made me, though mute, unmov'd appear. + My eye was quiet, and the while + My lip maintain'd a steady smile. + It cost me much, alas! to feign; + But while I struggled with the pain, + With beauty stole upon my sight + An inward feeling of delight. + + "Long did the silken lashes lie + Upon a dark and brilliant eye; + Bright the wild rose's finest hue + O'er a pure cheek of ivory flew. + Her smile, all plaintive and resign'd, + Bespake a gentle, suffering mind; + And e'en her voice, so clear and faint, + Had something in it of complaint. + Her delicate and slender form, + Like a vale-lily from the storm, + Seem'd pensively to shrink away, + More timid in a crowd so gay. + Large jewels glitter'd in her hair; + And, on her neck, as marble fair, + Lay precious pearls, in countless strings; + Her small, white hands, emboss'd with rings, + Announc'd high rank and amplest wealth, + But neither freedom, power, nor health. + + "Near her Sir Eustace took his stand, + With manner sad, yet soft and bland; + Spoke oft, but her replies were tame; + And soon less frequent both became. + Their converse seem'd by labour wrought, + Without one sweet, free-springing thought; + Without those flashes of delight + Which make it tender, deep, or bright! + It was not thus upon the sea + He us'd to look and talk with me! + Not thus, when, lost to all around, + His haughty kinsmen saw and frown'd! + Then all unfelt the world's controul,-- + Its rein lay lightly o'er his soul; + Far were its prides and cautions hurl'd, + And Thought's wide banner flew unfurl'd. + + "Yet we should do fair Osvalde wrong + To class her with the circling throng: + Her mind was like a gentle sprite, + Whose wings, though aptly form'd for flight, + From cowardice are seldom spread; + Who folds the arms, and droops the head; + Stealing, in pilgrim guise along, + With needless staff, and vestment grey, + It scarcely trills a vesper song + Monotonous at close of day. + Cross but its path, demanding aught, + E'en what its pensive mistress sought, + Though forward welcoming she hied, + And its quick footstep glanc'd aside. + + "Restraint, alarms, and solitude, + Her early courage had subdu'd; + Fetter'd her movements, looks, and tongue, + While on her heart more weighty hung + Each griev'd resentment, doubt, and pain, + Each dread of anger or disdain. + A deeper sorrow also lent + The sharpen'd pang of discontent; + For unconceal'd attachment prov'd + Destructive to the man she lov'd. + + "Owning, like her, an orphan's doom, + He had not that prescriptive home + Which wealth and royal sanction buys; + No powerful friends, nor tender ties;-- + No claims, save former promise given, + Whose only witness was in heaven; + And promise takes a slender hold, + Where all is selfish, dull, and cold. + + "Slowly that bloomless favour grew, + Before his stern protectors knew + The secret which arous'd disdain. + Declaring that he did but feign, + They, in unpitying vengeance, hurl'd + A sister's offspring on the world. + Thus outrag'd, pride's corroding smart, + The fever of a throbbing heart, + Impell'd him first to wander round, + And soon to leap that barrier ground, + And seek the arch'd, embowering way, + In which her steps were wont to stray. + + "No sleep his heavy eyes could close, + Nor restless memory find repose, + Nor hope a plan on which to rest, + In the wild tumult of a breast + With warring passions deeply fraught. + To see her was his only thought; + Feel once again the tones that sprung + So oft to that endearing tongue, + Flow on his heart; desponding, faint, + But too indignant for complaint; + Say how completely he resign'd + All former influence o'er her mind, + Where it was better to destroy + Each vestige of their days of joy. + To breathe her name he would not dare, + Except in solitude and prayer! + 'Beyond belief I love, adore, + But never will behold thee more!' + Thus thinking o'er each purpose high, + Tears gather'd blinding in his eye; + And bitter, uncontroul'd regret + Exclaim'd, 'Why have we ever met?' + + "These conflicts and these hopes were fled; + Alas! poor youth! his blood, was shed, + Before the feet of Osvalde trod + Again on the empurpled sod. + No voice had dar'd to tell the tale; + But she had many a boding thrill, + For dumb observance watch'd her still; + For laughter ceas'd whene'er she came, + And none pronounc'd her lover's name! + When wilfully she sought this spot, + Shudderings prophetic mark'd his lot; + She look'd! her maiden's cheek was pale! + And from the hour did ne'er depart + That deadly tremor from her heart. + Pleasure and blandishment were vain; + Deaf to persuasion's dulcet strain, + It never reach'd her mind again. + + "Arise, lovely mourner! thy sorrows give o'er, + Nor droop so forlornly that beautiful head! + Thy sighs art unheard by the youth they deplore, + And those warm-flowing tears all unfelt by the dead. + + "Then quit this despondence, sweet Osvalde! be gay! + See open before thee the gates of delight! + Where the Hours are now lingering on tiptoe, away! + They view thee with smiles, and are loth to take flight. + + "See the damsels around thee, how joyous they are! + How their eyes sparkle pleasure whenever they meet! + What sweet flowers are entwin'd in their long, floating hair! + How airy their movements, how nimble their feet! + + "O! bear her from hence! when she sees them rejoice, + Still keener the pain of her agony burns; + And when Joy carols by, with a rapturous voice, + To hopeless Remembrance more poignantly turns. + + "Thus often has her bosom bled; + Thus have I seen her fainting led + From feasts intended to dispel + The woeful thoughts she nurs'd so well. + And must she, by the king's command, + To Eustace plight that fever'd hand? + Proud, loyal as he is, can he, + A victim to the same decree, + Receive it, while regretting me? + For that poor, withering heart, resign + The warm, devoted faith of mine! + + "Have I, too, an allotted task? + What from the Minstrel do they ask? + A nimble finger o'er the chords, + A tongue replete with gracious words! + Alas! the tribute they require, + Truth, sudden impulse, should inspire; + And from the senseless, subject lyre, + Such fine and mellow music flow, + The skill that forms it should not know + Whence the delicious tones proceed; + But, lost in rapture's grateful glow, + Doubt its own power, and cry, 'Indeed, + Some passing angel sweeps the strings, + Wafting from his balsamic wings + The sweetest breath of Eden bowers, + Tones nurs'd and hovering there in flowers, + Have left their haunts to wander free, + Linger, alight, and dwell on thee!' + + "In Osvalde's porch, where, full in bloom, + The jasmine spread its rich perfume; + And, in thick clustering masses, strove + To hide the arch of stone above; + While many a long and drooping spray + Wav'd up, and lash'd the air in play; + Was I ordain'd my harp to place, + The pair with bridal strains to grace. + + "The royal will,--and what beside? + O! what I since have lost,--my pride, + Forbade the wonted song to fail: + I met him with a cheerful hail. + I taught my looks, my lips, to feign + I bade my hand its task sustain; + And when he came to seek the bride, + Her rival thus, unfaltering, cried:-- + + "'Approach! approach, thou gallant knight! + England's first champion in the fight, + Of grace and courtesy the flower, + Approach the high-born Osvalde's bower! + And forth let manly valour bring + Youth's timid meekness, beauty's spring! + + "'Thou darling of a vassal host, + Thy parents' stay, thy kinsman's boast; + Thou favourite in a monarch's eyes, + Whose gracious hand awards the prize; + Thee does the brightest lot betide, + The best domain, the fairest bride!' + + "Mine sunk beneath the mournful look + Which glanc'd disdainful as I spoke; + And, when his step past hurrying by, + And when I heard his struggling sigh, + A moment on my quailing tongue + The speech constrain'd of welcome hung; + But in the harp's continuous sound + My wandering thoughts I quickly found. + + "'Haste on! and here thy duteous train + In rapt expectance shall remain; + Till, with thee, brilliant as a gem + Set in a kingdom's diadem, + Thy lovely mistress shall appear! + O! hasten! we await thee here!' + + "Again did that upbraiding eye + Check my false strain in passing by; + And its concentred meaning fell + Into my soul:--It was not well + To triumph thus, though but in show; + To chant the lay that joyance spoke, + To wear the gay and careless look.-- + The ardent and the tender know + What pain those self-reproaches brought, + When conscience took the reins of thought + Into her hand, avenging more + All that she seem'd to prompt before. + O tyrant! from whose stern command + No act of mine was ever free, + How oft wouldst thou a censor stand + For what I did to pleasure thee! + The well-propp'd courage of my look, + The sportive language, airy tone, + To wounded love and pride bespoke + A selfish hardness not my own! + And only lulling secret pain, + I seem'd to fling around disdain. + + "To him, with warm affections crost, + Who, owning happiness was lost, + Had said, 'Dear maiden, were I free, + They would not let me think of thee; + The only one who on my sight + Breaks lovely as the morning light; + Whom my heart bounding springs to greet, + Seeks not, but always hopes to meet; + With eager joy unlocks its store, + Yet ever pines to tell thee more!' + To him, should feign'd indifference bring + A killing scorn, a taunting sting? + To Osvalde, drooping and forlorn, + A flower fast fading on the stem, + All exultation seem'd like scorn, + For what was hope and joy to them? + As with awakening judgment came + These feelings of remorse and shame, + With the throng'd crowd, the bustling scene, + Did deep abstractions intervene, + O'er yielding effort holding sway, + As, humbled, I pursued my way. + + "The festive flowers, the incens'd air, + The altar taper's reddening glare; + The pausing, slow-advancing pair, + Her fainter, his most watchful air; + The vaulted pile, the solemn rite, + Impress'd, then languish'd on my sight; + And all my being was resign'd + To that strong ordeal, where the mind, + Summon'd before a heavenly throne, + Howe'er surrounded, feels alone. + When, bow'd in dust all earthly pride, + All earthly power and threats defied, + Mortal opinion stands as nought + In the clear'd atmosphere of thought; + And selfish care, and worldly thrall, + And mean repining, vanish all. + When prayers are pour'd to God above, + His eyes send forth their beams of love; + Darkness forsakes our mental sky, + And, demon-like, our passions fly. + The holy presence, by its stay + Drives failings, fears, and woes away; + Refines, exalts, our nature draws + To share its own eternal laws + Of pure benevolence and rest, + The future portion of the blest-- + Their constant portion! Soon this flow + Of life I lost--recall'd below: + From prayers for them recall'd. Around, + A sudden rush, of fearful sound, + Smote on my ear; of voices crying, + 'The bride, the Lady Osvalde dying! + Give place! make room!' the hurrying press + Eustace alarm'd; and, in distress, + Calling for air, and through the crowd + Which an impeded way allow'd, + Forcing slow progress; bearing on + Her pallid form; when, wholly gone + You might have deem'd her mortal breath, + Cold, languid, motionless as death, + I saw before my eyes advance, + And 'woke, astounded, from my trance. + + "The air reviv'd her--but again + She left not, for the social train, + The stillness of her chamber;--ne'er + Its threshold pass'd, but on her bier: + Spoke but to one who seem'd to stand + Anear, and took his viewless hand, + To promise, let whate'er betide, + She would not be another's bride. + Then, pleading as for past offence, + Cried out aloud, 'They bore me hence! + My feet, my lips, refus'd to move, + To violate the vows of love! + My sense recoil'd, my vision flew, + Almost before I met thy view! + Almost before I heard thee cry + Perfidious Osvalde! look and die! + + "'Oppose them? No! I did not dare! + I am not as a many are, + Ruling themselves: my spirits fly, + My force expires before reply. + Instinctively a coward, free + In speech, in act, I could not be + With any in my life, but thee! + Nor strength, nor power do I possess, + Except, indeed, to bear distress! + Except to pour the aching sigh, + Which only can my pain relieve; + Inhuman ye who ask me why, + And pause, to wonder that I grieve: + Mine are the wounds which never close, + Mine is a deep, untiring care; + A horror flying from repose, + A weight the sickening soul must bear. + The tears that from these eyelids flow, + The sad confusion of my brain, + All waking phantoms of its woe, + Your anger, and the world's disdain,-- + Seek not to sooth me!--they are sent + This feeble frame and heart to try! + It is establish'd, be content! + They never leave me till I die!' + + "So little here is understood, + So little known the great and good, + The deep regret that Eustace prov'd, + Brought home conviction that he lov'd + To many: others thought, her dower, + The loss of lordships, wealth, and power, + Full cause for sorrow; and the king + Hop'd he might consolation bring, + And bind a wavering servant o'er, + (Not found too loyal heretofore,) + By linking his sole daughter's fate + In wedlock with an English mate-- + His favourite too! whose own domain + Spread over valley, hill, and plain; + Whose far-trac'd lineage did evince + A birth-right worthy of a prince; + Whose feats of arms, whose honour, worth, + Were even nobler than his birth; + Who, in his own bright self, did bring + A presence worthy of a king-- + A form to catch and charm the eye, + Make proud men gracious, ladies sigh; + The boldest, wisest, and the best, + Greater than each presuming guest;-- + I speak from judgment, not from love,-- + In all endowments far above + Who tastes this day of festal cheer, + And whom his death assembles here! + + "That he is known those look avow, + The mantling cheek, the knitting brow: + I could not hope it did he live, + But now, O! now, ye must forgive! + Most recreant they who dare offend + One who has lost her only friend! + De Stafford's widow here appears-- + For him, my Eustace, flow these tears! + Ye may not blame me! ye have wives, + Who yet may sorrow for your lives! + Who, in the outset of their grief, + Upon a father's neck may spring; + Or find in innocence relief, + And to a cherish'd infant cling; + Or thus, like me, forlornly shed + Their lonely wailing o'er the dead! + + "Can eyes that briny torrents steep, + Others in strong subjection keep? + Yes! here are some that mine obey, + And, self-indignant at the sway + I hold upon them, turn away! + Some, too, who have no cause for shame, + Whom even the injur'd cannot blame, + Now here, now there, above, below, + Their looks of wild avoidance throw! + Nay, gentle cousin, blush not so! + And do not, pray thee, rise to go! + I am bewilder'd with my woe; + But hear me fairly to the end, + I will not pain thee, nor offend. + O no! I would thy favour win; + For, when I die, as next of kin, + So 'reft am I of human ties, + It is thy place to close my eyes! + + "With state and wealth to thee I part, + But could not with De Stafford's heart! + Nor could I mute and prudent be + When all at once I found 'twas thee, + Doom'd ever, in thy own despite, + To take my rank, usurp my right! + I told, alas! my father's name, + The noble stock from which I came:-- + 'Marie de Brehan, sounds as well, + Perhaps,' I cried, 'as Isabel! + And were the elder branch restor'd, + (My grandsire was the rightful lord,) + I, in my injur'd father's place, + Those large domains, that name would grace.' + + "I never saw a joy so bright, + So full, so fledg'd with sparkling light, + As that which on the instant flew + To his quick eye, when Eustace knew + He had not yielded to a yoke + Which prudence blam'd, or reason broke. + 'O! trebly blest this hour,' he cried; + 'I take not now another bride! + I bow'd to duty and to pride; + But, here I pledge my solemn vow, + To wealth alone I will not bow! + The only offspring of a race + No misalliance did disgrace; + Nurtur'd, school'd, fashion'd by their laws, + Not wishing an exceptive clause, + Till thee, my only choice, I met; + And then, with useless, deep regret, + I found in birth, and that alone, + Thou wert unworthy of a throne! + My ancestors appear'd too nice; + Their grandeur bore too high a price, + If, with it, on the altar laid, + Freedom and happiness were paid! + Yet, could I give my father pain, + Or treat those lessons with disdain, + I heard a child upon his knee; + And, at the present, knew to be + Entwin'd with every vital part? + To scorn them were to break his heart! + My mother too, though meek and kind, + Possessing such a stately mind, + That once perceiving what was fit, + If 'twere to die, must still submit; + Knowing no question in the right, + Would not have borne me in her sight; + Though quick her sands of life would run, + Deserting, angry with her son! + Yet noble both, by honour bound, + To take no other vantage ground, + They will not use a meaner plea, + Nor sordid reasons urge to me! + Good and high-minded, they will yield: + I shall be victor in that field; + And for my sovereign, we shall find + Some inlet to his eager mind; + At once not rashly all disclose, + His plans or bidding to oppose,-- + That his quick temper would not brook; + But I will watch a gracious look, + And foster an auspicious hour, + To try both love and reason's power. + Zealous I cannot fail to be, + Thou canst not guess to what degree, + Dear Marie, when I plead for thee!' + + "That the result was plain, I knew, + For I had often heard him sue, + And never known a boon denied. + In secret I became his bride: + But heaven the union disapprov'd-- + The father he so truly lov'd, + Before this first offence was told, + Though neither sick, infirm, or old, + Without a moment's warning, died! + + "This seal'd his silence for awhile; + For, till he saw his mother smile, + Till time the cloud of woe should chace + From her pale, venerable face, + He felt the tale he dar'd not break,-- + He could not on the subject speak! + And oh! the gentle mourn so long, + The faint lament outlasts the strong! + + "Her waning health was fair pretence + To keep his voyage in suspence; + But still the king, averse or mute, + Heard coldly his dejected suit, + To give the lingering treaty o'er; + And once exclaim'd, 'Persuade no more! + This measure 'tis resolv'd to try! + We must that veering subject buy; + Else, let the enemy advance, + De Brehan surely sides with France!'" + + The harp again was silent; still + No fiat of the general will + Bade her to cease or to proceed: + Oft an inquiring eye, indeed, + The strangers rais'd; but instant check'd, + Lest the new vassals should suspect + They thought the monarch's reasons just, + And faith so varying brought mistrust. + De Brehan, with a bitter smile, + Eyes closing, lips compress'd the while, + Although Remorse, with keenest dart, + And disappointment wrung his heart; + Although he long'd to thunder--"Cease!" + Restrain'd his fury, kept his peace. + + + + + +The Lay of Marie. + + + + +CANTO FOURTH. + + Marie, as if upon the brink + Of some abyss, had paus'd to think; + And seem'd from her sad task to shrink. + One hand was on her forehead prest, + The other clasping tight her vest; + As if she fear'd the throbbing heart + Would let its very life depart. + Yet, in that sad, bewilder'd mien, + Traces of glory still were seen; + Traces of greatness from above, + Of noble scorn, devoted love; + Of pity such as angels feel, + Of clinging faith and martyr'd zeal! + + Can one, who by experience knows + So much of trial and of woes, + Late prone to kindle and to melt, + To feel whatever could be felt, + To suffer, and without complaint, + All anxious hopes, depressing fears; + Her heart with untold sorrows faint, + Eyes heavy with unshedden tears, + Through every keen affliction past, + Can that high spirit sink at last? + Or shall it yet victorious rise, + Beneath the most inclement skies, + See all it loves to ruin hurl'd, + Smile on the gay, the careless world; + And, finely temper'd, turn aside + Its sorrow and despair to hide? + Or burst at once the useless chain, + To seem and be itself again? + + Will Memory evermore controul, + And Thought still lord it o'er her soul? + Queen of all wonders and delight, + Say, canst not thou possess her quite, + Sweet Poesy! and balm distil + For every ache, and every ill? + Like as in infancy, thy art + Could lull to rest that throbbing heart! + Could say to each emotion, Cease! + And render it a realm of peace, + Where beckoning Hope led on Surprize + To see thy magic forms arise! + + Oh! come! all awful and sublime, + Arm'd close in stately, nervous rhyme, + With wheeling chariot, towering crest + And Amazonian splendors drest! + Or a fair nymph, with airy grace, + And playful dimples in thy face, + Light let the spiral ringlets flow, + And chaplet wreath along thy brow-- + Thou art her sovereign! Hear her now + Again renew her early vow! + The fondest votary in thy train, + If all past service be not vain, + Might surely be receiv'd again! + + Behold those hands in anguish wrung + One instant!--and but that alone! + When, waving grief, again she sang, + Though in a low, imploring tone. + + "Awake, my lyre! thy echoes bring! + Now, while yon phoenix spreads her wing! + From her ashes, when she dies, + Another brighter self shall rise! + 'Tis Hope! the charmer! fickle, wild; + But I lov'd her from a child; + And, could we catch the distant strain, + Sure to be sweet, though false and vain, + Most dear and welcome would it be!-- + Thy silence says 'tis not for me! + + "With Pity's softer-flowing strain, + Awake thy sleeping wires again! + For she must somewhere wander near, + In following danger, death, and fear! + From her regard no shade conceals; + Her ear e'en sorrow's whisper steals: + She leads us on all griefs to find; + To raise the fall'n, their wounds to bind-- + Oh! not in that reproachful tone, + Advise me first to heal my own! + + "Alas! I cannot blame the lyre! + What strain, what theme can she inspire, + Whose tongue a hopeless mandate brings! + Whose tears are frozen on the strings! + And whose recoiling, languid prayer, + Denies itself, in mere despair? + So tamely, faintly, forth it springs; + Just felt upon the pliant strings, + It flits in sickly languor by, + Nerv'd only with a feeble sigh! + + "I yield submissive, and again + Resume my half-abandon'd strain! + Leading enchain'd sad thoughts along, + Remembrance prompting all the song! + But, in the journey, drawing near + To what I mourn, and what I fear, + The sad realities impress + Too deeply; hues of happiness, + And gleams of splendors past, decay; + The storm despoiling such a day, + Gives to the eye no clear, full scope, + But scatters wide the wrecks of Hope! + Yet the dire task I may not quit-- + 'Twas self impos'd; and I submit, + To paint, ah me! the heavy close, + The full completion of my woes! + And, as a man that once was free, + Whose fate impels him o'er the sea, + Now spreads the sail, now plies the oar, + Yet looks and leans towards the shore, + I feel I may not longer stay, + Yet even in launching court delay. + + "Before De Stafford should unfold + That secret which must soon be told; + My terrors urg'd him to comply; + For oh! I dar'd not then be nigh; + And let the wide, tumultuous sea, + Arise between the king and me! + 'O! tell him, my belov'd, I pine away, + So long an exile from my native home; + Tell him I feel my vital powers decay, + And seem to tread the confines of the tomb; + But tell him not, it is extremest dread + Of royal vengeance falling on my head! + + "'Say, if that favour'd land but bless my eyes, + That land of sun and smiles which gave me birth, + Like the renew'd Antaeus I shall rise, + On touching once again the parent earth! + Say this, but whisper not that all delight, + All health, is only absence from his sight!' + + "My Eustace smil'd--' It shall be so; + From me and love shall Marie go! + But on the land, and o'er the sea, + Attended still by love and me! + The eagle's eye, to brave the light, + The swallow's quick, adventurous flight, + That faithfulness shall place in view, + That service, daring, prompt, and true, + Yet insufficient emblems be + Of zeal for her who flies from me! + + "'Deserter? hope not thus to scape! + Thy guardian still, in every shape, + Shall covertly those steps pursue, + And keep thy welfare still in view! + More fondly hovering than the dove + Shall be my ever watchful love! + Than the harp's tones more highly wrought, + Shall linger each tenacious thought! + Apt, active shall my spirit be + In care for her who flies from me!' + + "And, it had been indeed a crime + To leave him, had I known the time, + The fearful length of such delay, + Protracting but from day to day, + Which reach'd at length two tedious years + Of dark surmises and of fears! + + "How often, on a rocky steep, + Would I upon his summons keep + An anxious watch: there patient stay + Till light's thin lines have died away + In the smooth circle of the main, + And render'd all expectance vain. + + "At the blue, earliest glimpse of morn, + Pleas'd with the lapse of time, return; + For now, perchance, I might not fail, + To see the long expected sail! + Then, as it blankly wore away, + Courted the fleeting eye to stay! + As they regardless mov'd along, + Wooed the slow moments in a song. + The time approaches! but the Hours + With languid steps advance, + And loiter o'er the summer flowers, + Or in the sun-beams dance! + Oh! haste along! for, lingering, ye + Detain my Eustace on the sea! + + "Hope, all on tiptoe, does not fail + To catch a cheering ray! + And Fancy lifts her airy veil, + In wild and frolic play! + Kind are they both, but cruel ye, + Detaining Eustace on the sea! + + "Sometimes within my cot I staid, + And with my precious infant play'd. + 'Those eyes,' I cried, 'whose gaze endears, + And makes thy mother's flow in tears! + Those tender lips, whose dimpled stray + Can even chase suspense away! + Those artless movements, full of charms, + Those graceful, rounded, rosy arms, + Shall soon another neck entwine, + And waken transports fond as mine! + That magic laugh bespeaks thee prest + As surely to another breast! + That name a father's voice shall melt, + Those looks within his heart be felt! + Drinking thy smiles, thy carols, he + Shall weep, for very love, like me! + + "Those who in children see their heirs, + Have numberless, diverging cares! + Less pure for them affection glows,-- + Less of intrinsic joy bestows, + Less mellowing, less enlivening, flows! + Oh! such not even could divine + A moment's tenderness like mine! + Had he been destin'd to a throne, + His little darling self alone, + Bereft of station, grandeur, aught + But life and virtue, love and thought, + Could wake one anxious thrill, or share + One hallow'd pause's silent prayer! + + "Ye scenes, that flit my memory o'er, + Deck'd in the smiles which then ye wore, + In the same gay and varied dress, + I cannot but admire and bless! + What though some anxious throbs would beat, + Some fears within my breast retreat, + Yet then I found sincere delight, + Whenever beauty met my sight, + Whether of nature, chance, or art; + Each sight, each sound, impress'd my heart, + Gladness undrooping to revive, + All warm, and grateful, and alive! + But ere my spirit sinks, so strong + Remembrance weighs upon the song, + Pass we to other themes along! + + "Say, is there any present here, + Whom I can have a cause to fear?-- + Whom it were wrongful to perplex, + Or faulty policy to vex? + In what affrights the quiet mind + My bitter thoughts employment find! + In what torments a common grief + Do I alone expect relief! + Our aching sorrows to disclose, + Our discontents, our wrongs repeat, + To hurl defiance at our foes, + And let the soul respire, is sweet! + All that my conscience wills I speak + At once, and then my heart may break! + + "Too sure King Henry's presage rose;-- + De Brehan link'd him with our foes: + Yes! ours! the Brehans us'd to be + Patterns of faith and loyalty: + And many a knightly badge they wore, + And many a trace their 'scutcheons bore, + Of noble deeds in days of yore,-- + Of royal bounty, and such trust + As suits the generous and the just. + + "From every record it appears, + That Normandy three hundred years + Has seen in swift succession run + With English kings, from sire to son: + But which of all those records saith, + That we may change and barter faith: + That if our favour is not sure, + Or our inheritance secure; + If envy of a rival's fame, + Or hatred at a foeman's name, + Or other reason unconfest, + Now feigning sleep in every breast; + Upon our minds, our interest weigh, + While any fiercer passion sway; + We may invite a foreign yoke, + All truth disown'd, allegiance broke? + Plot, and lay guileful snares to bring, + At cost of blood, a stranger king? + And of what blood, if it succeed, + Do ye atchieve the glorious deed? + Not of the base! when ye surprize + A lurking mischief in the eyes, + Dark hatred, cunning prompt to rise, + And leap and catch at any prey, + Such are your choice! your comrades they! + But if a character should stand + Not merely built by human hand; + Common observances; the ill + Surrounding all; a wayward will; + Envy; resentment; falsehood's ease + To win its way, evade, and please: + If, turning from this worldly lore, + As soul-debasing, servile, poor, + The growing mind becomes, at length, + Healthy and firm in moral strength; + Allows no parley and no plea, + The sources of its actions free, + They spring strait forward, to a goal + Which bounds, surmounts, and crowns the whole! + Ye seek not to allay such force, + To interrupt so bold a course! + What were the use of minds like these, + That will not on occasion seize, + Nor stoop to aid the dark design, + Nor follow in the devious line? + As soon, in the close twisted brake, + Could lions track the smooth, still snake, + As they the sinuous path pursue + Which policy may point to you! + Nay, menace not with eyes, my lords! + Ye could not fright me with your swords. + + "E'en threats to punish, and to kill + With tortures difficult to bear, + Seem as they would not higher fill + The measure of my own despair! + + "Such terrors could not veil the hand + Now pointing to my husband's bier; + Nor could such pangs a groan command + The childless mother should not hear! + + "All now is chang'd! all contest o'er, + Here sea-girt England reigns no more; + And if your oaths are bound as fast, + And kept more strictly than the last, + Ye may, perchance, behold the time + Service to her becomes a crime! + + "The troubles calling Eustace o'er, + Refresh'd my eyes, my heart, once more; + And when I gave, with pleasure wild, + Into his circling arms our child, + I seem'd to hold, all evil past, + My happiness secure at last; + But found, too soon, in every look, + In every pondering word he spoke, + Receding thought, mysterious aim: + As I did all his pity claim. + A watchfulness almost to fear + Did in each cautious glance appear. + And still I sought to fix his eye, + + "And read the fate impending there,-- + In vain; for it refus'd reply. + + "'Canst thou not for a moment bear + Even thy Marie's look,' I cried, + 'More dear than all the world beside?' + He answer'd,' Do not thou upbraid! + And blame me not, if thus afraid + A needful, dear request to make. + One painful only for thy sake, + I hesitate, and dread to speak, + Seeing that flush upon thy cheek, + That shrinking, apprehensive air.-- + Oh! born with me some ills to share, + But many years of future bliss, + Of real, tranquil happiness; + I may not think that thou wouldst choose + This prospect pettishly to lose + For self-indulgence! Understood, + Love is the seeking others' good. + If we can ne'er resign delight, + Nor lose its object from our sight; + And only present dangers brave, + That which we dearest hold to save;-- + If, when remov'd beyond our eye, + All faith in heaven's protection die, + Can all our tenderness atone + For ills which spring from that alone?' + My fancy rush'd the pause between-- + 'What can this fearful prelude mean? + Art thou but seeking some pretence, + So lately met! to send me hence? + Believ'st thou terrors will not shake, + Nor doubts distract, nor fears awake, + In absence? when no power, no charm, + Can grant a respite from alarm! + Unreal evils manifold, + Often and differently told, + Scaring repose, each instant rise, + False, but the cause of tears and sighs. + How often I should see thee bleed! + New terrors would the past succeed, + With not a smile to intervene + Of fair security between!' + + "'No, Marie, no! my wife shall share + With me the trials soldiers bear: + No longer and no more we part.--- + Thy presence needful to my heart + I now more evidently know; + Making the careful moments flow + To happy music! on my brow + The iron casque shall lighter prove,-- + The corslet softer on my breast, + The shield upon my arm shall rest + More easy, when the hand of love + There places them. Our succours soon + Arrive; and then, whatever boon + I shall think fitting to demand, + My gracious monarch's bounteous hand + Awards as guerdon for my charge, + And bids my wishes roam at large. + Then if we from these rebels tear + The traitor honours which they wear, + Thy father's tides and domain + Shall flourish in his line again! + And Marie's child, in time to come, + Shall call his grandsire's castle, home! + Alas! poor babe! the scenes of war + For him too harsh and frightful are! + Would that he might in safety rest + Upon my gentle mother's breast! + That in the vessel now at bay, + In Hugh de Lacy's care he lay! + My heart and reason would be free, + If he were safe beyond the sea. + + "'Nay, let me not my love displease! + But is it fit, that walls like these + The blooming cherub should inclose! + And when our close approaching foes + Are skirmishing the country o'er, + We must adventure forth no more.' + + "At length I gave a half consent, + Resign'd, submissive, not content: + For, only in intensest prayer, + For, only kneeling did I dare, + Sustaining thus my sinking heart, + Suffer my infant to depart. + Oh! yet I see his sparkling tears; + His parting cries are in my ears, + As, strongly bending back the head, + The little hands imploring spread, + Him from my blinding sight they bore, + Down from the fort along the shore. + + "From the watch-tower I saw them sail, + And pour'd forth prayers--of no avail! + Yet, when a tempest howl'd around, + Hurling huge branches on the ground + From stately trees; when torrents swept + The fields of air, I tranquil kept.-- + + "Hope near a fading blossom + Will often take her stand; + Revive it on her bosom, + Or screen it with her wand: + But to the leaves no sunbeams press, + Her fair, thick locks pervading; + Through that bright wand no dew-drops bless, + Still cherish'd, and still fading:-- + Beneath her eye's bright beam it pines, + Fed by her angel smile, declines. + + "Eustace, meanwhile, with feverish care, + Seem'd worse the dire suspense to bear. + Bewilder'd, starting at the name + Of messenger, when any came, + With body shrinking back, he sought, + While his eye seem'd on fire with thought, + Defying, yet subdued by fear, + To ask that truth he dar'd not hear. + + "He went his rounds.--The duty done, + His mind still tending toward his son; + With spirit and with heart deprest, + A judgment unsustain'd by rest;-- + Fainting in effort, and at strife + With feelings woven into life; + And with the chains of being twin'd + By links so strong, though undefin'd, + They curb or enervate the brain, + Weigh down by languor, rack by pain, + And spread a thousand subtil ties + Across the tongue, and through the eyes; + Till the whole frame is fancy vext, + And all the powers of mind perplext. + + "What wonder, then, it sunk and fail'd! + What wonder that your plans prevail'd! + In vain by stratagem you toil'd;-- + His skill and prudence all had foil'd; + For one day's vigilance surpast + Seeming perfection in the last. + Each hour more active, more intent, + Unarm'd and unassail'd he went; + While every weapon glanc'd aside, + His armour every lance defied. + The blow that could that soul subdue + At length was struck--but not by you! + It fell upon a mortal part-- + A poison'd arrow smote his heart; + The winds impelling, when they bore + Wrecks of the vessel to our shore! + + "Oh! ever dear! and ever kind! + What madness could possess thy mind, + From me, in our distress, to fly? + True, much delight had left my eye; + And, in the circle of my bliss, + One holy, rapturous joy to miss + Was mine!--Yet I had more than this, + Before my wounds were clos'd, to bear! + See thee, an image of despair, + Just rush upon my woe, then shun + Her who alike deplor'd a son; + And, ere alarm had taken breath, + Be told, my husband, of thy death! + And feel upon this blighted sphere + No tie remain to bind me here! + Still in my life's young summer see + A far and weary path to thee! + Along whose wild and desert way + No sportive tribes of fancy play; + No smiles that to the lips arise, + No joys to sparkle in the eyes;-- + No thrills of tenderness to feel, + No spring of hope, no touch of zeal. + All sources of heart-feeling stopt, + All impulse, all sustainment dropt. + With aching memory, sinking mind, + Through this drear wilderness to find + The path to death;--and pining, roam + Myriads of steps to reach the tomb! + Of which to catch a distant view, + The softest line, the faintest hue, + As symbol when I should be free, + Were happiness too great for me!" + + Here clos'd at once, abrupt, the lay! + The Minstrel's fingers ceas'd to play! + And, all her soul to anguish given, + Doubted the pitying care of Heaven. + But evil, in its worst extreme, + In its most dire, impending hour, + Shall vanish, like a hideous dream, + And leave no traces of its power! + + The vessel plunging on a rock, + Wreck threatening in its fellest shape, + No moment's respite from the shock, + No human means or power to 'scape, + Some higher-swelling surge shall free, + And lift and launch into the sea! + So, Marie, yet shall aid divine + Restore that failing heart of thine! + Though to its centre wounded, griev'd, + Though deeply, utterly bereav'd. + There genial warmth shall yet reside, + There swiftly flow the healthful tide; + And every languid, closing vein, + Drink healing and delight again! + + At present all around her fades, + Her listless ear no sound pervades. + Her senses, wearied and distraught, + Perceive not how the stream of thought, + Rising from her distressful song, + In hurrying tide has swept along, + With startling and resistless swell, + The panic-stricken Isabel! + Who--falling at her father's feet, + Like the most lowly suppliant, kneels; + And, with imploring voice, unmeet + For one so fondly lov'd, appeals.-- + + "Those looks have been to me a law, + And solely by indulgence bought, + With zeal intense, with deepest awe, + A self-devoted slave, I caught + My highest transport from thy smile; + And studied hourly to beguile + The lightest cloud of grief or care + I saw those gracious features wear! + If aught induced me to divine + A hope was opposite to thine, + My fancy paus'd, however gay; + My silent wishes sunk away! + Displeasure I have never seen, + But sickness has subdued thy mien; + When, lingering near, I still have tried + To cheer thee, and thou didst approve; + But something still each act belied, + My manner chill'd, restrain'd my love! + E'en at the time my spirit died + With aching tenderness, my eye, + Encountering thine, was cold and dry! + To maim intention, fondness,--came + The sudden impotence of shame. + Thy happiness was thriftless wealth, + For I could only hoard by stealth! + Affection's brightly-glowing ray + Shone with such strong, o'erpowering sway, + That service fainted by the way! + + "But now an impulse, like despair, + Makes me these inner foldings tear! + With desperate effort bids me wrest + The yearning secret from my breast! + Far be the thought that any blame + Can fix on thy beloved name! + The hapless Minstrel may not feign; + But thou, I know, canst all explain-- + Yet let me from this place depart, + To nurse my fainting, sicken'd heart! + Yet let me in a cloister dwell, + The veiled inmate of a cell; + To raise this cowering soul by prayer!-- + Reproach can never enter there! + + "Turn quickly hence that look severe! + And, oh! in mercy, not a tear! + The most profuse of parents, thou + Didst every wish fulfil--allow; + Till that which us'd to please--invite, + Had ceas'd to dazzle and delight; + And all thy gifts almost despis'd, + The love that gave alone I priz'd. + + "My yielding spirit bows the knee; + My will profoundly bends to thee: + But paltry vanities resign'd, + Wealth, gauds, and honours left behind, + I only wanted, thought to quit + This strange, wild world, and make me fit + For one of better promise--given + To such as think not this their heaven! + Nay, almost in my breast arose + A hope I scarcely dare disclose; + A hope that life, from tumult free,-- + A life so harmless and so pure, + A calm so shelter'd, so secure, + At length might have a charm for thee! + That supplications, patient, strong, + Might not remain unanswer'd long! + And all temptations from thee cast, + The altar prove thy home at last!" + + The artless Isabel prevails-- + That hard, unbending spirit fails! + Not many words her lips had past, + Ere round her his fond arms were cast; + But, while his vengeful conscience prais'd, + He chid; and, frowning, would have rais'd + Till her resistance and her tears, + The vehemence of youthful grief, + Her paleness, his paternal fears, + Compell'd him to afford relief; + And forc'd the agonizing cry-- + That he could never her deny! + + Of what ambition sought, beguil'd, + His crimes thus fruitless! and his child, + The beautiful, the rich and young-- + Now, in his most triumphant hours! + The darling he had nurs'd in flowers! + His pride, the prais'd of every tongue! + So gentle as she was!--the rein + Of influence holding, to restrain + His harsher power, without pretence, + In graceful, gay beneficence-- + An angel deem'd, her only care + To comfort and to please! + Whose smiling, whose unconscious air, + Bespoke a heart at ease-- + By her--on whom sweet hopes were built, + His cup when fill'd thus rashly spilt! + The treasures he had heap'd in vain, + Thrown thankless on his hands again! + While--father to this being blest, + He saw a dagger pierce her breast, + In knowledge of his former guilt! + And of his projects thus bereft, + What had the wretched parent left? + Oh! from the wreck of all, he bore + A richer, nobler freight ashore! + And filial love could well dispense + On earth a dearer recompense, + If he its real worth had known, + Than full success had made his own. + + So ardent and so kind of late, + Is Marie careless of their fate, + That, wrapt in this demeanour cold, + Her spirits some enchantments hold? + That thus her countenance is clos'd, + Where high and lovely thoughts repos'd! + Quench'd the pure light that us'd to fly + To the smooth cheek and lucid eye! + And fled the harmonizing cloud + Which could that light benignly shroud, + Soothing its radiance to our view, + And melting each opposing hue, + Till deepening tints and blendings meet + Made contrast' self serene and sweet. + + Vainly do voices tidings bring, + That succours from the former king, + Too late for that intent,--are come + To take the dead and wounded home; + Waiting, impatient, in the bay, + Till they can safely bear away,-- + Not men that temporize and yield, + But heroes stricken in the field; + True sons of England, who, unmov'd, + Could hear their fears, their interest plead; + Led by no lure they disapprov'd, + Stooping to no unsanction'd deed! + Spirits so finely tun'd, so high, + That grovelling influences die + Assailing them! The venal mind + Can neither fit inducement find + To lead their purpose or their fate-- + To sway, to probe, or stimulate! + What knowledge can they gain of such + Whom worldly motives may not touch? + Those who, the instant they are known, + Each generous mind springs forth to own! + Joyful, as if in distant land, + Amid mistrust, and hate, and guile, + Insidious speech, and lurking wile, + They grasp'd a brother's cordial hand! + Hearts so embued with fire from heaven, + That all their failings are forgiven! + Nay, o'er, perchance, whose laurel wreath + When tears of pity shine, + We softer, fonder sighs bequeath; + More dear, though less divine. + + Can kind and loyal bosoms bleed, + And Marie not bewail the deed? + Can England's valiant sons be slain, + In whose fair isle so long she dwelt-- + To whom she sang, with whom she felt! + Can kindred Normans die in vain! + Or, banish'd from their native shore, + Enjoy their sire's domains no more! + Brothers, with whom her mind was nurs'd, + Who shar'd her young ideas first!-- + And not her tears their doom arraign? + + Alas! no stimulus avails! + Each former potent influence fails: + No longer e'en a sigh can part + From that oppress'd and wearied heart. + + What broke, at length, the spell? There came + The sound of Hugh de Lacy's name! + It struck like lightning on her ear-- + But did she truly, rightly hear? + For terror through her senses ran, + E'en as the song of hope began.-- + His charge arriv'd on England's coast, + Consign'd where they had wish'd it most, + Had brave De Lacy join'd the train + Which sought the Norman shores again?-- + _Then_ liv'd her darling and her pride! + What anguish was awaken'd there! + A joy close mating with despair-- + He liv'd for whom her Eustace died! + + Yes! yes! he lives! the sea could spare + That Island warrior's infant heir! + For whom, when thick-surrounding foes, + Nigh spent with toil, had sought repose, + Slow stealing forth, with wary feet, + From covert of secure retreat,-- + A soldier leading on the way + To where his dear commander lay,-- + Over the field, at dead midnight, + By a pale torch's flickering light, + Did _Friendship_ wander to behold, + Breathing, but senseless, pallid, cold, + With many a gash, and many a stain, + Him,--whom the morrow sought in vain! + _Love_ had not dar'd that form to find, + Ungifted with excelling grace! + Nor, thus without a glimpse of mind, + Acknowledg'd that familiar face! + Disfigur'd now with many a trace + Of recent agony!--Its power + Had not withstood this fatal hour! + _Friendship_ firm-nerv'd, resolv'd, mature, + With hand more steady, strong, and sore, + Can torpid Horror's veil remove, + Which palsies all the force of _Love!_ + + What is _Love's_ office, then? To tend + The hero rescued by a friend! + All unperceiv'd, with balmy wing + To wave away each restless thing + That wakes to breathe disturbance round! + To temper all in peace profound. + With whisper soft and lightsome touch, + To aid, assuage,--relieving much + Of trouble neither seen nor told-- + Of pain, which it alone divines, + Which scarcely he who feels defines, + Which lynx-like eyes alone behold! + + And heavy were De Stafford's sighs, + And oft impatient would they rise; + Though Friendship, Honour's self was there, + Until he found a nurse more fair! + A nicer tact, a finer skill, + To know and to perform his will-- + Until he felt the healing look, + The tones that only Marie spoke! + + How patient, then, awaiting ease, + And suffering pain, he cross'd the seas! + How patient, when they reach'd the shore, + A long, long tract he journey'd o'er! + Though days and months flow'd past, at length, + Ere he regain'd his former strength, + He yet had courage to sustain, + Without a murmur, every pain! + "At home once more--with friends so true-- + My boy recover'd thus"--he cried, + "His mother smiling by my side-- + Resigned each lesser ill I view! + As bubbles on the Ocean's breast, + When gloriously calm, will rise; + As shadows from o'er-clouded skies, + Or some few angry waves may dance + Nor ruffle that serene expanse; + So lightly o'er my comfort glides + Each adverse feeling--so subsides + Each discontent--and leaves me blest!" + + + + +NOTES. + + + + +NOTE I. + + +_The Lay of Marie_.--Title. + +The words _roman, fabliau_, and _lai_, are so often used indifferently +by the old French writers, that it is difficult to lay down any positive +rule for discriminating between them. But I believe the word _roman_ +particularly applies to such works as were to be supposed strictly +historical: such are the romances of Arthur, Charlemagne, the Trojan +War, &c. The _fabliaux_ were generally, stories supposed to have been +invented for the purpose of illustrating some moral; or real anecdotes, +capable of being so applied. The _lai_, according to Le Grand, chiefly +differed from the _fabliau_, in being interspersed with musical +interludes; but I suspect they were generally translations from the +British. The word is said to be derived from _leudus_; but _laoi_ seems +to be the general name of a class of Irish metrical compositions, as +"Laoi na Seilge" and others, quoted by Mr. Walker (Hist. Mem. of Irish +Bards), and it may be doubted whether the word was not formerly common +to the Welsh and American dialects.--_Ellis's Specimens_. + +The conclusion of Orfeo and Herodiis, in the Auchinlech MS, seems to +prove that the lay was set to music: + + That lay Orfeo is yhote, + Gode is the lay, swete is the note. + +In Sir Tristrem also, the Irish harper is expressly said to sing to the +harp a merry _lay_. + +It is not to be supposed, what we now call metrical romances were always +read. On the contrary, several of them bear internal evidence that they +were occasionally chaunted to the harp. The Creseide of Chaucer, a long +performance, is written expressly to be read, or else sung. It is +evident that the minstrels could derive no advantage from these +compositions, unless by reciting or singing them; and later poems have +been said to be composed to their _tunes_.--_Notes to Sir Tristrem_. + + + + +NOTE II. + + +_Baron De Brehan seem'd to stand_.--p. 6. l. 10. + +Brehan--Maison reconnue pour une des plus anciennes. _Vraie race +d'ancienne Noblesse de Chevalerie_, qui dans les onxieme et douzieme +siecles, tenoit rang parmi les _anciens Barons_, avant la reduction +faite en 1451. + + + + +NOTE III. + +_Where does this idle Minstrel stay?_--p. 5. l. 13. + +It appears that female minstrels were not uncommon, as one is mentioned +in the Romance of Richard Coeur de Lion, without any remark on the +strangeness of the circumstance. + + A goose they dight to their dinner + In a tavern where they were. + King Richard the fire bet; + Thomas to the spit him set; + Fouk Doyley tempered the wood: + Dear abought they that good! + When they had drunken well, a fin, + A minstralle com theirin, + And said, "Gentlemen, wittily, + Will ye have any minstrelsy?" + Richard bade that she should go; + That turned him to mickle woe! + The minstralle _took in mind_,[1] + And said, "Ye are men unkind; + And, if I may, ye shall _for-think_[2] + Ye gave me neither meat ne drink. + For gentlemen should bede + To minstrels that abouten yede, + Of their meat, wine, and ale; + For _los_[3] rises of minstrale." + She was English, and well true, + By speech, and sight, and hide, and hue. + +_Ellis's Specimens of early English Metrical Romances_. + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] Was offended. + +[2] Repent. + +[3] Reputation, glory. + + + + +NOTE IV. + +_On which the slightest touch alone would kill_.--p. 24. l. 6. + +An unfortunate mistake in printing the word _trill_ instead of _kill_, +has made this appear ridiculous: it alludes to the old proverb-- + + You should neither tell friend nor foe + Where life-blood go. + +Any wound in a place while this pulsation passed through being esteemed +fatal. + + +NOTE V. + +_Abrupt his native accents broke_.--p. 50. l. 7. + +The Anglo-Norman dynasty, with their martial nobility, down to the reign +of Edward III. continued to use, almost exclusively, the Romance or +ancient French language; while the Saxon, although spoken chiefly by the +vulgar, was gradually adopting, from the rival tongue, those +improvements and changes, which fitted it for the use of Chaucer and +Gower. In the introduction to the Metrical Romance of _Arthur and +Merlin_, written during the minority of Edward V. it appears that the +English language was then gaining ground. The author says, he has even +seen many gentlemen who could speak no French (though generally used by +persons of that rank), while persons of every quality understood +English.--_Sir Tristrem_. + + + + +NOTE VI. + +_The broider'd scarf might wave in vain_.--p. 57. l. 1. + +To such as were victorious, prizes were awarded by the judges, and +presented by the hands of the ladies; who also honoured the combatants +with the wreath or chaplet, silken drapery, and other appropriate +ornaments; and by presenting them with ribbands, or scarfs, of chosen +colours, called liveries, spoken of in romance, appear to have been the +origin of the ribbands which still distinguish knighthood. + + +NOTE VII. + +_Laden with presents and with praise_.--p. 57. l. 9. + +In the ancient metrical romance of Sir Tristrem, an Irish earl arrives +at the court of Cornwall, in the disguise of a minstrel, and bearing a +harp of curious workmanship. He excites the curiosity of King Mark, by +refusing to play upon it till he shall grant him a boon. The king having +pledged his knighthood to satisfy his request, he sings to the harp a +lay, in which he demands the queen as his promised gift-- + + "Y prove the for fals man, + Or Y shall have thi quen." + +He accordingly carries her off; but her lover Tristrem, who had been +absent at the time, + + "chidde with the king, + Gifstow glewemen thy quen, + Hastow no other thing?" + +The usual gifts to minstrels when they sung were often profuse; rich +clothes, &c. They were, by rank, classed with knights and heralds, and +permitted to wear silk robes, a dress limited to persons who could spend +a hundred pounds of land rent.--_Sir Tristrem, edited by Walter Scott, +Esq_. + +Generosity to minstrels is perpetually recommended in the lays, of +fabliaux and romances. + + + +NOTE VIII. + + +_The peacock crown with all its eyes_.--p. 57. l.17. + +According to Menestria and St. Palaye, the troubadours, or poets of +Provence, were adorned by the ladies with crowns, interwoven with +peacock's feathers; (the eyes of which expressed the universal attention +they attracted)--a plumage in great request, and equivalent to the +laurel of the academic bards. Differing, perhaps, little in intrinsic +value, but superior in beauty and permanence, and more consonant with +the decorations of chivalry. They were not restricted to the +troubadours; for such a diadem, ornamented with gold, was sent by Pope +Urban III. to Henry II. wherewith one of his sons was crowned King of +Ireland; as mentioned by Selden, under the title Lord, and by Lord +Lyttleton, under the year MCLXXXVI. _A Summary Review of Heraldry, by +Thomas Brydson, F.A.S. Edinburgh_. + + + + +APPENDIX I + + +_Extracts from a Dissertation on the Life and Writings of Marie, an +Anglo-Norman Poetess of the thirteenth century. By Monsieur La Rue. +Archaelogia, vol. 13._ + +Mary must be regarded as the Sappho of her age; she made so considerable +a figure amongst the Anglo Norman _Trouveurs_, that she may very fairly +lay claim to the minutest investigation of whatever concerns her memory. +She informs us that she was born in France, but has neither mentioned +the province that gave her birth, her family name, nor the reasons of +her going to England. As she appears, however, to have resided in that +country at the commencement of the 13th century, we may reasonably +conclude that she was a native of Normandy. Philip Augustus having made +himself master of that province in 1204, many Norman families, whether +from regard to affinity, from motive of adventure, or from attachment to +the English government, went over to Great Britain, and there +established themselves. If this opinion be not adopted, it will be +impossible to fix upon any other province of France under the dominion +of the English, as her birth-place, because her language is neither that +of Gascony, nor of Poitou, &c. She appears, however, to have been +acquainted with the _Bas-Breton_, or Armoric tongue; whence it may be +inferred that she was born in Bretayne. The Duke of that province was +then Earl of Richmond in England; many of his subjects were in +possession of knight's fees in that honour, and Mary might have belonged +to one of these families. She was, besides, extremely well versed in the +literature of this province; and we shall have occasion to remark, that +she frequently borrowed much from the works of its writers in the +composition of her own. If, however, a preference should be given to the +first opinion, we must suppose that Mary got her knowledge, both of the +Armoric and English languages, in Great Britain. She was, at the same +time, equally mistress of the Latin; and from her application to three +several languages, we must take it for granted that she possessed a +readiness, a capacity, and even a certain rank in life, that afforded +time and means to attain them. It should seem that she was solicitous to +be personally known only at the time she lived in. Hence we find in her +works those general denominations, those vague expressions, which +discourage the curious antiquary, or compel him to enter into dry and +laborious discussions, the result of which, often turns out to be little +more than conjecture. In short, the silence or the modesty of this +lady, has contributed, in a great degree, to conceal from us the names +of those illustrious persons whose patronage her talents obtained. + +The first poems of Mary are a collection of Lays, in French verse; +forming various histories and gallant adventures of our valiant knights: +and, according to the usage of those times, they are generally +remarkable for some singular, and often marvellous catastrophe. These +Lays are in the British Museum, among the Harleian MSS. No. 978. They +constitute the largest, and, at the same time, most ancient specimen of +Anglo-Norman poetry, of this kind, that has been handed down to us. The +romances of chivalry, amongst the old Welsh and Armoric Britons, appear +to have furnished the subjects of these various Lays; not that the +manuscripts of those people were continually before her when she +composed them; but, as she herself has told us, depending upon an +excellent memory, she sometimes committed them to verse, after hearing +them recited only: and, at others, composed her poems from what she had +read in the Welsh and Armoric MSS. + + Plusurs en ai oi conter, + Nes voil laisser ne oublies, &c.[4] + Plusurs le me ant conte et dit + Et jeo l'ai trove en escrit, &c[5] + +She confined herself to these subjects, and the event justifies her +choice. To the singularity of such a measure was owing its celebrity. By +treating of love and chivalry, she was certain of attuning her lyre to +the feelings of the age; and consequently of ensuring success. Upon this +account her Lays were extremely well received by the people. Denis +Pyramus, an Anglo-Norman poet, and the contemporary of Mary, informs us +that they were heard with pleasure in all the castles of the English +barons, but that they were particularly relished by the women of her +time. He even praises them himself; and this from the mouth of a rival, +could not but have been sincere and well deserved, since our equals are +always the best judges of our merit.[6] Insomuch as Mary was a +foreigner, she expected to be criticised with severity, and therefore +applied herself with great care to the due polishing of her works. +Besides, she thought, as she says herself, that the chief reward of a +poet, consists in perceiving the superiority of his own performance, and +its claims to public esteem. Hence the repeated efforts to attain so +honourable a distinction, and the constant apprehensions of that chagrin +which results from disappointment, and which she has expressed with so +much natural simplicity. + + Ki de bone mateire traite, + Mult li peise si bien n'est faite, &c.[7] + +She has dedicated her lays to some king,[8] whom she thus addresses in +her Prologue: + + En le honur de vos nobles reis, + Ki tant estes preux et curteis, + M'entremis de Lais assembler. + Par rime faire et reconter; + + En mon quoer pensoe et diseie, + Sire, le vos presentereie. + Si vos les plaist a receveir. + + Mult me ferez grant joie aveir, + A tuz juirs mais en serai lie, &c.[9] + +But who is this monarch? 1. We may perceive in it her apprehension of +the envy which her success might excite in a strange country: for this +reason she could not have written in France. 2. When at a loss for some +single syllable, she sometimes intermixes in her verses words that are +pure English, when the French word would not have suited the +measure.--"Fire et chaundelez alumez." It should seem, therefore, that +she wrote for the English, since her lines contain words that +essentially belong to their language, and not at all to the _Romance_. +3. She dedicates her lays to a king who understood English, because she +takes care to translate into that tongue all the Welsh and Armoric +proper names that she was obliged to introduce. Thus in the Lay of +_Bisclaveret_, she says, the English translate this name by that of +_Garwaf_, (Were-wolf); in that of _Laustic_, that they call it +_Nihtgale_ (Nightingale); and in that of _Chevrefeuille, Gotelef_, +(Goatleaf) &c. It is certain, then, she composed for a king who +understood English. 4. She tells us that she had declined translating +Latin histories into _Romance_; because so many others having been thus +occupied, her name would have been confounded with the multitude, and +her labours unattended with honour. Now this circumstance perfectly +corresponds with the reign of Henry III. when such a number of Normans +and Anglo-Normans had, for more than half a century, translated from +the Latin so many romances of chivalry; and especially those of the +Round Table, which we owe to the Kings of England. 5. Fauchet and +Pasquier inform us, that Mary lived about the middle of the 13th +century, and this would exactly coincide with the reign of that +prince.[10] 6. Denis Pyramu[11], an Anglo-Norman poet, speaks of Mary as +an author, whose person was as much beloved as her writings, and who +therefore must have lived in his own time. Now it is known that this +poet wrote under Henry III. and this opinion could only be confuted by +maintaining that it was rather a King of France of whom she speaks, +which king must have been Louis VIII. or St. Louis his son. But this +alteration will not bear the slightest examination; for how could it be +necessary to explain Welsh and Armoric words to a French king in the +English language? How could the writer permit herself to make use of +English words, in many parts of her work, which would most probably be +unintelligible to that prince, and most certainly so to the greatest +part of his subjects? It is true that she sometimes explains them in +Romance, but not always; and when, upon the other hand, she makes a +constant practice of translating them into English, she proves to what +sort of readers she was principally addressing herself. The list of the +lays of Mary is omitted here, as a translation follows. + +The smaller poems of Mary are, in general, of much importance, as to the +knowledge of ancient chivalry. Their author has described manners with a +pencil at once faithful and pleasing. She arrests the attention of her +readers by the subjects of her stories, by the interest which she +skilfully blends in them, and by the simple and natural language in +which she relates them. In spite of her rapid and flowing style, nothing +is forgotten in her details--nothing escapes her in her descriptions. +With what grace has she depicted the charming deliverer of the unhappy +Lanval! Her beauty is equally impressive, engaging, and seductive; an +immense crowd follows but to admire her; the while palfrey on which she +rides seems proud of his fair burden; the greyhound which follows her, +and the falcon which she carries, announce her nobility. How splendid +and commanding her appearance; and with what accuracy is the costume of +the age she lived in observed! But Mary did not only possess a most +refined taste, she had also to boast of a mind of sensibility. The +English muse seems to have inspired her; all her subjects are sad and +melancholy; she appears to have designed to melt the hearts of her +readers, either by the unfortunate situation of her hero, or by some +truly afflicting catastrophe. Thus she always speaks to the soul, calls +forth all its feelings, and very frequently throws it into the utmost +consternation. + +Fauchet was unacquainted with the Lays of Mary, for he only mentions her +fables[12]. But, what is more astonishing, Monsieur le Grand, who +published many of her lays, has not ascribed them all to her. He had +probably never met with a complete collection like that in the British +Museum; but only some of those that had been separately transcribed; +and, in that case, he could not have seen the preface, in which Mary has +named herself. + +The second work of our poetess consists of a collection of fables, +generally called Aesopian, which she translated into French verse. In +the prologue she informs her readers that she would not have engaged in +it, but for the solicitation of a man who was "_the flower of chivalry +and courtesy_," and whom, at the conclusion of her work, she styles +_Earl William_. + + Por amor le counte Guillaume, + Le plus vaillant de cest royaume, + Mentremis de cest livre faire, + Et de l'Anglois en Romans traire, &c.[13] + +M. le Grand, in his preface to some of Mary's fables, which he has +published in French prose, informs us that this person was _Earl William +de Dampierre_. But William, Lord of Dampierre, in Champagne, had in +himself no right whatever to the title of Earl. During the 13th century, +this dignity was by no means assumed indiscriminately, and at pleasure, +by French gentlemen; it was generally borne by whoever was the owner of +a province, and sometimes of a great city, constituting an earldom: such +were the earldoms of Flanders, of Artois, of Anjou, of Paris, &c. It was +then, that these great vassals of the crown had a claim to the title of +earl, and accordingly assumed it.[14] Now, the territory of Dampierre +was not in this predicament during the 13th century; it was only a +simple lordship belonging to the lords of that name.[15] + +Convinced, as I am, that Mary did not compose her fables in France, but +in England, it is rather in England that the Earl William, alluded to by +Mary, is to be sought for; and luckily, the encomium she has left upon +him is of such a nature, as to excite an opinion that he was William +Longsword, natural son of Henry II. and created Earl of Salisbury and +Romare by Richard Coeur de Lion. She calls him "_the flower of chivalry, +the most valiant man in the kingdom_," etc.; and these features +perfectly characterize William Longsword, so renowned for his +prowess.[16] The praise she bestows on him expresses, with great +fidelity, the sentiments that were entertained by his contemporaries; +and which were become so general, that for the purpose of making his +epitaph, it should seem that the simple eulogy of Mary would have +sufficed. + + Flos comitum, Wilhelmus obit, stirps regia, longus + Ensis vaginam capit habere brevem.[17] + +This earl died in 1226;[18] so that Mary must have written her fables +before that time. The brilliant reputation she had acquired by her lays, +had no doubt determined William to solicit a similar translation of +_Aesopian Fables_, which then existed in the English language. She, who +in her lays had painted the manners of her age with so much nature and +fidelity, would find no difficulty in succeeding in this kind of +apologue. Both require that penetrating glance which can distinguish +the different passions of mankind; can seize upon the varied forms which +they assume; and marking the objects of their attention, discover, at +the same moment, the means they employ to attain them. For this reason, +her fables are written with all that acuteness of mind, that penetrates +into the very inmost recesses of the human heart; and, at the same time, +with that beautiful simplicity so peculiar to the ancient romance +language, and which causes me to doubt whether La Fontaine has not +rather imitated our author, than the fabulists either of Rome, or of +Athens. It most, at all events, be admitted that he could not find, in +the two latter, the advantages which the former offered him. Mary wrote +in French, and at a time when that language, yet in its infancy, could +boast of nothing but simple expressions, artless and agreeable turns, +and, on all occasions, a natural and unpremeditated phraseology. + +On the contrary, Aesop and Phaedrus, writing in Latin, could not supply +the French fabulist with any thing more than subject matter and ideas; +whilst Mary, at the same time that she furnished him with both, might +besides have hinted expression, manner, and even rhyme. Let me add, that +through the works of La Fontaine will be found scattered an infinite +number of words in our ancient language, which are at this day +unintelligible without a commentary. + +There are, in the British Museum, three MS. copies of Mary's fables. +The first is in the Cotton library, Vesp. b. xiv. the second in the +Harleian, No. 4333; and the third in the same collection, No. 978. In +the first, part of Mary's prologue is wanting, and the transcriber has +entirely suppressed the conclusion of her work. This MS. contains only +sixty-one fables. The second has all the prologue, and the conclusion. +It has 83 fables. The third is the completest of all, and contains 104 +fables. M. le Grand says that he has seen four MSS. of these fables in +the libraries of Paris, but all different as to the number. He cites one +in the library of St. Germain des Prés, as containing 66 fables; and +another in the Royal Library, No. 7615, with 102.[19] As he has said +nothing about the other MSS. it is to be supposed that he has purposely +mentioned that which had the greatest number of fables, and that which +had the least. Under this idea, the Harleian MS. No. 978, is the +completest of all that have been yet cited. + +In examining the manner in which she speaks of herself, we shall +perceive she does not call herself _Marie de France_, as he has stated, +but says _she is from France_. + + Al finement de cest escrit, + Me nomerei par remembrance, + Marie ai non si suis de France, &c.[20] + +If we consider well the latter verse, there will be no difficulty in +perceiving that Mary wrote in England. Indeed, it was formerly a very +common thing for authors to say that they were of such a city, and even +to assume the name of it. Or even, when writing in Latin, state +themselves either natives of England, or of France. But when an author +writes in France, and in the language of the country, he does not say +that _he is of France_. Now this precaution, on the part of Mary, +implies that she wrote in a foreign country, the greater part of whose +inhabitants spoke her native language; which was the case in England. +She stated herself to be a native of France, that her works might be +regarded as written in a purer and correcter style. + +Monsieur le Grand does not believe that Mary really translated from a +collection that existed in her time in the English language, under the +title of the _Fables of Aesop_; but, if we examine the fables +themselves, we shall discover in them internal evidence of their being +translated from the English. + +Mention is made of counties and their judges, of the great assemblies +held there for the administration of justice, the king's writs, &c. &c. +Now what other kingdom, besides England, was at that time divided into +counties? What other country possessed similar establishments? But Mary +has done more; in her French translation she has preserved many +expressions in the English original; such as _welke_, in the fable of +the Eagle, the Crow, and the Tortoise; _witecocs_, in that of the Three +Wishes; _grave_, in that of the Sick Lion; _werbes and wibets_, in that +of the Battle of the Flies with other Animals; _worsel_, in that of the +Mouse and the Frog, &c. + +The completest MS. of Mary's translation, has but 104 fables; out of +which, 31 only are Aesop's. So the English version that she had before +her, was not a true and complete translation of that fabulist, but a +compilation from different authors, in which some of his fables had been +inserted. Nevertheless, Mary has intitled her work, "_Cy Commence li +Aesope_;" she repeats, also, that she had turned this fabulist into +romance language. Mary, therefore, imagined that she was really +translating Aesop; but her original had the same title; and I am the +more convinced of this, because, in the Royal MS. before cited, which +contains a collection of Aesopian fables, there are but 56. According to +the introduction, they had been already translated into Latin prose, and +then into English prose; and in this MS. as well as in Mary's, there are +many fables and fabliaux ascribed to Aesop, which never could have been +composed by him. + +Again, if we compare the fables which generally pass for Aesop's, with +those written by Mary, we shall perceive that the translation of the +latter could never have been regarded as a literal version of the +former. She is a great deal more particular than Aesop; her +moralizations are not the same. In a word, I think she comes nearer to +Phaedrus than to the Greek writer. + +It will, no doubt be answered, that the Works of Phaedrus have only been +known since the end of the 16th century. This I admit; but am not the +less persuaded that Mary was better acquainted with Phaedrus than with +Aesop. It will, moreover, be contended, that she has herself declared, +that the English version, which served her as a model, was a translation +from the Greek. To this I reply; first, that Phaedrus's fables may very +properly be stiled _Aesopian_, as he has himself called them: + + Aesopus auctor quam materiam reperit, + Hanc ego polivi versibus senariis.[21] + + +And, secondly, that although Mary possessed the fire, the imagination, +and the genius of a poet, she nevertheless had not the criticism, or +erudition, of a man of letters. For example; she informs us, that before +her fables were translated into English, they had already been turned +from Greek into Latin by Aesop.[22] She then gives the fable of an ox +that assisted at mass, of a wolf that keeps Lent, of a monk disputing +with a peasant, &c. + +Amongst these compilers of fables, we find the names of Romulus, Accius, +Bernardus, Talon, and many others anonymous. The first is the most +celebrated; he has addressed his fables to his son Tiberius; they are +written in Latin prose, sixty in number, and many of them are founded +upon those of Aesop and Phaedrus. Rimilius published them at the end of +the 15th century, and Frederic Nilant gave an edition in 1709, at +Leyden, with some curious and interesting notes. Fabricius, in his +Bibliotheca Latina, says, that these sixty fables are more than five +hundred years old.[23] I have already mentioned that there is a MS. of +them in the Royal Library in the British Museum, 15 A. VII., which was +written in the 13th century, and contains only fifty-six fables. They +are said, in the preface, to have been translated out of Greek into +Latin, by the Emperor Romulus. Mary likewise mentions this Romulus, and +gives him the same title. After having remarked with how much advantage +learned men might occupy themselves, in extracting from the works of the +ancient philosophers, proverbs, fables, and the morals they contained, +for the purpose of instructing men, and training them to virtuous +actions, she adds, that the emperor had very successfully pursued the +plan, in order to teach his son how to conduct himself with propriety +through life[24]. + +Vincent de Beauvois, a contemporary of Mary, speaks likewise of this +Romulus and his fables[25]; and lastly, Fabricius informs us that this +author has very much imitated Phaedrus, and often preserved even his +expressions.[26] But, after all, it is uncertain who is this Romulus, +thus invested with the title of emperor; whether the last Roman emperor +of that name, who is likewise called Augustulus or Romulus the +grammarian. I should rather attribute them to some monk of the 11th or +12th century. The rites of the Roman Catholic worship are several times +alluded to, and entire passages of the Vulgate very frequently inserted. + +It is, however, enough to know that in the time of Mary, there did +actually exist a collection of fables called Aesopian, and published +under the name of Romulus; that this author, whether real or imaginary, +had very much imitated Phaedrus; that these Latin fables had been +translated into English; that, without doubt, those of some other +unknown writers were added to them; and, finally, that from this latter +version Mary made her translation into French verse. + +In a MS. of the fables of Mary, it is said this English version was the +work of King Mires.[27] The Harleian MS. No. 978, makes the translation +to have been King _Alurez_. The MS. cited by Pasquier, calls him King +Auvert.[28] The MS. in the Royal Library, 15 A. VII. says the +translation was made by the order of King _Affrus_; and, lastly, the +Harleian MS. No. 4333, makes it the work of King _Henry_. + +With respect to King _Alurez_ or _Auvert_, every one who has examined +our ancient writers of romance, during the 12th and 13th centuries, must +know that the name of Alfred was thus disfigured by them. Thus, two +kings of England, Alfred and Henry, have a claim to that honour. But +whence is it that the historian of Alfred, Asser, as well as William of +Malmesbury, have mentioned the different translations of this prince, +without having noticed that of Aesop?[29] Is it credible that an +Anglo-Saxon version of the ninth century would have been intelligible to +Mary, who had only learned the English of the thirteenth? Had not the +lapse of time, and the descents of the Danes and Normans in the eleventh +century, contributed, in the first place, to alter the Anglo-Saxon? and +afterwards, during the twelfth, the rest of the people from the northern +and western provinces of France, having become dependent upon England, +did not they, likewise, by their commerce, and residence in that +country, introduce a considerable change into its language? The names of +Seneschal, Justiciar, Viscount, Provost, Bailiff, Vassal, &c. which +occur in these fables, both in the Latin text and French translation by +Mary, ought naturally to have been found in the English version. Now +these several terms were all, according to Madox, introduced by the +Normans;[30] and the morals to these fables, which make frequent +allusion to the feudal system, prove more and more, that this English +translation must have been posterior to the time of Alfred. + +In the last place, the Harleian MS. No. 4333, ascribes the translation +to King Henry. The Normans were acquainted with the fables of Aesop, or, +at least, those which were attributed to him during the middle ages. The +collateral heirs of Raoul de Vassy, who died in 1064, when, after the +death of William the Conqueror, they found means to establish their +claims against Robert Courthose; in asserting it, reproach his father +with having made the _lion's partition_ in seizing Upon their +inheritance.[31] + +This proverbial expression very clearly shews that the writings of the +Greek fabulist, or at least of those who had followed him, were known to +the Normans from the eleventh century. It is possible, therefore, that +Henry I. might have studied and translated them into English. Again, all +historians agree in giving this prince the title of _Beauclerk_, though +no one has assigned any reason for a designation so honourable: and this +opinion would justify history, which has given to Henry a name with +which authors alone were dignified. + +Whether Mary followed the English version literally cannot be +ascertained, as we do not even know whether it now exists; and are +therefore under the necessity of collating her fables with those of the +middle ages: and it appears, she translated from the English 104 fables +into French verse; and of this number there are 65, the subjects of +which had already been treated of by Aesop, Phaedrus, Romulus, and the +anonymous author of the _Fabulae Antiquae_, published by Niland. + +The English translation was not only compiled from these different +authors, but from many other fabulists, whose names are unknown to us; +since, out of the 104 fables of Mary, there are 39 which are neither +found in the before mentioned authors, nor in any other known to us. + +The English version contained a more ample assemblage of fables than +that of Mary, since out of the 56 in the Royal MS. 15 A. VII, which made +a part of the former, it appears that she made a selection of subjects +that were pleasing to her, and rejected others. It is very singular, +that England appears to have had fabulists during the ages of ignorance, +whilst Athens and Rome possessed theirs only amidst the most refined +periods of their literature. + +Some may, perhaps, be disposed to conclude that the 39 additional fables +were actually composed by Mary; but I believe, upon reflection, this +opinion must be abandoned. She terms her work a translation, glories in +the enterprize; and, if it had been only in part the labours of her +genius, would scarcely have passed over that circumstance in silence. + +Monsieur Le Grand has published 43 of Mary's fables in prose. His +translation, however, is not always literal; and seems, in many places, +to have departed from the original. He has likewise published many of +the _fabliaux_, or little stories, which he has unadvisedly attributed +to the transcribers of them, and which belong indisputably to her. + +I have examined La Fontaine, to ascertain whether he were acquainted +with the fables of Mary, and had actually borrowed his subjects from the +39 fables which are wanting in all the writers of this kind with whom we +are at present acquainted; and have actually discovered, that he is +indebted to them for those of the Drowning Woman, the Fox and the Cat, +and the Fox and the Pigeon. From others he has only taken the subject, +but changed the actors; and, by retouching the whole in his peculiar +manner, has enriched them with a new turn, and given them an appearance +of originality. + +The third work of Mary consists of a history, or rather a tale, in +French verse, of St. Patrick's Purgatory. This performance was +originally commenced in Latin, at the Abbey of Saltrey, and dedicated to +the abbot of that monastery, and is to be found in MS. in many public +libraries. There are two translations of it into French verse. The first +of these is in the Cotton Library, Domit. A. IV. and the second in the +Harleian, No. 273, but they are not from the same pen: the former +consists of near 1000 lines, and the latter of about 700. M. Le Grand +has given an analysis of one of these translations in his _fabliaux_, +vol. V.; and it is upon the authority of this writer that I have +ascribed it to Mary, as he maintains that she was the author of it, but +without adducing the necessary proofs for this assertion. The Cotton MS. +however, contains nothing that gives the least support to M. Le Grand's +opinion, or even screens it with probability. Neither is Mary's name +mentioned in the Harleian MS.; but as the translator, in his preface, +entitles the work "a lay," and professes he had rather engage in it than +_relate fables_, it may afford a conjecture that Mary has sufficiently +developed herself in speaking of her labours. This, however, is merely a +conjecture. It is not impossible that the MS. which M. Le Grand +consulted contained more particular details on this subject; but he is +certainly mistaken in one respect, and that is, in supposing Mary to +have been the original author of this piece, whilst all the MSS. that +exist attest that she could have been only the translator: and if the +translation in the Harleian MS. actually be her performance, she there +positively declares that she had been desired to translate the work from +Latin into Romance. + +This poem was, at a very early period, translated into English verse. It +is to be found in the Cotton library, Calig. A. II. under the title of +_Owayne Miles_, on account, of Sir Owen being the hero of the piece, and +whose descent into St. Patrick's purgatory is related. Walter de Metz, +author of the poem entitled _Image du Monde_, mentions also the wonders +of St. Patrick's purgatory, the various adventures of those who +descended into it, and the condition of those who had the good fortune +to return from it; but I am uncertain whether he speaks from the +original Latin of the monk of Saltrey, or from Mary's French +translation. In the latter case it should appear that Mary finished her +translation before 1246, the year in which Walter says he composed his +work.[32] + +Whether Mary was the author of any other pieces I have not been able to +ascertain: her taste, and the extreme facility with which she wrote +poetry of the lighter kind, induce a presumption that she was; but I +know of none that have come down to us. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] _Prologue des Lais de Marie._ + +[5] _Lai du chevrefeuille_. + +[6] Pyramus, Vie de St Edmund, Bibl. Cotton. Domit. A. XI. + +[7] Prolog. des Lais de Marie. + +[8] It is reasonable to conclude, that writers flocked in +greater numbers to the court where they were most in request, and were +likely to be most liberally rewarded. Now it is evident that the Dukes +of Normandy, when possessed of the crown of England, were incomparably +more wealthy, though not in the same proportion more powerful, than the +contemporary Kings of France; and it may be presumed that the crowd of +candidates for their patronage, was consequently, much more numerous. +Our Henry the Second possessed, in right of his father, Maine, Anjou, +and Touraine; in right of his wife Eleanor, divorced by Louis le Jeune, +the counties of Poictou and Guienne; in right of his mother Matilda, +Normandy and England; and his power in the latter, the most valuable +part of his dominions, was paramount and uncontrolled, while Louis was +surrounded by powerful and rival vassals. We are, therefore, justified +in suspecting that the courts of our Norman sovereigns, rather than +those of the Kings of France, produced the birth of romance literature; +and this suspicion is confirmed by the testimony of three French +writers, whose authority is the more conclusive, because they have +formed their opinion from separate and independent premises. + +The first of these is M. de la Ravallere. In his Essay on the +Revolutions of the French Language, a work of considerable learning, +supported by original authorities, whose words he almost constantly +quotes, he distinctly asserts that the pretended patronage of the French +princes, anterior to Philippe Auguste, had no visible effect on their +domestic literature; that while so many poets were entertained at the +courts of the Anglo-Norman princes, no one can be traced to that of +Louis le Jeune; that the chronicles of Britain and Normandy, the +subjects chosen by Wace and his contemporaries, were not likely to +_interest_ the French, &c. + +The second authority is M. le Comte de Tressan, a writer, perhaps, of no +deep research, but whose good taste is conclusive on points of internal +evidence. In his preface to the prose romance of "La Fleur des +Batailles," (one of those relating to Charlemagne) he says--The style +and character of these romances lead us to think that they were composed +at the court of the English kings, descended from William the Conqueror. +We find in those of the Round Table, a marked affectation of dwelling on +every thing which can contribute to the glory of the throne and court of +England, whose princes and knights always play the chief and most +brilliant part in the piece. + +Thirdly, the Abbé de la Rue may be considered as having proved the fact, +by pointing out, in English history, the persons to whom the original +romances were addressed. His three dissertations on the Anglo-Norman +poets, in the twelfth and thirteenth volume of the Archaelogia, will +convince the reader that no man has studied, with more attention, the +early history and poetry of France; and he has given it as his decided +opinion, that "_it was from England and Normandy that the French +received the first works which deserve to be cited in their +language."--Ellis's Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances_. + +[9] Prolog. des Lais de Marie. + +[10] Oeuvres de Fauchet, 579. Recherches de la France, l.8. s. i. + +[11] Pyramus loco citate. + +[12] Oeuvres de Fauchet, p. 579. + +[13] Conclusion of Mary's Fables. + +[14] Dictionaire Raisonnée de Diplomatique Verbo _Comte_. + +[15] Martineus Dict. Geographique, v. Dampierre. + +[16] Sandford's Genealogical History of the Kings of England, +p. 114. + +[17] Ibid, p. 116, and M. Paris, p. 817 + +[18] Sandford, ibid. + +[19] Fabliaux, vol. iv. p.330. + +[20] Conclusion of Mary's Fables. + +[21] Phaedr. Prolog. lib. i. + +[22] Preface to Mary's Fables. + +[23] Fabric. Bibl. Latin, lib. ii. c. 3. + +[24] Preface to the Fables of Mary + +[25] Vincent Bellovac, lib. iv. c. 2. + +[26] Fabric. loco citato. + +[27] Menage Diction. Etymol. V. Romans. Duchesne, Oeuvres de +Maistre Alain Chartris, p. 861. + +[28] Pasquier Recherches, liv. viii. c. 1. + +[29] Asser, Vita Alfredi, Malsmb. + +[30] Madox's Hist. of the Exchequer, c. 4. + +[31] Ordoric. Vitalis Hist. apud Duchesne, pp. 488, 681, & +1084. + +[32] See his Works amongst the Harleian MSS. No. 4333. + + + + +APPENDIX II. + + +MARIE'S LAYS. + + +Versions of only two of the Lays can be given; but it will be better to +lay before the reader an abstract of the whole collection, which is in +many respects interesting, because it was certainly written in this +country, was never printed, and is known to exist only in one +manuscript, viz. Harl. MSS. No. 978. + +About 56 lines at the beginning of the work are intended as a general +prologue; and 26 more form the introduction to the first Lay. This +prefatory matter is written in a style of considerable obscurity, which +the author defends by the example of the ancients, and quotes Priscian +as her authority. But the doctrine she means to inculcate is, that those +who possess talents are bound to employ them; and that study is always +good as a preservative from vice and from affliction. She tells us, she +had therefore form'd a plan of translating, from Latin into romance, +_some good history_, but found her project had been anticipated by +others. She then thought of the numerous lays which she _had heard, and +carefully treasured in her memory_. These, she was sure, must be new to +the generality of her readers; and, in this confidence, she offers to +the king the fruits of her labours. After complaining she has met with +envy and persecution where she deserved praise, she declares her +intention to persevere, and relate, as briefly as possible, such stories +as she _knows to be true_, and to have been _formed into lays by the +Britons_. + + Les contes ke jeo sai _rerrais, + Dunt li Bretun ont fait ces lais_, + Vus conterai asez briefment, &c. + +The Lays are twelve in number; nine of which, with the above +introduction, are extracted, with some trifling abridgment, from the +Specimens of early English Metrical Romances, by George Ellis, Esq.; the +two in verse from Way's Fabliaux; and the other from the notes to Sir +Tristrem, by Walter Scott, Esq. + + + + +No. 1.--_The Lay of_ SIR GUGEMER, _or_ GUIGEMAR. + + + While Arthur reign'd, (so chim'd, in earlier day, + Loud to the twanging harp the Breton lay,) + While Arthur reign'd, two kingdoms born to bless, + Great Britain's king, and suzerain of the less; + A lord of Leon, one of fair report + Among the vassal barons of his court, + Own'd for his son a youth more bravely thew'd + Than aught both countries yet had seen of good. + Dame Nature gave the mould; his sire combin'd + Due culture, exercise of limbs and mind, + Till the rare strippling, now no longer boy, + Chang'd his fond parents' fearful hope for joy. + + His name was Gugemar: as strength grew on, + To Arthur's court the sire consign'd his son. + There soon in feats of arms the youth excell'd, + Magnanimous, in sports, or deadly field. + + Chief of the Table-round, from time to time + Illustrious Arthur mark'd his opening prime, + Then dealt him noble meed; the honour high, + From his own hand, of glorious chivalry. + + Knightly in arms he was; one grievous blot, + So deem'd full many a courtly dame, I wot, + Cross'd the full growth of his aspiring days, + And dimm'd the lustre of meridian praise: + With bootless artifice their lures they troll'd; + Still, Gugemer lov'd not, or nothing told. + The court's accustom'd love and service done, + To his glad sire returns the welcome son. + Now with his father dwelt he, and pursued + Such pastimes as are meet for youth of noble blood. + The woods of Leon now would shrilly sound + Oft with his joyous shout and choral hound + At length, one morn his disadventurous dart, + Lanc'd, as the game was rous'd, at hind or hart, + Wing'd through the yielding air its weetless way, + And pierc'd unwares a metamorphos'd fay. + Lo! back recoiling straight, by fairy craft, + Back to its master speeds the reeking shaft; + Deep in his sinewy thigh inflicts a wound, + And strikes the astonish'd hunter to the ground, + While, with a voice which neither bray'd nor spoke, + Thus fearfully the beast her silence broke:-- + "Pains, agonizing pains must thou endure, + Till wit of lady's love shall work the cure: + Wo, then, her fated guerdon she shall find + The heaviest that may light on womankind!" + + Sir Gugemer, who strove, with courage vain, + Up from the earth to rise, distraught with pain, + While hies his varlet home for succour strong, + Crawls slow with trailing limb the sward along; + 'Twas part precipitate, steep rocky shore; + Hoarse at its foot was heard old Ocean's roar; + And in a shelter'd cove at anchor rode, + Close into land, where slept the solemn flood, + A gallant bark, that with its silken sails + Just bellying, caught the gently rising gales, + And from its ebon sides shot dazzling sheen + Of silvery rays with mingled gold between. + A favouring fairy had beheld the blow + Dealt the young hunter by her mortal foe: + Thence grown his patroness, she vows to save, + And cleaves with magick help the sparkling wave: + Now, by a strange resistless impulse driven, + The knight assays the lot by fortune given: + Lo, now he climbs, with fairy power to aid, + The bark's steep side, on silken cordage stay'd; + Gains the smooth deck, and, wonders to behold, + A couch of cypress spread with cloth of gold, + While from above, with many a topaz bright, + Two golden globes sent forth their branching light: + And longer had he gaz'd, but sleep profound, + Wrought by the friendly fairy, wrapt him round. + Stretch'd on the couch the hunter lies supine, + And the swift bark shoots lightly o'er the brine. + For, where the distant prospect fading dies, + And sea and land seem mingling with the skies, + A massy tower of polish'd marble rose; + There dwelt the fair physician of his woes: + Nogiva was the name the princess bore; + Her spouse old, shrewd, suspicious evermore, + Here mew'd his lovely consort, young and fair, + And watch'd her with a dotard's bootless care. + Sure, Love these dotards dooms to jealous pain, + And the world's laugh, when all their toil proves vain. + This lord, howe'er, did all that mortal elf + Could do, to keep his treasure to himself: + Stay'd much at home, and when in luckless hour + His state affairs would drag him from his tower, + Left with his spouse a niece himself had bred, + To be the partner of her board and bed; + And one old priest, a barren lump of clay, + To chant their mass, and serve them day by day. + Her prison room was fair; from roof to floor + With golden imageries pictur'd o'er; + There Venus might be seen, in act to throw + Down to the mimick fire that gleam'd below + The 'Remedies of Love' Dan Ovid made; + Wrathful the goddess look'd, and ill-repaid; + And many more than I may well recall, + Illumining throughout the sumptuous wall. + For the old ghostly guide--to do him right-- + He harbour'd in his breast no jailor's spite; + Compassionate and poor, he bore in mind + His prisoner's health might languish, much confin'd + And oft would let her feet and fancy free, + Wander along the margin of the sea. + There then it chanc'd, upon the level sand, + That aunt and niece were pacing hand in hand, + When onward to the marble tower they spied + With outspread sail the fairy vessel glide: + Both felt a momentary fear at first, + (As women oft are given to think the worst) + And turn'd for flight; but ere they far were fled, + Look'd round to view the object of their dread; + Then, seeing none on board, they backward hied, + Perchance by fairy influence fortified, + Where the trim bark was run its course to end, + And now both dames its ebon deck ascend; + There on a couch, a silken pall beneath, + So wrapt in sleep he scarcely seem'd to breathe, + Sir Gugemer they spied, defil'd with gore, + And with a deadly pale his visage o'er: + They fear them life was fled; and much his youth, + And much his hap forlorn did move their ruth: + With lily hand his heart Nogiva press'd, + "It beats!" she cried, "beats strong within his breast!" + So loud her sudden voice express'd delight, + That from his swoon awoke the wondering knight: + His name, his country, straight the dames demand, + And what strange craft had steer'd his bark to land? + He, on his elbow rais'd, with utterance weak, + Such as his feeble strength avail'd to speak, + Recounts his piteous chance, his name, his home, + How up the vessel's side ere while he clomb, + And then sunk down in sleep; but who impell'd + Its ebon keel, or tissued canvas swell'd, + He wist not: faint, and lacking vital heat, + He sought some needful aid from looks so sweet. + "So brave a knight!--to yield of succour nought-- + What heart of flint could cherish such a thought? + Yet where to harbour him, and how to hide?-- + The husband not at home, means must be tried!"-- + So thought these dames, I ween, that fateful hour, + While feebly onward to the marble tower, + Propp'd, right and left, by snowy shoulders twain, + Sir Gugemer repair'd with mickle pain. + There on a bed of down they plac'd their guest, + Cleans'd the deep wound, with healing balsam dress'd, + Brought, for his plight most fit, choice simple food, + And, watchful how he far'd, attendant stood; + Till now returning strength grew swiftly on, + And his firm voice confess'd his anguish gone. + In sooth, the fay, protectress of his worth, + Had shower'd down balm, unknown to wights on earth; + One night achieves his cure; but other smart + Plays o'er the weetless region of his heart; + Pains, such as beam from bright Nogiva's eyes, + Flit round his bed, and quiral [Errata: genial] slumber flies. + Now, as the ruddy rays of morning peer, + Him seem'd his kind physician's step drew near; + She comes; his cheeks with new-found blushes burn; + Nogiva--she, too, blushes in her turn: + Love sure had neither spar'd; yet at the last + Faintly she asks him how the night had pass'd? + O! how the trembling patient then confess'd + Strange malady at heart, and banish'd rest: + And sued once more for life, restor'd so late, + Now hers alone to grant, the mistress of his fate. + She speaks assurance kind with witching smile, + "No ill from sickness felt so little while!" + Yet nought the knight believes; a kiss, I ween, + Fell from her dainty lips, and clos'd the scene. + + One year or more within some secret bower, + So dwelt the knight beneath the marble tower; + Thoughts of his sire, at last, how he might bear + His son's long absence, so awaken'd care, + Needs must he back to Leon: vainly here + Sues fond Nogiva's interdicting tear. + "Sad leave reluctantly I yield!" she cries, + "Yet take this girdle, knit with mystick ties, + Wed never dame till first this secret spell + Her dextrous hands have loosen'd:--so farewell!" + "Never, I swear, my sweet! so weal betide!" + With heavy heart Sir Gugemer replied; + Then hied him to the gate, when lo! at hand + Nogiva's hoary lord is seen to stand, + (Brought by the fairy foe's relentless ire,) + And lustily he calls for knight and squire: + Now with his trusty blade, of temper good, + The stout knight clears his course to ocean's flood, + Sweeps right and left the scatter'd rout away, + And climbs the bark of his protectress fay; + Light glides the ebon keel the waters o'er, + And his glad footsteps press his native shore. + + His father, who had long time, woe-begone, + Bewail'd the absence of his darling son; + Ween'd the best course to hold him now for life, + Should be to link him closely to a wife. + Sir Gugemer, urg'd sore, at length avows, + He never will take woman's hand for spouse, + Save her's, whose fingers, skill'd in ladies' lore, + Shall loose that knot his mystick girdle bore. + + Straight all that Bretany contain'd of fair, + Widows, and dainty maids, the adventure dare: + Clerks were they all, I ween; but knots like these + May not be loos'd when earthly beauties please. + + Thus while it fares with those, in dungeon deep + See sad Nogiva never cease to weep! + Doom'd by her jealous lord's revengeful mood, + The well her beverage, bitter bread her food, + Lo there with iron gyves chain'd down she lies, + And wails unheard her hopeless miseries: + Scarce brooking longer life, but that the thought + Of Gugemer some gleams of solace brought: + Him would she name full oft, and oft implore + Heaven, but to view his winning face once more. + Long had she sorrow'd thus; her fairy friend + Hears at the last, and bids her sufferings end: + Burst by her magic touch the fetters fall, + Wide springs the gate, and quakes the obdurate wall; + Close to the shore the enchanted pinnace glides, + Feels its fair guest within its arching sides, + Then ploughs the foaming main with gallant state, + Till Bretany's far coast receives the freight. + Meriadus--(that name the monarch bore, + Where first Nogiva's footsteps prest the shore,) + Meriadus such charms not vainly view'd; + He saw, felt love, and like a sovereign woo'd: + She briefly answers:--"None this heart may move, + This bosom none inspire with mutual love, + Save he whose skill this girdle shall unbind, + Fast round my waist with mystick tie confin'd." + Much strove Meriadus, strove much in vain, + Strove every courtly gallant of his train: + All foil'd alike, he blazons far and wide + A tournament, and there the emprize be tried! + There who may loose the band, and win the expectant bride! + Sir Gugemer, when first the tidings came + Of the quaint girdle, and the stranger dame. + Ween'd well Nogiva's self, his dame alone, + Bore this mysterious knot so like his own. + On to the tournament elate he hies, + There his liege lady greets his wistful eyes: + What now remain'd? "Meriadus! once more + I view," he cries, "the mistress I adore; + Long have our hearts been one! great king, 'tis thine + Twin [Errata: Twain] lovers, sadly sunder'd long, to join. + So will I straight do homage, so remain + Thy liegeman three full years, sans other gain, + Thine with a hundred knights, and I their charge maintain." + Brave was the proffer, but it prosper'd nought; + Love rul'd alone the unyielding monarch's thought. + Then Gugemer vows vengeance, then in arms + Speaks stern defy, and claims Nogiva's charms: + And, for his cause seem'd good, anon behold + Many a strange knight, and many a baron bold, + Brought by the tourney's fame, on fiery steeds + Couch lance to aid; and mortal strife succeeds. + Long time beleagur'd gape the castle walls; + First in the breach the indignant monarch falls: + Nogiva's lord next meets an equal fate; + And Gugemer straight weds the widow'd mate. + + + + +No. II.--EQUITAN; + +A prince of Bretagne, so passionately attached to chivalrous amusements, +that he cared neither for business nor gallantry. Nothing but the +necessity of heading his troops could withdraw him from the pleasures of +hunting and hawking; and all affairs of state were managed by his +steward, a man of equal loyalty and experience. Unfortunately this +steward had a beautiful wife: the prince heard her much praised; and +insensibly began to think his sport most agreeable, when it conducted +him, at the end of the day, to the steward's castle; where he had a +natural opportunity of seeing and conversing with the lovely hostess. +Overcome by his passion, almost before he was conscious of it, he began +by reflecting on the baseness of the part he was preparing to act; and +ended, by determining not to endure the misery of privation and +disappointment, if he could succeed in seducing her. Having devised, in +the course of a sleepless night, as many arguments as were necessary to +satisfy his own morality, and formed a plan for securing a long +interview, he set off for the chase; returning after a short time, under +pretence of sudden indisposition, and retiring to bed, he sent to +request a visit from the lady, who then received a very long and +eloquent declaration of love. To this she replied, at first, by proper +expostulations; but when at length assured, with the utmost solemnity, +that if her husband was dead she should become the partner of his +throne, she suddenly gave way, and proposed, with his assistance, to +destroy the steward, so artfully, that neither should incur the +slightest suspicion. Equitan, far from being startled at this atrocious +proposition, assured her of his concurrence, and she continued thus: +"Return, sir, for the present, to your court; then come to pursue your +diversion in this forest, and again take up your abode under our roof. +You must once more pretend to be indisposed; cause yourself to be +blooded; and on the third day order a bath, invite my husband to bathe +and afterwards to dine with you. I will take care to prepare the bathing +tubs: that which I destine for him shall be filled with boiling water, +so that he will be instantly scalded to death; after which you will call +in your and his attendants, and explain to them how your affectionate +steward had expired in the act of bathing." At the end of three months +every thing was arranged for the execution of this diabolical plot; but +the steward, who had risen early for some purpose of business or +amusement, happening to stay rather beyond the time, the lovers had met +during his absence, forgetting that their guilty project was not yet +accomplished. A maid was stationed at the door, near which stood the +fatal bath; but the husband returning with precipitation, suddenly +forced it open, in spite of her feeble opposition, and discovered his +wife in the arms of Equitan. The prince, under the first impulse of +surprize and remorse, started from the bed, and, heedlessly plunging +into the boiling bath, was instantly suffocated or scalded to death. The +husband, almost at the same instant, seized on his guilty partner, and +threw her headlong after her paramour. Thus were the wicked punished, by +the means which they contrived for the destruction of another; and such +is the substance of the lay which was composed by the Bretons under the +name of Equitan. + + * * * * * + +No. III.--LAY LE FRAINE. + +This ancient and curious little poem, translated from the French of +Marie, is preserved in the Auchinlech MSS. It was communicated by Mr. +Walter Scott to Mr. Ellis, and is inserted amongst his Miscellaneous +Romances. It is mutilated in two places, and wants the conclusion. These +defects are supplied from the French prose. + +The prologue begins by observing, that in ancient times, lays, intended +to be accompanied by the harp, were composed on all sorts of subjects. + + Some both of war, and some of woe; + And some of joy and mirth also; + And some of treachery and of guile; + Of old aventures that fell while; + And some of _bourdes_[33] and ribaudy; + And many there beth of fairy; + Of all thinges that men seth, + Most of love, forsooth, there beth. + In Bretayne, by old time, + These lays were made, so sayeth this rhyme, &c. + +The Bretons never failed converting into lays all the anecdotes they +thought worth consigning to memory; and the following was thus composed, +and called Lay le Fraine (frêne), or "The Aventure of the Ash." + +In the "West countrie" lived two knights, men of opulence, friends from +their infancy, and married about the same time. One of the ladies having +twins, her husband sent to announce the event to his friend. + + The messenger goth, and hath nought forgete, + And findeth the knight at his mete; + And fair he gret, in the hall, + The lord, the levedi, the meynè all; + And sith then, on knees down him set, + And the lord full fair he gret. + "He bade that thou should to him _te_,[34] + And, for love, his _gossibbe_[35] be." + "Is his levedi deliver'd _with sounde?_"[36] + "Ya, sir, y-thonked be God, _yestronde._"[37] + "And whether a maiden child, other a knave?" + "Tway sones, sir, God hem save!" + The knight thereof was glad and blithe, + And thonked Godes sonde swithe, + And granted his errand in all thing, + And gaf him a palfray for his tiding. + Then was the lady of the house + A proud dame, and malicious, + _Hoker-full, iche mis-segging_,[38] + Squeamous, and eke scorning; + To iche woman she had envie; + She spake these words of felonie: + "Ich have wonder, thou messenger, + Who was thy lordes conseillor, + To teach him about to send, + And tell shame _in iche an end!_"[39] + "That his wife hath tway children y-bore! + Well may iche man wite therfore + That tway men her han hodde in bower: + That is hir bothe dishonour!" + +The messenger was sorely abashed by these unexpected and unjust +reflections; the husband reprimanded his wife very severely for the +intemperance of her tongue; and all the women of the country, amongst +whom the story rapidly circulated, united in prayer, that her calumny +might receive some signal punishment. Accordingly, the lady shortly +after brought into the world two daughters. She was now reduced to the +alternative of avowing herself guilty of a calumny against her innocent +neighbour, or of imputing to herself, in common with the other, a crime +of which she had not been guilty; unless she could contrive to remove +one of the twins. The project of destroying her own child, was, at +first, rejected with horror; but after revolving the subject in her +mind, and canvassing with great logical acuteness the objections to this +atrocious measure, she determined to adopt it, because she could +ultimately cleanse herself from the sin, by doing private penance, and +obtaining absolution. + +Having thus removed her scruples, she called the midwife, and directed +her to destroy one of the infants, and to declare that one only had been +born. But she refused; and the unnatural mother was reduced to seek for +a more submissive and supple agent. She had a maid-servant, educated in +the family, to whom she imparted her difficulties; and this confidential +counsellor at once proposed a contrivance for removing them: "Give me +the child," said she, "and be assured that, without destroying, I will +so remove it, that it shall never give you any further trouble. There +are many religious houses in the neighbourhood, whose inhabitants cannot +be better employed than in nursing and educating orphan children. I will +take care your infant shall be discovered by some of these good people, +under whose care, by the blessing of Providence, it will thrive and +prosper; and in the mean time I will take such means that its health +shall not suffer. Dismiss your sorrow, therefore, and trust in my +discretion." The lady was overjoyed, and accepted the offer with +assurances of eternal gratitude. + +As it was her wish that those who should find the child might know it +was born of noble parents, + + She took a rich _baudekine_,[40] + That her lord brought from _Constantine_,[41] + And lopped the little maiden therein; + And took a ring of fine gold, + And on her arm it knit, + With a lace of silk in _plit._[42] + + The maid took the child her _mid_,[43] + And stole away in an even tide, + And passed over a wild heath; + Thorough field and thorough wood she _geth_,[44] + All the winter-long night. + The weather was clear, the moon was light, + So that she com by a forest side; + She wox all weary, and gan abide. + Soon after she gan heark, + Cockes crow, and dogs bark; + She arose, and thither wold; + Near and nearer, she gan behold, + Walls and houses fell the seigh, + A church, with steeple fair and high; + Then was there nother street no town, + But an house of religion; + An order of nuns, well y-dight, + To servy God both day and night. + The maiden abode no _lengore_;[45] + But yede her to the church door, + And on her knees she sate her down, + And said, weepand, her orisones. + "O Lord," she said, "Jesus Christ, + That sinful mannes _bedes_,[46] + _Underfong_[47] this present, + And help this seli innocent! + That it mote y-christen'd be, + For Marie love, thy mother free!" + She looked up, and by her seigh + An asche, by her, fair and high, + Well y-boughed, of mickle price; + The body was hollow, as many one is. + Therin she laid the child for cold, + In the _pel_,[48] as it was, _byfold_[49] + And blessed it with all her might. + With that it gan to dowe light. + The fowles up, and sung on bough, + And acre-men yede to the plough, + The maiden turned again anon, + And took the way she had ere gon. + The porter of the abbey arose, + And did his office in the close; + Rung the bells and tapers light, + Laid forth books, and all ready dight. + The church door be undid, + And seigh anon, in the _stede_,[50] + The pel liggen in the tree, + And thought well that it might be, + That thieves had y-robbed somewhere, + And gone there forth, and let it there. + Therto he yede, and it unwound, + And the maiden child therin he found. + He took it up between his honde, + And thanked Jesu Christes sonde, + And home to his house he it brought, + And took it to his daughter, and her besought + That she should keep it as she con, + For she was _melche, and couthe thon._[51] + She bade it suck, and it wold, + For it was nigh dead for cold. + Anon, fire she a-light, + And warmed it well _aplight_,[52] + She gave it suck upon her _barm_,[53] + And siththen, laid it to sleep warm. + And when the mass was y-done, + The porter to the abbesse com full soon. + "Madame, what rede ye of this thinge? + To-day, right in the morning, + Soon after the first _stound_,[54] + A little maiden child ich found + In hollow ash thin out + And a pel her about; + A ring of gold also was there; + How it came thither I wot ne'er." + The abbesse was a-wondered of this thing. + "Go," she said, "on _hying_[55] + And fetch it hither, I pray thee; + It is welcome to God and me. + Ich will it helpen as I can, + And segge it to my kinswoman." + The porter anon it gan forth bring, + With the pel, and with the ring. + The abbesse let clepe a priest anon, + And let it christen in function. + And for it was in an ash y-found, + She cleped it _Frain_ in that stound. + The name[56] of the ash is a frain, + After the language of Bretayn; + _Forthy_[57] Le Frain men clepeth this lay, + More than ash, in each country. + This Frain thriv'd from year to year; + The abbess niece men ween'd it were. + The abbess her gan teach, and _beld._[58] + By that she was twelve winter eld, + In all England there was none + A fairer maiden than she was one. + And when she couthe ought of _manhede,_[59] + She bade the abbesse her _wisse_[60] and rede, + Which were her kin, one or other, + Father or mother, sister or brother. + The abbesse her in council took, + To tellen her she nought forsook, + How she was founden in all thing; + And took her the cloth and the ring, + And bade her keep it in that stede; + And, therwhiles she lived, so she did. + Then was there, in that cuntré, + A rich knight of land and fee, + Proud, and young, and jollif, + And had not yet y-wedded wife. + He was stout, of great renown, + And was y-cleped Sir Guroun. + He heard praise that maiden free, + And said, he would her see. + He dight him in the way anon, + And jolliflich thither is gone, + And bode his man segge, verament, + He should toward a tournament. + The abbesse, and the nonnes all, + Fair him grette in the guest-hall; + And damsel Frain, so fair of mouth, + Grette him fair, as she well couth. + And swithe well he gan devise, + Her semblant, and her gentrise, + Her lovesome eyen, her _rode_[61] so bright. + And commenced to love her anon-right; + And thought how he might take on, + To have her for his lemon [Errata: leman]. + He thought, "Gificcome her to + More than ich have y-do, + The abbesse will _souchy_[62] guile, + And _wide_[63] her away in a little while." + He compassed another _suchesoun;_[64] + To be brother of that religion. + "Madam," he said to the abbesse, + _"I-lovi_[65] well, in all goodness, + Ich will give one and other + Londes and rentes, to become your brother,[66] + That ye shall ever fare the _bet_[67] + When I come to have recet."[68] + At few wordes they ben _at one._ + He graithes him[69], and forth is gone. + Oft he com, by day and night, + To speak with that maiden bright; + So that, with his fair _behest_,[70] + And with his glosing, at lest + She granted him to don his will, + When he will, loud and still. + "Leman," he said, "thou must let be + The abbesse _thy neice_,[71] and go with me; + For ich am riche, of swich powere, + Ye finde bet than thou hast here." + The maiden grant, and to him trist, + And stole away, that no man wist; + With her took she no thing + But her pel and her ring. + When the abbess gan aspy + That she was with the knight _owy_,[72] + She made mourning in her thought, + And her _bement_,[73] and gained nought. + So long she was in his castel, + That all his meynie loved her well. + To rich and poor she gan her 'dress, + That all her loved more and less; + And thus she led with him her life, + Right as she had been his wedded wife. + His knightes com, and to him speke, + And holy church commandeth eke, + Some lordis daughter for to take, + And his leman all forsake. + And said, him were well more fair + In wedlock to get him an heir, + Than lead his life with swiche one, + Of whose kin he knew none. + And said, "Here besides, is a knight + That hath a daughter fair and bright, + That shall bear his heritage, + Taketh her in marriage!" + Loth him was for that deed to do, + Oc, at last, he granted therto. + The _forward_[74] was y-marked aright, + And were at one, and troth plight. + Allas! that he no had y-wit, + Ere the forward were y-suit! + That she, and his leman also, + Sistren were, and twinnes two! + Of o father begeten they were, + Of o mother born _y-fere_:[75] + That _hi_[76] so were ne wist none, + Forsooth, I say, but God alone. + The new bride was graithed with oil, + And brought home to the lord is host, + Her father come with her also, + The levedi her mother, and other mo. + The bishop of the lond, withouten fail, + Come to do the spousail. + + * * * * * + +The young rival of Le Frain was distinguished like her sister, by a +sylvan appellation; her name was _Le Codre_ (Corylus, the Hazel), and +the knight's tenants had sagaciously drawn a most favourable prognostic +of his future happiness, from the superiority of nuts to vile ash-keys; +but neither he nor any of his household were disposed to augur +favourably of a marriage which tended to deprive them of the amiable +orphan. The feast was magnificent, but dull; and never were apparent +rejoicings more completely marred by a general feeling of constraint and +formality. Le Frain alone, concealing the grief which preyed on her +heart, was all zeal and activity; and, by her unceasing attentions, +conciliated the pity and esteem of the bride, and even of her mother, +who had hitherto felt the utmost anxiety to procure her dismissal. At +the conclusion of the banquet she employed herself in the decoration of +the bridal chamber, and having observed that the covering of the bed was +not sufficiently costly, spread over it the magnificent mantle she had +received from the abbess, and had hitherto preserved with the utmost +solicitude. She had scarcely left the room when the bride entered it +accompanied by her mother, who casting her eyes on this splendid mantle, +surveyed it with feelings of the most poignant remorse, and immediately +recognized the testimony of her crime. She questioned the chamberlains, +who were unable to explain the appearance of an ornament they had never +before beheld; she then interrogated Le Frain, and, at the end of a +short examination, fell into a swoon, exclaiming, "Fair child, thou art +my daughter!" Her husband was then summoned, and she confessed to him +with tears, and every expression of penitence, the sinful act she had +committed, and the providential discovery of her daughter by means of +the mantle and the ring, both of which were presents from himself. The +knight embraced his child with the utmost tenderness, and prevailed on +the bishop to dissolve the just solemnized marriage, and unite their +son-in-law to the original object of his affections. The other sister +was shortly after bestowed on a neighbouring lord, and the adventures +of Le Frain and Le Codre were formed into a Lay, which received its name +from the former. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[33] Jests. + +[34] Perhaps a mistake in the MS. for ge, i.e. go. + +[35] Gossip, godfather. + +[36] Health, safety. + +[37] Yesterday. + +[38] Full of frowardness, each mis-saying or reviling. + +[39] Each an end, i.e. in every quarter. + +[40] A rich mantle, lined with fur. + +[41] Constantinople. + +[42] Plaited, twisted. + +[43] With. + +[44] Goeth. + +[45] Longer. + +[46] Prayers. + +[47] Receive. + +[48] Fur. + +[49] Folded. + +[50] Place. + +[51] She had milk, and was able to suckle it. + +[52] Certainly, I plight; I promise you. + +[53] Lap. + +[54] Hour. + +[55] In haste. + +[56] In the MS. it is "freyns," which maybe a mistake of the +transcriber. + +[57] Therefore. + +[58] Protect, defend. + +[59] Manhood, here used for the relation of consanguinity. + +[60] Teach and advise her. + +[61] Complexion. + +[62] Suspect. + +[63] Void, carry away. + +[64] Excuse. + +[65] Beloved. + +[66] Of the same religious fraternity. + +[67] Better. + +[68] Lodging, abode. + +[69] Agreed. + +[70] Promise. + +[71] It should be _thy aunt._ + +[72] Away. + +[73] Bemoaned. + +[74] Contract. + +[75] Together. + +[76] They, Sax. + + + + * * * * * + + +No. IV.--BISCLAVERET. + + +This is the Breton name for an animal, which the Normans call Garwolf; +into whose form men were often formerly metamorphosed; and during such +times were the most ferocious and destructive inhabitants of the forest. + +There lived formerly in Bretagne a baron, comely in his person, wise, +courteous, adored by his neighbours, much beloved by his sovereign, and +married to a noble and beautiful lady, for whom he felt the warmest +affection, which she appeared to return. But she had observed, her +husband was regularly absent during three days in the week; and, +suspecting there must be something mysterious in this periodical +disappearance, resolved, if possible, to extort the secret. She +redoubled her expressions of tenderness, bitterly lamented her frequent +intervals of solitude, and, affecting to be persuaded that they were +spent with a mistress, conjured him to calm her apprehensions by a +disclosure of the truth. The good baron in his turn begged her to desist +from an enquiry which would only lead to their permanent separation, +and the extinction of all her fondness; but her tears and blandishments +prevailed, and he confessed that, during half the week, he became a +Bisclaveret. The lady, though she felt a secret horror at finding +herself the wife of a wolf, pursued her enquiry;--Were his clothes also +transformed at the same time? the baron answered, that he was naked: +where, then, did he leave his dress? To this question he endeavoured to +avoid giving an answer; declaring, should that be discovered, he should +be condemned to wear his brute form through life; and observing that, if +she loved him, she could have no wish to learn a secret, useless to her, +and in its disclosure fatal to himself. But obstinacy is always an +over-match for rational argument: she still insisted; and the +good-natured husband ultimately told that, "by the side of an old +chapel, situated on the road to the thickest part of the forest, was a +bush, which overhang and concealed an excavated stone, in which he +constantly deposited his garments." The wife, now mistress of his fate, +quickly sent for a gallant, whose love she had hitherto rejected; taught +him the means of confirming the baron's metamorphosis; and, when their +friends had renounced all hope of his return, married her new favourite, +and conveyed to him a large inheritance, the fruit of their joint +treachery. In about a year the king went to hunt in the forest, and +after a chase which lasted the whole day, had nearly run down the +unfortunate Bisclaveret, when the persecuted animal rushed from the +thicket, and running straight up to him, seized his stirrup with his +fore-paw, began to lick his feet, and with the most piteous whinings to +implore his protection. The king was, at first dreadfully frightened, +but his fear gave way to pity and admiration. He called his attendants +to witness the miracle; ordered the dogs to be whipped off, solemnly +took the brute under his royal protection; and returned to his palace, +closely followed by his savage attendant. Bisclaveret became an +universal favourite; he was fed with the greatest care, slept in the +royal apartments, and though indefatigable in attentions to his master, +returned the caresses of the courtiers, who admired and esteemed, +without envying his superior intelligence and accomplishments. At +length, the king having summoned a plenar at court, his barons flocked +from all quarters, and, among the rest the husband of the false lady. No +one had thought of paying the least attention to Bisclaveret, whose +gentleness was even more remarkable than his sagacity; but no sooner did +the knight make his appearance than the animal attacked him with the +greatest fury, and was scarcely prevented, even by the interposition of +the king himself, from tearing him to pieces. The same scene occurred a +second time, and occasioned infinite surprise. Not long after this, the +king went to hunt in the same forest, and the wicked wife, as lady of +the manor, having sent before her a magnificent present, set forth to +pay her court to her sovereign. Bisclaveret saw her approach, flew upon +her, and instantly tore her nose from her face. This act of discourtesy +to a lady excited universal indignation: even the king took part against +his favourite, who would have been punished with instant death, but for +the interference of an aged counsellor. "This lady, Sir," said he to the +king, "is wife of that knight whom you so tenderly loved, and whose +unaccountable disappearance you have so long regretted." The baron whom +Bisclaveret first assaulted is her present husband. He becomes ferocious +only on the appearance of these two; there is some mystery in this, +which the lady, if imprisoned and interrogated would probably discover. +Britany is the country of wonders-- + + Mainte marveille avuns veu + Qui en Bretaigne est avenu. + +In compliance with this advice the lady was put in close confinement, +the whole secret extorted, and the clothes of Bisclaveret duly restored. +But when they were brought before him the animal appeared to survey +them with listlessness and inattention; and the king had again recourse +to his sapient counsellor, by whose advice they were transferred to the +royal bed-chamber, where Bisclaveret was left, without witnesses, to +effect, if possible, his metamorphosis. In due time the king, attended +with two of his barons, repaired to the chamber, and found the knight in +his natural form, asleep on the royal bed. His master immediately +embraced him with the utmost affection, restored all his estates; added +more, and banished the wicked wife, together with her paramour, from the +country. It is remarkable that afterwards she had several children, all +of whom were females, and distinguished by the disagreeable singularity +of being born without noses. Be assured that this adventure is strictly +true, and that the Lay of Bisclaveret was composed for the purpose of +making it known to the latest posterity. + + * * * * * + + +No. V.--_The Lay of SIR LANVAL_. + + It was the time of Pentecost the bless'd, + When royal Arthur held the accustom'd feast, + When Carduel's walls contained the vast resort + That press'd from every land to grace his plenar court. + There did the sovereign's copious hand dispense + Large boons to all with free magnificence, + To all but one; from Bretany he came, + A goodly knight, Sir Lanval was his name. + Long had the king, by partial temper sway'd, + His loyal zeal with cold neglect repaid; + Yet from a throne Sir Lanval drew his birth, + Nor could all England boast more comeliness and worth. + Whate'er the cause, no gift the monarch gave, + The knight with honest pride forbore to crave, + Till at the last, his substance all forespent, + From his lord's court the hopeless liegeman went. + No leave he took, he told no mortal wight, + Scarce had he thought to guide his steps aright, + But all at random, reckless of his way, + He wander'd on the better half of day. + Ere evening fell he reached a pleasant mead, + And there he loos'd his beast, at will to rest or feed; + Then by a brook-side down his limbs he cast + And, pondering on the waters as they pass'd, + The while his cloak his bended arm sustain'd, + Sadly he sat, and much in thought complain'd. + So mus'd he long, till by the frequent tread + Of quickening feet constrain'd, he turn'd his head; + Close by his side there stood a female pair, + Both richly clad, and both enchanting fair; + With courteous guise the wondering knight they greet + With winning speech, with invitation sweet + From their kind mistress, where at ease she lay, + And in her tent beguil'd the lingering day. + Awhile Sir Lanval reft of sense appear'd; + Then up at once his mailed limbs he rear'd, + And with his guides impatient to proceed, + Though a true knight, for once forgot his steed. + And now with costliest silk superbly dight, + A gay pavilion greets the warrior's sight; + Its taper spire a towering eagle crown'd, + In substance gold, of workmanship renown'd. + Within, recumbent on a couch, was laid + A form more perfect than e'er man survey'd: + The new-blown rose, the lily's virgin prime, + In the fresh hour of fragrant summer-time, + Though of all flowers the fairest of the fair, + With this sweet paragon might ill compare; + And o'er her shoulders flow'd with graceful pride, + Though for the heat some little cast aside, + A crimson pall of Alexandria's dye, + With snowy ermine lin'd, befitting royalty; + Yet was her skin, where chance bewray'd the sight, + Far purer than the snowy ermine's white. + 'Lanval!' she cried, as in amazed mood, + Of speech and motion void, the warrior stood, + 'Lanval!' she cried, ''tis you I seek for here; + Your worth has won me: knight, I love thee dear; + And of my love such proof will soon impart, + Shall wing with envy thy proud sovereign's heart: + Then slighted merit shall be fully known, + And kings repine at wealth beyond their own.' + Words such as these arous'd the astonish'd knight, + He felt love's kindling flame inspire his spright, + And, 'O pure paragon,' he straight replied, + 'Thy love is all! I hold no wish beside! + If bliss so rare thy favouring lips decree, + No deed shall foil thy champion's chivalry; + No toil shall wear, no danger shall dismay, + Let my queen will, and Lanval must obey: + So may I thrive as, from this moment bless'd, + One hope I cherish, one sole boon request, + Thy winning form, thy fostering smiles to see, + And never, never more to part from thee.' + + So speaking ceas'd awhile the enraptur'd knight, + For now the two fair damsels met his sight; + Each on her arm resplendent vestments brought, + Fresh from the loom, magnificently wrought: + Enrob'd in them, with added grace he mov'd, + As one by nature form'd to be belov'd; + And, by the fairy to the banquet led, + And placed beside her on one genial bed, + Whiles the twain handmaids every want supplied, + Cates were his fare to mortal man denied: + Yet was there one, the foremost of the feast, + One food there was far sweeter than the rest, + One food there was did feed the warriors flame, + For from his lady's lovely lips it came. + + What feeble wit of man might here suffice, + To point with colours dim Sir Lanval's extacies! + There lapt in bliss he lies, there fain would stay, + There dream the remnant of his life away: + But o'er their loves his dew still evening shed, + Night gathered on amain, and thus the fairy said; + 'Rise, knight! I may not longer keep thee here; + Back to the court return and nothing fear, + There, in all princely cost, profusely free, + Maintain the honour of thyself and me; + There feed thy lavish fancies uncontroul'd, + And trust the exhaustless power of fairy gold. + 'But should reflection thy soft bosom move, + And wake sad wishes for thy absent love; + (And sure such wishes thou canst never frame, + From any place where presence would be shame), + Whene'er thou call thy joyful eyes shall see + This form, invisible to all but thee. + One thing I warn thee; let the blessing rest + An unrevealed treasure in thy breast; + If here thou fail, that hour my favours end, + Nor wilt thou ever more behold thy friend:'-- + Here, with a parting kiss, broke off the fay, + 'Farewell!' she cried, and sudden pass'd away. + The knight look'd up, and just without the tent + Beheld his faithful steed, and forth he went; + Light on his back he leap'd with graceful mein, + And to the towers of Carduel turn'd the rein; + Yet ever and anon he look'd behind + With strange amaz'd uncertainty of mind, + As one who hop'd some further proofs to spy + If all were airy dream or just reality. + + And now great Arthur's court beheld the knight + In sumptuous guise magnificently dight; + Large were his presents, cost was nothing spar'd, + And every former friend his bounty shar'd. + Now ransom'd thralls, now worthy knights supplied + With equipage their scanty means denied; + Now minstrels clad their patron's deeds proclaim, + And add just honour to Sir Lanval's name. + Nor did his kindness yield a sparing meed + To the poor pilgrim, in his lowly weed; + Nor less to those who erst, in fight renown'd, + Had borne the bloody cross, and warr'd on paynim ground: + Yet, as his best belov'd so lately told, + His unexhausted purse o'erflow'd with gold. + But what far dearer solace did impart, + And thrill'd with thankfulness his loyal heart, + Was the choice privilege, that, night or day, + Whene'er his whisper'd prayer invok'd the fay, + That loveliest form, surpassing mortal charms, + Bless'd his fond eyes, and fill'd his circling arms. + + Now shall ye hear how these delights so pure + Chang'd all to trouble and discomfiture. + + 'Twas on the solemn feast of sainted John, + When knights past tale did in the castle won, + That, supper done, 'twas will'd they all should fare + Forth to the orchard green, awhile to ramble there. + The queen, who long had mark'd, with much delight, + The gallant graces of the Breton knight, + Soon, from the window of her lofty tower, + Mid the gay band espied him in a bower, + And turning to her dames with blythe intent, + 'Hence, all!' she cried; 'we join the merriment!' + All took the word, to the gay band they hied, + The queen, besure, was close to Lanval's side, + Sprightly she seem'd, and sportfully did toy, + And caught his hand to dance, and led the general joy, + + Lanval alone was dull where all was gay, + His thoughts were fixed on his lovely fay: + Soon as he deftly might, he fled the throng; + And her dear name nigh trembled on his tongue, + When the fond queen, who well had trac'd his flight, + Stepp'd forth, and cross'd his disappointed sight. + Much had she sought to meet the knight alone; + Now in these words she made her passion known: + 'Lanval!' she said, 'thy worth, long season past, + 'In my deserv'd esteem hath fix'd thee fast: + 'Tis thine this prosperous presage to improve:-- + Say, gentle knight, canst thou return my love? + + The knight, ye wot, love's paragon ador'd, + And, had his heart been free, rever'd his word; + True to his king, the fealty of his soul + Abhorr'd all commerce with a thought so foul. + In fine, the sequel of my tale to tell, + From the shent queen such bitter slander fell, + That, with an honest indignation strong, + The fatal secret 'scap'd Sir Lanval's tongue: + 'Yes!' he declar'd, 'he felt love's fullest power! + Yes!' he declar'd, 'he had a paramour! + But one, so perfect in all female grace, + Those charms might scarcely win her handmaid's place; + Those charms, were now one menial damsel near, + Would lose this little light, and disappear.' + + Strong degradation sure the words implied; + The queen stood mute, she could not speak for pride; + But quick she turn'd, and to her chamber sped, + There prostrate lay, and wept upon her bed; + There vow'd the coming of her lord to wait, + Nor mov'd till promis'd vengeance seal'd her hate. + + The king, that day devoted to the chace, + Ne'er till the close of evening sought the place; + Then at his feet the fair deceiver fell, + And gloss'd her artful tale of mischief well; + Told how a saucy knight his queen abus'd, + With prayer of proffer'd love, with scorn refus'd; + Thereat how rudely rail'd the ruffian shent, + With slanderous speech and foul disparagement, + And boastfully declar'd such charms array'd + The veriest menial where his vows were paid, + That, might one handmaid of that dame be seen, + All eyes would shun with scorn imperial Arthur's queen. + The weeping tale of her, his heart ador'd, + Wak'd the quick wrath of her deluded lord; + Sternly he menac'd some disastrous end + By fire or cord, should soon that wretch attend, + And straight dispatched three barons bold to bring + The culprit to the presence of his king. + + Lanval! the while, the queen no longer near, + Home to his chamber hied with heavy cheer: + Much did he dread his luckless boast might prove + The eternal forfeit of his lady's love; + And, all impatient his dark doom to try, + And end the pangs of dire uncertainty, + His humble prayer he tremblingly preferr'd, + Wo worth the while! his prayer no more was heard. + O! how he wail'd! how curs'd the unhappy day! + Deaf still remained the unrelenting fay. + Him, thus dismay'd, the approaching barons found; + Outstretch'd he lay, and weeping, on the ground; + To reckless ears their summons they declar'd, + Lost was his fay, for nought beside he car'd; + So forth they led him, void of will or word, + Dead was his heart within, his wretched life abhorr'd. + + They reach the presence; there he hears surpriz'd + The mortal charge of felony devis'd: + Stern did the monarch look, and sharp upbraid + For foul seducement of his queen assay'd: + The knight, whose loyal heart disdain'd the offence, + With generous warmth affirm'd his innocence; + He ne'er devis'd seduction:--for the rest, + His speech discourteous, frankly he confess'd; + Influenc'd with ire his lips forwent their guard; + He stood prepared to bide the court's award. + Straight from his peers were chosen judges nam'd: + Then fix the trial, with due forms proclaim'd; + By them 'tis order'd that the accus'd assign + Three men for pledge, or in a prison pine. + + Lanval! 'tis told, had pass'd from foreign strand, + And kinsmen none there dwelt on English land; + And well he knew that in the hour of proof + Friends for the most part fail, and stand aloof: + Sue them he would not, but with manly pride + In silence turn'd, and toward his prison hied. + With generous grief the deed Sir Gawaine view'd; + Dear to the king was he, and nephew of his blood, + But liberal worth past nature's ties prevail'd, + And sympathy stood forth, if friendship fail'd; + Nor less good-will full many a knight inspir'd; + With general voice the prisoner all requir'd, + All pledg'd their fiefs he should not fail the day, + And homeward bore him from the court away. + + His friends, for sure they well that title claim, + First thought the licence of his tongue to blame; + But, when they mark'd how deeply he was mov'd, + They sooth'd and cherish'd rather than reprov'd. + Each day, as mute he sat in desperate grief, + They spoke kind words of comfort and relief; + Each day, howe'er they sought, howe'er they sued, + Scarce might they win his lips to taste of food: + 'Come, welcome death!' forever was his cry; + 'Lo, here a wretch who wishes but to die!' + So still he wail'd, till woe such mastery wan + They trembled for his nobler powers of man; + They fear'd lest reason's tottering rule should end + And to a moping ideot sink their friend. + + At length came on the day, long since decreed, + When the sad knight should suffer or be freed. + From every part the assembling barons meet: + Each judge, as fore-ordain'd, assumes his seat; + The king, too strongly sway'd by female pride, + O'er the grave council will himself preside, + And, while the presence of his queen inspires, + Goads on the judgment as her wrath requires. + There might be seen that honourable band + Late for the prisoner pledg'd in fief and land; + Slow they advance, then stand before the board, + Whiles all behold the entrusted thrall restor'd. + With many a question next the accus'd was prov'd; + Then, while the votes were given, awhile remov'd. + But those brave warriors, when they weigh'd the plight + And the fair promise of this hapless knight, + His youth, for yet he reach'd not manhood's prime; + His gallant mien, his life without a crime, + His helpless state by kindred unsustain'd, + In a strange court and in a foreign land, + All cried aloud, were Lanval doom'd to die, + It were a doom of shame and cruelty. + + At first 'twas mov'd, that straight conducted thence, + Some meet confinement should chastise the offence; + When one grave peer, in honest hope to wave + The dire debasement of a youth so brave, + Produc'd this purpose, with such reasoning grac'd, + 'Twas with the general plaudit soon embrac'd: + ''Twas urg'd,' he said, 'and sure the offence he blam'd, + Their queen by base comparison was sham'd; + That he, the prisoner, with strange fury mov'd, + Had prais'd too proudly the fair dame he lov'd; + First, then, 'twere meet this mistress should be seen + There in full court, and plac'd beside the queen; + So might they judge of passion's mad pretence, + Or truth had wrought the ungrateful preference.' + + So spoke the judge; Sir Lanval hears the doom, + And weens his hour of destiny is come; + Quench'd is the lore that erst, in happier day, + Won to his whisper'd prayer the willing fay; + And the last licence pitying laws devise, + Serves but to close the count of miseries! + + When, lo! strange shouts of joy and clamourous cheers, + Rose from without, and stay'd the astonish'd peers: + At hand two damsels entering in were seen, + Lovely alike their look, and noble was their mien; + On a grey dappled steed each lady rode, + That pac'd for pride, as conscious of his load; + 'Lo here!' 'twas murmured round with new delight, + 'Lo here, the mistress of the Breton knight!' + The twain meanwhile pass'd onward undelay'd, + And to the king their graceful greetings paid, + Then told their lady's coming, and desir'd + Such harbourage as highest rank requir'd. + + E'en as they spoke, twain others, lovelier fair, + Of stature loftier, of more royal air, + Came proudly on: of gold their purfled vest, + Well shap'd, each symmetry of limb confess'd: + On goodly mules from farthest Spain they brought, + This pair the presence of the sovereign sought. + + The impatient king, ere well their lips had power, + To claim fit harbourage of board and bower, + Led on their way; and, court'sies scantly done, + Back to the peers be sped, and press'd the judgment on; + For much, meseems, his vengeful heart misgave + Some thwarting chance the Breton knight might save. + + Just were his boding fears: new shouts ascend + Of loud acclaim; and wide the welkin rend. + A female form the wondering peers behold, + Too bright for mixture of earth's mortal mould: + The gridelin pall that down her shoulders flow'd + Half veil'd her snow-white courser as she rode; + On her fair hand a sparrow-hawk was plac'd, + Her steed's sure steps a following grey-hound trac'd + And, as she pass'd, still pressing to the right + Female and male, and citizen and knight, + What wight soe'er in Carduel's walls was found, + Swell'd the full quire, and spread the joy around. + + Lanval, the while, apart from all the rest, + Sat sadly waiting for his doom unbless'd: + (Not that he fear'd to die: death rather sued; + For life was nought, despoil'd of all its good:) + To his dull ears his hastening friends proclaim + The fancied form and presence of his dame; + Feebly he rais'd his head: and, at the sight, + In a strange extacy of wild delight, + ''Tis she! 'tis she!' was all his faultering cry, + 'I see her once again now satisfied I die!' + + Thus while he spake, the peers with seemly state. + Led by their king, the illustrious stranger wait; + Proud Carduel's palace hail'd its princely guest, + And thus the dame the assembled court address'd. + 'List, king, and barons!--Arthur, I have lov'd + A knight most loyal in thy service prov'd; + Him, by thy foul neglect, reduc'd to need, + These hands did recompense; they did thy deed. + He disobey's me; I forbore to save; + I left him at the portal of the grave: + Firm loyalty hath well that breach repair'd-- + He loves me still, nor shall he lack reward. + 'Barons! your court its judgment did decree, + Quittance or death, your queen compar'd with me: + Behold the mistress of the knight is come, + Now judge between us? and pronounce the doom.' + + All cry aloud, the words of love were right, + And one united voice acquits the knight. + Back from the palace turns the parting fay, + And with her beauteous damsels speeds away: + Her, as she pass'd the enraptur'd Lanval view'd; + High on the portal's marble steps he stood; + On his tall steed he sprang with vigorous bound; + Thenceforth their footsteps never wight hath found. + + But 'tis the Breton tale, they both are gone + To the fair isle of fertile Avalon; + There, in the lap of love for ever laid, + By sorrow unassail'd, in bliss embay'd, + They make their won: for me, where'er they dwell, + No farther tale befalls me here to tell. + + +Thomas Chestre translated this tale in the reign of Henry 6, but the +extracts published by Mr. Warton, differ in some particulars from the +tale here given. + + + + +No. VI.--LES DEUX AMANTS. + + +In Neustria, now called Normandy is a single mountain of unusual height +and verdure, railed the mountain "of the two lovers," in consequence of +an adventure to which it gave rise, and of which the Bretons have formed +a lay. Close to it are the remains of a city, now reduced to a few +houses, but formerly opulent, founded by the king of the Pistreins, +whence it was called Depistreins, and the neighbouring valley Val de +Pistre. This king had one only daughter, whom he loved so much that he +could not bear to be separated from her. With a view to check the +pursuits of the lovers, whom her beauty and accomplishments attracted, +he published a decree, that her hand should never be granted but to a +suitor who should be able to carry her, without resting, from the bottom +to the top of the adjoining mountain. Many attempted the enterprise, for +presumption is common; none achieved it, because its execution was +barely possible. The suitors disappeared, one by one, and the beautiful +princess seemed doomed to eternal celibacy. There was one youth, the son +of a neighbouring baron, who was a favourite with the king and the whole +court, and whose assiduities, which were dictated by an unconquerable +and sincere passion, ultimately gained the lady's warmest affections. +It was long a secret to all the world: but this discretion became, at +length, almost intolerable; and the youth, hopeless of fulfilling the +condition which alone could obtain her hand, earnestly conjured her to +fly from her father's court. To this she would not consent, but +suggested a mode of accomplishing their wishes more compatible with her +filial piety: "I have," said she, "a rich aunt, who resides, and has +studied during thirty years, at Salerno. In that celebrated school she +has so completely acquired the art of medicine; has learned so many +_salves_ and drugs; has so studied _herbs_ and _roots_, that she will be +enabled to compose for you _electuaries_ and _drinks_, capable of +communicating the degree of vigour necessary to the accomplishment of +the trial prescribed by my father. To her you shall bear a letter from +me, and at your return shall demand me from the king, on the terms to +which he has himself assented." The lover thanked her; went home, +provided the necessary assortment of rich clothes, and other +merchandize, of palfreys, beasts of burthen and attendants, and set off +for Salerno. His mission was successful: the good aunt's electuaries +rendered him much more athletic than before; and he brought back, in a +small vial, an elixir capable of instantly restoring strength at the +moment of complete exhaustion. He therefore was full of confidence, and +claimed the trial. The king having summoned all his principal vassals to +behold the ceremony, conducted his daughter into the great plain on the +banks of the Seine, and found the youth already stationed at the foot of +the mountain. The lovely princess had scarcely tasted food since the +departure of her lover; she would gladly have wasted herself to the +lightness of air for the purpose of diminishing his labour. She wore +only a single robe which closely enveloped her. Her lover catching her +up with one hand, and bearing the precious vial in the other, appeared +perfectly unconscious of the burthen, and bore her, with the rapidity of +lightning, more than half way up the mountain: but here she perceived +his breath began to fail, and conjured him to have recourse to his +medicine. He replied, that he was still full of vigour; was too much +within sight of the multitude below, that their cries on seeing him +stop, even for an instant, would annoy and dishearten him; and that, +while able to proceed alone, he would not appeal to preternatural +assistance. At two-thirds of the height she felt him totter under the +weight, and again repeated her earnest entreaties. But he no longer +heard or listened: exerting his whole remains of strength, he staggered +with her to the top, still bearing the untasted vial in his hand, and +dropped dead on the ground. His mistress, thinking he had only fainted, +knelt down by his side, applied the elixir to his lips, but found that +life had left him. She then dashed the vial on the ground, uttered a +dreadful shriek, threw herself on the body, and instantly expired. The +king and his attendants, much surprized at not seeing them return, +ascended the mountain, and found the youth fast locked in the arms of +the princess. By command of her father they were buried on the spot in a +marble coffin, and the mountain still retains the name of "The Two +Lovers." Around their tomb the ground exhibits an unceasing verdure; and +hither the whole country resort for the most valuable herbs employed in +medicine, which owe their origin to the contents of the marvellous +vial.[77] + + + +No. VII.--YWONEC. + +There lived once in Britain a rich old knight, lord of Caerwent, a city +situated on the river Duglas. He had married, when far advanced in +years, a young wife of high birth, and transcendant beauty, in hopes of +having an heir; but when, at the end of seven years, this hope was +frustrated, he locked her up in his strong castle, under the care of his +sister, an aged widow lady, of great devotion and asperity of temper. +His own amusements were confined to the chace; those of his sister to +thumbing the Psalter, and chanting its contents: the young lady had no +solace but tears. One morning in April, when the birds began to sing the +songs of love, the old gentleman had risen early, and awakened his +sister, who carefully shut the doors after him, while he sallied forth +for the woods, and his young wife began her usual lamentations. She +execrated the hour when she was born, and the fatal avarice of her +parents, for having united her to an old, jealous tyrant, afraid of his +own shadow, who debarred her even from going to church. She had heard +the country round her prison was once famed for adventures; that young +and gallant knights used to meet, without censure or impediment, +beautiful and affectionate mistresses; but her lot was endless misery +(for her tyrant was certainly immortal), unless the supreme Disposer of +events should, by some miracle, suspend the listlessness of her +existence. She had scarcely finished this ejaculation, when the shadow +of a bird, which nearly intercepted all the light proceeding from the +narrow window of her room, arrested her attention, and a falcon of the +largest size flew into the chamber, and perched at the foot of her bed. +While she gazed, it gradually assumed the figure of a young and handsome +knight. She started, changed colour, and drew a veil over her face, but +still gazed and listened, with some fear, much astonishment, but more +pleasure. The knight soon broke silence. He begged her not to be +alarmed; confessed his mode of visiting was new, and rather mysterious; +but that a falcon was a gentle and noble bird, whose figure ought not to +create suspicion. He was a neighbouring prince, who had long loved her, +and wished to dedicate the remainder of his days to her service. The +lady, gradually removing her veil, ingenuously told him, he was much +handsomer, and apparently more amiable, than any man she had ever seen; +and she should be happy to accept him as a lover, if such a connection +could be legitimate, and if he was orthodox. The prince entered at large +into the articles of his creed; and concluded by advising that she +should feign herself sick, send for his chaplain, and direct him to +bring the host; "when," said he, "I will assume your appearance, and +receive the Sacrament in your stead." The lady was satisfied with this +proposal; and, when the old woman came in, and summoned her to rise, she +professed to be at the point of death, and entreated the immediate +assistance of the chaplain. Such a request, in the absence of her lord, +could not be regularly granted; but a few screams, and a fainting fit, +removed the old lady's doubts, and she hobbled off in search of the +chaplain, who immediately brought the host; and Muldumaric (the +falcon-prince) assuming the appearance of his mistress, went through the +sacred ceremony with becoming devotion, which they both considered as a +marriage contract. The lady's supposed illness enabled the prince to +protract his visit; but at length the moment of separation came, and she +expressed her wish for the frequent repetition of their +interviews.--"Nothing is so easy," said Muldumaric; "whenever you +express an ardent wish to see me, I will instantly come. But beware of +that old woman: she will probably discover our secret, and betray it to +her brother; and I announce to you, the moment of discovery will be that +of my death." With these words he flew off. His mistress, with all her +caution, was unable to conceal entirely the complete change in her +sensations. Her solitude, formerly so irksome, became the source of her +greatest delight; her person, so long neglected, again was an object of +solicitude; and her artful and jealous husband, on his return from the +chase, often discovered in her features the traces of a satisfaction his +conscience told him he was not the author of. His vague suspicions were, +after a time, communicated to his sister; but being, as she thought, the +young lady's sole companion, and not able to reproach herself with any +enlivening qualities, she could not account for this contented +demeanour. At length she was commanded to conceal herself in his wife's +apartments during his absence, to watch indefatigably, and report +whatever she could discover. The result was a full confirmation of all +his suspicions. He now exerted himself in devising means of vengeance: +he secretly prepared and placed before the fatal window a trap, composed +of sharpened steel arrows, and, rising long before day, set off on his +usual occupation. The old lady, carefully shutting the doors after him, +returned to her bed till day break; and his wife, awakened at this +unusual hour, could not refrain from uttering an ardent wish for the +company of her dear Muldumaric. He was instantly at her side; but had +received his death wound, and she found herself sprinkled with his +blood. Overpowered by fear and surprize, she could scarcely hear him say +he died for her, and that his prophecy was accomplished. She fainted in +his arms; but he conjured her to preserve her life, and announcing she +would have a son, whom she must call Ywonec, and who was destined to be +the avenger of both his parents. He then hastily departed through an +open and unguarded window. His mistress, uttering a piteous scream, +threw herself out of the same window, and pursued his flight by the +trace of his blood, which the first beams of morning enabled her to +distinguish. At length she arrived at a thick wood, where she was soon +surrounded with darkness; but pursued the beaten track, and emerged into +a meadow, where, recovering the trace of blood, she pursued it to a +large city of unexampled magnificence, which she entered, and proceeded +to the palace. No one was visible in the streets. In the first apartment +she found a knight asleep. She knew him not, and passed on to the next, +where she found a second equally unknown to her. She entered the third +room; and on a bed, which almost dazzled her by the splendour of its +ornaments, and which was surrounded by numerous torches blazing in +golden candlesticks, she recognised her dear Muldumaric, and sunk almost +lifeless with fatigue and terror by his side. Though very near his last +moments, he was still able to comfort and instruct her. He adjured her +to return instantly, while she could escape the notice of his subjects, +to whom, as their story was known, she would be particularly obnoxious. +He gave her a ring, in virtue of which he assured her she would in +future escape the persecution, and even the jealousy of her husband. He +then put into her hands his sword, with directions that it should never +be touched by man till his son was dubbed a knight; when it must be +delivered to him with due solemnity, near the tomb of his father, at the +moment he should learn the secret of his birth, and the miseries +produced by it. She would then see the first use to which her boy would +put it. The prince had nearly spent his last breath in the service of +his beloved mistress; he could only instruct her by signs to put on a +magnificent robe which lay near him, and hasten her departure. She +staggered through the town, arrived in the solitary fields, heard the +distant knell announce her lover's death, and sunk exhausted to the +ground. At length the air revived her; she slowly renewed her journey, +and returned to her castle, which, by virtue of her ring, she entered +undisturbed. Till the birth of her son, and from that time to the +conclusion of his education, she lived in silent anguish, and in patient +expectation of the day of vengeance. The young Ywonec, by his beauty and +address, recalled to her mind the loved image of his father; and at +length she beheld him, with a throbbing heart, invested, amidst the +applause of all the spectators, with the dignity of knighthood. The hour +of retribution was now fast approaching. At the feast of St. Aaron, in +the same year, the baron was summoned with his family to Caerleon, where +the festival was held with great solemnity. In the course of their +journey they stopped for the night in a spacious abbey, where they were +received with the greatest hospitality. The good abbot, for the purpose +of detaining his guests another day, exhibited to them the whole of the +apartments, the dormitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house, in +which they beheld a vast sepulchral monument, covered with a superb +pall, fringed with gold, and surrounded by twenty waxen tapers in golden +candlesticks, while a vast silver censer, constantly burning, filled +the air with fumes of incense. The guests naturally inquired concerning +the name and quality of the person who reposed in that splendid tomb; +and were told it was the late king of that country; the best, the +handsomest, the wisest, the most courteous and liberal of mankind; that +he was treacherously slain at Caerwent, for his love to the lady of that +castle; that since his death his subjects had respected his dying +injunctions, and reserved the crown for a son, whose arrival they still +expected with much anxiety. On hearing this story the lady cried aloud +to Ywonec, "Fair son, thou hast heard how Providence hath conducted us +hither. Here lies thy father whom this old man slew with felony. I now +put into thy hands the sword of thy sire; I have kept it long enough." +She then proceeded to tell him the sad adventure of his birth, and, +having with much difficulty concluded the recital, fell dead on the tomb +of her husband. Ywonec, almost frantic with grief and horror, instantly +sacrificed his hoary stepfather to the manes of his parents, and having +caused his mother to be interred with suitable honours, accepted from +his subjects the crown they had reserved for the representative of a +long line of royal ancestors. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[77] The subject of this romance appears to have been taken +from the ecclesiastical history of Normandy. There is still remaining, +near Rouen, the priory of the Lovers, which tradition reports to have +been founded by the father on the very same spot where they perished, +and on the tomb which contained them. M. de la Mere's Dissertation. + + + +No. 8.--LAUSTIC. + +The author tells us, this lay is called, in the Breton tongue, +Laustic,[78] and in "right English," the Nihtegale (Nightingale). It is +very well written, and contains many picturesque descriptions; in the +district of St. Malos is the town of Bon, which derives its name from +the goodness of two knights who formerly dwelt in it. One was married; +the other was in love with his neighbour's wife, who returned his +affection. The houses were so near, being only separated by a wall, that +they could easily, from the windows of their respective bed chambers, +interchange glances, talk without being overheard, and toss to each +other little presents and symbols of attachment. For the purpose of +enjoying this amusement, the lady, during the warm nights of spring and +summer, used to rise, and throwing a mantle over her, repair to the +window, and stay there till near the dawn of day. Her husband, much +annoyed by this practice, roughly asked what was the object which so +constantly allured her from her bed, and was told that it was the sweet +voice of the Nightingale. Having heard this he set all his servants to +work, spread on every twig of his hazels and chesnut trees a quantity of +bird-lime, and set throughout the orchard so many traps and springs, +that the nightingale was shortly caught. Immediately running to his +wife, and twisting the bird's neck, he tossed it into her bosom so +hastily that she was sprinkled with the blood; adding that her enemy +was now dead, and she might in future sleep in quiet. The lady, who, it +seems, was not fertile in expedients, submitted to the loss of her +nightly conversations, and was contented with exculpating herself +towards her lover by sending him the dead bird inclosed in a bag of +white satin, on which she embroidered the history of its fate; and her +gallant paramour caused his mistress's present to be inclosed in a +golden box, richly studded with gems, which he constantly carried about +his person.[79] + +FOOTNOTES: + +[78] Laustic is still a Nightingale in the Breton language, and +l'eaustic is the French manner of speaking. + + + +No. IX.--MILUN.[80] + +Milun was a knight of South Wales. His strength and prowess were such, +that he never met an adversary who was able to unhorse him. His +reputation spread far beyond the borders of his own country, and he was +known and admired in Ireland, Norway, Gothland, Loegria (England), and +Albany (Scotland). At no great distance from his castle dwelt an opulent +baron, who had an only daughter, courteous and beautiful. Hearing his +praises from all quarters, she became enamoured, and sent a messenger to +say, her heart was at his service if he thought it worth acceptance. +Milun, whose affections were not pre-engaged, returned an answer +expressive of gratitude, sent his gold ring as a symbol of inviolable +constancy; and, having fixed her messenger in his interests by +magnificent presents, arranged with him a secure place of meeting. Their +intercourse was managed so discreetly as to excite no suspicion; till +the young lady, sending for her lover, represented to him that longer +concealment was impossible. By an ancient law she was subject, on +discovery, at her father's option, to be punished with instant death or +sold as a slave; and she saw no means of escaping this frightful +alternative. Milun listened in silent horror, but could suggest no +expedient, when her old nurse undertook to conceal the rest, if the +child could be properly disposed of; and for this the young lady found a +ready contrivance. She had a sister richly married in Northumberland, to +whom Milun might cause the child to be conveyed, with a letter +explaining all, and his gold ring, by means of which it might, in due +time, discover and make itself known to its parents. It proved to be a +boy; the ring was hung about its neck, with a purse containing the +letter; he was placed in a soft cradle, swathed in the finest linen, +with an embroidered pillow under his head, and a rich coverlid edged +with sable to protect him from the cold. Milun, in delivering him to the +attendants, ordered that during the journey he should stop seven times +in the day, for the purpose of being washed, fed, and put to sleep. The +nurse, and all the servants who attended, had been selected with great +care, and performed their charge with fidelity; and the Northumbrian +lady assured her sister, by a letter which they brought back, that she +accepted the charge with pleasure. This being settled, Milun left his +castle for a short time on some military business, and during his +absence the young lady's father resolved to bestow her in marriage on a +neighbouring baron. She was now almost reduced to despair, her lover, to +whom she was more than ever attached, was absent; to avow to her new +husband what had happened was impossible, and to conceal it extremely +difficult. But she was compelled to submit. The marriage took place; and +Milun, on his return, was scarcely less distressed than his mistress, +till he recollected she was still in the neighbourhood, and he might +perhaps be able to devise some means of procuring an interview. He had a +favourite swan, long accustomed to feed out of his hand. Having written +and sealed a letter, he tied it round its neck, and finding it +effectually concealed by the feathers, called a favourite servant, and +directed him to repair to the lady's habitation, devise some contrivance +for gaining admission, and deliver the same into her own hands. The man +executed his commission with great ingenuity. He represented himself to +the porter of the castle as a poacher; stated that he had just caught a +fine swan close to Caerleon; and much wished to conciliate the future +intercession of the lady by presenting it to her. The porter, after some +hesitation, went to explore the anti-chamber; and, finding in it only +two knights, intent on a game of chess, returned immediately, and +conducted the man to his lady's apartment, which, on his knocking, was +opened to them. Having graciously accepted the present, she was going to +recommend the swan to the care of one of her valets; but the messenger +observing "it was a royal bird, who would only accept food from her own +hand," and desiring her to caress it, she soon perceived the letter, and +changed colour, but recovering herself, dismissed the messenger with a +present, turned out her own attendants, excepting one maid, and +proceeded to examine the mystery. It contained the warmest protestations +of her lover's unalterable attachment, expressed a hope that she might +be able to point out a secure place of meeting; and shewed her an easy +method of continuing the correspondence. "The swan, already tame, might, +by good feeding, be easily attached to her; after which, if debarred +from meat during three days, he would, when set at liberty, fly back to +his old master." After kissing the welcome letter till she had nearly +obliterated its contents she proceeded to put in practice his +injunctions; and having by stealth procured some parchment and ink, made +an equally tender reply, which, being tied round the swan's neck, was +rapidly and faithfully conveyed to Milun. During twenty years they kept +up, by this means, a regular correspondence, and their frequent +interviews were managed with a secresy which secured them against +detection. In the mean time their son, after receiving an excellent +education, had been dubbed a knight, and learned from his aunt the name +of his father, and the mystery of his birth. Inflamed with a noble +ambition, he resolved instantly to set off for foreign countries and to +surpass his sire in military glory. The next day he communicated the +project to his aunt, who gave him a number of instructions for his +future conduct; which, lest he should forget, she repeated more than +once, and accompanied her admonitions with such liberal presents as +would enable him to rival in splendour the richest of his competitors. +He repaired to Southampton; landed at Barbefluet (Barfleur); passed into +Britany; engaged, by his generosity, a numerous attendance of poor +knights, eclipsed the proudest of his rivals by superior liberality; +vanquished the stoutest; gained the prize in every tournament; and, +though he concealed his name, was quickly known through the country by +the appellation of "The Knight without a Peer." The fame of this +youthful warrior at length reached the care of his father. From the +first moment of his bestriding a horse, that father had never +encountered an equal; and as he trusted age had added to his address +more than it had yet subtracted from his vigour, he hoped to prove, by +the overthrow of this unknown, that his high renown was owing to the +absence of Milun. After this exploit he meant to go in quest of his son, +whose departure into foreign countries he had lately learnt, and having +obtained the permission of his mistress, embarked for Normandy, and +thence proceeded into Bretagne. The tournaments did not begin till the +festival of Easter; Milun, therefore, who arrived before the end of +winter, spent the interval in travelling from place to place, in +exercising hospitality, and searching out the most meritorious knights, +whom he attached to himself by his liberality. At length the festival +took place, at Mont St. Michel, and was attended by a crowd of French, +Flemish, Norman and Breton, knights, though by very few English. Milun +enquired minutely into the arms and devises of the unknown knight, and +had no difficulty in procuring ample information. The tournament began: +the two rivals separately acquired a manifest superiority, and bore down +all who opposed them, but the opinions of the assembly were divided +between the two. The strength and address of the veteran appeared +invincible, yet the suppleness and activity of the youth attracted still +more admiration. Even Milun himself beheld him with a mixture of wonder +and delight, and summoned all his skill and strength when he rode to +encounter this formidable adversary. His spear was too well-directed to +miss its aim; but it flew into a thousand splinters, while that of the +youth remained entire, and threw him at some distance upon the ground. +By the violence of the shock the ventail of his helmet was broken off, +and displayed his beard and hair, gray with age; when the youth, +bringing back his horse, courteously requested him to remount, +expressing his regret at having, by his accidental victory, sullied the +fame of a respectable veteran. Milun, surveying him with increased +admiration, discovered on his finger, while he held the rein, his own +ring, and earnestly conjured him to relate his history, and the names of +his parents. He obeyed, and was proceeding to tell all he knew, when the +old knight again springing from his horse, and catching him by the +skirts of his coat of mail, hailed him as his son, and received him in +his arms as he dismounted to request the paternal benediction. The +tournament being over, they retired amidst the tears and applauses of +the assembly, and retreated to their inn, where Milun related the whole +series of his adventures. The young man listened till the end with +respectful attention; and then exclaimed, "In faith, fair sire, I will +unite you to my mother. I will kill her present husband, and you shall +marry her." This being arranged, they parted for the night. On the next +day they arrived at the sea: embarked; landed in Wales after a short and +pleasant passage; and were proceeding to Milun's castle, when they were +met by a messenger bearing a letter to Milun from his lady, in which she +announced the death of her husband, and requested him to hasten his +return. At this joyful news they hurried on to the lady's castle; and +she had the satisfaction of being for ever united to her lover, at the +same time that she embraced a son every way worthy of his accomplished +parents. On this occasion says the author, "_the ancients_ made a lay +which I have here set down _in writing_, and which I always relate with +fresh pleasure." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[79] This lay has been translated into English metre, under the +title of "the _Nythingale_." Bibl. Cotton. Calig. A. 11. + +[80] Perhaps Milwr, a _warrior_. + + + + * * * * * + +No. X.--CHAITIVEL. + +There lived formerly, at Nantes in Bretagne, a lady of such exquisite +beauty that no one could behold her with impunity. All the young men of +the town were rivals for her smiles; but four, nearly of the same age, +and of equal birth and accomplishments, soon eclipsed all the rest of +the competitors. Each of these four deserved, and obtained, a place in +her affections; but their merits were so equal that she was unable to +make a choice. At tournaments she sent to all some mark of distinction; +a ring, a scarf, a pennant, or other ornament; and all ascribed to her, +as mistress of their actions, the exploits they had the good fortune to +perform. It happened once, that Nantes was appointed for the celebration +of a tournament at the Easter festival. The four knights set out to meet +the foreign ones, and proposed to joust with an equal number: the offer +was accepted, and the contest ended to the advantage of the town. On the +following day the four young lovers still further distinguished +themselves; but the spectacle at length degenerated, as was frequently +the case, into a real combat, in which three out of the four were +accidentally slain, and the fourth dangerously wounded. They were +brought back to the lady, who caused the three to be magnificently +interred, and summoned the best physicians of the town to assist her +attendance on the survivor. Their joint efforts were at length +successful. He became convalescent; and, finding his passion revive with +his returning health, daily importuned the lady for her hand, to which +there now remained no other equal claimant. But she gave him to +understand, that feeling herself singular in misfortune, by having lost +in one day three admirers of superior merit, she would not consent to +bear to the bridal ceremony a heart consumed by eternal regret; and +that, as a monument of her grief, she intended to compose a lay, the +title of which should be "Les quatre Dols," (the four griefs). The +lover, instead of attempting to argue her out of this resolution, only +employs his eloquence in convincing her that the title of the new lay +ought to be "Le Chaitivel," (the wretch), because his rivals had found +in death the end of their disappointments, while he was doomed to a life +of sorrow and privation. The lady having assented to this change, the +story is abruptly brought to a conclusion. + + * * * * * + +No. XI.--_Translation of the Lai DEE CHEVREFOIL_: + +_(From Notes to Sir Tristrem, edited by Walter Scott, Esq.)_ + +I am much pleased with the lay which is called Chevrefoil. Let me relate +to you truly on what occasion it was made, and by whom. Many persons +have narrated the story to me; and I have also found it in writing, in +the work which treats of Tristrem, and of the Queen; and of their +constant love, from which they suffered a thousand sorrows; and expired +on the same day.[81] + +King Markes had been much offended with his nephew, Tristrem; and had +banished him on account of his attachment to the queen. The knight +retired into the country where he was born; spent there a whole year of +affliction; and, being still forbidden to return, became careless of +life. Do not wonder at this; for a true lover, where his wishes are +crossed by insuperable obstacles, can set no bounds to his grief. +Tristrem, therefore, thus driven to despair, left his home; passed into +Cornwall, the abode of the queen, and concealed himself in the thickest +part of the forest; from which he issued only at the close of the day, +at which time he took up his lodgings among the peasants and the poorest +of mankind. After frequent questions to these his hosts, concerning the +public news of the court, he at length learned the king had convoked his +barons, and summoned them to attend him at Pentecost, at the castle of +Tintagel. Tristrem was rejoiced at this news; because it was impossible +the queen could arrive at the meeting without giving him an opportunity +of getting sight of her during the journey. On the appointed day, +therefore, be took his station, in that part of the wood through which +the road passed, cut down a branch of _codre_ (hazel), smoothed it, +wrote his name on it with the point of his knife, together with other +characters, which the queen would well know how to decypher. He +perceives her approaching; he sees her examine with attention every +object on her road. In former times they had recognized each other by +means of a similar device; and he trusts, that, should she cast her eyes +on the stick, she will suspect it to belong to her lover. This was the +purport of the characters traced on it: "That he had long been waiting +at a distance, in hopes of being favoured with some expedient which +might procure him a meeting, without which he could no longer exist. It +was with these two, as with the _chevrefoil_ and the _codre._ When the +honey-suckle has caught hold of the _codre_, and encircled it by its +embraces, the two will live together and flourish; but if any one +resolves to sever them, the _codre_ suddenly dies, and the honey-suckle +with it. Sweet friend, so it is with us; I cannot live without you, nor +you without me." + +The queen slowly riding on, perceives the stick, and recognizes the +well-known characters. She orders the knights who accompany her to stop. +She is tired; she will get off her horse for a short time, and take some +repose. She calls to her only her maid, her faithful Brenguein; quits +the road, plunges into the thickest part of the forest, and finds him +whom she loved more than all the world. Both were delighted beyond +measure at this meeting, which gives them full leisure to concert their +future projects. She tells him, that he may now be easily reconciled to +his uncle. That the king has often regretted his absence, and +attributes to the malicious accusations of their common enemies, the +severe measure of his banishment. After a long conversation, the queen +tears herself from him; and they separate with mutual grief. Tristrem +returned to South-Wales, from whence he was soon recalled by his uncle; +but, in the mean time, he had repeated to himself, over and over again, +every word of his mistress's late conversation; and, while full of the +joy he felt at having seen her, he composed (being a perfect master of +the lays) a new lay, describing his stratagem, its success, his delight, +and the very words uttered by the queen. I will tell you the name of +this lay it is called _Goat-leaf_ in English, and _Chevre-foil_ in +French. I have now told you the whole truth.[82] + +FOOTNOTES: + +[81] Marie, who drew all her materials from Bretagne, probably +refers to some Armorican edition, of the history of these ill-fated +lovers. + +[82] From this, which forms no part of the Sir Tristrem of +Thomas, the Rhymer, it is evident that the same tale was popular in +France, at least thirty years before the probable date of that work. + + + + +No. XII.--ELIDUC. + + +This is stated to be a _very_ old Breton lay. Its original title was +"Guildeluec ha Gualadun," from the names of the two heroines; but it was +afterwards more commonly stiled, The Lay of Eliduc. + +Eliduc was a knight of Bretagne, much admired for military prowess, +courtesy, and political sagacity; in consequence of which, his +sovereign, who loved and admired him, was in the habit of entrusting to +his management the most important cares of government. Indeed, so great +was his influence at court, that he enjoyed, almost as completely as the +king, the privilege of the chace in the royal forests. But the favour of +sovereigns is always precarious; and so adroit were his enemies, that he +was suddenly deprived of all his honours, and even banished the country, +without being able to obtain from his once indulgent master, the +privilege of knowing his crimes, or being confronted with his accusers. +Fortunately he was in the prime of life, fond of adventure, and not of a +temper to despond. He retired to his castle, convened his friends, and +communicated to them the king's injustice, and his own projects; which +were, to embark for England, and there enter into the pay of the first +king who might want his assistance. But he had a wife, the fair and +amiable Guildeluec, whom he tenderly loved; and whom, as he was +unwilling to carry her into exile, he earnestly recommended to their +care and attentions. He then selected ten knights as his companions, and +departed for the sea-coast, escorted by nearly all his friends and +vassals, and accompanied by his wife, who was almost frantic with grief +at this cruel separation, and whom he could scarcely reconcile to her +fate, by repeating again and again the most solemn assurances of eternal +and inviolable fidelity. At length he embarked with a fair wind, and +landing at Totness, in Devonshire, proceeded towards Exeter. The king of +this district had an only daughter, heiress of his dominions; and, +having refused to bestow her on a neighbouring prince, was at that time +involved in a most distressful war, and besieged in his capital. Eliduc +went no further: he sent a message to the distressed king, offering his +assistance; and requesting, should the proposal be rejected, a safe +conduct through the country. The king most gladly accepted the offer, +and ordered his constable to prepare a house for the reception of the +welcome guests, and issue a suitable sum of money, with a supply of +provisions for their monthly expenditure. Eliduc and his attendants were +magnificently entertained. His inn was the house of the richest burgess +in the town, and _the grand tapestry room_[83] was surrendered to the +knight by its proprietor. Eliduc on his part was equally liberal. He +issued strict orders to his attendants, that during the first forty +days, none of them should accept either pay or provisions from the +court; and during this time kept, at his own expence, a profuse table +for the accommodation of such knights as were unprovided with other +means of subsistence. On the third day, an alarm was spread that the +enemy had again over-run the country, and might shortly be expected at +the gates. Eliduc flew to arms; and, having assembled his ten knights, +was soon after joined by fourteen more from different parts of the city, +who declared themselves ready to encounter, under his commands, any +inequality of numbers. Eliduc praised their zeal; but observed, that +this intemperate valour was more fitted for the lists of a tournament +than for useful service; and requested that they, who knew the country, +would shew him some defile in which he could hope to attack the enemy on +equal terms. They pointed out a hollow way in the neighbouring forest, +by which the invaders usually passed and returned; and Eliduc, while +hastening there, described the measures he meant to pursue, and exhorted +them to follow him with vigour. All was so well planned and executed, +that the foe were surprized laden with booty; and their commander, with +thirty principal officers, seized on his palfrey, and made prisoners +almost without resistance. The squires and other attendants at the same +time secured a large quantity of baggage, and the troop immediately +hastened their return towards the city, where their appearance excited +no small consternation. The king, having mounted a watch-tower, had +descried his small garrison of knights engaged in a distant action with +very superior numbers; after which, seeing a large body in full march +for the city, he concluded Eliduc had betrayed him; caused the gates to +be shut, the alarm to be sounded, and commanded the citizens to defend +the walls. But being quickly undeceived, he welcomed his deliverer with +transports of joy and gratitude; and, after receiving his oath of +allegiance for a year, invested him with the supreme military command, +and assigned ample pensions to himself and all his attendants. The +king's daughter, the beautiful Guilliadun, became anxious in her turn to +behold the extraordinary stranger, who had confirmed her father in his +throne, by means of a troop of knights, who scarcely appeared competent +to the defence of the walls. She invited him to an audience, to which he +was formally introduced by one of her chamberlains; seated him near her +on a bed; and entered into conversation on a variety of indifferent +topics. But during the discourse, she could not help remarking that this +consummate warrior and statesman was young and handsome; and found her +heart completely engaged. After sighing and turning pale, and making +many reflections on the indelicacy of avowing her passion, she would +probably have done it, if the knight had not, by respectfully taking +leave, put an end to the interview. He, in the mean time, had not been +blind to her perfections, her youth, beauty, simplicity and frankness of +character, and, above all, those artless sighs which assured him of her +affection, had made an indelible impression on his heart. At length the +image of his wife, and his solemn assurances of fidelity, interrupted +the dream of happiness in which he had involuntarily indulged; but the +interruption became painful; and while he mentally repeated the promise +of adhering to duty, he felt that promise disavowed by his inclination. +Guilliadun, after a sleepless night, found it impossible to keep her +secret, and having summoned a trusty chamberlain, confided to him her +sudden, and, as she thought, inexplicable passion. After a long +discussion, she at length, at his suggestion, dispatched him to the +knight with the usual salutations of courtesy, and with the present of +her ring and a rich girdle. Eliduc immediately replied by an equally +courteous message; put the ring on his finger; bound the girdle round +his loins; offered a rich present to the chamberlain, who declined it; +but avoided all discussion on the subject of his message. The impatient +princess was almost driven to despair by the report of her chamberlain, +who, though convinced that Eliduc could not be insensible to the +kindness of his mistress, was unable to satisfy her mind, or even his +own, concerning the cause of such extreme discretion. Both, indeed, were +ignorant of the conflicts by which he was agitated. To recall his former +fondness for his wife, and to conciliate his duty and affection, was no +longer possible: to betray and dishonour the amiable Guilliadun would be +infamous; and to encourage her passion and his own, without being +hurried too far, was extremely difficult; yet on this he ultimately +resolved; and, having mounted his horse, set off for the palace under +pretence of paying his court to the king, but with the real view of +obtaining an interview with his daughter. The monarch was at that moment +in the apartment of the princess, to whom, while be played a game of +chess with a foreign knight, he explained the moves. On the entrance of +Eliduc he immediately introduced him to her, enjoining her to entertain +and form an acquaintance with a knight, who had few equals in merit; and +the young lady, gladly obeying the injunction, retired with her lover to +the farther end of the apartment. After a long silence equally painful +to both, and which each ineffectually attempted more than once to +interrupt, Eliduc luckily bethought himself of returning thanks for the +ring and girdle; which, as he assured her, he valued far beyond all his +earthly possessions. This warmth of expression encouraging the princess, +she frankly proceeded to make an avowal of her passion, declaring, if he +should reject her hand, there was no other man on earth whom she would +ever accept as a husband; and, when he mysteriously replied, that, as +far as his wishes were concerned, there could be no bar, but that it was +his purpose, after the year of service for which he was pledged to her +father, to return and establish himself in his own country, she told him +she had full confidence in his honour, and was persuaded, when the time +arrived, he would make all proper arrangements for her future destiny. +Thus ended the interview to their mutual satisfaction. Eliduc, watchful, +enterprizing, and indefatigable, soon recovered for her father all the +lost provinces, and insured future tranquillity by the capture of his +enemy; but scarcely was the war concluded, when the knight received an +embassy from his former master, whose ingratitude had been punished by +the loss of half his kingdom, and the jeopardy of the rest, adjuring him +to come with all speed to the rescue of a country which was now purged +of the monsters whose false accusations had occasioned his exile. Such +an embassy, a few months sooner would have been most welcome, but to +part with Guilliadun now appeared the heaviest of misfortunes. He felt, +however, that duty called him away, and determined to obey the summons. +He went to the king; read the letters he had received; and earnestly +requested leave to depart, though his stipulated term of service was not +expired; observing, at the same time, that the state of his majesty's +affairs no longer required his attendance; and, promising at the first +appearance of difficulty, he would return with a powerful body of +knights. The king, after making the most splendid offers to detain him, +unwillingly yielded; but to obtain the consent of Guilliadun was far +more difficult. Trusting that she possessed the whole heart of her +lover, and perfectly unconscious that his hand had been previously given +to another, she insisted on accompanying him, and threatened to destroy +herself in case of his refusal. His remonstrances were accompanied by +fainting fits, which terrified Eliduc into a solemn promise of +unqualified submission to her will; but he represented, that having +sworn fealty to her father, she could not now go with him, without a +breach of his oath; whereas, after the expiration of his term of +service, he could, without disgrace, comply with her wishes; and he +promised, on the honour of a knight, that if she would fix a day, he +would return and carry her off. With this promise she was satisfied, and +after many tears, and a mutual exchange of rings, ultimately permitted +him to depart. The return of Eliduc gave infinite pleasure to his +friends, to the king his master, and above all, to his excellent wife, +who now hoped she should be indemnified, by his beloved society, for her +long and dreary hours of widowhood. But she beheld, with surprise and +consternation that he harboured some secret grief, and anxiously +enquired if any thing in her conduct had given him displeasure. Eliduc +assured her of the contrary, but told her, in apparent confidence, that +he was forced by his oath to return to the king whom he had lately +quitted, so soon as he should have settled the affairs of his own +country; that he had much to endure, much to accomplish; and that, +harassed as he was on all sides, he should never regain his former +gaiety till he should have extricated himself from all his difficulties. +In the mean time, his mere name had inspired the enemy with alarm; his +re-appearance at the head of the armies brought back victory to the +royal standard; he saw and seized the moment of making an advantageous +peace; and, having done so, prepared for the execution of a more +pleasing enterprise. Taking with him only two nephews, a chamberlain and +a trusty squire, all of whom he swore to secresy, he embarked for +Loegria; stationed his vessel at some distance from the harbour of +Totness; and landing his chamberlain alone, and in disguise, sent him, +with secret instructions to the princess. The confidant executed his +commission with address; made his way unobserved to the chamber of +Guilliadun, informed her of his master's arrival, and explained the +measures he had devised for her escape. They waited for the approach of +night; when Guilliadun, without any other attendant, having muffled +herself in a short and warm mantle, which concealed the richness of her +usual garments, followed him out of the town, to a small wood, where +Eliduc, who had deferred his landing till evening, awaited her. The +knight instantly placed her on a horse, springing on another, and taking +her rein in his hand, hurried forward to the sea, and embarked without +having excited the slightest suspicion of the enterprise, to which none +were privy excepting those on board. Both wind and tide were favourable; +they arrived near the coast of Bretagne, and were on the point of +entering the harbour, when a sudden squall from the shore split their +mast, rent their sail, and exposed them for some hours to the most +imminent danger. All exertions to guide the vessel being ineffectual, +they had recourse to prayers, invoking St. Nicholas and St. Clement, and +requesting the intercession of the blessed Virgin and her Son, that they +might be permitted to land in safety. The storm continued; when one of +the sailors suddenly exclaimed, "Sir knight, you carry with you the +cause of our calamity. In defiance of God, religion, justice and honour, +you are carrying off that lady, having already a beautiful and lawful +wife in your own country. Permit us to throw your paramour into the sea, +and we shall speedily find our prayers effectual." The princess was then +lying, almost exhausted with fatigue, sickness, and fear, in the arms of +her lover; who, though bursting with rage, could only express it by +execrations, which he vented as loudly as he could in the hope of +drowning the hateful voice of the mariner, but the fatal assurance +"Eliduc was already married," had reached the ear, and sunk deeply into +the heart of Guilliadun. She fainted, and though he and his friends +employed all the means in their power for her recovery, they were unable +to produce any symptom of returning animation, a general exclamation of +grief pronounced her dead; when the knight, starting from the body, +seized an oar, felled at one blow the presumptuous seaman, threw him by +the foot into the sea, took possession of the helm, and directed it so +skilfully that the vessel reached the harbour in safety. They all +landed, and in a very few hours might reach the castle of Eliduc, which +was not far from the coast; but where could he deposit the body of his +mistress, how inter it with all the honours suitable to her rank and +merit? he at length recollected, that in the forest which surrounded his +mansion, dwelt an aged hermit, at whose cell the corpse might remain +till its interment: he could then enjoy the sad pleasure of visiting +daily the object of all his solicitude, and he determined to found on +the spot an abbey, in which a number of monks should pray for ever for +the soul of the lovely and injured Guilliadun. He then mounted his +palfrey, and, carrying the body in his arms, proceeded with his +attendants to the hermitage. The door was shut; and they discovered, +after having at length procured an entrance, the grave of the holy man, +who had expired a few days before. Eliduc caused a bed to be made within +the chapel; and placing on it his mistress, whose deadly paleness had +not yet injured her beauty, burst into a flood of tears, kissed her +lips and eyes, as if in the hopes of restoring their animation; and +solemnly pronounced a vow, that from the date of her interment he would +never more exercise the functions of a knight; but, after having erected +an abbey on the spot, sanctified by her remains, would assume himself +the monastic habit, and daily visit her tomb to express his love, his +grief, and his remorse. He then, with difficulty tore himself from the +body, and departed; having first sent a messenger to his castle to +announce that he was arrived, but so much fatigued and way-worn, as to +require nothing but repose and solitude. His wife met him with her usual +gentleness of affection; but instantly saw in his haggard looks that his +heart laboured with some misery which her tenderness was unable to +remove. His manners were such as to awaken without satisfying her +curiosity. He rose at day break, spent some hours at prayers, walked +alone into the forest, proceeded instinctively to the fatal hermitage, +and returned late in the evening, bearing with him, as it appeared, an +additional load of misery. He saw with astonishment that death seemed to +abstain from ravaging the beauties of Guilliadun; he involuntarily gave +way to the most flattering hopes; and, after many long sad hours of +tears and fruitless prayer, retired in anguish and disappointment. On +the third day he gave notice he should go to court, and pass the evening +with the king. His wife, in the mean time, by the promise of the most +tempting rewards, had engaged one of her pages to follow his master at a +distance, during his forest walk, and report what he should see and +hear; and the page, having on that morning executed his commission, she +determined to take advantage of Eliduc's absence to visit the hermitage, +and discover, if possible, the cause of that excessive grief to which he +gave way; and of which the death of the old hermit, much as he might +have loved him, was far from affording a satisfactory explanation. She +set forth with the page, entered the chapel, beheld, with much surprize, +a bed handsomely ornamented; and, on lifting up the covering, saw, with +still more astonishment, the young and blooming Guilliadun, "_qui +resemblot rose nuvele_." The faultless beauty of a living rival might +have excited some indignation in the bosom of the most patient wife, but +the eyes of the lovely object before her, appeared closed for ever; and +Guildeluec could find no place in her heart, for any sentiments but +those of admiration and pity. After calling her page to survey the +spectacle which fully explained and excused her husband's immoderate +grief, she sat down by the bed to reflect on the past, and decide on +her own future conduct. During, the long absence of Eliduc she had +devoted the greater part of her time to religious exercises, and now +clearly saw that to them only could she look for comfort. Having +convinced herself of this necessity, she turned, with tears in her eyes, +to the fair object of her husband's regret; when a circumstance, +apparently trifling, involuntarily arrested her attention. A weasel, +creeping from under the altar, ran upon the bed, and passing several +times over the face of the entranced Guilliadun, so far incensed the +page, that with a blow of his stick he laid it dead at his feet, and +then threw it on the floor. The animal had lain there only a few +moments, when another weasel, coming from the same hole, ran up, and +attempted awhile to sport with it, and then, after exhibiting every +appearance of grief, suddenly ran off into the wood, and returned with a +flower of a beautiful vermilion colour, which it carefully inserted into +the mouth of the dead animal. The effect was sudden, the weasel +instantaneously got upon its legs, and was preparing to escape; when the +lady exclaimed to the page, to strike it again, and he aimed a second +blow, that caused the creature to drop the flower, which Guildeluec +instantly seized, and carefully placed between the lips of Guilliadun. +The plant had not lost its efficacy. The princess, awakening from her +trance, expressed her surprise at having slept so long, and then gazed +with astonishment at the bed on which she lay, at the walls of the +chapel by which she was surrounded, and at the two unknown figures, of +Guildeluec and the page; who, kneeling by her side, loudly expressed +their thanksgiving to the Almighty for what they thought her miraculous +resurrection. At length the good lady, having finished her devotions, +began to question the fair stranger respecting her birth and preceding +adventures, which she related with the utmost candour and exactness, +till the fatal moment when the discovery of Eliduc's prior marriage had +deprived her of sense and motion. The rest was better known to her +hearers than herself; and Guildeluec, more and more charmed with her +innocence, and frankness, after avowing herself, lost no time in +comforting her, by the assurance that all her hopes and wishes might now +be speedily gratified. "Your youthful beauty," said she, "might +captivate any heart, and your merit will fix for ever that of Eliduc, +who is unalterably attached to you, and whose grief for your loss was +such as to preclude all hopes of consolation. It is my intention to take +the veil, and abandon all claim to those affections which are estranged +from me for ever. In restoring you to the now wretched Eliduc, I shall +promote, by the only means in my power, that happiness to which I have +hitherto been the unintentional obstacle." Guilliadun consented, with +silent gratitude, to accept the sacrifice so generously offered, and was +united to her lover as soon as the solemn ceremony had taken place, by +which Guildeluec consecrated the remainder of her days to heaven, in a +nunnery erected and endowed by her husband, on the site of the ancient +hermitage. Their union was followed by many years of happiness; and they +closed a life of charity and benevolence by following the pious example +of Guildeluec, who received Guilliadun into her order, while Eliduc took +the cowl in a monastery, to the endowment of which he dedicated the +remainder of his worldly possessions. From the adventure of these three, +"the olde gentil Bretons" (_li auncien Bretun curteis_) formed a lay to +transmit to future ages. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[83] + + La bele chambre encurtinée + Li ad li ostes deliverée. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11857 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..07e15d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #11857 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11857) diff --git a/old/11857-8.txt b/old/11857-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0df0ce9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11857-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6231 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lay of Marie, by Matilda Betham, et al + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Lay of Marie + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Release Date: March 30, 2004 [eBook #11857] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAY OF MARIE*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Wilelmina Mallière, +and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Bibliographical Note: + + These facsimiles have been made from copies in the Yale University + Library _The Lay of Marie_ (In.B4645.816L) and the British Library + _Vignettes_ (Il642.bbb.36) + + Reprint of the 1816 and 1818 eds. + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE + +and + +VIGNETTES IN VERSE + +MATILDA BETHAM + +with an introduction for the Garland edition by Donald H. Reiman + + + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE: A POEM + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + +1816 + + + + +TO + +LADY BEDINGFELD. + + + To whom,--as Fancy, taking longer flight, + With folded arms upon her heart's high swell, + Floating the while in circles of delight, + And whispering to her wings a sweeter spell + Than she has ever aim'd or dar'd before-- + Shall I address this theme of minstrel lore? + To whom but her who loves herself to roam + Through tales of earlier times, and is at home + With heroes and fair dames, forgotten long, + But for romance, and lay, and lingering song? + To whom but her, whom, ere my judgment knew, + Save but by intuition, false from true, + Seem'd to me wisdom, goodness, grace combin'd; + The ardent heart; the lively, active mind? + To whom but her whose friendship grows more dear, + And more assur'd, for every lapsing year? + One whom my inmost thought can worthy deem + Of love, and admiration, and esteem! + + + + +PREFACE + +As there is little, in all I have been able to collect respecting MARIE, +which has any thing to do with the Poem, I have chosen to place such +information at the end of the book, in form of an Appendix, rather than +here; where the only things necessary to state are, that she was an +Anglo-Norman Minstrel of the thirteenth century; and as she lived at the +time of our losing Normandy, I have connected her history with that +event: that the young king who sees her in his progress through his +foreign possessions is our Henry III.; and the Earl William who steps +forward to speak in her favour is William Longsword, brother to Richard +Coeur de Lion. Perhaps there is no record of minstrels being called upon +to sing at a feast in celebration of a victory which involves their own +greatest possible misfortune; but such an incident is not of improbable +occurrence. It is likely, also, that a woman, said to be more learned, +accomplished, and pleasing, than was usually the case with those of her +profession, might have a father, who, with the ardour, the disobedience, +the remorse of his heroic master, had been, like him, a crusader and a +captive; and in the after solitude of self-inflicted penitence, full of +romantic and mournful recollections, fostered in the mind of his +daughter, by nature embued with a portion of his own impassioned +feelings, every tendency to that wild and poetical turn of thought which +qualified her for a minstrel; and, after his death, induced her to +become one. + + * * * * * + +The union of European and Eastern beauty, in the person of Marie, I have +attempted to describe as lovely as possible. The consciousness of noble +birth, of injurious depression, and the result of that education which +absorbed the whole glowing mind of a highly gifted parent, a mind rich +with adventures, with enthusiasm and tenderness, ought to be pourtrayed +in her deportment; while the elegance and delicacy which more +particularly distinguish the gentlewoman, would naturally be imbibed +from a constant early association with a model of what the chivalrous +spirit of the age could form, with all its perfections and its faults; +in a situation, too, calculated still more to refine such a character; +especially with one who was the centre of his affections and regrets, +and whom he was so soon to leave unprotected. That, possessing all these +advantages, notwithstanding her low station, she should be beloved by, +and, on the discovery of her birth, married to a young nobleman, whose +high favour with his sovereign would lead him to hope such an offence +against the then royal prerogative of directing choice would be deemed a +venial one, is, I should think, an admissible supposition. + + * * * * * + +That a woman would not be able to sing under such afflicting +circumstances might be objected; but history shews us, scarcely any +exertion of fortitude or despair is too great to be looked for in that +total deprivation of all worldly interest consequent to such +misfortunes. Whether that train of melancholy ideas which her own fate +suggests is sufficiently removed from narration to be natural, or not +near it enough to be clear, the judgment of others must determine. No +wish or determination to have it one way or another, in sentiment, +stile, or story, influenced its composition; though, occasionally, lines +previously written are interwoven; and, in one instance, a few that have +been published. + + * * * * * + +Her Twelve Lays are added in a second Appendix, as curious in +themselves, and illustrative of the manners and morals of an age when +they formed the amusement of the better orders. + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE. + +CANTO FIRST. + + + The guests are met, the feast is near, + But Marie does not yet appear! + And to her vacant seat on high + Is lifted many an anxious eye. + The splendid show, the sumptuous board, + The long details which feuds afford, + And discontent is prone to hold, + Absorb the factious and the cold;-- + Absorb dull minds, who, in despair, + The standard grasp of worldly care, + Which none can quit who once adore-- + They love, confide, and hope no more; + Seek not for truth, nor e'er aspire + To nurse that immaterial fire, + From whose most healthful warmth proceed + Each real joy and generous deed; + Which, once extinct, no toil or pain + Can kindle into life again, + To light the then unvarying eye, + To melt, in question or reply, + Those tones, so subtil and so sweet, + That none can look for, none repeat; + Which, self-impell'd, defy controul,-- + They bear the signet of the soul; + And, as attendants of their flight, + Enforce persuasion and delight. + + Words that an instant have reclin'd + Upon the pillow of the mind, + Or caught, upon their rapid way, + The beams of intellectual day, + Pour fresh upon the thirsty ear, + O'erjoy'd, and all awake to hear, + Proof that in other hearts is known + The secret language of our own. + They to the way-worn pilgrim bring + A draught from Rapture's sparkling spring; + And, ever welcome, are, when given, + Like some few scatter'd flowers from heaven; + Could such in earthly garlands twine, + To bloom by others less divine. + + Where does this idle Minstrel stay? + Proud are the guests, august the day; + And princes of the realm attend + The triumph of their sovereign's friend;-- + Triumph of stratagem and fight + Gain'd o'er a young and gallant knight, + Who, the last fort compell'd to yield, + Perish'd, despairing, in the field. + + The Norman Chief, whose sudden blow + Had laid fair England's banner low; + Spite of resistance firm and bold + Secur'd the latest, surest hold + Its sceptre touch'd across the main, + Important, difficult to gain, + Easy against her to retain;-- + Baron de Brehan--seem'd to stand + An alien in his native land; + One whom no social ties endear'd + Except his child; and she appear'd + Unconsciously to prompt his toil,-- + Unconsciously to take the spoil + Of hate and treason; and, 'twas said, + The pillage of a kinsman dead, + Whom, for his large domain, he slew: + 'Twas whisper'd only,--no one knew. + At tale of murderous deed, his ear + No startling summons seem'd to hear; + Yet should some sudden theme intrude + Of friend betray'd--ingratitude;-- + Or treacherous counsel--follies nurs'd + In ardent minds, who, dying, curs'd + The guileful author of their woes; + His troubled look would then disclose + Some secret anguish, inward care, + Which mutely, sternly, said, Forbear! + + He spake of policy and right, + Of bold exploits in recent fight,-- + Of interest, and the common weal, + Of distant empire, slow appeal. + Skill'd to elicit thoughts unknown + In other minds, and hide his own, + His brighter eye, in darting round + Their purposes and wishes found. + Praises, and smiles, and promise play'd + Around his speech; which yet convey'd + No meaning, when, the moment past, + Memory retold her stores at last. + + Courtiers were there, the old and young, + Of high and haughty lineage sprung; + And jewell'd matrons: some had been, + Erewhile, spectators of a scene + Like this, with mien and manners gay; + Who now, their hearts consum'd away, + Held all the pageant in disdain, + And seem'd to smile and speak with pain. + Of such were widows, who deplor'd + Husbands long lost, but still ador'd; + To grace their children, fierce and proud, + Like martyrs led into the crowd: + Mothers, their sole remaining stay, + In some dear son, late snatch'd away; + Whose duty made them better brook + Their lords' high tone and careless look; + Whose praises had awaken'd pride + In bosoms dead to all beside. + + Warriors, infirm with battles grown, + Were there, in languid grandeur thrown + On the low bench, who seem'd to say, + "Our mortal vigour wanes away;" + And gentle maid, with aspect meek, + While cloud-like blushes cross her cheek, + Restless awaits the Minstrel's power + To dispossess the present hour, + And by a spirit-seizing charm, + Her thoughts employ, her fancy warm, + And snatch her from the mute distress + Of conscious, breathless bashfulness. + + Young knights, who never tamely wait, + Crowd in the porch, or near the gate, + By quick return, and sudden throng, + Announcing the expected song. + + The Minstrel comes, and, by command, + Before the nobles of the land, + In her poor order's simple dress, + Grac'd only by the native tress, + A flowing mass of yellow'd light, + Whose bold swells gleam with silver bright, + And dove-like shadows sink from sight. + Those long, soft locks, in many a wave + Curv'd with each turn her figure gave; + Thick, or if threatening to divide, + They still by sunny meshes hide; + Eluding, by commingling lines, + Whatever severs or defines. + + Amid the crowd of beauties there, + None were so exquisitely fair; + And, with the tender, mellow'd air, + The taper, flexile, polish'd limb, + The form so perfect, yet so slim, + And movement, only thought to grace + The dark and yielding Eastern race; + As if on pure and brilliant day + Repose, as soft as moonlight, lay. + + Reluctant still she seem'd,--her feet + Sought slowly the appointed seat: + Her hand, oft lifting to her head, + She lightly o'er her forehead spread; + Then the unconscious motion check'd, + And, struggling with her own neglect, + Seem'd as she but by effort found + The presence of an audience round. + + Meanwhile the murmurings died away + Which spake impatience of delay: + A pitying wonder, new and kind, + Arose in each beholder's mind: + They saw no scorn to meet reproof, + No arrogance to keep aloof; + Her air absorb'd, her sadden'd mien, + Combin'd the mourning, captive queen, + With _her_ who at the altar stands + To raise aloft her spotless hands, + In meek and persevering prayer, + For such as falter in despair. + All that was smiling, bright, and gay, + Youth's show of triumph during May, + Its roseate crown, was snatch'd away! + Yet sorrows, which had come so soon, + Like tender morning dew repos'd, + O'er hope and joy as softly clos'd + As moist clouds on the light at noon. + + Opprest by some heart-withering pang, + Upon her harp she seem'd to hang + Awhile o'erpower'd--then faintly sang: + + "Demand no lay of long-past times; + Of foreign loves, or foreign crimes; + Demand no visions which arise + To Rapture's eager, tearless eyes! + Those who can travel far, I ween, + Whose strength can reach a distant scene, + And measure o'er large space of ground, + Have not, like me, a deadly wound! + Near home, perforce, alas, I stray, + Perforce pursue my destin'd way, + Through scenes where all my trouble grows, + And where alone remembrance flows. + Like evening swallows, still my wings + Float round in low, perpetual rings; + But never fold the plume for rest + One moment in the tranquil nest; + And have no strength to reach the skies, + No power, no hope, no wish to rise! + + "Blame me not, _Fancy_, if I now restrain + Thy wandering footsteps, now thy wings confine; + Tis the decree of Fate,--it is not mine! + For I would let thee free and widely stray-- + Would follow gladly, tend thee on thy way, + And never of the devious track complain, + Never thy wild and sportive flights disdain! + Though reasonless those graceful moods may be, + They still, alas! were passing sweet to me. + + "Unhappy that I am, compell'd to bind + This murmuring captive! one who ever strove + By each endearing art to win my love; + Who, ever unoffending, ever bright, + Danc'd in my view, and pleas'd me to delight! + She scatter'd showers of lilies on my mind; + For, oh! so fair, so fresh, and so refin'd, + Her child-like offerings, without thorns to pain, + Without one canker'd wound, or earthly stain. + + "And, _darling!_ as my trembling fingers twine + Those fetters round thee, they are wet with tears! + For the sweet playmate of my early years + I cannot thus afflict, nor thus resign + My equal liberty, and not repine! + For I had made thee, infant as thou art, + Queen of my hopes, my leisure, and my heart; + Given thee its happiest laugh, its sweetest tear, + And all I found or conquer'd every year. + + "I blame me now I let thy sports offend + Old Time, and laid thy snare within his path + To make him falter, as it often hath; + For he grew angry soon, and held his breath, + And hurried on, in frightful league with Death, + To make the way through which my footsteps bend, + Late rich in all that social scenes attend, + A desert; and with thee I droop, I die, + Beneath the look of his malignant eye. + + "Me do triumphant heroes call + To grace with harp their festal hall? + O! must my voice awake the song?-- + My skill the artful tale prolong? + Yes! I am call'd--it is my doom! + Unhappily, ye know not whom, + Nor what, impatient ye demand! + How hostile now the fever'd hand, + Across these chords unwilling thrown, + To echo plainings of my own! + Little indeed can ye divine + What song ye ask who call for mine! + + "Till now, before the courtly crowd + I humbly and I gaily bow'd; + The blush was not to shame allied + Which on my glowing cheek I wore; + No lowly seemings pain'd nay pride, + My heart was laughing at the core; + And sometimes, as the stream of song + Bore me with eddying haste along, + My father's spirit would arise, + And speak strange meaning from these eyes, + At which a conscious cheek would quail, + A stern and lofty bearing fail: + Then could a chieftain condescend + In me to recognize his friend! + Then could a warrior low incline + His eye, when it encounter'd mine! + A tone can make the guilty start! + A glance can pierce the conscious heart, + Encountering memory in its flight, + Most waywardly! Such wounds are slight; + But I withdraw the painful light! + + "Fair lords and princes! many a time + For you I wove my pictur'd rhyme; + Refin'd new thoughts and fancies crude + In deep and careful solitude; + 'And, when my task was finish'd, came + To seek the meed of praise or blame; + While, even then, untir'd I strove + To serve beneath the yoke of love. + Whene'er I mark'd a fearful look, + When pride, or when resentment, spoke, + I bent the tenor of my strain, + And trembled lest it were in vain. + By many an undiscover'd wile + I brought the pallid lip to smile, + Clear'd the maz'd thought for ampler scope, + Sustain'd the flagging wings of hope; + And threw a mantle over care + Such as the blooming Graces wear! + I made the friend resist his pride, + Scarce aiming what he felt to hide + From other eyes, his own implor'd + That kindness were again restor'd. + As generous themes engag'd my tongue + In pleadings for the fond and young: + Towards his child the father leant, + In fast-subsiding discontent: + I made that father's claims be felt, + And saw the rash, the stubborn, melt; + Nay, once, subdued, a rebel knelt. + + "Thus skill'd, from pity's warm excess, + The aching spirit to caress; + Profuse of her ideal wealth, + And rich in happiness and health, + An alien, class'd among the poor, + Unheeded, from her precious store, + Its best and dearest tribute brought; + The zeal of high, adventurous thought, + The tender awe in yielding aid, + E'en of its own soft hand afraid! + Stealing, through shadows, forth to bless, + Her venturous service knew no bound; + Yet shrank, and trembled, when success + Its earnest, fullest wishes crown'd! + This alien sinks, opprest with woe, + And have you nothing to bestow? + No language kind, to sooth or cheer?-- + No soften'd voice,--no tender tear?-- + No promise which may hope impart? + No fancy to beguile the heart; + To chace those dreary thoughts away, + And waken from this deep dismay! + + "Is it that station, power, or pride, + Can human sympathies divide? + Or is she deem'd a thing of art, + Form'd only to enact a part, + Whose nice perceptions all belong + To modulated thought and song, + And, in fictitious feeling thrown, + Lie waste or callous in her own? + + "Is it from poverty of soul; + Or does some fear some doubt, controul? + So round the heart strong fibres strain, + That it attempts to beat in vain? + Does palsy on your feelings hang, + Deaden'd by some severer pang? + If so, behold, my eyes o'erflow! + For, O! that anguish well I know! + When once that fatal stroke is given,-- + When once that finest nerve is riven, + Our love, our pity, all are o'er; + We even sooth ourselves no more! + + "Back, hurrying feelings! to the time + I learnt to clothe my thoughts in rhyme! + When, climbing up my father's knees, + I gaily sang, secure to please! + Rounded his pale and wasted cheek, + And won him, in his turn, to speak: + When, for reward, I closer prest, + And whisper'd much, and much carest; + With timorous eye, and head aside, + Half ask'd, and laugh'd, and then denied; + Ere I again petition made + To hear the often-told crusade. + How, knowing hardship but by name, + Misled by friendship and by fame, + His parents' wishes he disdain'd, + With zeal, nor real quite, nor feign'd; + And fought on many a famous spot;-- + The suffering of a captive's lot; + My Georgian mother's daring flight; + The day's concealment, march by night; + Her death, when, touching Christian ground, + They deem'd repose and safety found: + How, on his arm, by night and day, + I, then a happy infant, lay, + And taught him not to mourn, but pray. + How, when, at length, he reach'd his home, + His heart foretold a gentle doom; + With tears of fondness in his eyes, + Hoping to cause a glad surprize; + Full of submission, pondering o'er + What he too lightly priz'd before; + The curse with tenfold vengeance fell.-- + Those who had lov'd him once so well, + In whose indulgence perfect trust + Had still been wise, though most unjust, + Were in the grave!--Their hearts were cold! + His penitence might still be told-- + Told to the winds! for few would hear, + Or, hearing, deem that tale sincere + His patrimony's lord denied, + Who, hardening in possession's pride, + Affirm'd the rightful owner died. + + "A victim from devouring strife, + And slavery, return'd with life; + Possessions, honours, parents gone, + The very hand that urg'd him on, + Now, by its stern repelling, tore + The veil that former falsehood wore! + + "When he first bar'd his heart before thy view, + Told all its inmost beatings--told them true; + Nay, e'en the pulse, the secret, trembling thrill, + On which the slightest touch alone would trill [Errata: kill]; + While thou, with secret aim, collected art, + Didst wind around that bold, confiding heart, + And, in its warm and healthful breathings fling + A subtle poison, and a deadly sting! + + "Where shall we else so fell a traitor find? + The wilful, hard misleader of the blind + And what can be the soul-perverter's meed, + Plotting to lure his friend to such a deed, + As made self-hatred on the conscience lay + That heavy weight she never moves away? + O! where the good man's inner barriers close + 'Gainst the world's cruel judgments, and his foes + Enfolding truth, and prayer, and soul's repose, + Thine is a mournful numbness, or a din, + For many strong accusers lurk within! + + "And, since this fatal period, in thine eyes + A shrewd and unrelaxing witness lies; + While, on the specious language of the tongue, + Deceit has hateful, warning accents hung; + And outrag'd nature, struggling with a smile, + Announces nought but discontent and guile; + Each trace of fair, auspicious meaning flown, + All that makes man by man belov'd and known. + Silence, indignant thought! forego thy sway! + Silence! and let me measure on my way! + + "Soul-struck, and yielding to his fate, + My father left his castle gate. + 'Thou,' he would cry, with flowing eyes, + 'That moment wert the sacrifice! + Little, alas! avails to thee + Wealth, honours, titles, ancestry; + All lost by me! I dar'd to lift + On high thy welfare, as a gift! + To save thee, dearest, dar'd resign + Thy worldly good! it was not mine! + But, O! I felt around thee twin'd + My very self,--my heart and mind! + All that may chance is dead to me, + Save only as it touches thee! + Could self-infliction but atone + For one who lives in thee alone; + If my repentance and my tears + Could spare thy future smiling years, + The fatal curse should only rest + Upon this firm, though guilty breast? + Yet, tendering from thy vessel's freight + Offerings of such exceeding weight, + And free thee from one earthly chain! + Envy and over-weening hate + Would on thy orphan greatness wait; + Folly that supple nature bend + For parasites to scorn thy friend; + And pamper'd vanity incline + To wilful blindness such as mine! + + "'Thee to the altar yet I bring! + Hear me, my Saviour and my King! + Again I for my child resign + All worldly good! but make her thine! + Let her soft footsteps gently move, + Nor waken grief, nor injure love; + Carelessly trampling on the ground + That priceless gem, so rarely found; + That treasure, which, should angels guard, + Would all their vigilance reward! + + "'My mind refuses still to fear + She should be cold or insincere; + That aught like meanness should debase + One of our rash and wayward race, + No! most I dread intemperate pride, + Deaf ardour, reckless, and untried, + With firm controul and skilful rein, + Its hurrying fever to restrain! + + "'Others might wish their soul's delight + Should be most lovely to the sight; + And beauty vainly I ador'd, + Serv'd with my eye, my tongue, my sword; + Nay, let me not from truth depart! + Enshrin'd and worship'd it at heart. + Oft, when her mother fix'd my gaze, + Enwrapt, on bright perfection's blaze, + Hopes the imperious spell beguil'd, + Transcendant thus to see my child: + But now, for charms of form or face, + Save only purity and grace; + Save sweetness, which all rage disarms, + Would lure an infant to her arms + In instantaneous love; and make + A heart, like mine, with fondness ache; + I little care, so she be free + From such remorse as preys on me!' + + "My dearest father!--Yet he grew + Profoundly anxious, as he knew + More of the dangers lurking round; + But I was on enchanted ground! + Delighted with my minstrel art, + I had a thousand lays by heart; + And while my yet unpractis'd tongue + Descanted on the strains I sung, + Still seeking treasure, like a bee, + I laugh'd and caroll'd, wild with glee! + + "Delicious moments then I knew, + When the rough winds against me blew: + When, from the top of mountain steep, + I glanc'd my eye along the deep; + Or, proud the keener air to breathe, + Exulting saw the vale beneath. + When, launch'd in some lone boat, I sought + A little kingdom for my thought, + Within a river's winding cove, + Whose forests form a double grove, + And, from the water's silent flow, + Appear more beautiful below; + While their large leaves the lilies lave, + Or plash upon the shadow'd wave; + While birds, with darken'd pinions, fly + Across that still intenser sky; + Fish, with cold plunge, with startling leap, + Or arrow-flight across the deep; + And stilted insects, light-o-limb, + Would dimple o'er the even brim; + If, with my hand, in play, I chose + The cold, smooth current to oppose, + As fine a spell my senses bound + As vacant bosom ever found! + + "And when I took my proudest post, + Near him on earth I valued most, + (No after-time could banish thence + A father's dear pre-eminence,) + And felt the kind, protecting charm, + The clasp of a paternal arm; + Felt, as instinctively it prest, + The sacred magnet of his breast, + 'Gainst which I lean'd, and seem'd to grow, + With that deep fondness none can know, + Whom Providence does not assign + A parent excellent as mine! + That faith beyond, above mistrust, + That gratitude, so wholly just, + Each several, crowding claim forgot, + Whose source was light, without a blot; + No moment of unkindness shrouding, + No speck of anger overclouding: + An awful and a sweet controul, + A rainbow arching o'er the soul; + A soothing, tender thrill, which clung + Around the heart, while, all unstrung, + The thought was still, and mute the tongue! + + "O! in that morn of life is given + To one so tun'd, a sumptuous dower! + Joys, which have flown direct from heaven, + And Graces, captive in her bower. + + "Thoughts which can sail along the skies, + Or poise upon the buoyant air; + And make a peasant's soul arise + A monarch's mighty power to share. + + "When all that we perceive below, + By land or sea, by night or day, + The past, the future, and the flow + Of present times, their tribute pay. + + "Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower, + Bears her a blessing on its wings; + And every rich and precious flower + Its fragrance on her spirit flings. + + "There's not a star that shines above + But pours on her a partial ray; + Endearments, like maternal love, + Her love to Nature's self repay. + + "Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart, + Close interlace the angel arm; + And with caresses heal the smart + Of every care, and every harm. + + "Amid the wealth, amid the blaze + Of luxury and pomp around, + How poor is all the eye surveys + To what we know of fairy ground!" + + She ceases, and her tears flow fast-- + O! can this fit of softness last, + Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share + The sickly triumph of despair? + Upon the harp her head is thrown, + All round is like a vision flown; + And o'er a billowy surge her mind + Views lost delight left far behind. + + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE. + +CANTO SECOND. + + + Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er, + Lamented that they heard no more; + While Brehan, from her broken lay, + Portended what she yet might say. + As the untarrying minutes flew, + More anxious and alarm'd he grew. + At length he spake:--"We wait too long + The remnant of this wilder'd song! + And too tenaciously we press + Upon the languor of distress! + 'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd, + And in some noiseless chamber laid, + Attentive care, and soothing rest, + Appeas'd the anguish of her breast." + + Low was his voice, but Marie heard: + He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd. + She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs, + Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes; + And, ere they dried upon her cheek, + Before she gather'd force to speak, + Convulsively her fingers play'd, + While his proud heart the prelude met, + Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd, + A loud, high measure, like a threat; + Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell + Which love and sorrow know so well. + + "How solemn is the sick man's room + To friends or kindred lingering near! + Poring on that uncertain gloom + In silent heaviness and fear! + + "How sad, his feeble hand in thine, + The start of every pulse to share! + With painful haste each wish divine, + Yet fed the hopelessness of care! + + "To turn aside the full-fraught eye, + Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear! + To bear the weight of every sigh, + Lest it should reach that wakeful ear! + + "In the dread stillness of the night, + To lose the faint, faint sound of breath! + To listen in restrain'd affright, + To deprecate each thought of death! + + "And, when a movement chas'd that fear, + And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow, + In thrilling awe the prayer to hear + Through the clos'd curtain murmur'd low! + + "The prayer of him whose holy tongue + Had never yet exceeded truth! + Upon whose guardian care had hung + The whole dependence of thy youth! + + "Who, noble, dauntless, frank and mild, + Was, for his very goodness, fear'd; + Belov'd with fondness like a child, + And like a blessed saint rever'd! + + "I have known friends--but who can feel + The kindness such a father knew? + I serv'd him still with tender zeal, + But knew not then how much was due! + + "And did not Providence ordain + That we should soon be laid as low, + No heart could such a stroke sustain,-- + No reason could survive the blow! + + "After that fatal trial came, + The world no longer was the same. + I still had pleasures:--who could live + Without the healing aid they give? + But, as a plant surcharg'd with rain, + When radiant sunshine comes again, + Just wakes from a benumbing trance, + I caught a feverish, fitful glance. + The dove, that for a weary time + Had mourn'd the rigour of the clime, + And, with its head beneath its wing, + Awaited a more genial spring, + Went forth again to search around, + And some few leaves of olive found, + But not a bower which could impart + Its interchange of light and shade; + Not that soft down, to warm the heart, + Of which her former nest was made. + Smooth were the waves, the ether clear, + Yet all was desert, cold, and drear! + + "Affection, o'er thy clouded sky + In flocks the birds of omen fly; + And oft the wandering harpy, Care, + Must thy delicious viands share: + But all the soul's interior light, + All that is soothing, sweet, and bright, + All fragrance, softness, colour, glow, + To thee, as to the sun, we owe! + + "Years past away! swift, varied years! + I learnt the luxury of tears; + And all the orphan's wretched lot, + 'Midst those she pleas'd and serv'd, forgot. + + "By turns applauded and despis'd, + Till one appear'd who duly priz'd; + Bound round my heart a welcome chain, + And earthward lur'd its hopes again; + When, careless of all worldly weal, + By Fancy only taught to feel, + My raptur'd spirit soar'd on high, + With momentary power to fly; + Or sang its deep, indignant moan, + With swells of anguish, when alone. + + "Yet lovely dreams could I evoke + Of future happiness and fame-- + I did not bow to kiss the yoke, + But welcom'd every joy that came. + + "Often would self-complacence spread + Harmonious halos round my head; + And all my being own'd awhile + The warm diffusion of her smile. + + "One morn they call'd me forth to sing + Fore our then liege, the English king. + Thy guest, my Lord de Semonville, + His gracious presence was the seal + Of favour to a servant true, + To boasted faith and fealty due! + + "It never suits a royal ear + Prowess of foreign lands to hear; + And, leaving tales of Charlemagne + For British Arthur's earlier reign, + I, preluding with praise, began + The feats of that diviner man; + Let loose my soul in fairy land, + Gave wilder licence to my hand; + And, learn'd in chivalrous renown, + By song and story handed down, + Painted my knights from those around, + But placed them on poetic ground. + The ample brow, too smooth for guile; + The careless, fearless, open smile; + The shaded and yet arching eye, + At once reflective, kind, and shy; + The undesigning, dauntless look,-- + Became to me a living book. + I read the character conceal'd, + Flash'd on by chance, or never known + Even to bosoms like its own; + Shrinking before a step intrude; + Touch, look, and whisper, all too rude; + Unsunn'd and fairest when reveal'd! + The first in every noble deed, + Most prompt to venture and to bleed! + Such hearts, so veil'd with angel wings, + Such cherish'd, tender, sacred things, + I since discover'd many a time, + O Britain! in thy temper'd clime; + In dew, in shade, in silence nurs'd, + For truth and sentiment athirst. + + "As seas, with rough, surrounding wave, + Islands of verdant freshness save + From rash intruder's waste and spoil;-- + As mountains rear their heads on high, + Present snow summits to the sky, + And weary patient feet with toil, + To screen some sweet, secluded vale, + And warm the air its flowers inhale;-- + Reserve warns off approaching eyes + From where her choicer Eden lies. + + "Such are the English knights, I cried, + Who all their better feelings hide; + Who muffle up their hearts with care, + To hide the virtues nestling there, + Who neither praise nor blame can bear. + + "My hearers, though completely steel'd + For all the terrors of the field; + Mail'd for the arrow and the lance, + Bore not unharm'd my smiling glance; + At other times collected, brave, + Recoiled when I that picture gave; + As if their inmost heart, laid bare, + Shrank from the bleak, ungenial air. + + "Proud of such prescience, on I went;-- + The youthful monarch was content. + 'Edgar de Langton, take this ring-- + No! hither the young Minstrel bring: + Ourself can better still dispense + The honour and the recompence.' + I came, and, trembling, bent my knee. + He wonder'd that my looks were meek, + That blushes burnt upon my cheek! + 'We would our little songstress see! + Remove those tresses! raise thy head! + Say, where is former courage fled, + 'That all must now thy face infold? + At distance they were backward roll'd. + Whence, then, this most unfounded fear? + Are we so strange, so hateful here?' + + "I strove in vain to lift my eyes, + And made some indistinct replies; + When one, more courteous and more kind, + Stepp'd forth to save my fainting mind. + 'My liege, have pity! for, in truth, + It is too hard upon her youth. + Though so alert and fleet in song, + The strain was high, the race was long; + And she before has never seen + A monarch, save the fairy queen: + But does the lure of thought obey + As falcons their appointed way; + Train'd to one end, and wild as those + If aught they know not interpose. + Vain then is strength, and skill is vain, + Either to lead them or restrain. + The eye-lid closes, and the heart, + Low-sinking, plays a traitor's part; + While wings, of late so firmly spread, + Hang flagg'd and powerless as the dead! + With courts familiar from our birth, + Is it fit subject for our mirth, + That thus awakening from her theme, + Where she through air and sea pursues, + And all things governs, all subdues, + (Like fetter'd captive in a dream,) + Blindly to tread on unknown land, + Without a guide or helping hand, + No previous usage to befriend, + (As well we might an infant lend + Our eyes' experience, ear, or touch!) + Can we in reason wonder much, + Her steps are tottering and unsure + Where we have learnt to walk secure? + Is it not true, what I have told?' + Her paus'd, my features to behold-- + Earl William paus'd: across his mien + A strong and sudden change was seen, + The courtier bend, protecting tone. + And smile of sympathy, were gone. + Abrupt his native accents broke, + And his lips trembled as he spoke. + + "'How thus can Memory, in its flight, + On wings of gossamer alight, + Nor showing aim, nor leaving trace, + From a poor damsel's living face + To features of a brave, dead knight! + In eyes so young, and so benign, + What is it speaks of Palestine? + Of toils in early life I prov'd, + And of a comrade dearly lov'd! + 'Tis true, he, like this maid, was young, + And gifted with a tuneful tongue! + His looks [Errata: locks], like her's, were bright and fair, + But light and laughing was his eye; + The prophecy of future care + In those thin, helmet lids we spy, + Veiling mild orbs, of changeful hue, + Where auburn half subsides in blue! + Lord Fauconberg, canst thou divine + What is the curve, or what the line, + That makes this girl, like lightning, send + Looks of our long lamented friend? + If Richard liv'd, that sorcery spell + Quickly his lion-heart would quell: + He never could her glance descry, + And any wish'd-for boon deny! + She's weeping too!--most strangely wrought + By workings of another's thought! + She knows no English; yet I speak + That language, and her paling cheek + With watery floods is overcast.-- + Fair maid, we talk of times long past; + A friend we often mourn in vain-- + A knight in distant battle slain, + Whose bones had moulder'd in the earth + Full many a year before thy birth. + He fed our ears with songs of old, + And one was of a heart of gold,-- + A native ditty I would fain, + But never yet could hear again. + It spoke of friendship like his own, + Once only in existence known. + My prime of life the blessing crost, + And with it life's first charm I lost!' + + "'Chieftain, allow me, on my knee + To sing that English song to thee! + For then I never dare to stand, + Nor take the harp within my hand; + Sacred it also is to me! + And it should please thy fancy well, + Since dear the lips from whence it fell; + 'And dear the language which conveys + The only theme of real praise! + O! if in very truth thou art + A mourner for that loyal heart, + A lowly minstrel maid forgive, + Who strives to make remembrance live!' + + + + SONG. + + "'Betimes my heritage was sold + To buy this heart of solid gold. + Ye all, perchance, have jewels fine, + But what are such compar'd to mine? + O! they are formal, poor, and cold, + And out of fashion when they're old;-- + But this is of unchanging ore, + And every day is valued more. + Not all the eye could e'er behold + Should purchase back this heart of gold. + + "'How oft its temper has been tried! + Its noble nature purified! + And still it from the furnace came + Uninjur'd by the subtil flame. + Like truth itself, pale, simple, pure, + Yielding, yet fitted to endure,-- + No rust, no tarnish can arise, + To hide its lustre from our eyes; + And this world's choicest gift I hold, + While I can keep my heart of gold. + + "'Whatever treasure may be lost, + Whatever project may be crost, + Whatever other boon denied, + The amulet I long have tried + Has still a sweet, attractive power + To draw the confidential hour,-- + That hour for weakness and for grief, + For true condolement, full belief! + O! I can never feel bereft, + While one possession shall be left; + That which I now in triumph hold, + This dear, this cherish'd heart of gold! + + "'Come, all who wish to be enroll'd! + Our order is, the heart of gold. + The vain, the artful, and the nice, + Can never pay the weighty price; + For they must selfishness abjure, + Have tongue, and hand, and conscience pure; + Suffering for friendship, never grieve, + But, with a god-like strength, believe + In the oft absent power of truth, + As they have seen it in their youth. + Ye who have grown in such a mould + Are worthy of the heart of gold!' + + "Ceasing, and in the act to rise, + A voice exclaim'd, 'Receive the prize! + Earl William, let me pardon crave, + Thus yielding what thy kindness gave! + But with such strange, intense delight, + This maiden fills my ear, my sight; + I long so ardently to twine + In her renown one gift of mine; + That having but a die to cast, + Lest our first meeting prove our last, + I would ensure myself the lot + Not to be utterly forgot! + And this, my offering, here consign, + Worthy, because it once was thine! + Then, maiden, from a warrior deign + To take this golden heart and chain! + Thy order's emblem! and afar + Its light shall lead me, like a star! + If thou, its mistress, didst requite + With guerdon meet each chosen knight; + If from that gifted hand there came + A badge of such excelling fame, + The broider'd scarf might wave in vain, + Unenvied might a rival gain, + Amid assembled peers, the crown + Of tournay triumph and renown; + For me its charm would all be gone, + E'en though a princess set it on!' + + "I bow'd my thanks, and quick withdrew, + Glad to escape from public view; + Laden with presents, and with praise, + Beyond the meed of former days. + But that on which I gaz'd with pride, + Which I could scarcely lay aside, + Even to close my eyes for rest; + (I wear it now upon my breast, + And there till death it shall remain!) + Was this same golden heart and chain! + The peacock crown, with all its eyes, + Its emerald, jacinth, sapphire dyes, + When first, irradiate o'er my brow, + Wav'd its rich plumes in gleaming flow, + Did not so deep a thrill impart, + So soften, so dilate my heart! + No praise had touch'd me, as it fell, + Like his, because I saw full well, + Honour and sweetness orb'd did lie + Within the circlet of his eye! + Integrity which could not swerve, + A judgment of that purer nerve, + Fearing itself, and only bound + By truth and love to all around: + Which dared not feign, and scorn'd to vaunt, + Nor interest led, nor power could daunt; + Acting as if it mov'd alone + In sight of the Almighty's throne. + + "His graceful form my Fancy caught,-- + It was the same she always brought, + When legends mentioned knights of old, + The courteous, eloquent, and bold. + The same dark locks his forehead grac'd, + A crown by partial Nature plac'd, + With the large hollows, and the swells, + And short, close, tendril twine of shells. + Though grave in aspect, when he smil'd, + 'Twas gay and artless as a child, + With him expression seem'd a law,-- + You only Nature's dictates saw; + But they in full perfection wrought + Of generous feeling, varied thought,-- + All that can elevate or move, + That we admire, esteem, and love! + + "Thus, when it pleas'd the youthful king, + Who wish'd yet more to hear me sing, + That I should follow o'er the main, + In good Earl William's sober train, + As slow we linger'd on the seas, + I inly blest each wayward breeze; + For still the graceful knight was near, + Prompt to discourse, relate, and hear: + The spirit had that exercise, + The fine perceptions' play, + That perish with the worldly wise, + The torpid, and the gay. + + "In the strings of their lyres as the poets of old + Fresh blossoms were used to entwine; + As the shrines of their gods were enamell'd with gold, + And sparkling with gems from the mine: + + "So, grac'd with delights that arise in the mind, + As through flowers, the language should flow! + While the eye, where we fancy all soul is enshrin'd, + With divine emanations should glow! + + "The voice, or the look, gifted thus, has a charm + Remembrance springs onward to greet; + And thought, like an angel, flies, living and warm, + When announcing the moment to meet! + + "And it was thus when Eustace spoke, + Thus brightly his ideas glanc'd, + Met mine, and smil'd as they advanc'd, + For all his fervour I partook,-- + Pour'd out my spirit in each theme, + And follow'd every waking dream! + Now in Fancy's airy play, + Near at hand, and far away, + All that was sportive, wild, and gay! + Now led by Pity to deplore + Hearts that can ache and bleed no more, + We roam'd long tales of sadness o'er! + Now, prompted by achievements higher, + We caught the hero's, martyr's fire! + Who, listening to an angel choir, + Rapt and devoted, following still + Where duty or religion led, + The mind prepar'd, subdued the will, + Bent their grand purpose to fulfil: + Conquer'd, endur'd, or meekly bled! + Nor wonder'd we, for we were given, + Like them, to zeal, to truth, and heaven. + + "Receding silently from view, + Freedom, unthought of, then withdrew; + We neither mark'd her as she flew, + Nor ever had her absence known + From care or question of our own. + At court, emotion or surprize + Reveal'd the truth to other eyes. + The pride of England's nobles staid + Too often near the minstrel maid; + And many in derision smil'd, + To see him pay a peasant's child, + For such they deem'd me, deep respect, + While birth and grandeur met neglect. + Soon, sway'd by duty more than wealth, + He listen'd and he look'd by stealth; + And I grew careless in my lays; + Languish'd for that exclusive praise. + Yet, conscious of an equal claim, + Above each base or sordid aim, + From wounded feeling and from pride, + My pain I coldly strove to hide: + And when, encounter'd by surprize, + Rapture rose flashing in his eyes, + My formal speech and careless air + Would call a sudden anger there. + + "Reserv'd and sullen we became, + Tenacious both, and both to blame. + Yet often an upbraiding look + Controul'd the sentence as I spoke; + Prompt and direct its flight arose, + But sunk or waver'd at the close. + Often, beneath his softening eye, + I felt my resolution die; + And, half-relentingly, forgot + His splendid and my humble lot. + + "Sometimes a sudden fancy came, + That he who bore my father's name, + Broken in spirit and in health, + Was weary of ill-gotten wealth. + I to the cloister saw him led, + Saw the wide cowl upon his head; + Heard him, in his last dying hour, + Warn others from the thirst of power; + Adjure the orphan of his friend + Pardon and needful aid to lend, + If heaven vouchsaf'd her yet to live; + For, could she pity and forgive, + 'Twould wing his penitential prayer + With better hope of mercy there! + Then did he rank and lands resign, + With all that was in justice mine; + And I, pretending to be vain, + Return'd the world its poor disdain, + But smil'd on Eustace once again! + + "Thus vision after vision flew, + Leaving again before my view + That [Errata: The] hollow scene, the scornful crowd, + To which that heart had never bow'd, + Whose tenderness I hourly fed; + While thus I to its nursling said;-- + + "Be silent, _Love!_ nor from my lip + In faint or hurried language speak! + Be motionless within my eye, + And never wander to my cheek! + Retir'd and passive thou must be, + Or truly I shall banish thee! + + "Thou art a restless, wayward sprite, + So young, so tender, and so fair, + I dare not trust thee from my sight, + Nor let thee breathe the common air! + Home to my heart, then, quickly flee, + It is the only place for thee! + + "And hush thee, sweet one! in that cell, + For I will whisper in thine ear + Those tales that Hope and Fancy tell, + Which it may please thee best to hear! + I will not, may not, set thee free-- + I die if aught discover thee!" + + Where are the plaudits, warm and long, + That erst have follow'd Marie's song? + The full assenting, sudden, loud, + The buz of pleasure in the crowd! + The harp was still, but silence reign'd, + Listening as if she still complain'd: + For Pity threw her gentle yoke + Across Impatience, ere he spoke; + And Thought, in pondering o'er her strains, + Had that cold state he oft maintains. + But soon the silence seem'd to say, + "Fair mourner, reassume thy lay!" + And in the chords her fingers stray'd; + For aching Memory found relief + In mounting to the source of grief; + A tender symphony she play'd, + Then bow'd, and thus, unask'd, obey'd. + + + + + +The Lay of Marie + +_CANTO THIRD._ + + "Careless alike who went or came, + I seldom ask'd the stranger's name, + When such a being came in view + As eagerly the question drew. + 'The Lady Osvalde,' some one cried, + 'Sir Eustace' late appointed bride, + His richest ward the king's behest + Gives to the bravest and the best.' + + "Enchantments, wrought by pride and fear, + Made me, though mute, unmov'd appear. + My eye was quiet, and the while + My lip maintain'd a steady smile. + It cost me much, alas! to feign; + But while I struggled with the pain, + With beauty stole upon my sight + An inward feeling of delight. + + "Long did the silken lashes lie + Upon a dark and brilliant eye; + Bright the wild rose's finest hue + O'er a pure cheek of ivory flew. + Her smile, all plaintive and resign'd, + Bespake a gentle, suffering mind; + And e'en her voice, so clear and faint, + Had something in it of complaint. + Her delicate and slender form, + Like a vale-lily from the storm, + Seem'd pensively to shrink away, + More timid in a crowd so gay. + Large jewels glitter'd in her hair; + And, on her neck, as marble fair, + Lay precious pearls, in countless strings; + Her small, white hands, emboss'd with rings, + Announc'd high rank and amplest wealth, + But neither freedom, power, nor health. + + "Near her Sir Eustace took his stand, + With manner sad, yet soft and bland; + Spoke oft, but her replies were tame; + And soon less frequent both became. + Their converse seem'd by labour wrought, + Without one sweet, free-springing thought; + Without those flashes of delight + Which make it tender, deep, or bright! + It was not thus upon the sea + He us'd to look and talk with me! + Not thus, when, lost to all around, + His haughty kinsmen saw and frown'd! + Then all unfelt the world's controul,-- + Its rein lay lightly o'er his soul; + Far were its prides and cautions hurl'd, + And Thought's wide banner flew unfurl'd. + + "Yet we should do fair Osvalde wrong + To class her with the circling throng: + Her mind was like a gentle sprite, + Whose wings, though aptly form'd for flight, + From cowardice are seldom spread; + Who folds the arms, and droops the head; + Stealing, in pilgrim guise along, + With needless staff, and vestment grey, + It scarcely trills a vesper song + Monotonous at close of day. + Cross but its path, demanding aught, + E'en what its pensive mistress sought, + Though forward welcoming she hied, + And its quick footstep glanc'd aside. + + "Restraint, alarms, and solitude, + Her early courage had subdu'd; + Fetter'd her movements, looks, and tongue, + While on her heart more weighty hung + Each griev'd resentment, doubt, and pain, + Each dread of anger or disdain. + A deeper sorrow also lent + The sharpen'd pang of discontent; + For unconceal'd attachment prov'd + Destructive to the man she lov'd. + + "Owning, like her, an orphan's doom, + He had not that prescriptive home + Which wealth and royal sanction buys; + No powerful friends, nor tender ties;-- + No claims, save former promise given, + Whose only witness was in heaven; + And promise takes a slender hold, + Where all is selfish, dull, and cold. + + "Slowly that bloomless favour grew, + Before his stern protectors knew + The secret which arous'd disdain. + Declaring that he did but feign, + They, in unpitying vengeance, hurl'd + A sister's offspring on the world. + Thus outrag'd, pride's corroding smart, + The fever of a throbbing heart, + Impell'd him first to wander round, + And soon to leap that barrier ground, + And seek the arch'd, embowering way, + In which her steps were wont to stray. + + "No sleep his heavy eyes could close, + Nor restless memory find repose, + Nor hope a plan on which to rest, + In the wild tumult of a breast + With warring passions deeply fraught. + To see her was his only thought; + Feel once again the tones that sprung + So oft to that endearing tongue, + Flow on his heart; desponding, faint, + But too indignant for complaint; + Say how completely he resign'd + All former influence o'er her mind, + Where it was better to destroy + Each vestige of their days of joy. + To breathe her name he would not dare, + Except in solitude and prayer! + 'Beyond belief I love, adore, + But never will behold thee more!' + Thus thinking o'er each purpose high, + Tears gather'd blinding in his eye; + And bitter, uncontroul'd regret + Exclaim'd, 'Why have we ever met?' + + "These conflicts and these hopes were fled; + Alas! poor youth! his blood, was shed, + Before the feet of Osvalde trod + Again on the empurpled sod. + No voice had dar'd to tell the tale; + But she had many a boding thrill, + For dumb observance watch'd her still; + For laughter ceas'd whene'er she came, + And none pronounc'd her lover's name! + When wilfully she sought this spot, + Shudderings prophetic mark'd his lot; + She look'd! her maiden's cheek was pale! + And from the hour did ne'er depart + That deadly tremor from her heart. + Pleasure and blandishment were vain; + Deaf to persuasion's dulcet strain, + It never reach'd her mind again. + + "Arise, lovely mourner! thy sorrows give o'er, + Nor droop so forlornly that beautiful head! + Thy sighs art unheard by the youth they deplore, + And those warm-flowing tears all unfelt by the dead. + + "Then quit this despondence, sweet Osvalde! be gay! + See open before thee the gates of delight! + Where the Hours are now lingering on tiptoe, away! + They view thee with smiles, and are loth to take flight. + + "See the damsels around thee, how joyous they are! + How their eyes sparkle pleasure whenever they meet! + What sweet flowers are entwin'd in their long, floating hair! + How airy their movements, how nimble their feet! + + "O! bear her from hence! when she sees them rejoice, + Still keener the pain of her agony burns; + And when Joy carols by, with a rapturous voice, + To hopeless Remembrance more poignantly turns. + + "Thus often has her bosom bled; + Thus have I seen her fainting led + From feasts intended to dispel + The woeful thoughts she nurs'd so well. + And must she, by the king's command, + To Eustace plight that fever'd hand? + Proud, loyal as he is, can he, + A victim to the same decree, + Receive it, while regretting me? + For that poor, withering heart, resign + The warm, devoted faith of mine! + + "Have I, too, an allotted task? + What from the Minstrel do they ask? + A nimble finger o'er the chords, + A tongue replete with gracious words! + Alas! the tribute they require, + Truth, sudden impulse, should inspire; + And from the senseless, subject lyre, + Such fine and mellow music flow, + The skill that forms it should not know + Whence the delicious tones proceed; + But, lost in rapture's grateful glow, + Doubt its own power, and cry, 'Indeed, + Some passing angel sweeps the strings, + Wafting from his balsamic wings + The sweetest breath of Eden bowers, + Tones nurs'd and hovering there in flowers, + Have left their haunts to wander free, + Linger, alight, and dwell on thee!' + + "In Osvalde's porch, where, full in bloom, + The jasmine spread its rich perfume; + And, in thick clustering masses, strove + To hide the arch of stone above; + While many a long and drooping spray + Wav'd up, and lash'd the air in play; + Was I ordain'd my harp to place, + The pair with bridal strains to grace. + + "The royal will,--and what beside? + O! what I since have lost,--my pride, + Forbade the wonted song to fail: + I met him with a cheerful hail. + I taught my looks, my lips, to feign + I bade my hand its task sustain; + And when he came to seek the bride, + Her rival thus, unfaltering, cried:-- + + "'Approach! approach, thou gallant knight! + England's first champion in the fight, + Of grace and courtesy the flower, + Approach the high-born Osvalde's bower! + And forth let manly valour bring + Youth's timid meekness, beauty's spring! + + "'Thou darling of a vassal host, + Thy parents' stay, thy kinsman's boast; + Thou favourite in a monarch's eyes, + Whose gracious hand awards the prize; + Thee does the brightest lot betide, + The best domain, the fairest bride!' + + "Mine sunk beneath the mournful look + Which glanc'd disdainful as I spoke; + And, when his step past hurrying by, + And when I heard his struggling sigh, + A moment on my quailing tongue + The speech constrain'd of welcome hung; + But in the harp's continuous sound + My wandering thoughts I quickly found. + + "'Haste on! and here thy duteous train + In rapt expectance shall remain; + Till, with thee, brilliant as a gem + Set in a kingdom's diadem, + Thy lovely mistress shall appear! + O! hasten! we await thee here!' + + "Again did that upbraiding eye + Check my false strain in passing by; + And its concentred meaning fell + Into my soul:--It was not well + To triumph thus, though but in show; + To chant the lay that joyance spoke, + To wear the gay and careless look.-- + The ardent and the tender know + What pain those self-reproaches brought, + When conscience took the reins of thought + Into her hand, avenging more + All that she seem'd to prompt before. + O tyrant! from whose stern command + No act of mine was ever free, + How oft wouldst thou a censor stand + For what I did to pleasure thee! + The well-propp'd courage of my look, + The sportive language, airy tone, + To wounded love and pride bespoke + A selfish hardness not my own! + And only lulling secret pain, + I seem'd to fling around disdain. + + "To him, with warm affections crost, + Who, owning happiness was lost, + Had said, 'Dear maiden, were I free, + They would not let me think of thee; + The only one who on my sight + Breaks lovely as the morning light; + Whom my heart bounding springs to greet, + Seeks not, but always hopes to meet; + With eager joy unlocks its store, + Yet ever pines to tell thee more!' + To him, should feign'd indifference bring + A killing scorn, a taunting sting? + To Osvalde, drooping and forlorn, + A flower fast fading on the stem, + All exultation seem'd like scorn, + For what was hope and joy to them? + As with awakening judgment came + These feelings of remorse and shame, + With the throng'd crowd, the bustling scene, + Did deep abstractions intervene, + O'er yielding effort holding sway, + As, humbled, I pursued my way. + + "The festive flowers, the incens'd air, + The altar taper's reddening glare; + The pausing, slow-advancing pair, + Her fainter, his most watchful air; + The vaulted pile, the solemn rite, + Impress'd, then languish'd on my sight; + And all my being was resign'd + To that strong ordeal, where the mind, + Summon'd before a heavenly throne, + Howe'er surrounded, feels alone. + When, bow'd in dust all earthly pride, + All earthly power and threats defied, + Mortal opinion stands as nought + In the clear'd atmosphere of thought; + And selfish care, and worldly thrall, + And mean repining, vanish all. + When prayers are pour'd to God above, + His eyes send forth their beams of love; + Darkness forsakes our mental sky, + And, demon-like, our passions fly. + The holy presence, by its stay + Drives failings, fears, and woes away; + Refines, exalts, our nature draws + To share its own eternal laws + Of pure benevolence and rest, + The future portion of the blest-- + Their constant portion! Soon this flow + Of life I lost--recall'd below: + From prayers for them recall'd. Around, + A sudden rush, of fearful sound, + Smote on my ear; of voices crying, + 'The bride, the Lady Osvalde dying! + Give place! make room!' the hurrying press + Eustace alarm'd; and, in distress, + Calling for air, and through the crowd + Which an impeded way allow'd, + Forcing slow progress; bearing on + Her pallid form; when, wholly gone + You might have deem'd her mortal breath, + Cold, languid, motionless as death, + I saw before my eyes advance, + And 'woke, astounded, from my trance. + + "The air reviv'd her--but again + She left not, for the social train, + The stillness of her chamber;--ne'er + Its threshold pass'd, but on her bier: + Spoke but to one who seem'd to stand + Anear, and took his viewless hand, + To promise, let whate'er betide, + She would not be another's bride. + Then, pleading as for past offence, + Cried out aloud, 'They bore me hence! + My feet, my lips, refus'd to move, + To violate the vows of love! + My sense recoil'd, my vision flew, + Almost before I met thy view! + Almost before I heard thee cry + Perfidious Osvalde! look and die! + + "'Oppose them? No! I did not dare! + I am not as a many are, + Ruling themselves: my spirits fly, + My force expires before reply. + Instinctively a coward, free + In speech, in act, I could not be + With any in my life, but thee! + Nor strength, nor power do I possess, + Except, indeed, to bear distress! + Except to pour the aching sigh, + Which only can my pain relieve; + Inhuman ye who ask me why, + And pause, to wonder that I grieve: + Mine are the wounds which never close, + Mine is a deep, untiring care; + A horror flying from repose, + A weight the sickening soul must bear. + The tears that from these eyelids flow, + The sad confusion of my brain, + All waking phantoms of its woe, + Your anger, and the world's disdain,-- + Seek not to sooth me!--they are sent + This feeble frame and heart to try! + It is establish'd, be content! + They never leave me till I die!' + + "So little here is understood, + So little known the great and good, + The deep regret that Eustace prov'd, + Brought home conviction that he lov'd + To many: others thought, her dower, + The loss of lordships, wealth, and power, + Full cause for sorrow; and the king + Hop'd he might consolation bring, + And bind a wavering servant o'er, + (Not found too loyal heretofore,) + By linking his sole daughter's fate + In wedlock with an English mate-- + His favourite too! whose own domain + Spread over valley, hill, and plain; + Whose far-trac'd lineage did evince + A birth-right worthy of a prince; + Whose feats of arms, whose honour, worth, + Were even nobler than his birth; + Who, in his own bright self, did bring + A presence worthy of a king-- + A form to catch and charm the eye, + Make proud men gracious, ladies sigh; + The boldest, wisest, and the best, + Greater than each presuming guest;-- + I speak from judgment, not from love,-- + In all endowments far above + Who tastes this day of festal cheer, + And whom his death assembles here! + + "That he is known those look avow, + The mantling cheek, the knitting brow: + I could not hope it did he live, + But now, O! now, ye must forgive! + Most recreant they who dare offend + One who has lost her only friend! + De Stafford's widow here appears-- + For him, my Eustace, flow these tears! + Ye may not blame me! ye have wives, + Who yet may sorrow for your lives! + Who, in the outset of their grief, + Upon a father's neck may spring; + Or find in innocence relief, + And to a cherish'd infant cling; + Or thus, like me, forlornly shed + Their lonely wailing o'er the dead! + + "Can eyes that briny torrents steep, + Others in strong subjection keep? + Yes! here are some that mine obey, + And, self-indignant at the sway + I hold upon them, turn away! + Some, too, who have no cause for shame, + Whom even the injur'd cannot blame, + Now here, now there, above, below, + Their looks of wild avoidance throw! + Nay, gentle cousin, blush not so! + And do not, pray thee, rise to go! + I am bewilder'd with my woe; + But hear me fairly to the end, + I will not pain thee, nor offend. + O no! I would thy favour win; + For, when I die, as next of kin, + So 'reft am I of human ties, + It is thy place to close my eyes! + + "With state and wealth to thee I part, + But could not with De Stafford's heart! + Nor could I mute and prudent be + When all at once I found 'twas thee, + Doom'd ever, in thy own despite, + To take my rank, usurp my right! + I told, alas! my father's name, + The noble stock from which I came:-- + 'Marie de Brehan, sounds as well, + Perhaps,' I cried, 'as Isabel! + And were the elder branch restor'd, + (My grandsire was the rightful lord,) + I, in my injur'd father's place, + Those large domains, that name would grace.' + + "I never saw a joy so bright, + So full, so fledg'd with sparkling light, + As that which on the instant flew + To his quick eye, when Eustace knew + He had not yielded to a yoke + Which prudence blam'd, or reason broke. + 'O! trebly blest this hour,' he cried; + 'I take not now another bride! + I bow'd to duty and to pride; + But, here I pledge my solemn vow, + To wealth alone I will not bow! + The only offspring of a race + No misalliance did disgrace; + Nurtur'd, school'd, fashion'd by their laws, + Not wishing an exceptive clause, + Till thee, my only choice, I met; + And then, with useless, deep regret, + I found in birth, and that alone, + Thou wert unworthy of a throne! + My ancestors appear'd too nice; + Their grandeur bore too high a price, + If, with it, on the altar laid, + Freedom and happiness were paid! + Yet, could I give my father pain, + Or treat those lessons with disdain, + I heard a child upon his knee; + And, at the present, knew to be + Entwin'd with every vital part? + To scorn them were to break his heart! + My mother too, though meek and kind, + Possessing such a stately mind, + That once perceiving what was fit, + If 'twere to die, must still submit; + Knowing no question in the right, + Would not have borne me in her sight; + Though quick her sands of life would run, + Deserting, angry with her son! + Yet noble both, by honour bound, + To take no other vantage ground, + They will not use a meaner plea, + Nor sordid reasons urge to me! + Good and high-minded, they will yield: + I shall be victor in that field; + And for my sovereign, we shall find + Some inlet to his eager mind; + At once not rashly all disclose, + His plans or bidding to oppose,-- + That his quick temper would not brook; + But I will watch a gracious look, + And foster an auspicious hour, + To try both love and reason's power. + Zealous I cannot fail to be, + Thou canst not guess to what degree, + Dear Marie, when I plead for thee!' + + "That the result was plain, I knew, + For I had often heard him sue, + And never known a boon denied. + In secret I became his bride: + But heaven the union disapprov'd-- + The father he so truly lov'd, + Before this first offence was told, + Though neither sick, infirm, or old, + Without a moment's warning, died! + + "This seal'd his silence for awhile; + For, till he saw his mother smile, + Till time the cloud of woe should chace + From her pale, venerable face, + He felt the tale he dar'd not break,-- + He could not on the subject speak! + And oh! the gentle mourn so long, + The faint lament outlasts the strong! + + "Her waning health was fair pretence + To keep his voyage in suspence; + But still the king, averse or mute, + Heard coldly his dejected suit, + To give the lingering treaty o'er; + And once exclaim'd, 'Persuade no more! + This measure 'tis resolv'd to try! + We must that veering subject buy; + Else, let the enemy advance, + De Brehan surely sides with France!'" + + The harp again was silent; still + No fiat of the general will + Bade her to cease or to proceed: + Oft an inquiring eye, indeed, + The strangers rais'd; but instant check'd, + Lest the new vassals should suspect + They thought the monarch's reasons just, + And faith so varying brought mistrust. + De Brehan, with a bitter smile, + Eyes closing, lips compress'd the while, + Although Remorse, with keenest dart, + And disappointment wrung his heart; + Although he long'd to thunder--"Cease!" + Restrain'd his fury, kept his peace. + + + + + +The Lay of Marie. + + + + +CANTO FOURTH. + + Marie, as if upon the brink + Of some abyss, had paus'd to think; + And seem'd from her sad task to shrink. + One hand was on her forehead prest, + The other clasping tight her vest; + As if she fear'd the throbbing heart + Would let its very life depart. + Yet, in that sad, bewilder'd mien, + Traces of glory still were seen; + Traces of greatness from above, + Of noble scorn, devoted love; + Of pity such as angels feel, + Of clinging faith and martyr'd zeal! + + Can one, who by experience knows + So much of trial and of woes, + Late prone to kindle and to melt, + To feel whatever could be felt, + To suffer, and without complaint, + All anxious hopes, depressing fears; + Her heart with untold sorrows faint, + Eyes heavy with unshedden tears, + Through every keen affliction past, + Can that high spirit sink at last? + Or shall it yet victorious rise, + Beneath the most inclement skies, + See all it loves to ruin hurl'd, + Smile on the gay, the careless world; + And, finely temper'd, turn aside + Its sorrow and despair to hide? + Or burst at once the useless chain, + To seem and be itself again? + + Will Memory evermore controul, + And Thought still lord it o'er her soul? + Queen of all wonders and delight, + Say, canst not thou possess her quite, + Sweet Poesy! and balm distil + For every ache, and every ill? + Like as in infancy, thy art + Could lull to rest that throbbing heart! + Could say to each emotion, Cease! + And render it a realm of peace, + Where beckoning Hope led on Surprize + To see thy magic forms arise! + + Oh! come! all awful and sublime, + Arm'd close in stately, nervous rhyme, + With wheeling chariot, towering crest + And Amazonian splendors drest! + Or a fair nymph, with airy grace, + And playful dimples in thy face, + Light let the spiral ringlets flow, + And chaplet wreath along thy brow-- + Thou art her sovereign! Hear her now + Again renew her early vow! + The fondest votary in thy train, + If all past service be not vain, + Might surely be receiv'd again! + + Behold those hands in anguish wrung + One instant!--and but that alone! + When, waving grief, again she sang, + Though in a low, imploring tone. + + "Awake, my lyre! thy echoes bring! + Now, while yon phoenix spreads her wing! + From her ashes, when she dies, + Another brighter self shall rise! + 'Tis Hope! the charmer! fickle, wild; + But I lov'd her from a child; + And, could we catch the distant strain, + Sure to be sweet, though false and vain, + Most dear and welcome would it be!-- + Thy silence says 'tis not for me! + + "With Pity's softer-flowing strain, + Awake thy sleeping wires again! + For she must somewhere wander near, + In following danger, death, and fear! + From her regard no shade conceals; + Her ear e'en sorrow's whisper steals: + She leads us on all griefs to find; + To raise the fall'n, their wounds to bind-- + Oh! not in that reproachful tone, + Advise me first to heal my own! + + "Alas! I cannot blame the lyre! + What strain, what theme can she inspire, + Whose tongue a hopeless mandate brings! + Whose tears are frozen on the strings! + And whose recoiling, languid prayer, + Denies itself, in mere despair? + So tamely, faintly, forth it springs; + Just felt upon the pliant strings, + It flits in sickly languor by, + Nerv'd only with a feeble sigh! + + "I yield submissive, and again + Resume my half-abandon'd strain! + Leading enchain'd sad thoughts along, + Remembrance prompting all the song! + But, in the journey, drawing near + To what I mourn, and what I fear, + The sad realities impress + Too deeply; hues of happiness, + And gleams of splendors past, decay; + The storm despoiling such a day, + Gives to the eye no clear, full scope, + But scatters wide the wrecks of Hope! + Yet the dire task I may not quit-- + 'Twas self impos'd; and I submit, + To paint, ah me! the heavy close, + The full completion of my woes! + And, as a man that once was free, + Whose fate impels him o'er the sea, + Now spreads the sail, now plies the oar, + Yet looks and leans towards the shore, + I feel I may not longer stay, + Yet even in launching court delay. + + "Before De Stafford should unfold + That secret which must soon be told; + My terrors urg'd him to comply; + For oh! I dar'd not then be nigh; + And let the wide, tumultuous sea, + Arise between the king and me! + 'O! tell him, my belov'd, I pine away, + So long an exile from my native home; + Tell him I feel my vital powers decay, + And seem to tread the confines of the tomb; + But tell him not, it is extremest dread + Of royal vengeance falling on my head! + + "'Say, if that favour'd land but bless my eyes, + That land of sun and smiles which gave me birth, + Like the renew'd Antaeus I shall rise, + On touching once again the parent earth! + Say this, but whisper not that all delight, + All health, is only absence from his sight!' + + "My Eustace smil'd--' It shall be so; + From me and love shall Marie go! + But on the land, and o'er the sea, + Attended still by love and me! + The eagle's eye, to brave the light, + The swallow's quick, adventurous flight, + That faithfulness shall place in view, + That service, daring, prompt, and true, + Yet insufficient emblems be + Of zeal for her who flies from me! + + "'Deserter? hope not thus to scape! + Thy guardian still, in every shape, + Shall covertly those steps pursue, + And keep thy welfare still in view! + More fondly hovering than the dove + Shall be my ever watchful love! + Than the harp's tones more highly wrought, + Shall linger each tenacious thought! + Apt, active shall my spirit be + In care for her who flies from me!' + + "And, it had been indeed a crime + To leave him, had I known the time, + The fearful length of such delay, + Protracting but from day to day, + Which reach'd at length two tedious years + Of dark surmises and of fears! + + "How often, on a rocky steep, + Would I upon his summons keep + An anxious watch: there patient stay + Till light's thin lines have died away + In the smooth circle of the main, + And render'd all expectance vain. + + "At the blue, earliest glimpse of morn, + Pleas'd with the lapse of time, return; + For now, perchance, I might not fail, + To see the long expected sail! + Then, as it blankly wore away, + Courted the fleeting eye to stay! + As they regardless mov'd along, + Wooed the slow moments in a song. + The time approaches! but the Hours + With languid steps advance, + And loiter o'er the summer flowers, + Or in the sun-beams dance! + Oh! haste along! for, lingering, ye + Detain my Eustace on the sea! + + "Hope, all on tiptoe, does not fail + To catch a cheering ray! + And Fancy lifts her airy veil, + In wild and frolic play! + Kind are they both, but cruel ye, + Detaining Eustace on the sea! + + "Sometimes within my cot I staid, + And with my precious infant play'd. + 'Those eyes,' I cried, 'whose gaze endears, + And makes thy mother's flow in tears! + Those tender lips, whose dimpled stray + Can even chase suspense away! + Those artless movements, full of charms, + Those graceful, rounded, rosy arms, + Shall soon another neck entwine, + And waken transports fond as mine! + That magic laugh bespeaks thee prest + As surely to another breast! + That name a father's voice shall melt, + Those looks within his heart be felt! + Drinking thy smiles, thy carols, he + Shall weep, for very love, like me! + + "Those who in children see their heirs, + Have numberless, diverging cares! + Less pure for them affection glows,-- + Less of intrinsic joy bestows, + Less mellowing, less enlivening, flows! + Oh! such not even could divine + A moment's tenderness like mine! + Had he been destin'd to a throne, + His little darling self alone, + Bereft of station, grandeur, aught + But life and virtue, love and thought, + Could wake one anxious thrill, or share + One hallow'd pause's silent prayer! + + "Ye scenes, that flit my memory o'er, + Deck'd in the smiles which then ye wore, + In the same gay and varied dress, + I cannot but admire and bless! + What though some anxious throbs would beat, + Some fears within my breast retreat, + Yet then I found sincere delight, + Whenever beauty met my sight, + Whether of nature, chance, or art; + Each sight, each sound, impress'd my heart, + Gladness undrooping to revive, + All warm, and grateful, and alive! + But ere my spirit sinks, so strong + Remembrance weighs upon the song, + Pass we to other themes along! + + "Say, is there any present here, + Whom I can have a cause to fear?-- + Whom it were wrongful to perplex, + Or faulty policy to vex? + In what affrights the quiet mind + My bitter thoughts employment find! + In what torments a common grief + Do I alone expect relief! + Our aching sorrows to disclose, + Our discontents, our wrongs repeat, + To hurl defiance at our foes, + And let the soul respire, is sweet! + All that my conscience wills I speak + At once, and then my heart may break! + + "Too sure King Henry's presage rose;-- + De Brehan link'd him with our foes: + Yes! ours! the Brehans us'd to be + Patterns of faith and loyalty: + And many a knightly badge they wore, + And many a trace their 'scutcheons bore, + Of noble deeds in days of yore,-- + Of royal bounty, and such trust + As suits the generous and the just. + + "From every record it appears, + That Normandy three hundred years + Has seen in swift succession run + With English kings, from sire to son: + But which of all those records saith, + That we may change and barter faith: + That if our favour is not sure, + Or our inheritance secure; + If envy of a rival's fame, + Or hatred at a foeman's name, + Or other reason unconfest, + Now feigning sleep in every breast; + Upon our minds, our interest weigh, + While any fiercer passion sway; + We may invite a foreign yoke, + All truth disown'd, allegiance broke? + Plot, and lay guileful snares to bring, + At cost of blood, a stranger king? + And of what blood, if it succeed, + Do ye atchieve the glorious deed? + Not of the base! when ye surprize + A lurking mischief in the eyes, + Dark hatred, cunning prompt to rise, + And leap and catch at any prey, + Such are your choice! your comrades they! + But if a character should stand + Not merely built by human hand; + Common observances; the ill + Surrounding all; a wayward will; + Envy; resentment; falsehood's ease + To win its way, evade, and please: + If, turning from this worldly lore, + As soul-debasing, servile, poor, + The growing mind becomes, at length, + Healthy and firm in moral strength; + Allows no parley and no plea, + The sources of its actions free, + They spring strait forward, to a goal + Which bounds, surmounts, and crowns the whole! + Ye seek not to allay such force, + To interrupt so bold a course! + What were the use of minds like these, + That will not on occasion seize, + Nor stoop to aid the dark design, + Nor follow in the devious line? + As soon, in the close twisted brake, + Could lions track the smooth, still snake, + As they the sinuous path pursue + Which policy may point to you! + Nay, menace not with eyes, my lords! + Ye could not fright me with your swords. + + "E'en threats to punish, and to kill + With tortures difficult to bear, + Seem as they would not higher fill + The measure of my own despair! + + "Such terrors could not veil the hand + Now pointing to my husband's bier; + Nor could such pangs a groan command + The childless mother should not hear! + + "All now is chang'd! all contest o'er, + Here sea-girt England reigns no more; + And if your oaths are bound as fast, + And kept more strictly than the last, + Ye may, perchance, behold the time + Service to her becomes a crime! + + "The troubles calling Eustace o'er, + Refresh'd my eyes, my heart, once more; + And when I gave, with pleasure wild, + Into his circling arms our child, + I seem'd to hold, all evil past, + My happiness secure at last; + But found, too soon, in every look, + In every pondering word he spoke, + Receding thought, mysterious aim: + As I did all his pity claim. + A watchfulness almost to fear + Did in each cautious glance appear. + And still I sought to fix his eye, + + "And read the fate impending there,-- + In vain; for it refus'd reply. + + "'Canst thou not for a moment bear + Even thy Marie's look,' I cried, + 'More dear than all the world beside?' + He answer'd,' Do not thou upbraid! + And blame me not, if thus afraid + A needful, dear request to make. + One painful only for thy sake, + I hesitate, and dread to speak, + Seeing that flush upon thy cheek, + That shrinking, apprehensive air.-- + Oh! born with me some ills to share, + But many years of future bliss, + Of real, tranquil happiness; + I may not think that thou wouldst choose + This prospect pettishly to lose + For self-indulgence! Understood, + Love is the seeking others' good. + If we can ne'er resign delight, + Nor lose its object from our sight; + And only present dangers brave, + That which we dearest hold to save;-- + If, when remov'd beyond our eye, + All faith in heaven's protection die, + Can all our tenderness atone + For ills which spring from that alone?' + My fancy rush'd the pause between-- + 'What can this fearful prelude mean? + Art thou but seeking some pretence, + So lately met! to send me hence? + Believ'st thou terrors will not shake, + Nor doubts distract, nor fears awake, + In absence? when no power, no charm, + Can grant a respite from alarm! + Unreal evils manifold, + Often and differently told, + Scaring repose, each instant rise, + False, but the cause of tears and sighs. + How often I should see thee bleed! + New terrors would the past succeed, + With not a smile to intervene + Of fair security between!' + + "'No, Marie, no! my wife shall share + With me the trials soldiers bear: + No longer and no more we part.--- + Thy presence needful to my heart + I now more evidently know; + Making the careful moments flow + To happy music! on my brow + The iron casque shall lighter prove,-- + The corslet softer on my breast, + The shield upon my arm shall rest + More easy, when the hand of love + There places them. Our succours soon + Arrive; and then, whatever boon + I shall think fitting to demand, + My gracious monarch's bounteous hand + Awards as guerdon for my charge, + And bids my wishes roam at large. + Then if we from these rebels tear + The traitor honours which they wear, + Thy father's tides and domain + Shall flourish in his line again! + And Marie's child, in time to come, + Shall call his grandsire's castle, home! + Alas! poor babe! the scenes of war + For him too harsh and frightful are! + Would that he might in safety rest + Upon my gentle mother's breast! + That in the vessel now at bay, + In Hugh de Lacy's care he lay! + My heart and reason would be free, + If he were safe beyond the sea. + + "'Nay, let me not my love displease! + But is it fit, that walls like these + The blooming cherub should inclose! + And when our close approaching foes + Are skirmishing the country o'er, + We must adventure forth no more.' + + "At length I gave a half consent, + Resign'd, submissive, not content: + For, only in intensest prayer, + For, only kneeling did I dare, + Sustaining thus my sinking heart, + Suffer my infant to depart. + Oh! yet I see his sparkling tears; + His parting cries are in my ears, + As, strongly bending back the head, + The little hands imploring spread, + Him from my blinding sight they bore, + Down from the fort along the shore. + + "From the watch-tower I saw them sail, + And pour'd forth prayers--of no avail! + Yet, when a tempest howl'd around, + Hurling huge branches on the ground + From stately trees; when torrents swept + The fields of air, I tranquil kept.-- + + "Hope near a fading blossom + Will often take her stand; + Revive it on her bosom, + Or screen it with her wand: + But to the leaves no sunbeams press, + Her fair, thick locks pervading; + Through that bright wand no dew-drops bless, + Still cherish'd, and still fading:-- + Beneath her eye's bright beam it pines, + Fed by her angel smile, declines. + + "Eustace, meanwhile, with feverish care, + Seem'd worse the dire suspense to bear. + Bewilder'd, starting at the name + Of messenger, when any came, + With body shrinking back, he sought, + While his eye seem'd on fire with thought, + Defying, yet subdued by fear, + To ask that truth he dar'd not hear. + + "He went his rounds.--The duty done, + His mind still tending toward his son; + With spirit and with heart deprest, + A judgment unsustain'd by rest;-- + Fainting in effort, and at strife + With feelings woven into life; + And with the chains of being twin'd + By links so strong, though undefin'd, + They curb or enervate the brain, + Weigh down by languor, rack by pain, + And spread a thousand subtil ties + Across the tongue, and through the eyes; + Till the whole frame is fancy vext, + And all the powers of mind perplext. + + "What wonder, then, it sunk and fail'd! + What wonder that your plans prevail'd! + In vain by stratagem you toil'd;-- + His skill and prudence all had foil'd; + For one day's vigilance surpast + Seeming perfection in the last. + Each hour more active, more intent, + Unarm'd and unassail'd he went; + While every weapon glanc'd aside, + His armour every lance defied. + The blow that could that soul subdue + At length was struck--but not by you! + It fell upon a mortal part-- + A poison'd arrow smote his heart; + The winds impelling, when they bore + Wrecks of the vessel to our shore! + + "Oh! ever dear! and ever kind! + What madness could possess thy mind, + From me, in our distress, to fly? + True, much delight had left my eye; + And, in the circle of my bliss, + One holy, rapturous joy to miss + Was mine!--Yet I had more than this, + Before my wounds were clos'd, to bear! + See thee, an image of despair, + Just rush upon my woe, then shun + Her who alike deplor'd a son; + And, ere alarm had taken breath, + Be told, my husband, of thy death! + And feel upon this blighted sphere + No tie remain to bind me here! + Still in my life's young summer see + A far and weary path to thee! + Along whose wild and desert way + No sportive tribes of fancy play; + No smiles that to the lips arise, + No joys to sparkle in the eyes;-- + No thrills of tenderness to feel, + No spring of hope, no touch of zeal. + All sources of heart-feeling stopt, + All impulse, all sustainment dropt. + With aching memory, sinking mind, + Through this drear wilderness to find + The path to death;--and pining, roam + Myriads of steps to reach the tomb! + Of which to catch a distant view, + The softest line, the faintest hue, + As symbol when I should be free, + Were happiness too great for me!" + + Here clos'd at once, abrupt, the lay! + The Minstrel's fingers ceas'd to play! + And, all her soul to anguish given, + Doubted the pitying care of Heaven. + But evil, in its worst extreme, + In its most dire, impending hour, + Shall vanish, like a hideous dream, + And leave no traces of its power! + + The vessel plunging on a rock, + Wreck threatening in its fellest shape, + No moment's respite from the shock, + No human means or power to 'scape, + Some higher-swelling surge shall free, + And lift and launch into the sea! + So, Marie, yet shall aid divine + Restore that failing heart of thine! + Though to its centre wounded, griev'd, + Though deeply, utterly bereav'd. + There genial warmth shall yet reside, + There swiftly flow the healthful tide; + And every languid, closing vein, + Drink healing and delight again! + + At present all around her fades, + Her listless ear no sound pervades. + Her senses, wearied and distraught, + Perceive not how the stream of thought, + Rising from her distressful song, + In hurrying tide has swept along, + With startling and resistless swell, + The panic-stricken Isabel! + Who--falling at her father's feet, + Like the most lowly suppliant, kneels; + And, with imploring voice, unmeet + For one so fondly lov'd, appeals.-- + + "Those looks have been to me a law, + And solely by indulgence bought, + With zeal intense, with deepest awe, + A self-devoted slave, I caught + My highest transport from thy smile; + And studied hourly to beguile + The lightest cloud of grief or care + I saw those gracious features wear! + If aught induced me to divine + A hope was opposite to thine, + My fancy paus'd, however gay; + My silent wishes sunk away! + Displeasure I have never seen, + But sickness has subdued thy mien; + When, lingering near, I still have tried + To cheer thee, and thou didst approve; + But something still each act belied, + My manner chill'd, restrain'd my love! + E'en at the time my spirit died + With aching tenderness, my eye, + Encountering thine, was cold and dry! + To maim intention, fondness,--came + The sudden impotence of shame. + Thy happiness was thriftless wealth, + For I could only hoard by stealth! + Affection's brightly-glowing ray + Shone with such strong, o'erpowering sway, + That service fainted by the way! + + "But now an impulse, like despair, + Makes me these inner foldings tear! + With desperate effort bids me wrest + The yearning secret from my breast! + Far be the thought that any blame + Can fix on thy beloved name! + The hapless Minstrel may not feign; + But thou, I know, canst all explain-- + Yet let me from this place depart, + To nurse my fainting, sicken'd heart! + Yet let me in a cloister dwell, + The veiled inmate of a cell; + To raise this cowering soul by prayer!-- + Reproach can never enter there! + + "Turn quickly hence that look severe! + And, oh! in mercy, not a tear! + The most profuse of parents, thou + Didst every wish fulfil--allow; + Till that which us'd to please--invite, + Had ceas'd to dazzle and delight; + And all thy gifts almost despis'd, + The love that gave alone I priz'd. + + "My yielding spirit bows the knee; + My will profoundly bends to thee: + But paltry vanities resign'd, + Wealth, gauds, and honours left behind, + I only wanted, thought to quit + This strange, wild world, and make me fit + For one of better promise--given + To such as think not this their heaven! + Nay, almost in my breast arose + A hope I scarcely dare disclose; + A hope that life, from tumult free,-- + A life so harmless and so pure, + A calm so shelter'd, so secure, + At length might have a charm for thee! + That supplications, patient, strong, + Might not remain unanswer'd long! + And all temptations from thee cast, + The altar prove thy home at last!" + + The artless Isabel prevails-- + That hard, unbending spirit fails! + Not many words her lips had past, + Ere round her his fond arms were cast; + But, while his vengeful conscience prais'd, + He chid; and, frowning, would have rais'd + Till her resistance and her tears, + The vehemence of youthful grief, + Her paleness, his paternal fears, + Compell'd him to afford relief; + And forc'd the agonizing cry-- + That he could never her deny! + + Of what ambition sought, beguil'd, + His crimes thus fruitless! and his child, + The beautiful, the rich and young-- + Now, in his most triumphant hours! + The darling he had nurs'd in flowers! + His pride, the prais'd of every tongue! + So gentle as she was!--the rein + Of influence holding, to restrain + His harsher power, without pretence, + In graceful, gay beneficence-- + An angel deem'd, her only care + To comfort and to please! + Whose smiling, whose unconscious air, + Bespoke a heart at ease-- + By her--on whom sweet hopes were built, + His cup when fill'd thus rashly spilt! + The treasures he had heap'd in vain, + Thrown thankless on his hands again! + While--father to this being blest, + He saw a dagger pierce her breast, + In knowledge of his former guilt! + And of his projects thus bereft, + What had the wretched parent left? + Oh! from the wreck of all, he bore + A richer, nobler freight ashore! + And filial love could well dispense + On earth a dearer recompense, + If he its real worth had known, + Than full success had made his own. + + So ardent and so kind of late, + Is Marie careless of their fate, + That, wrapt in this demeanour cold, + Her spirits some enchantments hold? + That thus her countenance is clos'd, + Where high and lovely thoughts repos'd! + Quench'd the pure light that us'd to fly + To the smooth cheek and lucid eye! + And fled the harmonizing cloud + Which could that light benignly shroud, + Soothing its radiance to our view, + And melting each opposing hue, + Till deepening tints and blendings meet + Made contrast' self serene and sweet. + + Vainly do voices tidings bring, + That succours from the former king, + Too late for that intent,--are come + To take the dead and wounded home; + Waiting, impatient, in the bay, + Till they can safely bear away,-- + Not men that temporize and yield, + But heroes stricken in the field; + True sons of England, who, unmov'd, + Could hear their fears, their interest plead; + Led by no lure they disapprov'd, + Stooping to no unsanction'd deed! + Spirits so finely tun'd, so high, + That grovelling influences die + Assailing them! The venal mind + Can neither fit inducement find + To lead their purpose or their fate-- + To sway, to probe, or stimulate! + What knowledge can they gain of such + Whom worldly motives may not touch? + Those who, the instant they are known, + Each generous mind springs forth to own! + Joyful, as if in distant land, + Amid mistrust, and hate, and guile, + Insidious speech, and lurking wile, + They grasp'd a brother's cordial hand! + Hearts so embued with fire from heaven, + That all their failings are forgiven! + Nay, o'er, perchance, whose laurel wreath + When tears of pity shine, + We softer, fonder sighs bequeath; + More dear, though less divine. + + Can kind and loyal bosoms bleed, + And Marie not bewail the deed? + Can England's valiant sons be slain, + In whose fair isle so long she dwelt-- + To whom she sang, with whom she felt! + Can kindred Normans die in vain! + Or, banish'd from their native shore, + Enjoy their sire's domains no more! + Brothers, with whom her mind was nurs'd, + Who shar'd her young ideas first!-- + And not her tears their doom arraign? + + Alas! no stimulus avails! + Each former potent influence fails: + No longer e'en a sigh can part + From that oppress'd and wearied heart. + + What broke, at length, the spell? There came + The sound of Hugh de Lacy's name! + It struck like lightning on her ear-- + But did she truly, rightly hear? + For terror through her senses ran, + E'en as the song of hope began.-- + His charge arriv'd on England's coast, + Consign'd where they had wish'd it most, + Had brave De Lacy join'd the train + Which sought the Norman shores again?-- + _Then_ liv'd her darling and her pride! + What anguish was awaken'd there! + A joy close mating with despair-- + He liv'd for whom her Eustace died! + + Yes! yes! he lives! the sea could spare + That Island warrior's infant heir! + For whom, when thick-surrounding foes, + Nigh spent with toil, had sought repose, + Slow stealing forth, with wary feet, + From covert of secure retreat,-- + A soldier leading on the way + To where his dear commander lay,-- + Over the field, at dead midnight, + By a pale torch's flickering light, + Did _Friendship_ wander to behold, + Breathing, but senseless, pallid, cold, + With many a gash, and many a stain, + Him,--whom the morrow sought in vain! + _Love_ had not dar'd that form to find, + Ungifted with excelling grace! + Nor, thus without a glimpse of mind, + Acknowledg'd that familiar face! + Disfigur'd now with many a trace + Of recent agony!--Its power + Had not withstood this fatal hour! + _Friendship_ firm-nerv'd, resolv'd, mature, + With hand more steady, strong, and sore, + Can torpid Horror's veil remove, + Which palsies all the force of _Love!_ + + What is _Love's_ office, then? To tend + The hero rescued by a friend! + All unperceiv'd, with balmy wing + To wave away each restless thing + That wakes to breathe disturbance round! + To temper all in peace profound. + With whisper soft and lightsome touch, + To aid, assuage,--relieving much + Of trouble neither seen nor told-- + Of pain, which it alone divines, + Which scarcely he who feels defines, + Which lynx-like eyes alone behold! + + And heavy were De Stafford's sighs, + And oft impatient would they rise; + Though Friendship, Honour's self was there, + Until he found a nurse more fair! + A nicer tact, a finer skill, + To know and to perform his will-- + Until he felt the healing look, + The tones that only Marie spoke! + + How patient, then, awaiting ease, + And suffering pain, he cross'd the seas! + How patient, when they reach'd the shore, + A long, long tract he journey'd o'er! + Though days and months flow'd past, at length, + Ere he regain'd his former strength, + He yet had courage to sustain, + Without a murmur, every pain! + "At home once more--with friends so true-- + My boy recover'd thus"--he cried, + "His mother smiling by my side-- + Resigned each lesser ill I view! + As bubbles on the Ocean's breast, + When gloriously calm, will rise; + As shadows from o'er-clouded skies, + Or some few angry waves may dance + Nor ruffle that serene expanse; + So lightly o'er my comfort glides + Each adverse feeling--so subsides + Each discontent--and leaves me blest!" + + + + +NOTES. + + + + +NOTE I. + + +_The Lay of Marie_.--Title. + +The words _roman, fabliau_, and _lai_, are so often used indifferently +by the old French writers, that it is difficult to lay down any positive +rule for discriminating between them. But I believe the word _roman_ +particularly applies to such works as were to be supposed strictly +historical: such are the romances of Arthur, Charlemagne, the Trojan +War, &c. The _fabliaux_ were generally, stories supposed to have been +invented for the purpose of illustrating some moral; or real anecdotes, +capable of being so applied. The _lai_, according to Le Grand, chiefly +differed from the _fabliau_, in being interspersed with musical +interludes; but I suspect they were generally translations from the +British. The word is said to be derived from _leudus_; but _laoi_ seems +to be the general name of a class of Irish metrical compositions, as +"Laoi na Seilge" and others, quoted by Mr. Walker (Hist. Mem. of Irish +Bards), and it may be doubted whether the word was not formerly common +to the Welsh and American dialects.--_Ellis's Specimens_. + +The conclusion of Orfeo and Herodiis, in the Auchinlech MS, seems to +prove that the lay was set to music: + + That lay Orfeo is yhote, + Gode is the lay, swete is the note. + +In Sir Tristrem also, the Irish harper is expressly said to sing to the +harp a merry _lay_. + +It is not to be supposed, what we now call metrical romances were always +read. On the contrary, several of them bear internal evidence that they +were occasionally chaunted to the harp. The Creseide of Chaucer, a long +performance, is written expressly to be read, or else sung. It is +evident that the minstrels could derive no advantage from these +compositions, unless by reciting or singing them; and later poems have +been said to be composed to their _tunes_.--_Notes to Sir Tristrem_. + + + + +NOTE II. + + +_Baron De Brehan seem'd to stand_.--p. 6. l. 10. + +Brehan--Maison reconnue pour une des plus anciennes. _Vraie race +d'ancienne Noblesse de Chevalerie_, qui dans les onxieme et douzieme +siecles, tenoit rang parmi les _anciens Barons_, avant la reduction +faite en 1451. + + + + +NOTE III. + +_Where does this idle Minstrel stay?_--p. 5. l. 13. + +It appears that female minstrels were not uncommon, as one is mentioned +in the Romance of Richard Coeur de Lion, without any remark on the +strangeness of the circumstance. + + A goose they dight to their dinner + In a tavern where they were. + King Richard the fire bet; + Thomas to the spit him set; + Fouk Doyley tempered the wood: + Dear abought they that good! + When they had drunken well, a fin, + A minstralle com theirin, + And said, "Gentlemen, wittily, + Will ye have any minstrelsy?" + Richard bade that she should go; + That turned him to mickle woe! + The minstralle _took in mind_,[1] + And said, "Ye are men unkind; + And, if I may, ye shall _for-think_[2] + Ye gave me neither meat ne drink. + For gentlemen should bede + To minstrels that abouten yede, + Of their meat, wine, and ale; + For _los_[3] rises of minstrale." + She was English, and well true, + By speech, and sight, and hide, and hue. + +_Ellis's Specimens of early English Metrical Romances_. + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] Was offended. + +[2] Repent. + +[3] Reputation, glory. + + + + +NOTE IV. + +_On which the slightest touch alone would kill_.--p. 24. l. 6. + +An unfortunate mistake in printing the word _trill_ instead of _kill_, +has made this appear ridiculous: it alludes to the old proverb-- + + You should neither tell friend nor foe + Where life-blood go. + +Any wound in a place while this pulsation passed through being esteemed +fatal. + + +NOTE V. + +_Abrupt his native accents broke_.--p. 50. l. 7. + +The Anglo-Norman dynasty, with their martial nobility, down to the reign +of Edward III. continued to use, almost exclusively, the Romance or +ancient French language; while the Saxon, although spoken chiefly by the +vulgar, was gradually adopting, from the rival tongue, those +improvements and changes, which fitted it for the use of Chaucer and +Gower. In the introduction to the Metrical Romance of _Arthur and +Merlin_, written during the minority of Edward V. it appears that the +English language was then gaining ground. The author says, he has even +seen many gentlemen who could speak no French (though generally used by +persons of that rank), while persons of every quality understood +English.--_Sir Tristrem_. + + + + +NOTE VI. + +_The broider'd scarf might wave in vain_.--p. 57. l. 1. + +To such as were victorious, prizes were awarded by the judges, and +presented by the hands of the ladies; who also honoured the combatants +with the wreath or chaplet, silken drapery, and other appropriate +ornaments; and by presenting them with ribbands, or scarfs, of chosen +colours, called liveries, spoken of in romance, appear to have been the +origin of the ribbands which still distinguish knighthood. + + +NOTE VII. + +_Laden with presents and with praise_.--p. 57. l. 9. + +In the ancient metrical romance of Sir Tristrem, an Irish earl arrives +at the court of Cornwall, in the disguise of a minstrel, and bearing a +harp of curious workmanship. He excites the curiosity of King Mark, by +refusing to play upon it till he shall grant him a boon. The king having +pledged his knighthood to satisfy his request, he sings to the harp a +lay, in which he demands the queen as his promised gift-- + + "Y prove the for fals man, + Or Y shall have thi quen." + +He accordingly carries her off; but her lover Tristrem, who had been +absent at the time, + + "chidde with the king, + Gifstow glewemen thy quen, + Hastow no other thing?" + +The usual gifts to minstrels when they sung were often profuse; rich +clothes, &c. They were, by rank, classed with knights and heralds, and +permitted to wear silk robes, a dress limited to persons who could spend +a hundred pounds of land rent.--_Sir Tristrem, edited by Walter Scott, +Esq_. + +Generosity to minstrels is perpetually recommended in the lays, of +fabliaux and romances. + + + +NOTE VIII. + + +_The peacock crown with all its eyes_.--p. 57. l.17. + +According to Menestria and St. Palaye, the troubadours, or poets of +Provence, were adorned by the ladies with crowns, interwoven with +peacock's feathers; (the eyes of which expressed the universal attention +they attracted)--a plumage in great request, and equivalent to the +laurel of the academic bards. Differing, perhaps, little in intrinsic +value, but superior in beauty and permanence, and more consonant with +the decorations of chivalry. They were not restricted to the +troubadours; for such a diadem, ornamented with gold, was sent by Pope +Urban III. to Henry II. wherewith one of his sons was crowned King of +Ireland; as mentioned by Selden, under the title Lord, and by Lord +Lyttleton, under the year MCLXXXVI. _A Summary Review of Heraldry, by +Thomas Brydson, F.A.S. Edinburgh_. + + + + +APPENDIX I + + +_Extracts from a Dissertation on the Life and Writings of Marie, an +Anglo-Norman Poetess of the thirteenth century. By Monsieur La Rue. +Archaelogia, vol. 13._ + +Mary must be regarded as the Sappho of her age; she made so considerable +a figure amongst the Anglo Norman _Trouveurs_, that she may very fairly +lay claim to the minutest investigation of whatever concerns her memory. +She informs us that she was born in France, but has neither mentioned +the province that gave her birth, her family name, nor the reasons of +her going to England. As she appears, however, to have resided in that +country at the commencement of the 13th century, we may reasonably +conclude that she was a native of Normandy. Philip Augustus having made +himself master of that province in 1204, many Norman families, whether +from regard to affinity, from motive of adventure, or from attachment to +the English government, went over to Great Britain, and there +established themselves. If this opinion be not adopted, it will be +impossible to fix upon any other province of France under the dominion +of the English, as her birth-place, because her language is neither that +of Gascony, nor of Poitou, &c. She appears, however, to have been +acquainted with the _Bas-Breton_, or Armoric tongue; whence it may be +inferred that she was born in Bretayne. The Duke of that province was +then Earl of Richmond in England; many of his subjects were in +possession of knight's fees in that honour, and Mary might have belonged +to one of these families. She was, besides, extremely well versed in the +literature of this province; and we shall have occasion to remark, that +she frequently borrowed much from the works of its writers in the +composition of her own. If, however, a preference should be given to the +first opinion, we must suppose that Mary got her knowledge, both of the +Armoric and English languages, in Great Britain. She was, at the same +time, equally mistress of the Latin; and from her application to three +several languages, we must take it for granted that she possessed a +readiness, a capacity, and even a certain rank in life, that afforded +time and means to attain them. It should seem that she was solicitous to +be personally known only at the time she lived in. Hence we find in her +works those general denominations, those vague expressions, which +discourage the curious antiquary, or compel him to enter into dry and +laborious discussions, the result of which, often turns out to be little +more than conjecture. In short, the silence or the modesty of this +lady, has contributed, in a great degree, to conceal from us the names +of those illustrious persons whose patronage her talents obtained. + +The first poems of Mary are a collection of Lays, in French verse; +forming various histories and gallant adventures of our valiant knights: +and, according to the usage of those times, they are generally +remarkable for some singular, and often marvellous catastrophe. These +Lays are in the British Museum, among the Harleian MSS. No. 978. They +constitute the largest, and, at the same time, most ancient specimen of +Anglo-Norman poetry, of this kind, that has been handed down to us. The +romances of chivalry, amongst the old Welsh and Armoric Britons, appear +to have furnished the subjects of these various Lays; not that the +manuscripts of those people were continually before her when she +composed them; but, as she herself has told us, depending upon an +excellent memory, she sometimes committed them to verse, after hearing +them recited only: and, at others, composed her poems from what she had +read in the Welsh and Armoric MSS. + + Plusurs en ai oi conter, + Nes voil laisser ne oublies, &c.[4] + Plusurs le me ant conte et dit + Et jeo l'ai trove en escrit, &c[5] + +She confined herself to these subjects, and the event justifies her +choice. To the singularity of such a measure was owing its celebrity. By +treating of love and chivalry, she was certain of attuning her lyre to +the feelings of the age; and consequently of ensuring success. Upon this +account her Lays were extremely well received by the people. Denis +Pyramus, an Anglo-Norman poet, and the contemporary of Mary, informs us +that they were heard with pleasure in all the castles of the English +barons, but that they were particularly relished by the women of her +time. He even praises them himself; and this from the mouth of a rival, +could not but have been sincere and well deserved, since our equals are +always the best judges of our merit.[6] Insomuch as Mary was a +foreigner, she expected to be criticised with severity, and therefore +applied herself with great care to the due polishing of her works. +Besides, she thought, as she says herself, that the chief reward of a +poet, consists in perceiving the superiority of his own performance, and +its claims to public esteem. Hence the repeated efforts to attain so +honourable a distinction, and the constant apprehensions of that chagrin +which results from disappointment, and which she has expressed with so +much natural simplicity. + + Ki de bone mateire traite, + Mult li peise si bien n'est faite, &c.[7] + +She has dedicated her lays to some king,[8] whom she thus addresses in +her Prologue: + + En le honur de vos nobles reis, + Ki tant estes preux et curteis, + M'entremis de Lais assembler. + Par rime faire et reconter; + + En mon quoer pensoe et diseie, + Sire, le vos presentereie. + Si vos les plaist a receveir. + + Mult me ferez grant joie aveir, + A tuz juirs mais en serai lie, &c.[9] + +But who is this monarch? 1. We may perceive in it her apprehension of +the envy which her success might excite in a strange country: for this +reason she could not have written in France. 2. When at a loss for some +single syllable, she sometimes intermixes in her verses words that are +pure English, when the French word would not have suited the +measure.--"Fire et chaundelez alumez." It should seem, therefore, that +she wrote for the English, since her lines contain words that +essentially belong to their language, and not at all to the _Romance_. +3. She dedicates her lays to a king who understood English, because she +takes care to translate into that tongue all the Welsh and Armoric +proper names that she was obliged to introduce. Thus in the Lay of +_Bisclaveret_, she says, the English translate this name by that of +_Garwaf_, (Were-wolf); in that of _Laustic_, that they call it +_Nihtgale_ (Nightingale); and in that of _Chevrefeuille, Gotelef_, +(Goatleaf) &c. It is certain, then, she composed for a king who +understood English. 4. She tells us that she had declined translating +Latin histories into _Romance_; because so many others having been thus +occupied, her name would have been confounded with the multitude, and +her labours unattended with honour. Now this circumstance perfectly +corresponds with the reign of Henry III. when such a number of Normans +and Anglo-Normans had, for more than half a century, translated from +the Latin so many romances of chivalry; and especially those of the +Round Table, which we owe to the Kings of England. 5. Fauchet and +Pasquier inform us, that Mary lived about the middle of the 13th +century, and this would exactly coincide with the reign of that +prince.[10] 6. Denis Pyramu[11], an Anglo-Norman poet, speaks of Mary as +an author, whose person was as much beloved as her writings, and who +therefore must have lived in his own time. Now it is known that this +poet wrote under Henry III. and this opinion could only be confuted by +maintaining that it was rather a King of France of whom she speaks, +which king must have been Louis VIII. or St. Louis his son. But this +alteration will not bear the slightest examination; for how could it be +necessary to explain Welsh and Armoric words to a French king in the +English language? How could the writer permit herself to make use of +English words, in many parts of her work, which would most probably be +unintelligible to that prince, and most certainly so to the greatest +part of his subjects? It is true that she sometimes explains them in +Romance, but not always; and when, upon the other hand, she makes a +constant practice of translating them into English, she proves to what +sort of readers she was principally addressing herself. The list of the +lays of Mary is omitted here, as a translation follows. + +The smaller poems of Mary are, in general, of much importance, as to the +knowledge of ancient chivalry. Their author has described manners with a +pencil at once faithful and pleasing. She arrests the attention of her +readers by the subjects of her stories, by the interest which she +skilfully blends in them, and by the simple and natural language in +which she relates them. In spite of her rapid and flowing style, nothing +is forgotten in her details--nothing escapes her in her descriptions. +With what grace has she depicted the charming deliverer of the unhappy +Lanval! Her beauty is equally impressive, engaging, and seductive; an +immense crowd follows but to admire her; the while palfrey on which she +rides seems proud of his fair burden; the greyhound which follows her, +and the falcon which she carries, announce her nobility. How splendid +and commanding her appearance; and with what accuracy is the costume of +the age she lived in observed! But Mary did not only possess a most +refined taste, she had also to boast of a mind of sensibility. The +English muse seems to have inspired her; all her subjects are sad and +melancholy; she appears to have designed to melt the hearts of her +readers, either by the unfortunate situation of her hero, or by some +truly afflicting catastrophe. Thus she always speaks to the soul, calls +forth all its feelings, and very frequently throws it into the utmost +consternation. + +Fauchet was unacquainted with the Lays of Mary, for he only mentions her +fables[12]. But, what is more astonishing, Monsieur le Grand, who +published many of her lays, has not ascribed them all to her. He had +probably never met with a complete collection like that in the British +Museum; but only some of those that had been separately transcribed; +and, in that case, he could not have seen the preface, in which Mary has +named herself. + +The second work of our poetess consists of a collection of fables, +generally called Aesopian, which she translated into French verse. In +the prologue she informs her readers that she would not have engaged in +it, but for the solicitation of a man who was "_the flower of chivalry +and courtesy_," and whom, at the conclusion of her work, she styles +_Earl William_. + + Por amor le counte Guillaume, + Le plus vaillant de cest royaume, + Mentremis de cest livre faire, + Et de l'Anglois en Romans traire, &c.[13] + +M. le Grand, in his preface to some of Mary's fables, which he has +published in French prose, informs us that this person was _Earl William +de Dampierre_. But William, Lord of Dampierre, in Champagne, had in +himself no right whatever to the title of Earl. During the 13th century, +this dignity was by no means assumed indiscriminately, and at pleasure, +by French gentlemen; it was generally borne by whoever was the owner of +a province, and sometimes of a great city, constituting an earldom: such +were the earldoms of Flanders, of Artois, of Anjou, of Paris, &c. It was +then, that these great vassals of the crown had a claim to the title of +earl, and accordingly assumed it.[14] Now, the territory of Dampierre +was not in this predicament during the 13th century; it was only a +simple lordship belonging to the lords of that name.[15] + +Convinced, as I am, that Mary did not compose her fables in France, but +in England, it is rather in England that the Earl William, alluded to by +Mary, is to be sought for; and luckily, the encomium she has left upon +him is of such a nature, as to excite an opinion that he was William +Longsword, natural son of Henry II. and created Earl of Salisbury and +Romare by Richard Coeur de Lion. She calls him "_the flower of chivalry, +the most valiant man in the kingdom_," etc.; and these features +perfectly characterize William Longsword, so renowned for his +prowess.[16] The praise she bestows on him expresses, with great +fidelity, the sentiments that were entertained by his contemporaries; +and which were become so general, that for the purpose of making his +epitaph, it should seem that the simple eulogy of Mary would have +sufficed. + + Flos comitum, Wilhelmus obit, stirps regia, longus + Ensis vaginam capit habere brevem.[17] + +This earl died in 1226;[18] so that Mary must have written her fables +before that time. The brilliant reputation she had acquired by her lays, +had no doubt determined William to solicit a similar translation of +_Aesopian Fables_, which then existed in the English language. She, who +in her lays had painted the manners of her age with so much nature and +fidelity, would find no difficulty in succeeding in this kind of +apologue. Both require that penetrating glance which can distinguish +the different passions of mankind; can seize upon the varied forms which +they assume; and marking the objects of their attention, discover, at +the same moment, the means they employ to attain them. For this reason, +her fables are written with all that acuteness of mind, that penetrates +into the very inmost recesses of the human heart; and, at the same time, +with that beautiful simplicity so peculiar to the ancient romance +language, and which causes me to doubt whether La Fontaine has not +rather imitated our author, than the fabulists either of Rome, or of +Athens. It most, at all events, be admitted that he could not find, in +the two latter, the advantages which the former offered him. Mary wrote +in French, and at a time when that language, yet in its infancy, could +boast of nothing but simple expressions, artless and agreeable turns, +and, on all occasions, a natural and unpremeditated phraseology. + +On the contrary, Aesop and Phaedrus, writing in Latin, could not supply +the French fabulist with any thing more than subject matter and ideas; +whilst Mary, at the same time that she furnished him with both, might +besides have hinted expression, manner, and even rhyme. Let me add, that +through the works of La Fontaine will be found scattered an infinite +number of words in our ancient language, which are at this day +unintelligible without a commentary. + +There are, in the British Museum, three MS. copies of Mary's fables. +The first is in the Cotton library, Vesp. b. xiv. the second in the +Harleian, No. 4333; and the third in the same collection, No. 978. In +the first, part of Mary's prologue is wanting, and the transcriber has +entirely suppressed the conclusion of her work. This MS. contains only +sixty-one fables. The second has all the prologue, and the conclusion. +It has 83 fables. The third is the completest of all, and contains 104 +fables. M. le Grand says that he has seen four MSS. of these fables in +the libraries of Paris, but all different as to the number. He cites one +in the library of St. Germain des Prés, as containing 66 fables; and +another in the Royal Library, No. 7615, with 102.[19] As he has said +nothing about the other MSS. it is to be supposed that he has purposely +mentioned that which had the greatest number of fables, and that which +had the least. Under this idea, the Harleian MS. No. 978, is the +completest of all that have been yet cited. + +In examining the manner in which she speaks of herself, we shall +perceive she does not call herself _Marie de France_, as he has stated, +but says _she is from France_. + + Al finement de cest escrit, + Me nomerei par remembrance, + Marie ai non si suis de France, &c.[20] + +If we consider well the latter verse, there will be no difficulty in +perceiving that Mary wrote in England. Indeed, it was formerly a very +common thing for authors to say that they were of such a city, and even +to assume the name of it. Or even, when writing in Latin, state +themselves either natives of England, or of France. But when an author +writes in France, and in the language of the country, he does not say +that _he is of France_. Now this precaution, on the part of Mary, +implies that she wrote in a foreign country, the greater part of whose +inhabitants spoke her native language; which was the case in England. +She stated herself to be a native of France, that her works might be +regarded as written in a purer and correcter style. + +Monsieur le Grand does not believe that Mary really translated from a +collection that existed in her time in the English language, under the +title of the _Fables of Aesop_; but, if we examine the fables +themselves, we shall discover in them internal evidence of their being +translated from the English. + +Mention is made of counties and their judges, of the great assemblies +held there for the administration of justice, the king's writs, &c. &c. +Now what other kingdom, besides England, was at that time divided into +counties? What other country possessed similar establishments? But Mary +has done more; in her French translation she has preserved many +expressions in the English original; such as _welke_, in the fable of +the Eagle, the Crow, and the Tortoise; _witecocs_, in that of the Three +Wishes; _grave_, in that of the Sick Lion; _werbes and wibets_, in that +of the Battle of the Flies with other Animals; _worsel_, in that of the +Mouse and the Frog, &c. + +The completest MS. of Mary's translation, has but 104 fables; out of +which, 31 only are Aesop's. So the English version that she had before +her, was not a true and complete translation of that fabulist, but a +compilation from different authors, in which some of his fables had been +inserted. Nevertheless, Mary has intitled her work, "_Cy Commence li +Aesope_;" she repeats, also, that she had turned this fabulist into +romance language. Mary, therefore, imagined that she was really +translating Aesop; but her original had the same title; and I am the +more convinced of this, because, in the Royal MS. before cited, which +contains a collection of Aesopian fables, there are but 56. According to +the introduction, they had been already translated into Latin prose, and +then into English prose; and in this MS. as well as in Mary's, there are +many fables and fabliaux ascribed to Aesop, which never could have been +composed by him. + +Again, if we compare the fables which generally pass for Aesop's, with +those written by Mary, we shall perceive that the translation of the +latter could never have been regarded as a literal version of the +former. She is a great deal more particular than Aesop; her +moralizations are not the same. In a word, I think she comes nearer to +Phaedrus than to the Greek writer. + +It will, no doubt be answered, that the Works of Phaedrus have only been +known since the end of the 16th century. This I admit; but am not the +less persuaded that Mary was better acquainted with Phaedrus than with +Aesop. It will, moreover, be contended, that she has herself declared, +that the English version, which served her as a model, was a translation +from the Greek. To this I reply; first, that Phaedrus's fables may very +properly be stiled _Aesopian_, as he has himself called them: + + Aesopus auctor quam materiam reperit, + Hanc ego polivi versibus senariis.[21] + + +And, secondly, that although Mary possessed the fire, the imagination, +and the genius of a poet, she nevertheless had not the criticism, or +erudition, of a man of letters. For example; she informs us, that before +her fables were translated into English, they had already been turned +from Greek into Latin by Aesop.[22] She then gives the fable of an ox +that assisted at mass, of a wolf that keeps Lent, of a monk disputing +with a peasant, &c. + +Amongst these compilers of fables, we find the names of Romulus, Accius, +Bernardus, Talon, and many others anonymous. The first is the most +celebrated; he has addressed his fables to his son Tiberius; they are +written in Latin prose, sixty in number, and many of them are founded +upon those of Aesop and Phaedrus. Rimilius published them at the end of +the 15th century, and Frederic Nilant gave an edition in 1709, at +Leyden, with some curious and interesting notes. Fabricius, in his +Bibliotheca Latina, says, that these sixty fables are more than five +hundred years old.[23] I have already mentioned that there is a MS. of +them in the Royal Library in the British Museum, 15 A. VII., which was +written in the 13th century, and contains only fifty-six fables. They +are said, in the preface, to have been translated out of Greek into +Latin, by the Emperor Romulus. Mary likewise mentions this Romulus, and +gives him the same title. After having remarked with how much advantage +learned men might occupy themselves, in extracting from the works of the +ancient philosophers, proverbs, fables, and the morals they contained, +for the purpose of instructing men, and training them to virtuous +actions, she adds, that the emperor had very successfully pursued the +plan, in order to teach his son how to conduct himself with propriety +through life[24]. + +Vincent de Beauvois, a contemporary of Mary, speaks likewise of this +Romulus and his fables[25]; and lastly, Fabricius informs us that this +author has very much imitated Phaedrus, and often preserved even his +expressions.[26] But, after all, it is uncertain who is this Romulus, +thus invested with the title of emperor; whether the last Roman emperor +of that name, who is likewise called Augustulus or Romulus the +grammarian. I should rather attribute them to some monk of the 11th or +12th century. The rites of the Roman Catholic worship are several times +alluded to, and entire passages of the Vulgate very frequently inserted. + +It is, however, enough to know that in the time of Mary, there did +actually exist a collection of fables called Aesopian, and published +under the name of Romulus; that this author, whether real or imaginary, +had very much imitated Phaedrus; that these Latin fables had been +translated into English; that, without doubt, those of some other +unknown writers were added to them; and, finally, that from this latter +version Mary made her translation into French verse. + +In a MS. of the fables of Mary, it is said this English version was the +work of King Mires.[27] The Harleian MS. No. 978, makes the translation +to have been King _Alurez_. The MS. cited by Pasquier, calls him King +Auvert.[28] The MS. in the Royal Library, 15 A. VII. says the +translation was made by the order of King _Affrus_; and, lastly, the +Harleian MS. No. 4333, makes it the work of King _Henry_. + +With respect to King _Alurez_ or _Auvert_, every one who has examined +our ancient writers of romance, during the 12th and 13th centuries, must +know that the name of Alfred was thus disfigured by them. Thus, two +kings of England, Alfred and Henry, have a claim to that honour. But +whence is it that the historian of Alfred, Asser, as well as William of +Malmesbury, have mentioned the different translations of this prince, +without having noticed that of Aesop?[29] Is it credible that an +Anglo-Saxon version of the ninth century would have been intelligible to +Mary, who had only learned the English of the thirteenth? Had not the +lapse of time, and the descents of the Danes and Normans in the eleventh +century, contributed, in the first place, to alter the Anglo-Saxon? and +afterwards, during the twelfth, the rest of the people from the northern +and western provinces of France, having become dependent upon England, +did not they, likewise, by their commerce, and residence in that +country, introduce a considerable change into its language? The names of +Seneschal, Justiciar, Viscount, Provost, Bailiff, Vassal, &c. which +occur in these fables, both in the Latin text and French translation by +Mary, ought naturally to have been found in the English version. Now +these several terms were all, according to Madox, introduced by the +Normans;[30] and the morals to these fables, which make frequent +allusion to the feudal system, prove more and more, that this English +translation must have been posterior to the time of Alfred. + +In the last place, the Harleian MS. No. 4333, ascribes the translation +to King Henry. The Normans were acquainted with the fables of Aesop, or, +at least, those which were attributed to him during the middle ages. The +collateral heirs of Raoul de Vassy, who died in 1064, when, after the +death of William the Conqueror, they found means to establish their +claims against Robert Courthose; in asserting it, reproach his father +with having made the _lion's partition_ in seizing Upon their +inheritance.[31] + +This proverbial expression very clearly shews that the writings of the +Greek fabulist, or at least of those who had followed him, were known to +the Normans from the eleventh century. It is possible, therefore, that +Henry I. might have studied and translated them into English. Again, all +historians agree in giving this prince the title of _Beauclerk_, though +no one has assigned any reason for a designation so honourable: and this +opinion would justify history, which has given to Henry a name with +which authors alone were dignified. + +Whether Mary followed the English version literally cannot be +ascertained, as we do not even know whether it now exists; and are +therefore under the necessity of collating her fables with those of the +middle ages: and it appears, she translated from the English 104 fables +into French verse; and of this number there are 65, the subjects of +which had already been treated of by Aesop, Phaedrus, Romulus, and the +anonymous author of the _Fabulae Antiquae_, published by Niland. + +The English translation was not only compiled from these different +authors, but from many other fabulists, whose names are unknown to us; +since, out of the 104 fables of Mary, there are 39 which are neither +found in the before mentioned authors, nor in any other known to us. + +The English version contained a more ample assemblage of fables than +that of Mary, since out of the 56 in the Royal MS. 15 A. VII, which made +a part of the former, it appears that she made a selection of subjects +that were pleasing to her, and rejected others. It is very singular, +that England appears to have had fabulists during the ages of ignorance, +whilst Athens and Rome possessed theirs only amidst the most refined +periods of their literature. + +Some may, perhaps, be disposed to conclude that the 39 additional fables +were actually composed by Mary; but I believe, upon reflection, this +opinion must be abandoned. She terms her work a translation, glories in +the enterprize; and, if it had been only in part the labours of her +genius, would scarcely have passed over that circumstance in silence. + +Monsieur Le Grand has published 43 of Mary's fables in prose. His +translation, however, is not always literal; and seems, in many places, +to have departed from the original. He has likewise published many of +the _fabliaux_, or little stories, which he has unadvisedly attributed +to the transcribers of them, and which belong indisputably to her. + +I have examined La Fontaine, to ascertain whether he were acquainted +with the fables of Mary, and had actually borrowed his subjects from the +39 fables which are wanting in all the writers of this kind with whom we +are at present acquainted; and have actually discovered, that he is +indebted to them for those of the Drowning Woman, the Fox and the Cat, +and the Fox and the Pigeon. From others he has only taken the subject, +but changed the actors; and, by retouching the whole in his peculiar +manner, has enriched them with a new turn, and given them an appearance +of originality. + +The third work of Mary consists of a history, or rather a tale, in +French verse, of St. Patrick's Purgatory. This performance was +originally commenced in Latin, at the Abbey of Saltrey, and dedicated to +the abbot of that monastery, and is to be found in MS. in many public +libraries. There are two translations of it into French verse. The first +of these is in the Cotton Library, Domit. A. IV. and the second in the +Harleian, No. 273, but they are not from the same pen: the former +consists of near 1000 lines, and the latter of about 700. M. Le Grand +has given an analysis of one of these translations in his _fabliaux_, +vol. V.; and it is upon the authority of this writer that I have +ascribed it to Mary, as he maintains that she was the author of it, but +without adducing the necessary proofs for this assertion. The Cotton MS. +however, contains nothing that gives the least support to M. Le Grand's +opinion, or even screens it with probability. Neither is Mary's name +mentioned in the Harleian MS.; but as the translator, in his preface, +entitles the work "a lay," and professes he had rather engage in it than +_relate fables_, it may afford a conjecture that Mary has sufficiently +developed herself in speaking of her labours. This, however, is merely a +conjecture. It is not impossible that the MS. which M. Le Grand +consulted contained more particular details on this subject; but he is +certainly mistaken in one respect, and that is, in supposing Mary to +have been the original author of this piece, whilst all the MSS. that +exist attest that she could have been only the translator: and if the +translation in the Harleian MS. actually be her performance, she there +positively declares that she had been desired to translate the work from +Latin into Romance. + +This poem was, at a very early period, translated into English verse. It +is to be found in the Cotton library, Calig. A. II. under the title of +_Owayne Miles_, on account, of Sir Owen being the hero of the piece, and +whose descent into St. Patrick's purgatory is related. Walter de Metz, +author of the poem entitled _Image du Monde_, mentions also the wonders +of St. Patrick's purgatory, the various adventures of those who +descended into it, and the condition of those who had the good fortune +to return from it; but I am uncertain whether he speaks from the +original Latin of the monk of Saltrey, or from Mary's French +translation. In the latter case it should appear that Mary finished her +translation before 1246, the year in which Walter says he composed his +work.[32] + +Whether Mary was the author of any other pieces I have not been able to +ascertain: her taste, and the extreme facility with which she wrote +poetry of the lighter kind, induce a presumption that she was; but I +know of none that have come down to us. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] _Prologue des Lais de Marie._ + +[5] _Lai du chevrefeuille_. + +[6] Pyramus, Vie de St Edmund, Bibl. Cotton. Domit. A. XI. + +[7] Prolog. des Lais de Marie. + +[8] It is reasonable to conclude, that writers flocked in +greater numbers to the court where they were most in request, and were +likely to be most liberally rewarded. Now it is evident that the Dukes +of Normandy, when possessed of the crown of England, were incomparably +more wealthy, though not in the same proportion more powerful, than the +contemporary Kings of France; and it may be presumed that the crowd of +candidates for their patronage, was consequently, much more numerous. +Our Henry the Second possessed, in right of his father, Maine, Anjou, +and Touraine; in right of his wife Eleanor, divorced by Louis le Jeune, +the counties of Poictou and Guienne; in right of his mother Matilda, +Normandy and England; and his power in the latter, the most valuable +part of his dominions, was paramount and uncontrolled, while Louis was +surrounded by powerful and rival vassals. We are, therefore, justified +in suspecting that the courts of our Norman sovereigns, rather than +those of the Kings of France, produced the birth of romance literature; +and this suspicion is confirmed by the testimony of three French +writers, whose authority is the more conclusive, because they have +formed their opinion from separate and independent premises. + +The first of these is M. de la Ravallere. In his Essay on the +Revolutions of the French Language, a work of considerable learning, +supported by original authorities, whose words he almost constantly +quotes, he distinctly asserts that the pretended patronage of the French +princes, anterior to Philippe Auguste, had no visible effect on their +domestic literature; that while so many poets were entertained at the +courts of the Anglo-Norman princes, no one can be traced to that of +Louis le Jeune; that the chronicles of Britain and Normandy, the +subjects chosen by Wace and his contemporaries, were not likely to +_interest_ the French, &c. + +The second authority is M. le Comte de Tressan, a writer, perhaps, of no +deep research, but whose good taste is conclusive on points of internal +evidence. In his preface to the prose romance of "La Fleur des +Batailles," (one of those relating to Charlemagne) he says--The style +and character of these romances lead us to think that they were composed +at the court of the English kings, descended from William the Conqueror. +We find in those of the Round Table, a marked affectation of dwelling on +every thing which can contribute to the glory of the throne and court of +England, whose princes and knights always play the chief and most +brilliant part in the piece. + +Thirdly, the Abbé de la Rue may be considered as having proved the fact, +by pointing out, in English history, the persons to whom the original +romances were addressed. His three dissertations on the Anglo-Norman +poets, in the twelfth and thirteenth volume of the Archaelogia, will +convince the reader that no man has studied, with more attention, the +early history and poetry of France; and he has given it as his decided +opinion, that "_it was from England and Normandy that the French +received the first works which deserve to be cited in their +language."--Ellis's Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances_. + +[9] Prolog. des Lais de Marie. + +[10] Oeuvres de Fauchet, 579. Recherches de la France, l.8. s. i. + +[11] Pyramus loco citate. + +[12] Oeuvres de Fauchet, p. 579. + +[13] Conclusion of Mary's Fables. + +[14] Dictionaire Raisonnée de Diplomatique Verbo _Comte_. + +[15] Martineus Dict. Geographique, v. Dampierre. + +[16] Sandford's Genealogical History of the Kings of England, +p. 114. + +[17] Ibid, p. 116, and M. Paris, p. 817 + +[18] Sandford, ibid. + +[19] Fabliaux, vol. iv. p.330. + +[20] Conclusion of Mary's Fables. + +[21] Phaedr. Prolog. lib. i. + +[22] Preface to Mary's Fables. + +[23] Fabric. Bibl. Latin, lib. ii. c. 3. + +[24] Preface to the Fables of Mary + +[25] Vincent Bellovac, lib. iv. c. 2. + +[26] Fabric. loco citato. + +[27] Menage Diction. Etymol. V. Romans. Duchesne, Oeuvres de +Maistre Alain Chartris, p. 861. + +[28] Pasquier Recherches, liv. viii. c. 1. + +[29] Asser, Vita Alfredi, Malsmb. + +[30] Madox's Hist. of the Exchequer, c. 4. + +[31] Ordoric. Vitalis Hist. apud Duchesne, pp. 488, 681, & +1084. + +[32] See his Works amongst the Harleian MSS. No. 4333. + + + + +APPENDIX II. + + +MARIE'S LAYS. + + +Versions of only two of the Lays can be given; but it will be better to +lay before the reader an abstract of the whole collection, which is in +many respects interesting, because it was certainly written in this +country, was never printed, and is known to exist only in one +manuscript, viz. Harl. MSS. No. 978. + +About 56 lines at the beginning of the work are intended as a general +prologue; and 26 more form the introduction to the first Lay. This +prefatory matter is written in a style of considerable obscurity, which +the author defends by the example of the ancients, and quotes Priscian +as her authority. But the doctrine she means to inculcate is, that those +who possess talents are bound to employ them; and that study is always +good as a preservative from vice and from affliction. She tells us, she +had therefore form'd a plan of translating, from Latin into romance, +_some good history_, but found her project had been anticipated by +others. She then thought of the numerous lays which she _had heard, and +carefully treasured in her memory_. These, she was sure, must be new to +the generality of her readers; and, in this confidence, she offers to +the king the fruits of her labours. After complaining she has met with +envy and persecution where she deserved praise, she declares her +intention to persevere, and relate, as briefly as possible, such stories +as she _knows to be true_, and to have been _formed into lays by the +Britons_. + + Les contes ke jeo sai _rerrais, + Dunt li Bretun ont fait ces lais_, + Vus conterai asez briefment, &c. + +The Lays are twelve in number; nine of which, with the above +introduction, are extracted, with some trifling abridgment, from the +Specimens of early English Metrical Romances, by George Ellis, Esq.; the +two in verse from Way's Fabliaux; and the other from the notes to Sir +Tristrem, by Walter Scott, Esq. + + + + +No. 1.--_The Lay of_ SIR GUGEMER, _or_ GUIGEMAR. + + + While Arthur reign'd, (so chim'd, in earlier day, + Loud to the twanging harp the Breton lay,) + While Arthur reign'd, two kingdoms born to bless, + Great Britain's king, and suzerain of the less; + A lord of Leon, one of fair report + Among the vassal barons of his court, + Own'd for his son a youth more bravely thew'd + Than aught both countries yet had seen of good. + Dame Nature gave the mould; his sire combin'd + Due culture, exercise of limbs and mind, + Till the rare strippling, now no longer boy, + Chang'd his fond parents' fearful hope for joy. + + His name was Gugemar: as strength grew on, + To Arthur's court the sire consign'd his son. + There soon in feats of arms the youth excell'd, + Magnanimous, in sports, or deadly field. + + Chief of the Table-round, from time to time + Illustrious Arthur mark'd his opening prime, + Then dealt him noble meed; the honour high, + From his own hand, of glorious chivalry. + + Knightly in arms he was; one grievous blot, + So deem'd full many a courtly dame, I wot, + Cross'd the full growth of his aspiring days, + And dimm'd the lustre of meridian praise: + With bootless artifice their lures they troll'd; + Still, Gugemer lov'd not, or nothing told. + The court's accustom'd love and service done, + To his glad sire returns the welcome son. + Now with his father dwelt he, and pursued + Such pastimes as are meet for youth of noble blood. + The woods of Leon now would shrilly sound + Oft with his joyous shout and choral hound + At length, one morn his disadventurous dart, + Lanc'd, as the game was rous'd, at hind or hart, + Wing'd through the yielding air its weetless way, + And pierc'd unwares a metamorphos'd fay. + Lo! back recoiling straight, by fairy craft, + Back to its master speeds the reeking shaft; + Deep in his sinewy thigh inflicts a wound, + And strikes the astonish'd hunter to the ground, + While, with a voice which neither bray'd nor spoke, + Thus fearfully the beast her silence broke:-- + "Pains, agonizing pains must thou endure, + Till wit of lady's love shall work the cure: + Wo, then, her fated guerdon she shall find + The heaviest that may light on womankind!" + + Sir Gugemer, who strove, with courage vain, + Up from the earth to rise, distraught with pain, + While hies his varlet home for succour strong, + Crawls slow with trailing limb the sward along; + 'Twas part precipitate, steep rocky shore; + Hoarse at its foot was heard old Ocean's roar; + And in a shelter'd cove at anchor rode, + Close into land, where slept the solemn flood, + A gallant bark, that with its silken sails + Just bellying, caught the gently rising gales, + And from its ebon sides shot dazzling sheen + Of silvery rays with mingled gold between. + A favouring fairy had beheld the blow + Dealt the young hunter by her mortal foe: + Thence grown his patroness, she vows to save, + And cleaves with magick help the sparkling wave: + Now, by a strange resistless impulse driven, + The knight assays the lot by fortune given: + Lo, now he climbs, with fairy power to aid, + The bark's steep side, on silken cordage stay'd; + Gains the smooth deck, and, wonders to behold, + A couch of cypress spread with cloth of gold, + While from above, with many a topaz bright, + Two golden globes sent forth their branching light: + And longer had he gaz'd, but sleep profound, + Wrought by the friendly fairy, wrapt him round. + Stretch'd on the couch the hunter lies supine, + And the swift bark shoots lightly o'er the brine. + For, where the distant prospect fading dies, + And sea and land seem mingling with the skies, + A massy tower of polish'd marble rose; + There dwelt the fair physician of his woes: + Nogiva was the name the princess bore; + Her spouse old, shrewd, suspicious evermore, + Here mew'd his lovely consort, young and fair, + And watch'd her with a dotard's bootless care. + Sure, Love these dotards dooms to jealous pain, + And the world's laugh, when all their toil proves vain. + This lord, howe'er, did all that mortal elf + Could do, to keep his treasure to himself: + Stay'd much at home, and when in luckless hour + His state affairs would drag him from his tower, + Left with his spouse a niece himself had bred, + To be the partner of her board and bed; + And one old priest, a barren lump of clay, + To chant their mass, and serve them day by day. + Her prison room was fair; from roof to floor + With golden imageries pictur'd o'er; + There Venus might be seen, in act to throw + Down to the mimick fire that gleam'd below + The 'Remedies of Love' Dan Ovid made; + Wrathful the goddess look'd, and ill-repaid; + And many more than I may well recall, + Illumining throughout the sumptuous wall. + For the old ghostly guide--to do him right-- + He harbour'd in his breast no jailor's spite; + Compassionate and poor, he bore in mind + His prisoner's health might languish, much confin'd + And oft would let her feet and fancy free, + Wander along the margin of the sea. + There then it chanc'd, upon the level sand, + That aunt and niece were pacing hand in hand, + When onward to the marble tower they spied + With outspread sail the fairy vessel glide: + Both felt a momentary fear at first, + (As women oft are given to think the worst) + And turn'd for flight; but ere they far were fled, + Look'd round to view the object of their dread; + Then, seeing none on board, they backward hied, + Perchance by fairy influence fortified, + Where the trim bark was run its course to end, + And now both dames its ebon deck ascend; + There on a couch, a silken pall beneath, + So wrapt in sleep he scarcely seem'd to breathe, + Sir Gugemer they spied, defil'd with gore, + And with a deadly pale his visage o'er: + They fear them life was fled; and much his youth, + And much his hap forlorn did move their ruth: + With lily hand his heart Nogiva press'd, + "It beats!" she cried, "beats strong within his breast!" + So loud her sudden voice express'd delight, + That from his swoon awoke the wondering knight: + His name, his country, straight the dames demand, + And what strange craft had steer'd his bark to land? + He, on his elbow rais'd, with utterance weak, + Such as his feeble strength avail'd to speak, + Recounts his piteous chance, his name, his home, + How up the vessel's side ere while he clomb, + And then sunk down in sleep; but who impell'd + Its ebon keel, or tissued canvas swell'd, + He wist not: faint, and lacking vital heat, + He sought some needful aid from looks so sweet. + "So brave a knight!--to yield of succour nought-- + What heart of flint could cherish such a thought? + Yet where to harbour him, and how to hide?-- + The husband not at home, means must be tried!"-- + So thought these dames, I ween, that fateful hour, + While feebly onward to the marble tower, + Propp'd, right and left, by snowy shoulders twain, + Sir Gugemer repair'd with mickle pain. + There on a bed of down they plac'd their guest, + Cleans'd the deep wound, with healing balsam dress'd, + Brought, for his plight most fit, choice simple food, + And, watchful how he far'd, attendant stood; + Till now returning strength grew swiftly on, + And his firm voice confess'd his anguish gone. + In sooth, the fay, protectress of his worth, + Had shower'd down balm, unknown to wights on earth; + One night achieves his cure; but other smart + Plays o'er the weetless region of his heart; + Pains, such as beam from bright Nogiva's eyes, + Flit round his bed, and quiral [Errata: genial] slumber flies. + Now, as the ruddy rays of morning peer, + Him seem'd his kind physician's step drew near; + She comes; his cheeks with new-found blushes burn; + Nogiva--she, too, blushes in her turn: + Love sure had neither spar'd; yet at the last + Faintly she asks him how the night had pass'd? + O! how the trembling patient then confess'd + Strange malady at heart, and banish'd rest: + And sued once more for life, restor'd so late, + Now hers alone to grant, the mistress of his fate. + She speaks assurance kind with witching smile, + "No ill from sickness felt so little while!" + Yet nought the knight believes; a kiss, I ween, + Fell from her dainty lips, and clos'd the scene. + + One year or more within some secret bower, + So dwelt the knight beneath the marble tower; + Thoughts of his sire, at last, how he might bear + His son's long absence, so awaken'd care, + Needs must he back to Leon: vainly here + Sues fond Nogiva's interdicting tear. + "Sad leave reluctantly I yield!" she cries, + "Yet take this girdle, knit with mystick ties, + Wed never dame till first this secret spell + Her dextrous hands have loosen'd:--so farewell!" + "Never, I swear, my sweet! so weal betide!" + With heavy heart Sir Gugemer replied; + Then hied him to the gate, when lo! at hand + Nogiva's hoary lord is seen to stand, + (Brought by the fairy foe's relentless ire,) + And lustily he calls for knight and squire: + Now with his trusty blade, of temper good, + The stout knight clears his course to ocean's flood, + Sweeps right and left the scatter'd rout away, + And climbs the bark of his protectress fay; + Light glides the ebon keel the waters o'er, + And his glad footsteps press his native shore. + + His father, who had long time, woe-begone, + Bewail'd the absence of his darling son; + Ween'd the best course to hold him now for life, + Should be to link him closely to a wife. + Sir Gugemer, urg'd sore, at length avows, + He never will take woman's hand for spouse, + Save her's, whose fingers, skill'd in ladies' lore, + Shall loose that knot his mystick girdle bore. + + Straight all that Bretany contain'd of fair, + Widows, and dainty maids, the adventure dare: + Clerks were they all, I ween; but knots like these + May not be loos'd when earthly beauties please. + + Thus while it fares with those, in dungeon deep + See sad Nogiva never cease to weep! + Doom'd by her jealous lord's revengeful mood, + The well her beverage, bitter bread her food, + Lo there with iron gyves chain'd down she lies, + And wails unheard her hopeless miseries: + Scarce brooking longer life, but that the thought + Of Gugemer some gleams of solace brought: + Him would she name full oft, and oft implore + Heaven, but to view his winning face once more. + Long had she sorrow'd thus; her fairy friend + Hears at the last, and bids her sufferings end: + Burst by her magic touch the fetters fall, + Wide springs the gate, and quakes the obdurate wall; + Close to the shore the enchanted pinnace glides, + Feels its fair guest within its arching sides, + Then ploughs the foaming main with gallant state, + Till Bretany's far coast receives the freight. + Meriadus--(that name the monarch bore, + Where first Nogiva's footsteps prest the shore,) + Meriadus such charms not vainly view'd; + He saw, felt love, and like a sovereign woo'd: + She briefly answers:--"None this heart may move, + This bosom none inspire with mutual love, + Save he whose skill this girdle shall unbind, + Fast round my waist with mystick tie confin'd." + Much strove Meriadus, strove much in vain, + Strove every courtly gallant of his train: + All foil'd alike, he blazons far and wide + A tournament, and there the emprize be tried! + There who may loose the band, and win the expectant bride! + Sir Gugemer, when first the tidings came + Of the quaint girdle, and the stranger dame. + Ween'd well Nogiva's self, his dame alone, + Bore this mysterious knot so like his own. + On to the tournament elate he hies, + There his liege lady greets his wistful eyes: + What now remain'd? "Meriadus! once more + I view," he cries, "the mistress I adore; + Long have our hearts been one! great king, 'tis thine + Twin [Errata: Twain] lovers, sadly sunder'd long, to join. + So will I straight do homage, so remain + Thy liegeman three full years, sans other gain, + Thine with a hundred knights, and I their charge maintain." + Brave was the proffer, but it prosper'd nought; + Love rul'd alone the unyielding monarch's thought. + Then Gugemer vows vengeance, then in arms + Speaks stern defy, and claims Nogiva's charms: + And, for his cause seem'd good, anon behold + Many a strange knight, and many a baron bold, + Brought by the tourney's fame, on fiery steeds + Couch lance to aid; and mortal strife succeeds. + Long time beleagur'd gape the castle walls; + First in the breach the indignant monarch falls: + Nogiva's lord next meets an equal fate; + And Gugemer straight weds the widow'd mate. + + + + +No. II.--EQUITAN; + +A prince of Bretagne, so passionately attached to chivalrous amusements, +that he cared neither for business nor gallantry. Nothing but the +necessity of heading his troops could withdraw him from the pleasures of +hunting and hawking; and all affairs of state were managed by his +steward, a man of equal loyalty and experience. Unfortunately this +steward had a beautiful wife: the prince heard her much praised; and +insensibly began to think his sport most agreeable, when it conducted +him, at the end of the day, to the steward's castle; where he had a +natural opportunity of seeing and conversing with the lovely hostess. +Overcome by his passion, almost before he was conscious of it, he began +by reflecting on the baseness of the part he was preparing to act; and +ended, by determining not to endure the misery of privation and +disappointment, if he could succeed in seducing her. Having devised, in +the course of a sleepless night, as many arguments as were necessary to +satisfy his own morality, and formed a plan for securing a long +interview, he set off for the chase; returning after a short time, under +pretence of sudden indisposition, and retiring to bed, he sent to +request a visit from the lady, who then received a very long and +eloquent declaration of love. To this she replied, at first, by proper +expostulations; but when at length assured, with the utmost solemnity, +that if her husband was dead she should become the partner of his +throne, she suddenly gave way, and proposed, with his assistance, to +destroy the steward, so artfully, that neither should incur the +slightest suspicion. Equitan, far from being startled at this atrocious +proposition, assured her of his concurrence, and she continued thus: +"Return, sir, for the present, to your court; then come to pursue your +diversion in this forest, and again take up your abode under our roof. +You must once more pretend to be indisposed; cause yourself to be +blooded; and on the third day order a bath, invite my husband to bathe +and afterwards to dine with you. I will take care to prepare the bathing +tubs: that which I destine for him shall be filled with boiling water, +so that he will be instantly scalded to death; after which you will call +in your and his attendants, and explain to them how your affectionate +steward had expired in the act of bathing." At the end of three months +every thing was arranged for the execution of this diabolical plot; but +the steward, who had risen early for some purpose of business or +amusement, happening to stay rather beyond the time, the lovers had met +during his absence, forgetting that their guilty project was not yet +accomplished. A maid was stationed at the door, near which stood the +fatal bath; but the husband returning with precipitation, suddenly +forced it open, in spite of her feeble opposition, and discovered his +wife in the arms of Equitan. The prince, under the first impulse of +surprize and remorse, started from the bed, and, heedlessly plunging +into the boiling bath, was instantly suffocated or scalded to death. The +husband, almost at the same instant, seized on his guilty partner, and +threw her headlong after her paramour. Thus were the wicked punished, by +the means which they contrived for the destruction of another; and such +is the substance of the lay which was composed by the Bretons under the +name of Equitan. + + * * * * * + +No. III.--LAY LE FRAINE. + +This ancient and curious little poem, translated from the French of +Marie, is preserved in the Auchinlech MSS. It was communicated by Mr. +Walter Scott to Mr. Ellis, and is inserted amongst his Miscellaneous +Romances. It is mutilated in two places, and wants the conclusion. These +defects are supplied from the French prose. + +The prologue begins by observing, that in ancient times, lays, intended +to be accompanied by the harp, were composed on all sorts of subjects. + + Some both of war, and some of woe; + And some of joy and mirth also; + And some of treachery and of guile; + Of old aventures that fell while; + And some of _bourdes_[33] and ribaudy; + And many there beth of fairy; + Of all thinges that men seth, + Most of love, forsooth, there beth. + In Bretayne, by old time, + These lays were made, so sayeth this rhyme, &c. + +The Bretons never failed converting into lays all the anecdotes they +thought worth consigning to memory; and the following was thus composed, +and called Lay le Fraine (frêne), or "The Aventure of the Ash." + +In the "West countrie" lived two knights, men of opulence, friends from +their infancy, and married about the same time. One of the ladies having +twins, her husband sent to announce the event to his friend. + + The messenger goth, and hath nought forgete, + And findeth the knight at his mete; + And fair he gret, in the hall, + The lord, the levedi, the meynè all; + And sith then, on knees down him set, + And the lord full fair he gret. + "He bade that thou should to him _te_,[34] + And, for love, his _gossibbe_[35] be." + "Is his levedi deliver'd _with sounde?_"[36] + "Ya, sir, y-thonked be God, _yestronde._"[37] + "And whether a maiden child, other a knave?" + "Tway sones, sir, God hem save!" + The knight thereof was glad and blithe, + And thonked Godes sonde swithe, + And granted his errand in all thing, + And gaf him a palfray for his tiding. + Then was the lady of the house + A proud dame, and malicious, + _Hoker-full, iche mis-segging_,[38] + Squeamous, and eke scorning; + To iche woman she had envie; + She spake these words of felonie: + "Ich have wonder, thou messenger, + Who was thy lordes conseillor, + To teach him about to send, + And tell shame _in iche an end!_"[39] + "That his wife hath tway children y-bore! + Well may iche man wite therfore + That tway men her han hodde in bower: + That is hir bothe dishonour!" + +The messenger was sorely abashed by these unexpected and unjust +reflections; the husband reprimanded his wife very severely for the +intemperance of her tongue; and all the women of the country, amongst +whom the story rapidly circulated, united in prayer, that her calumny +might receive some signal punishment. Accordingly, the lady shortly +after brought into the world two daughters. She was now reduced to the +alternative of avowing herself guilty of a calumny against her innocent +neighbour, or of imputing to herself, in common with the other, a crime +of which she had not been guilty; unless she could contrive to remove +one of the twins. The project of destroying her own child, was, at +first, rejected with horror; but after revolving the subject in her +mind, and canvassing with great logical acuteness the objections to this +atrocious measure, she determined to adopt it, because she could +ultimately cleanse herself from the sin, by doing private penance, and +obtaining absolution. + +Having thus removed her scruples, she called the midwife, and directed +her to destroy one of the infants, and to declare that one only had been +born. But she refused; and the unnatural mother was reduced to seek for +a more submissive and supple agent. She had a maid-servant, educated in +the family, to whom she imparted her difficulties; and this confidential +counsellor at once proposed a contrivance for removing them: "Give me +the child," said she, "and be assured that, without destroying, I will +so remove it, that it shall never give you any further trouble. There +are many religious houses in the neighbourhood, whose inhabitants cannot +be better employed than in nursing and educating orphan children. I will +take care your infant shall be discovered by some of these good people, +under whose care, by the blessing of Providence, it will thrive and +prosper; and in the mean time I will take such means that its health +shall not suffer. Dismiss your sorrow, therefore, and trust in my +discretion." The lady was overjoyed, and accepted the offer with +assurances of eternal gratitude. + +As it was her wish that those who should find the child might know it +was born of noble parents, + + She took a rich _baudekine_,[40] + That her lord brought from _Constantine_,[41] + And lopped the little maiden therein; + And took a ring of fine gold, + And on her arm it knit, + With a lace of silk in _plit._[42] + + The maid took the child her _mid_,[43] + And stole away in an even tide, + And passed over a wild heath; + Thorough field and thorough wood she _geth_,[44] + All the winter-long night. + The weather was clear, the moon was light, + So that she com by a forest side; + She wox all weary, and gan abide. + Soon after she gan heark, + Cockes crow, and dogs bark; + She arose, and thither wold; + Near and nearer, she gan behold, + Walls and houses fell the seigh, + A church, with steeple fair and high; + Then was there nother street no town, + But an house of religion; + An order of nuns, well y-dight, + To servy God both day and night. + The maiden abode no _lengore_;[45] + But yede her to the church door, + And on her knees she sate her down, + And said, weepand, her orisones. + "O Lord," she said, "Jesus Christ, + That sinful mannes _bedes_,[46] + _Underfong_[47] this present, + And help this seli innocent! + That it mote y-christen'd be, + For Marie love, thy mother free!" + She looked up, and by her seigh + An asche, by her, fair and high, + Well y-boughed, of mickle price; + The body was hollow, as many one is. + Therin she laid the child for cold, + In the _pel_,[48] as it was, _byfold_[49] + And blessed it with all her might. + With that it gan to dowe light. + The fowles up, and sung on bough, + And acre-men yede to the plough, + The maiden turned again anon, + And took the way she had ere gon. + The porter of the abbey arose, + And did his office in the close; + Rung the bells and tapers light, + Laid forth books, and all ready dight. + The church door be undid, + And seigh anon, in the _stede_,[50] + The pel liggen in the tree, + And thought well that it might be, + That thieves had y-robbed somewhere, + And gone there forth, and let it there. + Therto he yede, and it unwound, + And the maiden child therin he found. + He took it up between his honde, + And thanked Jesu Christes sonde, + And home to his house he it brought, + And took it to his daughter, and her besought + That she should keep it as she con, + For she was _melche, and couthe thon._[51] + She bade it suck, and it wold, + For it was nigh dead for cold. + Anon, fire she a-light, + And warmed it well _aplight_,[52] + She gave it suck upon her _barm_,[53] + And siththen, laid it to sleep warm. + And when the mass was y-done, + The porter to the abbesse com full soon. + "Madame, what rede ye of this thinge? + To-day, right in the morning, + Soon after the first _stound_,[54] + A little maiden child ich found + In hollow ash thin out + And a pel her about; + A ring of gold also was there; + How it came thither I wot ne'er." + The abbesse was a-wondered of this thing. + "Go," she said, "on _hying_[55] + And fetch it hither, I pray thee; + It is welcome to God and me. + Ich will it helpen as I can, + And segge it to my kinswoman." + The porter anon it gan forth bring, + With the pel, and with the ring. + The abbesse let clepe a priest anon, + And let it christen in function. + And for it was in an ash y-found, + She cleped it _Frain_ in that stound. + The name[56] of the ash is a frain, + After the language of Bretayn; + _Forthy_[57] Le Frain men clepeth this lay, + More than ash, in each country. + This Frain thriv'd from year to year; + The abbess niece men ween'd it were. + The abbess her gan teach, and _beld._[58] + By that she was twelve winter eld, + In all England there was none + A fairer maiden than she was one. + And when she couthe ought of _manhede,_[59] + She bade the abbesse her _wisse_[60] and rede, + Which were her kin, one or other, + Father or mother, sister or brother. + The abbesse her in council took, + To tellen her she nought forsook, + How she was founden in all thing; + And took her the cloth and the ring, + And bade her keep it in that stede; + And, therwhiles she lived, so she did. + Then was there, in that cuntré, + A rich knight of land and fee, + Proud, and young, and jollif, + And had not yet y-wedded wife. + He was stout, of great renown, + And was y-cleped Sir Guroun. + He heard praise that maiden free, + And said, he would her see. + He dight him in the way anon, + And jolliflich thither is gone, + And bode his man segge, verament, + He should toward a tournament. + The abbesse, and the nonnes all, + Fair him grette in the guest-hall; + And damsel Frain, so fair of mouth, + Grette him fair, as she well couth. + And swithe well he gan devise, + Her semblant, and her gentrise, + Her lovesome eyen, her _rode_[61] so bright. + And commenced to love her anon-right; + And thought how he might take on, + To have her for his lemon [Errata: leman]. + He thought, "Gificcome her to + More than ich have y-do, + The abbesse will _souchy_[62] guile, + And _wide_[63] her away in a little while." + He compassed another _suchesoun;_[64] + To be brother of that religion. + "Madam," he said to the abbesse, + _"I-lovi_[65] well, in all goodness, + Ich will give one and other + Londes and rentes, to become your brother,[66] + That ye shall ever fare the _bet_[67] + When I come to have recet."[68] + At few wordes they ben _at one._ + He graithes him[69], and forth is gone. + Oft he com, by day and night, + To speak with that maiden bright; + So that, with his fair _behest_,[70] + And with his glosing, at lest + She granted him to don his will, + When he will, loud and still. + "Leman," he said, "thou must let be + The abbesse _thy neice_,[71] and go with me; + For ich am riche, of swich powere, + Ye finde bet than thou hast here." + The maiden grant, and to him trist, + And stole away, that no man wist; + With her took she no thing + But her pel and her ring. + When the abbess gan aspy + That she was with the knight _owy_,[72] + She made mourning in her thought, + And her _bement_,[73] and gained nought. + So long she was in his castel, + That all his meynie loved her well. + To rich and poor she gan her 'dress, + That all her loved more and less; + And thus she led with him her life, + Right as she had been his wedded wife. + His knightes com, and to him speke, + And holy church commandeth eke, + Some lordis daughter for to take, + And his leman all forsake. + And said, him were well more fair + In wedlock to get him an heir, + Than lead his life with swiche one, + Of whose kin he knew none. + And said, "Here besides, is a knight + That hath a daughter fair and bright, + That shall bear his heritage, + Taketh her in marriage!" + Loth him was for that deed to do, + Oc, at last, he granted therto. + The _forward_[74] was y-marked aright, + And were at one, and troth plight. + Allas! that he no had y-wit, + Ere the forward were y-suit! + That she, and his leman also, + Sistren were, and twinnes two! + Of o father begeten they were, + Of o mother born _y-fere_:[75] + That _hi_[76] so were ne wist none, + Forsooth, I say, but God alone. + The new bride was graithed with oil, + And brought home to the lord is host, + Her father come with her also, + The levedi her mother, and other mo. + The bishop of the lond, withouten fail, + Come to do the spousail. + + * * * * * + +The young rival of Le Frain was distinguished like her sister, by a +sylvan appellation; her name was _Le Codre_ (Corylus, the Hazel), and +the knight's tenants had sagaciously drawn a most favourable prognostic +of his future happiness, from the superiority of nuts to vile ash-keys; +but neither he nor any of his household were disposed to augur +favourably of a marriage which tended to deprive them of the amiable +orphan. The feast was magnificent, but dull; and never were apparent +rejoicings more completely marred by a general feeling of constraint and +formality. Le Frain alone, concealing the grief which preyed on her +heart, was all zeal and activity; and, by her unceasing attentions, +conciliated the pity and esteem of the bride, and even of her mother, +who had hitherto felt the utmost anxiety to procure her dismissal. At +the conclusion of the banquet she employed herself in the decoration of +the bridal chamber, and having observed that the covering of the bed was +not sufficiently costly, spread over it the magnificent mantle she had +received from the abbess, and had hitherto preserved with the utmost +solicitude. She had scarcely left the room when the bride entered it +accompanied by her mother, who casting her eyes on this splendid mantle, +surveyed it with feelings of the most poignant remorse, and immediately +recognized the testimony of her crime. She questioned the chamberlains, +who were unable to explain the appearance of an ornament they had never +before beheld; she then interrogated Le Frain, and, at the end of a +short examination, fell into a swoon, exclaiming, "Fair child, thou art +my daughter!" Her husband was then summoned, and she confessed to him +with tears, and every expression of penitence, the sinful act she had +committed, and the providential discovery of her daughter by means of +the mantle and the ring, both of which were presents from himself. The +knight embraced his child with the utmost tenderness, and prevailed on +the bishop to dissolve the just solemnized marriage, and unite their +son-in-law to the original object of his affections. The other sister +was shortly after bestowed on a neighbouring lord, and the adventures +of Le Frain and Le Codre were formed into a Lay, which received its name +from the former. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[33] Jests. + +[34] Perhaps a mistake in the MS. for ge, i.e. go. + +[35] Gossip, godfather. + +[36] Health, safety. + +[37] Yesterday. + +[38] Full of frowardness, each mis-saying or reviling. + +[39] Each an end, i.e. in every quarter. + +[40] A rich mantle, lined with fur. + +[41] Constantinople. + +[42] Plaited, twisted. + +[43] With. + +[44] Goeth. + +[45] Longer. + +[46] Prayers. + +[47] Receive. + +[48] Fur. + +[49] Folded. + +[50] Place. + +[51] She had milk, and was able to suckle it. + +[52] Certainly, I plight; I promise you. + +[53] Lap. + +[54] Hour. + +[55] In haste. + +[56] In the MS. it is "freyns," which maybe a mistake of the +transcriber. + +[57] Therefore. + +[58] Protect, defend. + +[59] Manhood, here used for the relation of consanguinity. + +[60] Teach and advise her. + +[61] Complexion. + +[62] Suspect. + +[63] Void, carry away. + +[64] Excuse. + +[65] Beloved. + +[66] Of the same religious fraternity. + +[67] Better. + +[68] Lodging, abode. + +[69] Agreed. + +[70] Promise. + +[71] It should be _thy aunt._ + +[72] Away. + +[73] Bemoaned. + +[74] Contract. + +[75] Together. + +[76] They, Sax. + + + + * * * * * + + +No. IV.--BISCLAVERET. + + +This is the Breton name for an animal, which the Normans call Garwolf; +into whose form men were often formerly metamorphosed; and during such +times were the most ferocious and destructive inhabitants of the forest. + +There lived formerly in Bretagne a baron, comely in his person, wise, +courteous, adored by his neighbours, much beloved by his sovereign, and +married to a noble and beautiful lady, for whom he felt the warmest +affection, which she appeared to return. But she had observed, her +husband was regularly absent during three days in the week; and, +suspecting there must be something mysterious in this periodical +disappearance, resolved, if possible, to extort the secret. She +redoubled her expressions of tenderness, bitterly lamented her frequent +intervals of solitude, and, affecting to be persuaded that they were +spent with a mistress, conjured him to calm her apprehensions by a +disclosure of the truth. The good baron in his turn begged her to desist +from an enquiry which would only lead to their permanent separation, +and the extinction of all her fondness; but her tears and blandishments +prevailed, and he confessed that, during half the week, he became a +Bisclaveret. The lady, though she felt a secret horror at finding +herself the wife of a wolf, pursued her enquiry;--Were his clothes also +transformed at the same time? the baron answered, that he was naked: +where, then, did he leave his dress? To this question he endeavoured to +avoid giving an answer; declaring, should that be discovered, he should +be condemned to wear his brute form through life; and observing that, if +she loved him, she could have no wish to learn a secret, useless to her, +and in its disclosure fatal to himself. But obstinacy is always an +over-match for rational argument: she still insisted; and the +good-natured husband ultimately told that, "by the side of an old +chapel, situated on the road to the thickest part of the forest, was a +bush, which overhang and concealed an excavated stone, in which he +constantly deposited his garments." The wife, now mistress of his fate, +quickly sent for a gallant, whose love she had hitherto rejected; taught +him the means of confirming the baron's metamorphosis; and, when their +friends had renounced all hope of his return, married her new favourite, +and conveyed to him a large inheritance, the fruit of their joint +treachery. In about a year the king went to hunt in the forest, and +after a chase which lasted the whole day, had nearly run down the +unfortunate Bisclaveret, when the persecuted animal rushed from the +thicket, and running straight up to him, seized his stirrup with his +fore-paw, began to lick his feet, and with the most piteous whinings to +implore his protection. The king was, at first dreadfully frightened, +but his fear gave way to pity and admiration. He called his attendants +to witness the miracle; ordered the dogs to be whipped off, solemnly +took the brute under his royal protection; and returned to his palace, +closely followed by his savage attendant. Bisclaveret became an +universal favourite; he was fed with the greatest care, slept in the +royal apartments, and though indefatigable in attentions to his master, +returned the caresses of the courtiers, who admired and esteemed, +without envying his superior intelligence and accomplishments. At +length, the king having summoned a plenar at court, his barons flocked +from all quarters, and, among the rest the husband of the false lady. No +one had thought of paying the least attention to Bisclaveret, whose +gentleness was even more remarkable than his sagacity; but no sooner did +the knight make his appearance than the animal attacked him with the +greatest fury, and was scarcely prevented, even by the interposition of +the king himself, from tearing him to pieces. The same scene occurred a +second time, and occasioned infinite surprise. Not long after this, the +king went to hunt in the same forest, and the wicked wife, as lady of +the manor, having sent before her a magnificent present, set forth to +pay her court to her sovereign. Bisclaveret saw her approach, flew upon +her, and instantly tore her nose from her face. This act of discourtesy +to a lady excited universal indignation: even the king took part against +his favourite, who would have been punished with instant death, but for +the interference of an aged counsellor. "This lady, Sir," said he to the +king, "is wife of that knight whom you so tenderly loved, and whose +unaccountable disappearance you have so long regretted." The baron whom +Bisclaveret first assaulted is her present husband. He becomes ferocious +only on the appearance of these two; there is some mystery in this, +which the lady, if imprisoned and interrogated would probably discover. +Britany is the country of wonders-- + + Mainte marveille avuns veu + Qui en Bretaigne est avenu. + +In compliance with this advice the lady was put in close confinement, +the whole secret extorted, and the clothes of Bisclaveret duly restored. +But when they were brought before him the animal appeared to survey +them with listlessness and inattention; and the king had again recourse +to his sapient counsellor, by whose advice they were transferred to the +royal bed-chamber, where Bisclaveret was left, without witnesses, to +effect, if possible, his metamorphosis. In due time the king, attended +with two of his barons, repaired to the chamber, and found the knight in +his natural form, asleep on the royal bed. His master immediately +embraced him with the utmost affection, restored all his estates; added +more, and banished the wicked wife, together with her paramour, from the +country. It is remarkable that afterwards she had several children, all +of whom were females, and distinguished by the disagreeable singularity +of being born without noses. Be assured that this adventure is strictly +true, and that the Lay of Bisclaveret was composed for the purpose of +making it known to the latest posterity. + + * * * * * + + +No. V.--_The Lay of SIR LANVAL_. + + It was the time of Pentecost the bless'd, + When royal Arthur held the accustom'd feast, + When Carduel's walls contained the vast resort + That press'd from every land to grace his plenar court. + There did the sovereign's copious hand dispense + Large boons to all with free magnificence, + To all but one; from Bretany he came, + A goodly knight, Sir Lanval was his name. + Long had the king, by partial temper sway'd, + His loyal zeal with cold neglect repaid; + Yet from a throne Sir Lanval drew his birth, + Nor could all England boast more comeliness and worth. + Whate'er the cause, no gift the monarch gave, + The knight with honest pride forbore to crave, + Till at the last, his substance all forespent, + From his lord's court the hopeless liegeman went. + No leave he took, he told no mortal wight, + Scarce had he thought to guide his steps aright, + But all at random, reckless of his way, + He wander'd on the better half of day. + Ere evening fell he reached a pleasant mead, + And there he loos'd his beast, at will to rest or feed; + Then by a brook-side down his limbs he cast + And, pondering on the waters as they pass'd, + The while his cloak his bended arm sustain'd, + Sadly he sat, and much in thought complain'd. + So mus'd he long, till by the frequent tread + Of quickening feet constrain'd, he turn'd his head; + Close by his side there stood a female pair, + Both richly clad, and both enchanting fair; + With courteous guise the wondering knight they greet + With winning speech, with invitation sweet + From their kind mistress, where at ease she lay, + And in her tent beguil'd the lingering day. + Awhile Sir Lanval reft of sense appear'd; + Then up at once his mailed limbs he rear'd, + And with his guides impatient to proceed, + Though a true knight, for once forgot his steed. + And now with costliest silk superbly dight, + A gay pavilion greets the warrior's sight; + Its taper spire a towering eagle crown'd, + In substance gold, of workmanship renown'd. + Within, recumbent on a couch, was laid + A form more perfect than e'er man survey'd: + The new-blown rose, the lily's virgin prime, + In the fresh hour of fragrant summer-time, + Though of all flowers the fairest of the fair, + With this sweet paragon might ill compare; + And o'er her shoulders flow'd with graceful pride, + Though for the heat some little cast aside, + A crimson pall of Alexandria's dye, + With snowy ermine lin'd, befitting royalty; + Yet was her skin, where chance bewray'd the sight, + Far purer than the snowy ermine's white. + 'Lanval!' she cried, as in amazed mood, + Of speech and motion void, the warrior stood, + 'Lanval!' she cried, ''tis you I seek for here; + Your worth has won me: knight, I love thee dear; + And of my love such proof will soon impart, + Shall wing with envy thy proud sovereign's heart: + Then slighted merit shall be fully known, + And kings repine at wealth beyond their own.' + Words such as these arous'd the astonish'd knight, + He felt love's kindling flame inspire his spright, + And, 'O pure paragon,' he straight replied, + 'Thy love is all! I hold no wish beside! + If bliss so rare thy favouring lips decree, + No deed shall foil thy champion's chivalry; + No toil shall wear, no danger shall dismay, + Let my queen will, and Lanval must obey: + So may I thrive as, from this moment bless'd, + One hope I cherish, one sole boon request, + Thy winning form, thy fostering smiles to see, + And never, never more to part from thee.' + + So speaking ceas'd awhile the enraptur'd knight, + For now the two fair damsels met his sight; + Each on her arm resplendent vestments brought, + Fresh from the loom, magnificently wrought: + Enrob'd in them, with added grace he mov'd, + As one by nature form'd to be belov'd; + And, by the fairy to the banquet led, + And placed beside her on one genial bed, + Whiles the twain handmaids every want supplied, + Cates were his fare to mortal man denied: + Yet was there one, the foremost of the feast, + One food there was far sweeter than the rest, + One food there was did feed the warriors flame, + For from his lady's lovely lips it came. + + What feeble wit of man might here suffice, + To point with colours dim Sir Lanval's extacies! + There lapt in bliss he lies, there fain would stay, + There dream the remnant of his life away: + But o'er their loves his dew still evening shed, + Night gathered on amain, and thus the fairy said; + 'Rise, knight! I may not longer keep thee here; + Back to the court return and nothing fear, + There, in all princely cost, profusely free, + Maintain the honour of thyself and me; + There feed thy lavish fancies uncontroul'd, + And trust the exhaustless power of fairy gold. + 'But should reflection thy soft bosom move, + And wake sad wishes for thy absent love; + (And sure such wishes thou canst never frame, + From any place where presence would be shame), + Whene'er thou call thy joyful eyes shall see + This form, invisible to all but thee. + One thing I warn thee; let the blessing rest + An unrevealed treasure in thy breast; + If here thou fail, that hour my favours end, + Nor wilt thou ever more behold thy friend:'-- + Here, with a parting kiss, broke off the fay, + 'Farewell!' she cried, and sudden pass'd away. + The knight look'd up, and just without the tent + Beheld his faithful steed, and forth he went; + Light on his back he leap'd with graceful mein, + And to the towers of Carduel turn'd the rein; + Yet ever and anon he look'd behind + With strange amaz'd uncertainty of mind, + As one who hop'd some further proofs to spy + If all were airy dream or just reality. + + And now great Arthur's court beheld the knight + In sumptuous guise magnificently dight; + Large were his presents, cost was nothing spar'd, + And every former friend his bounty shar'd. + Now ransom'd thralls, now worthy knights supplied + With equipage their scanty means denied; + Now minstrels clad their patron's deeds proclaim, + And add just honour to Sir Lanval's name. + Nor did his kindness yield a sparing meed + To the poor pilgrim, in his lowly weed; + Nor less to those who erst, in fight renown'd, + Had borne the bloody cross, and warr'd on paynim ground: + Yet, as his best belov'd so lately told, + His unexhausted purse o'erflow'd with gold. + But what far dearer solace did impart, + And thrill'd with thankfulness his loyal heart, + Was the choice privilege, that, night or day, + Whene'er his whisper'd prayer invok'd the fay, + That loveliest form, surpassing mortal charms, + Bless'd his fond eyes, and fill'd his circling arms. + + Now shall ye hear how these delights so pure + Chang'd all to trouble and discomfiture. + + 'Twas on the solemn feast of sainted John, + When knights past tale did in the castle won, + That, supper done, 'twas will'd they all should fare + Forth to the orchard green, awhile to ramble there. + The queen, who long had mark'd, with much delight, + The gallant graces of the Breton knight, + Soon, from the window of her lofty tower, + Mid the gay band espied him in a bower, + And turning to her dames with blythe intent, + 'Hence, all!' she cried; 'we join the merriment!' + All took the word, to the gay band they hied, + The queen, besure, was close to Lanval's side, + Sprightly she seem'd, and sportfully did toy, + And caught his hand to dance, and led the general joy, + + Lanval alone was dull where all was gay, + His thoughts were fixed on his lovely fay: + Soon as he deftly might, he fled the throng; + And her dear name nigh trembled on his tongue, + When the fond queen, who well had trac'd his flight, + Stepp'd forth, and cross'd his disappointed sight. + Much had she sought to meet the knight alone; + Now in these words she made her passion known: + 'Lanval!' she said, 'thy worth, long season past, + 'In my deserv'd esteem hath fix'd thee fast: + 'Tis thine this prosperous presage to improve:-- + Say, gentle knight, canst thou return my love? + + The knight, ye wot, love's paragon ador'd, + And, had his heart been free, rever'd his word; + True to his king, the fealty of his soul + Abhorr'd all commerce with a thought so foul. + In fine, the sequel of my tale to tell, + From the shent queen such bitter slander fell, + That, with an honest indignation strong, + The fatal secret 'scap'd Sir Lanval's tongue: + 'Yes!' he declar'd, 'he felt love's fullest power! + Yes!' he declar'd, 'he had a paramour! + But one, so perfect in all female grace, + Those charms might scarcely win her handmaid's place; + Those charms, were now one menial damsel near, + Would lose this little light, and disappear.' + + Strong degradation sure the words implied; + The queen stood mute, she could not speak for pride; + But quick she turn'd, and to her chamber sped, + There prostrate lay, and wept upon her bed; + There vow'd the coming of her lord to wait, + Nor mov'd till promis'd vengeance seal'd her hate. + + The king, that day devoted to the chace, + Ne'er till the close of evening sought the place; + Then at his feet the fair deceiver fell, + And gloss'd her artful tale of mischief well; + Told how a saucy knight his queen abus'd, + With prayer of proffer'd love, with scorn refus'd; + Thereat how rudely rail'd the ruffian shent, + With slanderous speech and foul disparagement, + And boastfully declar'd such charms array'd + The veriest menial where his vows were paid, + That, might one handmaid of that dame be seen, + All eyes would shun with scorn imperial Arthur's queen. + The weeping tale of her, his heart ador'd, + Wak'd the quick wrath of her deluded lord; + Sternly he menac'd some disastrous end + By fire or cord, should soon that wretch attend, + And straight dispatched three barons bold to bring + The culprit to the presence of his king. + + Lanval! the while, the queen no longer near, + Home to his chamber hied with heavy cheer: + Much did he dread his luckless boast might prove + The eternal forfeit of his lady's love; + And, all impatient his dark doom to try, + And end the pangs of dire uncertainty, + His humble prayer he tremblingly preferr'd, + Wo worth the while! his prayer no more was heard. + O! how he wail'd! how curs'd the unhappy day! + Deaf still remained the unrelenting fay. + Him, thus dismay'd, the approaching barons found; + Outstretch'd he lay, and weeping, on the ground; + To reckless ears their summons they declar'd, + Lost was his fay, for nought beside he car'd; + So forth they led him, void of will or word, + Dead was his heart within, his wretched life abhorr'd. + + They reach the presence; there he hears surpriz'd + The mortal charge of felony devis'd: + Stern did the monarch look, and sharp upbraid + For foul seducement of his queen assay'd: + The knight, whose loyal heart disdain'd the offence, + With generous warmth affirm'd his innocence; + He ne'er devis'd seduction:--for the rest, + His speech discourteous, frankly he confess'd; + Influenc'd with ire his lips forwent their guard; + He stood prepared to bide the court's award. + Straight from his peers were chosen judges nam'd: + Then fix the trial, with due forms proclaim'd; + By them 'tis order'd that the accus'd assign + Three men for pledge, or in a prison pine. + + Lanval! 'tis told, had pass'd from foreign strand, + And kinsmen none there dwelt on English land; + And well he knew that in the hour of proof + Friends for the most part fail, and stand aloof: + Sue them he would not, but with manly pride + In silence turn'd, and toward his prison hied. + With generous grief the deed Sir Gawaine view'd; + Dear to the king was he, and nephew of his blood, + But liberal worth past nature's ties prevail'd, + And sympathy stood forth, if friendship fail'd; + Nor less good-will full many a knight inspir'd; + With general voice the prisoner all requir'd, + All pledg'd their fiefs he should not fail the day, + And homeward bore him from the court away. + + His friends, for sure they well that title claim, + First thought the licence of his tongue to blame; + But, when they mark'd how deeply he was mov'd, + They sooth'd and cherish'd rather than reprov'd. + Each day, as mute he sat in desperate grief, + They spoke kind words of comfort and relief; + Each day, howe'er they sought, howe'er they sued, + Scarce might they win his lips to taste of food: + 'Come, welcome death!' forever was his cry; + 'Lo, here a wretch who wishes but to die!' + So still he wail'd, till woe such mastery wan + They trembled for his nobler powers of man; + They fear'd lest reason's tottering rule should end + And to a moping ideot sink their friend. + + At length came on the day, long since decreed, + When the sad knight should suffer or be freed. + From every part the assembling barons meet: + Each judge, as fore-ordain'd, assumes his seat; + The king, too strongly sway'd by female pride, + O'er the grave council will himself preside, + And, while the presence of his queen inspires, + Goads on the judgment as her wrath requires. + There might be seen that honourable band + Late for the prisoner pledg'd in fief and land; + Slow they advance, then stand before the board, + Whiles all behold the entrusted thrall restor'd. + With many a question next the accus'd was prov'd; + Then, while the votes were given, awhile remov'd. + But those brave warriors, when they weigh'd the plight + And the fair promise of this hapless knight, + His youth, for yet he reach'd not manhood's prime; + His gallant mien, his life without a crime, + His helpless state by kindred unsustain'd, + In a strange court and in a foreign land, + All cried aloud, were Lanval doom'd to die, + It were a doom of shame and cruelty. + + At first 'twas mov'd, that straight conducted thence, + Some meet confinement should chastise the offence; + When one grave peer, in honest hope to wave + The dire debasement of a youth so brave, + Produc'd this purpose, with such reasoning grac'd, + 'Twas with the general plaudit soon embrac'd: + ''Twas urg'd,' he said, 'and sure the offence he blam'd, + Their queen by base comparison was sham'd; + That he, the prisoner, with strange fury mov'd, + Had prais'd too proudly the fair dame he lov'd; + First, then, 'twere meet this mistress should be seen + There in full court, and plac'd beside the queen; + So might they judge of passion's mad pretence, + Or truth had wrought the ungrateful preference.' + + So spoke the judge; Sir Lanval hears the doom, + And weens his hour of destiny is come; + Quench'd is the lore that erst, in happier day, + Won to his whisper'd prayer the willing fay; + And the last licence pitying laws devise, + Serves but to close the count of miseries! + + When, lo! strange shouts of joy and clamourous cheers, + Rose from without, and stay'd the astonish'd peers: + At hand two damsels entering in were seen, + Lovely alike their look, and noble was their mien; + On a grey dappled steed each lady rode, + That pac'd for pride, as conscious of his load; + 'Lo here!' 'twas murmured round with new delight, + 'Lo here, the mistress of the Breton knight!' + The twain meanwhile pass'd onward undelay'd, + And to the king their graceful greetings paid, + Then told their lady's coming, and desir'd + Such harbourage as highest rank requir'd. + + E'en as they spoke, twain others, lovelier fair, + Of stature loftier, of more royal air, + Came proudly on: of gold their purfled vest, + Well shap'd, each symmetry of limb confess'd: + On goodly mules from farthest Spain they brought, + This pair the presence of the sovereign sought. + + The impatient king, ere well their lips had power, + To claim fit harbourage of board and bower, + Led on their way; and, court'sies scantly done, + Back to the peers be sped, and press'd the judgment on; + For much, meseems, his vengeful heart misgave + Some thwarting chance the Breton knight might save. + + Just were his boding fears: new shouts ascend + Of loud acclaim; and wide the welkin rend. + A female form the wondering peers behold, + Too bright for mixture of earth's mortal mould: + The gridelin pall that down her shoulders flow'd + Half veil'd her snow-white courser as she rode; + On her fair hand a sparrow-hawk was plac'd, + Her steed's sure steps a following grey-hound trac'd + And, as she pass'd, still pressing to the right + Female and male, and citizen and knight, + What wight soe'er in Carduel's walls was found, + Swell'd the full quire, and spread the joy around. + + Lanval, the while, apart from all the rest, + Sat sadly waiting for his doom unbless'd: + (Not that he fear'd to die: death rather sued; + For life was nought, despoil'd of all its good:) + To his dull ears his hastening friends proclaim + The fancied form and presence of his dame; + Feebly he rais'd his head: and, at the sight, + In a strange extacy of wild delight, + ''Tis she! 'tis she!' was all his faultering cry, + 'I see her once again now satisfied I die!' + + Thus while he spake, the peers with seemly state. + Led by their king, the illustrious stranger wait; + Proud Carduel's palace hail'd its princely guest, + And thus the dame the assembled court address'd. + 'List, king, and barons!--Arthur, I have lov'd + A knight most loyal in thy service prov'd; + Him, by thy foul neglect, reduc'd to need, + These hands did recompense; they did thy deed. + He disobey's me; I forbore to save; + I left him at the portal of the grave: + Firm loyalty hath well that breach repair'd-- + He loves me still, nor shall he lack reward. + 'Barons! your court its judgment did decree, + Quittance or death, your queen compar'd with me: + Behold the mistress of the knight is come, + Now judge between us? and pronounce the doom.' + + All cry aloud, the words of love were right, + And one united voice acquits the knight. + Back from the palace turns the parting fay, + And with her beauteous damsels speeds away: + Her, as she pass'd the enraptur'd Lanval view'd; + High on the portal's marble steps he stood; + On his tall steed he sprang with vigorous bound; + Thenceforth their footsteps never wight hath found. + + But 'tis the Breton tale, they both are gone + To the fair isle of fertile Avalon; + There, in the lap of love for ever laid, + By sorrow unassail'd, in bliss embay'd, + They make their won: for me, where'er they dwell, + No farther tale befalls me here to tell. + + +Thomas Chestre translated this tale in the reign of Henry 6, but the +extracts published by Mr. Warton, differ in some particulars from the +tale here given. + + + + +No. VI.--LES DEUX AMANTS. + + +In Neustria, now called Normandy is a single mountain of unusual height +and verdure, railed the mountain "of the two lovers," in consequence of +an adventure to which it gave rise, and of which the Bretons have formed +a lay. Close to it are the remains of a city, now reduced to a few +houses, but formerly opulent, founded by the king of the Pistreins, +whence it was called Depistreins, and the neighbouring valley Val de +Pistre. This king had one only daughter, whom he loved so much that he +could not bear to be separated from her. With a view to check the +pursuits of the lovers, whom her beauty and accomplishments attracted, +he published a decree, that her hand should never be granted but to a +suitor who should be able to carry her, without resting, from the bottom +to the top of the adjoining mountain. Many attempted the enterprise, for +presumption is common; none achieved it, because its execution was +barely possible. The suitors disappeared, one by one, and the beautiful +princess seemed doomed to eternal celibacy. There was one youth, the son +of a neighbouring baron, who was a favourite with the king and the whole +court, and whose assiduities, which were dictated by an unconquerable +and sincere passion, ultimately gained the lady's warmest affections. +It was long a secret to all the world: but this discretion became, at +length, almost intolerable; and the youth, hopeless of fulfilling the +condition which alone could obtain her hand, earnestly conjured her to +fly from her father's court. To this she would not consent, but +suggested a mode of accomplishing their wishes more compatible with her +filial piety: "I have," said she, "a rich aunt, who resides, and has +studied during thirty years, at Salerno. In that celebrated school she +has so completely acquired the art of medicine; has learned so many +_salves_ and drugs; has so studied _herbs_ and _roots_, that she will be +enabled to compose for you _electuaries_ and _drinks_, capable of +communicating the degree of vigour necessary to the accomplishment of +the trial prescribed by my father. To her you shall bear a letter from +me, and at your return shall demand me from the king, on the terms to +which he has himself assented." The lover thanked her; went home, +provided the necessary assortment of rich clothes, and other +merchandize, of palfreys, beasts of burthen and attendants, and set off +for Salerno. His mission was successful: the good aunt's electuaries +rendered him much more athletic than before; and he brought back, in a +small vial, an elixir capable of instantly restoring strength at the +moment of complete exhaustion. He therefore was full of confidence, and +claimed the trial. The king having summoned all his principal vassals to +behold the ceremony, conducted his daughter into the great plain on the +banks of the Seine, and found the youth already stationed at the foot of +the mountain. The lovely princess had scarcely tasted food since the +departure of her lover; she would gladly have wasted herself to the +lightness of air for the purpose of diminishing his labour. She wore +only a single robe which closely enveloped her. Her lover catching her +up with one hand, and bearing the precious vial in the other, appeared +perfectly unconscious of the burthen, and bore her, with the rapidity of +lightning, more than half way up the mountain: but here she perceived +his breath began to fail, and conjured him to have recourse to his +medicine. He replied, that he was still full of vigour; was too much +within sight of the multitude below, that their cries on seeing him +stop, even for an instant, would annoy and dishearten him; and that, +while able to proceed alone, he would not appeal to preternatural +assistance. At two-thirds of the height she felt him totter under the +weight, and again repeated her earnest entreaties. But he no longer +heard or listened: exerting his whole remains of strength, he staggered +with her to the top, still bearing the untasted vial in his hand, and +dropped dead on the ground. His mistress, thinking he had only fainted, +knelt down by his side, applied the elixir to his lips, but found that +life had left him. She then dashed the vial on the ground, uttered a +dreadful shriek, threw herself on the body, and instantly expired. The +king and his attendants, much surprized at not seeing them return, +ascended the mountain, and found the youth fast locked in the arms of +the princess. By command of her father they were buried on the spot in a +marble coffin, and the mountain still retains the name of "The Two +Lovers." Around their tomb the ground exhibits an unceasing verdure; and +hither the whole country resort for the most valuable herbs employed in +medicine, which owe their origin to the contents of the marvellous +vial.[77] + + + +No. VII.--YWONEC. + +There lived once in Britain a rich old knight, lord of Caerwent, a city +situated on the river Duglas. He had married, when far advanced in +years, a young wife of high birth, and transcendant beauty, in hopes of +having an heir; but when, at the end of seven years, this hope was +frustrated, he locked her up in his strong castle, under the care of his +sister, an aged widow lady, of great devotion and asperity of temper. +His own amusements were confined to the chace; those of his sister to +thumbing the Psalter, and chanting its contents: the young lady had no +solace but tears. One morning in April, when the birds began to sing the +songs of love, the old gentleman had risen early, and awakened his +sister, who carefully shut the doors after him, while he sallied forth +for the woods, and his young wife began her usual lamentations. She +execrated the hour when she was born, and the fatal avarice of her +parents, for having united her to an old, jealous tyrant, afraid of his +own shadow, who debarred her even from going to church. She had heard +the country round her prison was once famed for adventures; that young +and gallant knights used to meet, without censure or impediment, +beautiful and affectionate mistresses; but her lot was endless misery +(for her tyrant was certainly immortal), unless the supreme Disposer of +events should, by some miracle, suspend the listlessness of her +existence. She had scarcely finished this ejaculation, when the shadow +of a bird, which nearly intercepted all the light proceeding from the +narrow window of her room, arrested her attention, and a falcon of the +largest size flew into the chamber, and perched at the foot of her bed. +While she gazed, it gradually assumed the figure of a young and handsome +knight. She started, changed colour, and drew a veil over her face, but +still gazed and listened, with some fear, much astonishment, but more +pleasure. The knight soon broke silence. He begged her not to be +alarmed; confessed his mode of visiting was new, and rather mysterious; +but that a falcon was a gentle and noble bird, whose figure ought not to +create suspicion. He was a neighbouring prince, who had long loved her, +and wished to dedicate the remainder of his days to her service. The +lady, gradually removing her veil, ingenuously told him, he was much +handsomer, and apparently more amiable, than any man she had ever seen; +and she should be happy to accept him as a lover, if such a connection +could be legitimate, and if he was orthodox. The prince entered at large +into the articles of his creed; and concluded by advising that she +should feign herself sick, send for his chaplain, and direct him to +bring the host; "when," said he, "I will assume your appearance, and +receive the Sacrament in your stead." The lady was satisfied with this +proposal; and, when the old woman came in, and summoned her to rise, she +professed to be at the point of death, and entreated the immediate +assistance of the chaplain. Such a request, in the absence of her lord, +could not be regularly granted; but a few screams, and a fainting fit, +removed the old lady's doubts, and she hobbled off in search of the +chaplain, who immediately brought the host; and Muldumaric (the +falcon-prince) assuming the appearance of his mistress, went through the +sacred ceremony with becoming devotion, which they both considered as a +marriage contract. The lady's supposed illness enabled the prince to +protract his visit; but at length the moment of separation came, and she +expressed her wish for the frequent repetition of their +interviews.--"Nothing is so easy," said Muldumaric; "whenever you +express an ardent wish to see me, I will instantly come. But beware of +that old woman: she will probably discover our secret, and betray it to +her brother; and I announce to you, the moment of discovery will be that +of my death." With these words he flew off. His mistress, with all her +caution, was unable to conceal entirely the complete change in her +sensations. Her solitude, formerly so irksome, became the source of her +greatest delight; her person, so long neglected, again was an object of +solicitude; and her artful and jealous husband, on his return from the +chase, often discovered in her features the traces of a satisfaction his +conscience told him he was not the author of. His vague suspicions were, +after a time, communicated to his sister; but being, as she thought, the +young lady's sole companion, and not able to reproach herself with any +enlivening qualities, she could not account for this contented +demeanour. At length she was commanded to conceal herself in his wife's +apartments during his absence, to watch indefatigably, and report +whatever she could discover. The result was a full confirmation of all +his suspicions. He now exerted himself in devising means of vengeance: +he secretly prepared and placed before the fatal window a trap, composed +of sharpened steel arrows, and, rising long before day, set off on his +usual occupation. The old lady, carefully shutting the doors after him, +returned to her bed till day break; and his wife, awakened at this +unusual hour, could not refrain from uttering an ardent wish for the +company of her dear Muldumaric. He was instantly at her side; but had +received his death wound, and she found herself sprinkled with his +blood. Overpowered by fear and surprize, she could scarcely hear him say +he died for her, and that his prophecy was accomplished. She fainted in +his arms; but he conjured her to preserve her life, and announcing she +would have a son, whom she must call Ywonec, and who was destined to be +the avenger of both his parents. He then hastily departed through an +open and unguarded window. His mistress, uttering a piteous scream, +threw herself out of the same window, and pursued his flight by the +trace of his blood, which the first beams of morning enabled her to +distinguish. At length she arrived at a thick wood, where she was soon +surrounded with darkness; but pursued the beaten track, and emerged into +a meadow, where, recovering the trace of blood, she pursued it to a +large city of unexampled magnificence, which she entered, and proceeded +to the palace. No one was visible in the streets. In the first apartment +she found a knight asleep. She knew him not, and passed on to the next, +where she found a second equally unknown to her. She entered the third +room; and on a bed, which almost dazzled her by the splendour of its +ornaments, and which was surrounded by numerous torches blazing in +golden candlesticks, she recognised her dear Muldumaric, and sunk almost +lifeless with fatigue and terror by his side. Though very near his last +moments, he was still able to comfort and instruct her. He adjured her +to return instantly, while she could escape the notice of his subjects, +to whom, as their story was known, she would be particularly obnoxious. +He gave her a ring, in virtue of which he assured her she would in +future escape the persecution, and even the jealousy of her husband. He +then put into her hands his sword, with directions that it should never +be touched by man till his son was dubbed a knight; when it must be +delivered to him with due solemnity, near the tomb of his father, at the +moment he should learn the secret of his birth, and the miseries +produced by it. She would then see the first use to which her boy would +put it. The prince had nearly spent his last breath in the service of +his beloved mistress; he could only instruct her by signs to put on a +magnificent robe which lay near him, and hasten her departure. She +staggered through the town, arrived in the solitary fields, heard the +distant knell announce her lover's death, and sunk exhausted to the +ground. At length the air revived her; she slowly renewed her journey, +and returned to her castle, which, by virtue of her ring, she entered +undisturbed. Till the birth of her son, and from that time to the +conclusion of his education, she lived in silent anguish, and in patient +expectation of the day of vengeance. The young Ywonec, by his beauty and +address, recalled to her mind the loved image of his father; and at +length she beheld him, with a throbbing heart, invested, amidst the +applause of all the spectators, with the dignity of knighthood. The hour +of retribution was now fast approaching. At the feast of St. Aaron, in +the same year, the baron was summoned with his family to Caerleon, where +the festival was held with great solemnity. In the course of their +journey they stopped for the night in a spacious abbey, where they were +received with the greatest hospitality. The good abbot, for the purpose +of detaining his guests another day, exhibited to them the whole of the +apartments, the dormitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house, in +which they beheld a vast sepulchral monument, covered with a superb +pall, fringed with gold, and surrounded by twenty waxen tapers in golden +candlesticks, while a vast silver censer, constantly burning, filled +the air with fumes of incense. The guests naturally inquired concerning +the name and quality of the person who reposed in that splendid tomb; +and were told it was the late king of that country; the best, the +handsomest, the wisest, the most courteous and liberal of mankind; that +he was treacherously slain at Caerwent, for his love to the lady of that +castle; that since his death his subjects had respected his dying +injunctions, and reserved the crown for a son, whose arrival they still +expected with much anxiety. On hearing this story the lady cried aloud +to Ywonec, "Fair son, thou hast heard how Providence hath conducted us +hither. Here lies thy father whom this old man slew with felony. I now +put into thy hands the sword of thy sire; I have kept it long enough." +She then proceeded to tell him the sad adventure of his birth, and, +having with much difficulty concluded the recital, fell dead on the tomb +of her husband. Ywonec, almost frantic with grief and horror, instantly +sacrificed his hoary stepfather to the manes of his parents, and having +caused his mother to be interred with suitable honours, accepted from +his subjects the crown they had reserved for the representative of a +long line of royal ancestors. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[77] The subject of this romance appears to have been taken +from the ecclesiastical history of Normandy. There is still remaining, +near Rouen, the priory of the Lovers, which tradition reports to have +been founded by the father on the very same spot where they perished, +and on the tomb which contained them. M. de la Mere's Dissertation. + + + +No. 8.--LAUSTIC. + +The author tells us, this lay is called, in the Breton tongue, +Laustic,[78] and in "right English," the Nihtegale (Nightingale). It is +very well written, and contains many picturesque descriptions; in the +district of St. Malos is the town of Bon, which derives its name from +the goodness of two knights who formerly dwelt in it. One was married; +the other was in love with his neighbour's wife, who returned his +affection. The houses were so near, being only separated by a wall, that +they could easily, from the windows of their respective bed chambers, +interchange glances, talk without being overheard, and toss to each +other little presents and symbols of attachment. For the purpose of +enjoying this amusement, the lady, during the warm nights of spring and +summer, used to rise, and throwing a mantle over her, repair to the +window, and stay there till near the dawn of day. Her husband, much +annoyed by this practice, roughly asked what was the object which so +constantly allured her from her bed, and was told that it was the sweet +voice of the Nightingale. Having heard this he set all his servants to +work, spread on every twig of his hazels and chesnut trees a quantity of +bird-lime, and set throughout the orchard so many traps and springs, +that the nightingale was shortly caught. Immediately running to his +wife, and twisting the bird's neck, he tossed it into her bosom so +hastily that she was sprinkled with the blood; adding that her enemy +was now dead, and she might in future sleep in quiet. The lady, who, it +seems, was not fertile in expedients, submitted to the loss of her +nightly conversations, and was contented with exculpating herself +towards her lover by sending him the dead bird inclosed in a bag of +white satin, on which she embroidered the history of its fate; and her +gallant paramour caused his mistress's present to be inclosed in a +golden box, richly studded with gems, which he constantly carried about +his person.[79] + +FOOTNOTES: + +[78] Laustic is still a Nightingale in the Breton language, and +l'eaustic is the French manner of speaking. + + + +No. IX.--MILUN.[80] + +Milun was a knight of South Wales. His strength and prowess were such, +that he never met an adversary who was able to unhorse him. His +reputation spread far beyond the borders of his own country, and he was +known and admired in Ireland, Norway, Gothland, Loegria (England), and +Albany (Scotland). At no great distance from his castle dwelt an opulent +baron, who had an only daughter, courteous and beautiful. Hearing his +praises from all quarters, she became enamoured, and sent a messenger to +say, her heart was at his service if he thought it worth acceptance. +Milun, whose affections were not pre-engaged, returned an answer +expressive of gratitude, sent his gold ring as a symbol of inviolable +constancy; and, having fixed her messenger in his interests by +magnificent presents, arranged with him a secure place of meeting. Their +intercourse was managed so discreetly as to excite no suspicion; till +the young lady, sending for her lover, represented to him that longer +concealment was impossible. By an ancient law she was subject, on +discovery, at her father's option, to be punished with instant death or +sold as a slave; and she saw no means of escaping this frightful +alternative. Milun listened in silent horror, but could suggest no +expedient, when her old nurse undertook to conceal the rest, if the +child could be properly disposed of; and for this the young lady found a +ready contrivance. She had a sister richly married in Northumberland, to +whom Milun might cause the child to be conveyed, with a letter +explaining all, and his gold ring, by means of which it might, in due +time, discover and make itself known to its parents. It proved to be a +boy; the ring was hung about its neck, with a purse containing the +letter; he was placed in a soft cradle, swathed in the finest linen, +with an embroidered pillow under his head, and a rich coverlid edged +with sable to protect him from the cold. Milun, in delivering him to the +attendants, ordered that during the journey he should stop seven times +in the day, for the purpose of being washed, fed, and put to sleep. The +nurse, and all the servants who attended, had been selected with great +care, and performed their charge with fidelity; and the Northumbrian +lady assured her sister, by a letter which they brought back, that she +accepted the charge with pleasure. This being settled, Milun left his +castle for a short time on some military business, and during his +absence the young lady's father resolved to bestow her in marriage on a +neighbouring baron. She was now almost reduced to despair, her lover, to +whom she was more than ever attached, was absent; to avow to her new +husband what had happened was impossible, and to conceal it extremely +difficult. But she was compelled to submit. The marriage took place; and +Milun, on his return, was scarcely less distressed than his mistress, +till he recollected she was still in the neighbourhood, and he might +perhaps be able to devise some means of procuring an interview. He had a +favourite swan, long accustomed to feed out of his hand. Having written +and sealed a letter, he tied it round its neck, and finding it +effectually concealed by the feathers, called a favourite servant, and +directed him to repair to the lady's habitation, devise some contrivance +for gaining admission, and deliver the same into her own hands. The man +executed his commission with great ingenuity. He represented himself to +the porter of the castle as a poacher; stated that he had just caught a +fine swan close to Caerleon; and much wished to conciliate the future +intercession of the lady by presenting it to her. The porter, after some +hesitation, went to explore the anti-chamber; and, finding in it only +two knights, intent on a game of chess, returned immediately, and +conducted the man to his lady's apartment, which, on his knocking, was +opened to them. Having graciously accepted the present, she was going to +recommend the swan to the care of one of her valets; but the messenger +observing "it was a royal bird, who would only accept food from her own +hand," and desiring her to caress it, she soon perceived the letter, and +changed colour, but recovering herself, dismissed the messenger with a +present, turned out her own attendants, excepting one maid, and +proceeded to examine the mystery. It contained the warmest protestations +of her lover's unalterable attachment, expressed a hope that she might +be able to point out a secure place of meeting; and shewed her an easy +method of continuing the correspondence. "The swan, already tame, might, +by good feeding, be easily attached to her; after which, if debarred +from meat during three days, he would, when set at liberty, fly back to +his old master." After kissing the welcome letter till she had nearly +obliterated its contents she proceeded to put in practice his +injunctions; and having by stealth procured some parchment and ink, made +an equally tender reply, which, being tied round the swan's neck, was +rapidly and faithfully conveyed to Milun. During twenty years they kept +up, by this means, a regular correspondence, and their frequent +interviews were managed with a secresy which secured them against +detection. In the mean time their son, after receiving an excellent +education, had been dubbed a knight, and learned from his aunt the name +of his father, and the mystery of his birth. Inflamed with a noble +ambition, he resolved instantly to set off for foreign countries and to +surpass his sire in military glory. The next day he communicated the +project to his aunt, who gave him a number of instructions for his +future conduct; which, lest he should forget, she repeated more than +once, and accompanied her admonitions with such liberal presents as +would enable him to rival in splendour the richest of his competitors. +He repaired to Southampton; landed at Barbefluet (Barfleur); passed into +Britany; engaged, by his generosity, a numerous attendance of poor +knights, eclipsed the proudest of his rivals by superior liberality; +vanquished the stoutest; gained the prize in every tournament; and, +though he concealed his name, was quickly known through the country by +the appellation of "The Knight without a Peer." The fame of this +youthful warrior at length reached the care of his father. From the +first moment of his bestriding a horse, that father had never +encountered an equal; and as he trusted age had added to his address +more than it had yet subtracted from his vigour, he hoped to prove, by +the overthrow of this unknown, that his high renown was owing to the +absence of Milun. After this exploit he meant to go in quest of his son, +whose departure into foreign countries he had lately learnt, and having +obtained the permission of his mistress, embarked for Normandy, and +thence proceeded into Bretagne. The tournaments did not begin till the +festival of Easter; Milun, therefore, who arrived before the end of +winter, spent the interval in travelling from place to place, in +exercising hospitality, and searching out the most meritorious knights, +whom he attached to himself by his liberality. At length the festival +took place, at Mont St. Michel, and was attended by a crowd of French, +Flemish, Norman and Breton, knights, though by very few English. Milun +enquired minutely into the arms and devises of the unknown knight, and +had no difficulty in procuring ample information. The tournament began: +the two rivals separately acquired a manifest superiority, and bore down +all who opposed them, but the opinions of the assembly were divided +between the two. The strength and address of the veteran appeared +invincible, yet the suppleness and activity of the youth attracted still +more admiration. Even Milun himself beheld him with a mixture of wonder +and delight, and summoned all his skill and strength when he rode to +encounter this formidable adversary. His spear was too well-directed to +miss its aim; but it flew into a thousand splinters, while that of the +youth remained entire, and threw him at some distance upon the ground. +By the violence of the shock the ventail of his helmet was broken off, +and displayed his beard and hair, gray with age; when the youth, +bringing back his horse, courteously requested him to remount, +expressing his regret at having, by his accidental victory, sullied the +fame of a respectable veteran. Milun, surveying him with increased +admiration, discovered on his finger, while he held the rein, his own +ring, and earnestly conjured him to relate his history, and the names of +his parents. He obeyed, and was proceeding to tell all he knew, when the +old knight again springing from his horse, and catching him by the +skirts of his coat of mail, hailed him as his son, and received him in +his arms as he dismounted to request the paternal benediction. The +tournament being over, they retired amidst the tears and applauses of +the assembly, and retreated to their inn, where Milun related the whole +series of his adventures. The young man listened till the end with +respectful attention; and then exclaimed, "In faith, fair sire, I will +unite you to my mother. I will kill her present husband, and you shall +marry her." This being arranged, they parted for the night. On the next +day they arrived at the sea: embarked; landed in Wales after a short and +pleasant passage; and were proceeding to Milun's castle, when they were +met by a messenger bearing a letter to Milun from his lady, in which she +announced the death of her husband, and requested him to hasten his +return. At this joyful news they hurried on to the lady's castle; and +she had the satisfaction of being for ever united to her lover, at the +same time that she embraced a son every way worthy of his accomplished +parents. On this occasion says the author, "_the ancients_ made a lay +which I have here set down _in writing_, and which I always relate with +fresh pleasure." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[79] This lay has been translated into English metre, under the +title of "the _Nythingale_." Bibl. Cotton. Calig. A. 11. + +[80] Perhaps Milwr, a _warrior_. + + + + * * * * * + +No. X.--CHAITIVEL. + +There lived formerly, at Nantes in Bretagne, a lady of such exquisite +beauty that no one could behold her with impunity. All the young men of +the town were rivals for her smiles; but four, nearly of the same age, +and of equal birth and accomplishments, soon eclipsed all the rest of +the competitors. Each of these four deserved, and obtained, a place in +her affections; but their merits were so equal that she was unable to +make a choice. At tournaments she sent to all some mark of distinction; +a ring, a scarf, a pennant, or other ornament; and all ascribed to her, +as mistress of their actions, the exploits they had the good fortune to +perform. It happened once, that Nantes was appointed for the celebration +of a tournament at the Easter festival. The four knights set out to meet +the foreign ones, and proposed to joust with an equal number: the offer +was accepted, and the contest ended to the advantage of the town. On the +following day the four young lovers still further distinguished +themselves; but the spectacle at length degenerated, as was frequently +the case, into a real combat, in which three out of the four were +accidentally slain, and the fourth dangerously wounded. They were +brought back to the lady, who caused the three to be magnificently +interred, and summoned the best physicians of the town to assist her +attendance on the survivor. Their joint efforts were at length +successful. He became convalescent; and, finding his passion revive with +his returning health, daily importuned the lady for her hand, to which +there now remained no other equal claimant. But she gave him to +understand, that feeling herself singular in misfortune, by having lost +in one day three admirers of superior merit, she would not consent to +bear to the bridal ceremony a heart consumed by eternal regret; and +that, as a monument of her grief, she intended to compose a lay, the +title of which should be "Les quatre Dols," (the four griefs). The +lover, instead of attempting to argue her out of this resolution, only +employs his eloquence in convincing her that the title of the new lay +ought to be "Le Chaitivel," (the wretch), because his rivals had found +in death the end of their disappointments, while he was doomed to a life +of sorrow and privation. The lady having assented to this change, the +story is abruptly brought to a conclusion. + + * * * * * + +No. XI.--_Translation of the Lai DEE CHEVREFOIL_: + +_(From Notes to Sir Tristrem, edited by Walter Scott, Esq.)_ + +I am much pleased with the lay which is called Chevrefoil. Let me relate +to you truly on what occasion it was made, and by whom. Many persons +have narrated the story to me; and I have also found it in writing, in +the work which treats of Tristrem, and of the Queen; and of their +constant love, from which they suffered a thousand sorrows; and expired +on the same day.[81] + +King Markes had been much offended with his nephew, Tristrem; and had +banished him on account of his attachment to the queen. The knight +retired into the country where he was born; spent there a whole year of +affliction; and, being still forbidden to return, became careless of +life. Do not wonder at this; for a true lover, where his wishes are +crossed by insuperable obstacles, can set no bounds to his grief. +Tristrem, therefore, thus driven to despair, left his home; passed into +Cornwall, the abode of the queen, and concealed himself in the thickest +part of the forest; from which he issued only at the close of the day, +at which time he took up his lodgings among the peasants and the poorest +of mankind. After frequent questions to these his hosts, concerning the +public news of the court, he at length learned the king had convoked his +barons, and summoned them to attend him at Pentecost, at the castle of +Tintagel. Tristrem was rejoiced at this news; because it was impossible +the queen could arrive at the meeting without giving him an opportunity +of getting sight of her during the journey. On the appointed day, +therefore, be took his station, in that part of the wood through which +the road passed, cut down a branch of _codre_ (hazel), smoothed it, +wrote his name on it with the point of his knife, together with other +characters, which the queen would well know how to decypher. He +perceives her approaching; he sees her examine with attention every +object on her road. In former times they had recognized each other by +means of a similar device; and he trusts, that, should she cast her eyes +on the stick, she will suspect it to belong to her lover. This was the +purport of the characters traced on it: "That he had long been waiting +at a distance, in hopes of being favoured with some expedient which +might procure him a meeting, without which he could no longer exist. It +was with these two, as with the _chevrefoil_ and the _codre._ When the +honey-suckle has caught hold of the _codre_, and encircled it by its +embraces, the two will live together and flourish; but if any one +resolves to sever them, the _codre_ suddenly dies, and the honey-suckle +with it. Sweet friend, so it is with us; I cannot live without you, nor +you without me." + +The queen slowly riding on, perceives the stick, and recognizes the +well-known characters. She orders the knights who accompany her to stop. +She is tired; she will get off her horse for a short time, and take some +repose. She calls to her only her maid, her faithful Brenguein; quits +the road, plunges into the thickest part of the forest, and finds him +whom she loved more than all the world. Both were delighted beyond +measure at this meeting, which gives them full leisure to concert their +future projects. She tells him, that he may now be easily reconciled to +his uncle. That the king has often regretted his absence, and +attributes to the malicious accusations of their common enemies, the +severe measure of his banishment. After a long conversation, the queen +tears herself from him; and they separate with mutual grief. Tristrem +returned to South-Wales, from whence he was soon recalled by his uncle; +but, in the mean time, he had repeated to himself, over and over again, +every word of his mistress's late conversation; and, while full of the +joy he felt at having seen her, he composed (being a perfect master of +the lays) a new lay, describing his stratagem, its success, his delight, +and the very words uttered by the queen. I will tell you the name of +this lay it is called _Goat-leaf_ in English, and _Chevre-foil_ in +French. I have now told you the whole truth.[82] + +FOOTNOTES: + +[81] Marie, who drew all her materials from Bretagne, probably +refers to some Armorican edition, of the history of these ill-fated +lovers. + +[82] From this, which forms no part of the Sir Tristrem of +Thomas, the Rhymer, it is evident that the same tale was popular in +France, at least thirty years before the probable date of that work. + + + + +No. XII.--ELIDUC. + + +This is stated to be a _very_ old Breton lay. Its original title was +"Guildeluec ha Gualadun," from the names of the two heroines; but it was +afterwards more commonly stiled, The Lay of Eliduc. + +Eliduc was a knight of Bretagne, much admired for military prowess, +courtesy, and political sagacity; in consequence of which, his +sovereign, who loved and admired him, was in the habit of entrusting to +his management the most important cares of government. Indeed, so great +was his influence at court, that he enjoyed, almost as completely as the +king, the privilege of the chace in the royal forests. But the favour of +sovereigns is always precarious; and so adroit were his enemies, that he +was suddenly deprived of all his honours, and even banished the country, +without being able to obtain from his once indulgent master, the +privilege of knowing his crimes, or being confronted with his accusers. +Fortunately he was in the prime of life, fond of adventure, and not of a +temper to despond. He retired to his castle, convened his friends, and +communicated to them the king's injustice, and his own projects; which +were, to embark for England, and there enter into the pay of the first +king who might want his assistance. But he had a wife, the fair and +amiable Guildeluec, whom he tenderly loved; and whom, as he was +unwilling to carry her into exile, he earnestly recommended to their +care and attentions. He then selected ten knights as his companions, and +departed for the sea-coast, escorted by nearly all his friends and +vassals, and accompanied by his wife, who was almost frantic with grief +at this cruel separation, and whom he could scarcely reconcile to her +fate, by repeating again and again the most solemn assurances of eternal +and inviolable fidelity. At length he embarked with a fair wind, and +landing at Totness, in Devonshire, proceeded towards Exeter. The king of +this district had an only daughter, heiress of his dominions; and, +having refused to bestow her on a neighbouring prince, was at that time +involved in a most distressful war, and besieged in his capital. Eliduc +went no further: he sent a message to the distressed king, offering his +assistance; and requesting, should the proposal be rejected, a safe +conduct through the country. The king most gladly accepted the offer, +and ordered his constable to prepare a house for the reception of the +welcome guests, and issue a suitable sum of money, with a supply of +provisions for their monthly expenditure. Eliduc and his attendants were +magnificently entertained. His inn was the house of the richest burgess +in the town, and _the grand tapestry room_[83] was surrendered to the +knight by its proprietor. Eliduc on his part was equally liberal. He +issued strict orders to his attendants, that during the first forty +days, none of them should accept either pay or provisions from the +court; and during this time kept, at his own expence, a profuse table +for the accommodation of such knights as were unprovided with other +means of subsistence. On the third day, an alarm was spread that the +enemy had again over-run the country, and might shortly be expected at +the gates. Eliduc flew to arms; and, having assembled his ten knights, +was soon after joined by fourteen more from different parts of the city, +who declared themselves ready to encounter, under his commands, any +inequality of numbers. Eliduc praised their zeal; but observed, that +this intemperate valour was more fitted for the lists of a tournament +than for useful service; and requested that they, who knew the country, +would shew him some defile in which he could hope to attack the enemy on +equal terms. They pointed out a hollow way in the neighbouring forest, +by which the invaders usually passed and returned; and Eliduc, while +hastening there, described the measures he meant to pursue, and exhorted +them to follow him with vigour. All was so well planned and executed, +that the foe were surprized laden with booty; and their commander, with +thirty principal officers, seized on his palfrey, and made prisoners +almost without resistance. The squires and other attendants at the same +time secured a large quantity of baggage, and the troop immediately +hastened their return towards the city, where their appearance excited +no small consternation. The king, having mounted a watch-tower, had +descried his small garrison of knights engaged in a distant action with +very superior numbers; after which, seeing a large body in full march +for the city, he concluded Eliduc had betrayed him; caused the gates to +be shut, the alarm to be sounded, and commanded the citizens to defend +the walls. But being quickly undeceived, he welcomed his deliverer with +transports of joy and gratitude; and, after receiving his oath of +allegiance for a year, invested him with the supreme military command, +and assigned ample pensions to himself and all his attendants. The +king's daughter, the beautiful Guilliadun, became anxious in her turn to +behold the extraordinary stranger, who had confirmed her father in his +throne, by means of a troop of knights, who scarcely appeared competent +to the defence of the walls. She invited him to an audience, to which he +was formally introduced by one of her chamberlains; seated him near her +on a bed; and entered into conversation on a variety of indifferent +topics. But during the discourse, she could not help remarking that this +consummate warrior and statesman was young and handsome; and found her +heart completely engaged. After sighing and turning pale, and making +many reflections on the indelicacy of avowing her passion, she would +probably have done it, if the knight had not, by respectfully taking +leave, put an end to the interview. He, in the mean time, had not been +blind to her perfections, her youth, beauty, simplicity and frankness of +character, and, above all, those artless sighs which assured him of her +affection, had made an indelible impression on his heart. At length the +image of his wife, and his solemn assurances of fidelity, interrupted +the dream of happiness in which he had involuntarily indulged; but the +interruption became painful; and while he mentally repeated the promise +of adhering to duty, he felt that promise disavowed by his inclination. +Guilliadun, after a sleepless night, found it impossible to keep her +secret, and having summoned a trusty chamberlain, confided to him her +sudden, and, as she thought, inexplicable passion. After a long +discussion, she at length, at his suggestion, dispatched him to the +knight with the usual salutations of courtesy, and with the present of +her ring and a rich girdle. Eliduc immediately replied by an equally +courteous message; put the ring on his finger; bound the girdle round +his loins; offered a rich present to the chamberlain, who declined it; +but avoided all discussion on the subject of his message. The impatient +princess was almost driven to despair by the report of her chamberlain, +who, though convinced that Eliduc could not be insensible to the +kindness of his mistress, was unable to satisfy her mind, or even his +own, concerning the cause of such extreme discretion. Both, indeed, were +ignorant of the conflicts by which he was agitated. To recall his former +fondness for his wife, and to conciliate his duty and affection, was no +longer possible: to betray and dishonour the amiable Guilliadun would be +infamous; and to encourage her passion and his own, without being +hurried too far, was extremely difficult; yet on this he ultimately +resolved; and, having mounted his horse, set off for the palace under +pretence of paying his court to the king, but with the real view of +obtaining an interview with his daughter. The monarch was at that moment +in the apartment of the princess, to whom, while be played a game of +chess with a foreign knight, he explained the moves. On the entrance of +Eliduc he immediately introduced him to her, enjoining her to entertain +and form an acquaintance with a knight, who had few equals in merit; and +the young lady, gladly obeying the injunction, retired with her lover to +the farther end of the apartment. After a long silence equally painful +to both, and which each ineffectually attempted more than once to +interrupt, Eliduc luckily bethought himself of returning thanks for the +ring and girdle; which, as he assured her, he valued far beyond all his +earthly possessions. This warmth of expression encouraging the princess, +she frankly proceeded to make an avowal of her passion, declaring, if he +should reject her hand, there was no other man on earth whom she would +ever accept as a husband; and, when he mysteriously replied, that, as +far as his wishes were concerned, there could be no bar, but that it was +his purpose, after the year of service for which he was pledged to her +father, to return and establish himself in his own country, she told him +she had full confidence in his honour, and was persuaded, when the time +arrived, he would make all proper arrangements for her future destiny. +Thus ended the interview to their mutual satisfaction. Eliduc, watchful, +enterprizing, and indefatigable, soon recovered for her father all the +lost provinces, and insured future tranquillity by the capture of his +enemy; but scarcely was the war concluded, when the knight received an +embassy from his former master, whose ingratitude had been punished by +the loss of half his kingdom, and the jeopardy of the rest, adjuring him +to come with all speed to the rescue of a country which was now purged +of the monsters whose false accusations had occasioned his exile. Such +an embassy, a few months sooner would have been most welcome, but to +part with Guilliadun now appeared the heaviest of misfortunes. He felt, +however, that duty called him away, and determined to obey the summons. +He went to the king; read the letters he had received; and earnestly +requested leave to depart, though his stipulated term of service was not +expired; observing, at the same time, that the state of his majesty's +affairs no longer required his attendance; and, promising at the first +appearance of difficulty, he would return with a powerful body of +knights. The king, after making the most splendid offers to detain him, +unwillingly yielded; but to obtain the consent of Guilliadun was far +more difficult. Trusting that she possessed the whole heart of her +lover, and perfectly unconscious that his hand had been previously given +to another, she insisted on accompanying him, and threatened to destroy +herself in case of his refusal. His remonstrances were accompanied by +fainting fits, which terrified Eliduc into a solemn promise of +unqualified submission to her will; but he represented, that having +sworn fealty to her father, she could not now go with him, without a +breach of his oath; whereas, after the expiration of his term of +service, he could, without disgrace, comply with her wishes; and he +promised, on the honour of a knight, that if she would fix a day, he +would return and carry her off. With this promise she was satisfied, and +after many tears, and a mutual exchange of rings, ultimately permitted +him to depart. The return of Eliduc gave infinite pleasure to his +friends, to the king his master, and above all, to his excellent wife, +who now hoped she should be indemnified, by his beloved society, for her +long and dreary hours of widowhood. But she beheld, with surprise and +consternation that he harboured some secret grief, and anxiously +enquired if any thing in her conduct had given him displeasure. Eliduc +assured her of the contrary, but told her, in apparent confidence, that +he was forced by his oath to return to the king whom he had lately +quitted, so soon as he should have settled the affairs of his own +country; that he had much to endure, much to accomplish; and that, +harassed as he was on all sides, he should never regain his former +gaiety till he should have extricated himself from all his difficulties. +In the mean time, his mere name had inspired the enemy with alarm; his +re-appearance at the head of the armies brought back victory to the +royal standard; he saw and seized the moment of making an advantageous +peace; and, having done so, prepared for the execution of a more +pleasing enterprise. Taking with him only two nephews, a chamberlain and +a trusty squire, all of whom he swore to secresy, he embarked for +Loegria; stationed his vessel at some distance from the harbour of +Totness; and landing his chamberlain alone, and in disguise, sent him, +with secret instructions to the princess. The confidant executed his +commission with address; made his way unobserved to the chamber of +Guilliadun, informed her of his master's arrival, and explained the +measures he had devised for her escape. They waited for the approach of +night; when Guilliadun, without any other attendant, having muffled +herself in a short and warm mantle, which concealed the richness of her +usual garments, followed him out of the town, to a small wood, where +Eliduc, who had deferred his landing till evening, awaited her. The +knight instantly placed her on a horse, springing on another, and taking +her rein in his hand, hurried forward to the sea, and embarked without +having excited the slightest suspicion of the enterprise, to which none +were privy excepting those on board. Both wind and tide were favourable; +they arrived near the coast of Bretagne, and were on the point of +entering the harbour, when a sudden squall from the shore split their +mast, rent their sail, and exposed them for some hours to the most +imminent danger. All exertions to guide the vessel being ineffectual, +they had recourse to prayers, invoking St. Nicholas and St. Clement, and +requesting the intercession of the blessed Virgin and her Son, that they +might be permitted to land in safety. The storm continued; when one of +the sailors suddenly exclaimed, "Sir knight, you carry with you the +cause of our calamity. In defiance of God, religion, justice and honour, +you are carrying off that lady, having already a beautiful and lawful +wife in your own country. Permit us to throw your paramour into the sea, +and we shall speedily find our prayers effectual." The princess was then +lying, almost exhausted with fatigue, sickness, and fear, in the arms of +her lover; who, though bursting with rage, could only express it by +execrations, which he vented as loudly as he could in the hope of +drowning the hateful voice of the mariner, but the fatal assurance +"Eliduc was already married," had reached the ear, and sunk deeply into +the heart of Guilliadun. She fainted, and though he and his friends +employed all the means in their power for her recovery, they were unable +to produce any symptom of returning animation, a general exclamation of +grief pronounced her dead; when the knight, starting from the body, +seized an oar, felled at one blow the presumptuous seaman, threw him by +the foot into the sea, took possession of the helm, and directed it so +skilfully that the vessel reached the harbour in safety. They all +landed, and in a very few hours might reach the castle of Eliduc, which +was not far from the coast; but where could he deposit the body of his +mistress, how inter it with all the honours suitable to her rank and +merit? he at length recollected, that in the forest which surrounded his +mansion, dwelt an aged hermit, at whose cell the corpse might remain +till its interment: he could then enjoy the sad pleasure of visiting +daily the object of all his solicitude, and he determined to found on +the spot an abbey, in which a number of monks should pray for ever for +the soul of the lovely and injured Guilliadun. He then mounted his +palfrey, and, carrying the body in his arms, proceeded with his +attendants to the hermitage. The door was shut; and they discovered, +after having at length procured an entrance, the grave of the holy man, +who had expired a few days before. Eliduc caused a bed to be made within +the chapel; and placing on it his mistress, whose deadly paleness had +not yet injured her beauty, burst into a flood of tears, kissed her +lips and eyes, as if in the hopes of restoring their animation; and +solemnly pronounced a vow, that from the date of her interment he would +never more exercise the functions of a knight; but, after having erected +an abbey on the spot, sanctified by her remains, would assume himself +the monastic habit, and daily visit her tomb to express his love, his +grief, and his remorse. He then, with difficulty tore himself from the +body, and departed; having first sent a messenger to his castle to +announce that he was arrived, but so much fatigued and way-worn, as to +require nothing but repose and solitude. His wife met him with her usual +gentleness of affection; but instantly saw in his haggard looks that his +heart laboured with some misery which her tenderness was unable to +remove. His manners were such as to awaken without satisfying her +curiosity. He rose at day break, spent some hours at prayers, walked +alone into the forest, proceeded instinctively to the fatal hermitage, +and returned late in the evening, bearing with him, as it appeared, an +additional load of misery. He saw with astonishment that death seemed to +abstain from ravaging the beauties of Guilliadun; he involuntarily gave +way to the most flattering hopes; and, after many long sad hours of +tears and fruitless prayer, retired in anguish and disappointment. On +the third day he gave notice he should go to court, and pass the evening +with the king. His wife, in the mean time, by the promise of the most +tempting rewards, had engaged one of her pages to follow his master at a +distance, during his forest walk, and report what he should see and +hear; and the page, having on that morning executed his commission, she +determined to take advantage of Eliduc's absence to visit the hermitage, +and discover, if possible, the cause of that excessive grief to which he +gave way; and of which the death of the old hermit, much as he might +have loved him, was far from affording a satisfactory explanation. She +set forth with the page, entered the chapel, beheld, with much surprize, +a bed handsomely ornamented; and, on lifting up the covering, saw, with +still more astonishment, the young and blooming Guilliadun, "_qui +resemblot rose nuvele_." The faultless beauty of a living rival might +have excited some indignation in the bosom of the most patient wife, but +the eyes of the lovely object before her, appeared closed for ever; and +Guildeluec could find no place in her heart, for any sentiments but +those of admiration and pity. After calling her page to survey the +spectacle which fully explained and excused her husband's immoderate +grief, she sat down by the bed to reflect on the past, and decide on +her own future conduct. During, the long absence of Eliduc she had +devoted the greater part of her time to religious exercises, and now +clearly saw that to them only could she look for comfort. Having +convinced herself of this necessity, she turned, with tears in her eyes, +to the fair object of her husband's regret; when a circumstance, +apparently trifling, involuntarily arrested her attention. A weasel, +creeping from under the altar, ran upon the bed, and passing several +times over the face of the entranced Guilliadun, so far incensed the +page, that with a blow of his stick he laid it dead at his feet, and +then threw it on the floor. The animal had lain there only a few +moments, when another weasel, coming from the same hole, ran up, and +attempted awhile to sport with it, and then, after exhibiting every +appearance of grief, suddenly ran off into the wood, and returned with a +flower of a beautiful vermilion colour, which it carefully inserted into +the mouth of the dead animal. The effect was sudden, the weasel +instantaneously got upon its legs, and was preparing to escape; when the +lady exclaimed to the page, to strike it again, and he aimed a second +blow, that caused the creature to drop the flower, which Guildeluec +instantly seized, and carefully placed between the lips of Guilliadun. +The plant had not lost its efficacy. The princess, awakening from her +trance, expressed her surprise at having slept so long, and then gazed +with astonishment at the bed on which she lay, at the walls of the +chapel by which she was surrounded, and at the two unknown figures, of +Guildeluec and the page; who, kneeling by her side, loudly expressed +their thanksgiving to the Almighty for what they thought her miraculous +resurrection. At length the good lady, having finished her devotions, +began to question the fair stranger respecting her birth and preceding +adventures, which she related with the utmost candour and exactness, +till the fatal moment when the discovery of Eliduc's prior marriage had +deprived her of sense and motion. The rest was better known to her +hearers than herself; and Guildeluec, more and more charmed with her +innocence, and frankness, after avowing herself, lost no time in +comforting her, by the assurance that all her hopes and wishes might now +be speedily gratified. "Your youthful beauty," said she, "might +captivate any heart, and your merit will fix for ever that of Eliduc, +who is unalterably attached to you, and whose grief for your loss was +such as to preclude all hopes of consolation. It is my intention to take +the veil, and abandon all claim to those affections which are estranged +from me for ever. In restoring you to the now wretched Eliduc, I shall +promote, by the only means in my power, that happiness to which I have +hitherto been the unintentional obstacle." Guilliadun consented, with +silent gratitude, to accept the sacrifice so generously offered, and was +united to her lover as soon as the solemn ceremony had taken place, by +which Guildeluec consecrated the remainder of her days to heaven, in a +nunnery erected and endowed by her husband, on the site of the ancient +hermitage. Their union was followed by many years of happiness; and they +closed a life of charity and benevolence by following the pious example +of Guildeluec, who received Guilliadun into her order, while Eliduc took +the cowl in a monastery, to the endowment of which he dedicated the +remainder of his worldly possessions. From the adventure of these three, +"the olde gentil Bretons" (_li auncien Bretun curteis_) formed a lay to +transmit to future ages. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[83] + + La bele chambre encurtinée + Li ad li ostes deliverée. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAY OF MARIE*** + + +******* This file should be named 11857-8.txt or 11857-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/8/5/11857 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/11857-8.zip b/old/11857-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c18a922 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11857-8.zip diff --git a/old/11857.txt b/old/11857.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..228cf73 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11857.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6231 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lay of Marie, by Matilda Betham, et al + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Lay of Marie + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Release Date: March 30, 2004 [eBook #11857] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAY OF MARIE*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Wilelmina Malliere, +and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Bibliographical Note: + + These facsimiles have been made from copies in the Yale University + Library _The Lay of Marie_ (In.B4645.816L) and the British Library + _Vignettes_ (Il642.bbb.36) + + Reprint of the 1816 and 1818 eds. + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE + +and + +VIGNETTES IN VERSE + +MATILDA BETHAM + +with an introduction for the Garland edition by Donald H. Reiman + + + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE: A POEM + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + +1816 + + + + +TO + +LADY BEDINGFELD. + + + To whom,--as Fancy, taking longer flight, + With folded arms upon her heart's high swell, + Floating the while in circles of delight, + And whispering to her wings a sweeter spell + Than she has ever aim'd or dar'd before-- + Shall I address this theme of minstrel lore? + To whom but her who loves herself to roam + Through tales of earlier times, and is at home + With heroes and fair dames, forgotten long, + But for romance, and lay, and lingering song? + To whom but her, whom, ere my judgment knew, + Save but by intuition, false from true, + Seem'd to me wisdom, goodness, grace combin'd; + The ardent heart; the lively, active mind? + To whom but her whose friendship grows more dear, + And more assur'd, for every lapsing year? + One whom my inmost thought can worthy deem + Of love, and admiration, and esteem! + + + + +PREFACE + +As there is little, in all I have been able to collect respecting MARIE, +which has any thing to do with the Poem, I have chosen to place such +information at the end of the book, in form of an Appendix, rather than +here; where the only things necessary to state are, that she was an +Anglo-Norman Minstrel of the thirteenth century; and as she lived at the +time of our losing Normandy, I have connected her history with that +event: that the young king who sees her in his progress through his +foreign possessions is our Henry III.; and the Earl William who steps +forward to speak in her favour is William Longsword, brother to Richard +Coeur de Lion. Perhaps there is no record of minstrels being called upon +to sing at a feast in celebration of a victory which involves their own +greatest possible misfortune; but such an incident is not of improbable +occurrence. It is likely, also, that a woman, said to be more learned, +accomplished, and pleasing, than was usually the case with those of her +profession, might have a father, who, with the ardour, the disobedience, +the remorse of his heroic master, had been, like him, a crusader and a +captive; and in the after solitude of self-inflicted penitence, full of +romantic and mournful recollections, fostered in the mind of his +daughter, by nature embued with a portion of his own impassioned +feelings, every tendency to that wild and poetical turn of thought which +qualified her for a minstrel; and, after his death, induced her to +become one. + + * * * * * + +The union of European and Eastern beauty, in the person of Marie, I have +attempted to describe as lovely as possible. The consciousness of noble +birth, of injurious depression, and the result of that education which +absorbed the whole glowing mind of a highly gifted parent, a mind rich +with adventures, with enthusiasm and tenderness, ought to be pourtrayed +in her deportment; while the elegance and delicacy which more +particularly distinguish the gentlewoman, would naturally be imbibed +from a constant early association with a model of what the chivalrous +spirit of the age could form, with all its perfections and its faults; +in a situation, too, calculated still more to refine such a character; +especially with one who was the centre of his affections and regrets, +and whom he was so soon to leave unprotected. That, possessing all these +advantages, notwithstanding her low station, she should be beloved by, +and, on the discovery of her birth, married to a young nobleman, whose +high favour with his sovereign would lead him to hope such an offence +against the then royal prerogative of directing choice would be deemed a +venial one, is, I should think, an admissible supposition. + + * * * * * + +That a woman would not be able to sing under such afflicting +circumstances might be objected; but history shews us, scarcely any +exertion of fortitude or despair is too great to be looked for in that +total deprivation of all worldly interest consequent to such +misfortunes. Whether that train of melancholy ideas which her own fate +suggests is sufficiently removed from narration to be natural, or not +near it enough to be clear, the judgment of others must determine. No +wish or determination to have it one way or another, in sentiment, +stile, or story, influenced its composition; though, occasionally, lines +previously written are interwoven; and, in one instance, a few that have +been published. + + * * * * * + +Her Twelve Lays are added in a second Appendix, as curious in +themselves, and illustrative of the manners and morals of an age when +they formed the amusement of the better orders. + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE. + +CANTO FIRST. + + + The guests are met, the feast is near, + But Marie does not yet appear! + And to her vacant seat on high + Is lifted many an anxious eye. + The splendid show, the sumptuous board, + The long details which feuds afford, + And discontent is prone to hold, + Absorb the factious and the cold;-- + Absorb dull minds, who, in despair, + The standard grasp of worldly care, + Which none can quit who once adore-- + They love, confide, and hope no more; + Seek not for truth, nor e'er aspire + To nurse that immaterial fire, + From whose most healthful warmth proceed + Each real joy and generous deed; + Which, once extinct, no toil or pain + Can kindle into life again, + To light the then unvarying eye, + To melt, in question or reply, + Those tones, so subtil and so sweet, + That none can look for, none repeat; + Which, self-impell'd, defy controul,-- + They bear the signet of the soul; + And, as attendants of their flight, + Enforce persuasion and delight. + + Words that an instant have reclin'd + Upon the pillow of the mind, + Or caught, upon their rapid way, + The beams of intellectual day, + Pour fresh upon the thirsty ear, + O'erjoy'd, and all awake to hear, + Proof that in other hearts is known + The secret language of our own. + They to the way-worn pilgrim bring + A draught from Rapture's sparkling spring; + And, ever welcome, are, when given, + Like some few scatter'd flowers from heaven; + Could such in earthly garlands twine, + To bloom by others less divine. + + Where does this idle Minstrel stay? + Proud are the guests, august the day; + And princes of the realm attend + The triumph of their sovereign's friend;-- + Triumph of stratagem and fight + Gain'd o'er a young and gallant knight, + Who, the last fort compell'd to yield, + Perish'd, despairing, in the field. + + The Norman Chief, whose sudden blow + Had laid fair England's banner low; + Spite of resistance firm and bold + Secur'd the latest, surest hold + Its sceptre touch'd across the main, + Important, difficult to gain, + Easy against her to retain;-- + Baron de Brehan--seem'd to stand + An alien in his native land; + One whom no social ties endear'd + Except his child; and she appear'd + Unconsciously to prompt his toil,-- + Unconsciously to take the spoil + Of hate and treason; and, 'twas said, + The pillage of a kinsman dead, + Whom, for his large domain, he slew: + 'Twas whisper'd only,--no one knew. + At tale of murderous deed, his ear + No startling summons seem'd to hear; + Yet should some sudden theme intrude + Of friend betray'd--ingratitude;-- + Or treacherous counsel--follies nurs'd + In ardent minds, who, dying, curs'd + The guileful author of their woes; + His troubled look would then disclose + Some secret anguish, inward care, + Which mutely, sternly, said, Forbear! + + He spake of policy and right, + Of bold exploits in recent fight,-- + Of interest, and the common weal, + Of distant empire, slow appeal. + Skill'd to elicit thoughts unknown + In other minds, and hide his own, + His brighter eye, in darting round + Their purposes and wishes found. + Praises, and smiles, and promise play'd + Around his speech; which yet convey'd + No meaning, when, the moment past, + Memory retold her stores at last. + + Courtiers were there, the old and young, + Of high and haughty lineage sprung; + And jewell'd matrons: some had been, + Erewhile, spectators of a scene + Like this, with mien and manners gay; + Who now, their hearts consum'd away, + Held all the pageant in disdain, + And seem'd to smile and speak with pain. + Of such were widows, who deplor'd + Husbands long lost, but still ador'd; + To grace their children, fierce and proud, + Like martyrs led into the crowd: + Mothers, their sole remaining stay, + In some dear son, late snatch'd away; + Whose duty made them better brook + Their lords' high tone and careless look; + Whose praises had awaken'd pride + In bosoms dead to all beside. + + Warriors, infirm with battles grown, + Were there, in languid grandeur thrown + On the low bench, who seem'd to say, + "Our mortal vigour wanes away;" + And gentle maid, with aspect meek, + While cloud-like blushes cross her cheek, + Restless awaits the Minstrel's power + To dispossess the present hour, + And by a spirit-seizing charm, + Her thoughts employ, her fancy warm, + And snatch her from the mute distress + Of conscious, breathless bashfulness. + + Young knights, who never tamely wait, + Crowd in the porch, or near the gate, + By quick return, and sudden throng, + Announcing the expected song. + + The Minstrel comes, and, by command, + Before the nobles of the land, + In her poor order's simple dress, + Grac'd only by the native tress, + A flowing mass of yellow'd light, + Whose bold swells gleam with silver bright, + And dove-like shadows sink from sight. + Those long, soft locks, in many a wave + Curv'd with each turn her figure gave; + Thick, or if threatening to divide, + They still by sunny meshes hide; + Eluding, by commingling lines, + Whatever severs or defines. + + Amid the crowd of beauties there, + None were so exquisitely fair; + And, with the tender, mellow'd air, + The taper, flexile, polish'd limb, + The form so perfect, yet so slim, + And movement, only thought to grace + The dark and yielding Eastern race; + As if on pure and brilliant day + Repose, as soft as moonlight, lay. + + Reluctant still she seem'd,--her feet + Sought slowly the appointed seat: + Her hand, oft lifting to her head, + She lightly o'er her forehead spread; + Then the unconscious motion check'd, + And, struggling with her own neglect, + Seem'd as she but by effort found + The presence of an audience round. + + Meanwhile the murmurings died away + Which spake impatience of delay: + A pitying wonder, new and kind, + Arose in each beholder's mind: + They saw no scorn to meet reproof, + No arrogance to keep aloof; + Her air absorb'd, her sadden'd mien, + Combin'd the mourning, captive queen, + With _her_ who at the altar stands + To raise aloft her spotless hands, + In meek and persevering prayer, + For such as falter in despair. + All that was smiling, bright, and gay, + Youth's show of triumph during May, + Its roseate crown, was snatch'd away! + Yet sorrows, which had come so soon, + Like tender morning dew repos'd, + O'er hope and joy as softly clos'd + As moist clouds on the light at noon. + + Opprest by some heart-withering pang, + Upon her harp she seem'd to hang + Awhile o'erpower'd--then faintly sang: + + "Demand no lay of long-past times; + Of foreign loves, or foreign crimes; + Demand no visions which arise + To Rapture's eager, tearless eyes! + Those who can travel far, I ween, + Whose strength can reach a distant scene, + And measure o'er large space of ground, + Have not, like me, a deadly wound! + Near home, perforce, alas, I stray, + Perforce pursue my destin'd way, + Through scenes where all my trouble grows, + And where alone remembrance flows. + Like evening swallows, still my wings + Float round in low, perpetual rings; + But never fold the plume for rest + One moment in the tranquil nest; + And have no strength to reach the skies, + No power, no hope, no wish to rise! + + "Blame me not, _Fancy_, if I now restrain + Thy wandering footsteps, now thy wings confine; + Tis the decree of Fate,--it is not mine! + For I would let thee free and widely stray-- + Would follow gladly, tend thee on thy way, + And never of the devious track complain, + Never thy wild and sportive flights disdain! + Though reasonless those graceful moods may be, + They still, alas! were passing sweet to me. + + "Unhappy that I am, compell'd to bind + This murmuring captive! one who ever strove + By each endearing art to win my love; + Who, ever unoffending, ever bright, + Danc'd in my view, and pleas'd me to delight! + She scatter'd showers of lilies on my mind; + For, oh! so fair, so fresh, and so refin'd, + Her child-like offerings, without thorns to pain, + Without one canker'd wound, or earthly stain. + + "And, _darling!_ as my trembling fingers twine + Those fetters round thee, they are wet with tears! + For the sweet playmate of my early years + I cannot thus afflict, nor thus resign + My equal liberty, and not repine! + For I had made thee, infant as thou art, + Queen of my hopes, my leisure, and my heart; + Given thee its happiest laugh, its sweetest tear, + And all I found or conquer'd every year. + + "I blame me now I let thy sports offend + Old Time, and laid thy snare within his path + To make him falter, as it often hath; + For he grew angry soon, and held his breath, + And hurried on, in frightful league with Death, + To make the way through which my footsteps bend, + Late rich in all that social scenes attend, + A desert; and with thee I droop, I die, + Beneath the look of his malignant eye. + + "Me do triumphant heroes call + To grace with harp their festal hall? + O! must my voice awake the song?-- + My skill the artful tale prolong? + Yes! I am call'd--it is my doom! + Unhappily, ye know not whom, + Nor what, impatient ye demand! + How hostile now the fever'd hand, + Across these chords unwilling thrown, + To echo plainings of my own! + Little indeed can ye divine + What song ye ask who call for mine! + + "Till now, before the courtly crowd + I humbly and I gaily bow'd; + The blush was not to shame allied + Which on my glowing cheek I wore; + No lowly seemings pain'd nay pride, + My heart was laughing at the core; + And sometimes, as the stream of song + Bore me with eddying haste along, + My father's spirit would arise, + And speak strange meaning from these eyes, + At which a conscious cheek would quail, + A stern and lofty bearing fail: + Then could a chieftain condescend + In me to recognize his friend! + Then could a warrior low incline + His eye, when it encounter'd mine! + A tone can make the guilty start! + A glance can pierce the conscious heart, + Encountering memory in its flight, + Most waywardly! Such wounds are slight; + But I withdraw the painful light! + + "Fair lords and princes! many a time + For you I wove my pictur'd rhyme; + Refin'd new thoughts and fancies crude + In deep and careful solitude; + 'And, when my task was finish'd, came + To seek the meed of praise or blame; + While, even then, untir'd I strove + To serve beneath the yoke of love. + Whene'er I mark'd a fearful look, + When pride, or when resentment, spoke, + I bent the tenor of my strain, + And trembled lest it were in vain. + By many an undiscover'd wile + I brought the pallid lip to smile, + Clear'd the maz'd thought for ampler scope, + Sustain'd the flagging wings of hope; + And threw a mantle over care + Such as the blooming Graces wear! + I made the friend resist his pride, + Scarce aiming what he felt to hide + From other eyes, his own implor'd + That kindness were again restor'd. + As generous themes engag'd my tongue + In pleadings for the fond and young: + Towards his child the father leant, + In fast-subsiding discontent: + I made that father's claims be felt, + And saw the rash, the stubborn, melt; + Nay, once, subdued, a rebel knelt. + + "Thus skill'd, from pity's warm excess, + The aching spirit to caress; + Profuse of her ideal wealth, + And rich in happiness and health, + An alien, class'd among the poor, + Unheeded, from her precious store, + Its best and dearest tribute brought; + The zeal of high, adventurous thought, + The tender awe in yielding aid, + E'en of its own soft hand afraid! + Stealing, through shadows, forth to bless, + Her venturous service knew no bound; + Yet shrank, and trembled, when success + Its earnest, fullest wishes crown'd! + This alien sinks, opprest with woe, + And have you nothing to bestow? + No language kind, to sooth or cheer?-- + No soften'd voice,--no tender tear?-- + No promise which may hope impart? + No fancy to beguile the heart; + To chace those dreary thoughts away, + And waken from this deep dismay! + + "Is it that station, power, or pride, + Can human sympathies divide? + Or is she deem'd a thing of art, + Form'd only to enact a part, + Whose nice perceptions all belong + To modulated thought and song, + And, in fictitious feeling thrown, + Lie waste or callous in her own? + + "Is it from poverty of soul; + Or does some fear some doubt, controul? + So round the heart strong fibres strain, + That it attempts to beat in vain? + Does palsy on your feelings hang, + Deaden'd by some severer pang? + If so, behold, my eyes o'erflow! + For, O! that anguish well I know! + When once that fatal stroke is given,-- + When once that finest nerve is riven, + Our love, our pity, all are o'er; + We even sooth ourselves no more! + + "Back, hurrying feelings! to the time + I learnt to clothe my thoughts in rhyme! + When, climbing up my father's knees, + I gaily sang, secure to please! + Rounded his pale and wasted cheek, + And won him, in his turn, to speak: + When, for reward, I closer prest, + And whisper'd much, and much carest; + With timorous eye, and head aside, + Half ask'd, and laugh'd, and then denied; + Ere I again petition made + To hear the often-told crusade. + How, knowing hardship but by name, + Misled by friendship and by fame, + His parents' wishes he disdain'd, + With zeal, nor real quite, nor feign'd; + And fought on many a famous spot;-- + The suffering of a captive's lot; + My Georgian mother's daring flight; + The day's concealment, march by night; + Her death, when, touching Christian ground, + They deem'd repose and safety found: + How, on his arm, by night and day, + I, then a happy infant, lay, + And taught him not to mourn, but pray. + How, when, at length, he reach'd his home, + His heart foretold a gentle doom; + With tears of fondness in his eyes, + Hoping to cause a glad surprize; + Full of submission, pondering o'er + What he too lightly priz'd before; + The curse with tenfold vengeance fell.-- + Those who had lov'd him once so well, + In whose indulgence perfect trust + Had still been wise, though most unjust, + Were in the grave!--Their hearts were cold! + His penitence might still be told-- + Told to the winds! for few would hear, + Or, hearing, deem that tale sincere + His patrimony's lord denied, + Who, hardening in possession's pride, + Affirm'd the rightful owner died. + + "A victim from devouring strife, + And slavery, return'd with life; + Possessions, honours, parents gone, + The very hand that urg'd him on, + Now, by its stern repelling, tore + The veil that former falsehood wore! + + "When he first bar'd his heart before thy view, + Told all its inmost beatings--told them true; + Nay, e'en the pulse, the secret, trembling thrill, + On which the slightest touch alone would trill [Errata: kill]; + While thou, with secret aim, collected art, + Didst wind around that bold, confiding heart, + And, in its warm and healthful breathings fling + A subtle poison, and a deadly sting! + + "Where shall we else so fell a traitor find? + The wilful, hard misleader of the blind + And what can be the soul-perverter's meed, + Plotting to lure his friend to such a deed, + As made self-hatred on the conscience lay + That heavy weight she never moves away? + O! where the good man's inner barriers close + 'Gainst the world's cruel judgments, and his foes + Enfolding truth, and prayer, and soul's repose, + Thine is a mournful numbness, or a din, + For many strong accusers lurk within! + + "And, since this fatal period, in thine eyes + A shrewd and unrelaxing witness lies; + While, on the specious language of the tongue, + Deceit has hateful, warning accents hung; + And outrag'd nature, struggling with a smile, + Announces nought but discontent and guile; + Each trace of fair, auspicious meaning flown, + All that makes man by man belov'd and known. + Silence, indignant thought! forego thy sway! + Silence! and let me measure on my way! + + "Soul-struck, and yielding to his fate, + My father left his castle gate. + 'Thou,' he would cry, with flowing eyes, + 'That moment wert the sacrifice! + Little, alas! avails to thee + Wealth, honours, titles, ancestry; + All lost by me! I dar'd to lift + On high thy welfare, as a gift! + To save thee, dearest, dar'd resign + Thy worldly good! it was not mine! + But, O! I felt around thee twin'd + My very self,--my heart and mind! + All that may chance is dead to me, + Save only as it touches thee! + Could self-infliction but atone + For one who lives in thee alone; + If my repentance and my tears + Could spare thy future smiling years, + The fatal curse should only rest + Upon this firm, though guilty breast? + Yet, tendering from thy vessel's freight + Offerings of such exceeding weight, + And free thee from one earthly chain! + Envy and over-weening hate + Would on thy orphan greatness wait; + Folly that supple nature bend + For parasites to scorn thy friend; + And pamper'd vanity incline + To wilful blindness such as mine! + + "'Thee to the altar yet I bring! + Hear me, my Saviour and my King! + Again I for my child resign + All worldly good! but make her thine! + Let her soft footsteps gently move, + Nor waken grief, nor injure love; + Carelessly trampling on the ground + That priceless gem, so rarely found; + That treasure, which, should angels guard, + Would all their vigilance reward! + + "'My mind refuses still to fear + She should be cold or insincere; + That aught like meanness should debase + One of our rash and wayward race, + No! most I dread intemperate pride, + Deaf ardour, reckless, and untried, + With firm controul and skilful rein, + Its hurrying fever to restrain! + + "'Others might wish their soul's delight + Should be most lovely to the sight; + And beauty vainly I ador'd, + Serv'd with my eye, my tongue, my sword; + Nay, let me not from truth depart! + Enshrin'd and worship'd it at heart. + Oft, when her mother fix'd my gaze, + Enwrapt, on bright perfection's blaze, + Hopes the imperious spell beguil'd, + Transcendant thus to see my child: + But now, for charms of form or face, + Save only purity and grace; + Save sweetness, which all rage disarms, + Would lure an infant to her arms + In instantaneous love; and make + A heart, like mine, with fondness ache; + I little care, so she be free + From such remorse as preys on me!' + + "My dearest father!--Yet he grew + Profoundly anxious, as he knew + More of the dangers lurking round; + But I was on enchanted ground! + Delighted with my minstrel art, + I had a thousand lays by heart; + And while my yet unpractis'd tongue + Descanted on the strains I sung, + Still seeking treasure, like a bee, + I laugh'd and caroll'd, wild with glee! + + "Delicious moments then I knew, + When the rough winds against me blew: + When, from the top of mountain steep, + I glanc'd my eye along the deep; + Or, proud the keener air to breathe, + Exulting saw the vale beneath. + When, launch'd in some lone boat, I sought + A little kingdom for my thought, + Within a river's winding cove, + Whose forests form a double grove, + And, from the water's silent flow, + Appear more beautiful below; + While their large leaves the lilies lave, + Or plash upon the shadow'd wave; + While birds, with darken'd pinions, fly + Across that still intenser sky; + Fish, with cold plunge, with startling leap, + Or arrow-flight across the deep; + And stilted insects, light-o-limb, + Would dimple o'er the even brim; + If, with my hand, in play, I chose + The cold, smooth current to oppose, + As fine a spell my senses bound + As vacant bosom ever found! + + "And when I took my proudest post, + Near him on earth I valued most, + (No after-time could banish thence + A father's dear pre-eminence,) + And felt the kind, protecting charm, + The clasp of a paternal arm; + Felt, as instinctively it prest, + The sacred magnet of his breast, + 'Gainst which I lean'd, and seem'd to grow, + With that deep fondness none can know, + Whom Providence does not assign + A parent excellent as mine! + That faith beyond, above mistrust, + That gratitude, so wholly just, + Each several, crowding claim forgot, + Whose source was light, without a blot; + No moment of unkindness shrouding, + No speck of anger overclouding: + An awful and a sweet controul, + A rainbow arching o'er the soul; + A soothing, tender thrill, which clung + Around the heart, while, all unstrung, + The thought was still, and mute the tongue! + + "O! in that morn of life is given + To one so tun'd, a sumptuous dower! + Joys, which have flown direct from heaven, + And Graces, captive in her bower. + + "Thoughts which can sail along the skies, + Or poise upon the buoyant air; + And make a peasant's soul arise + A monarch's mighty power to share. + + "When all that we perceive below, + By land or sea, by night or day, + The past, the future, and the flow + Of present times, their tribute pay. + + "Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower, + Bears her a blessing on its wings; + And every rich and precious flower + Its fragrance on her spirit flings. + + "There's not a star that shines above + But pours on her a partial ray; + Endearments, like maternal love, + Her love to Nature's self repay. + + "Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart, + Close interlace the angel arm; + And with caresses heal the smart + Of every care, and every harm. + + "Amid the wealth, amid the blaze + Of luxury and pomp around, + How poor is all the eye surveys + To what we know of fairy ground!" + + She ceases, and her tears flow fast-- + O! can this fit of softness last, + Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share + The sickly triumph of despair? + Upon the harp her head is thrown, + All round is like a vision flown; + And o'er a billowy surge her mind + Views lost delight left far behind. + + + + + +THE LAY OF MARIE. + +CANTO SECOND. + + + Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er, + Lamented that they heard no more; + While Brehan, from her broken lay, + Portended what she yet might say. + As the untarrying minutes flew, + More anxious and alarm'd he grew. + At length he spake:--"We wait too long + The remnant of this wilder'd song! + And too tenaciously we press + Upon the languor of distress! + 'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd, + And in some noiseless chamber laid, + Attentive care, and soothing rest, + Appeas'd the anguish of her breast." + + Low was his voice, but Marie heard: + He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd. + She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs, + Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes; + And, ere they dried upon her cheek, + Before she gather'd force to speak, + Convulsively her fingers play'd, + While his proud heart the prelude met, + Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd, + A loud, high measure, like a threat; + Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell + Which love and sorrow know so well. + + "How solemn is the sick man's room + To friends or kindred lingering near! + Poring on that uncertain gloom + In silent heaviness and fear! + + "How sad, his feeble hand in thine, + The start of every pulse to share! + With painful haste each wish divine, + Yet fed the hopelessness of care! + + "To turn aside the full-fraught eye, + Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear! + To bear the weight of every sigh, + Lest it should reach that wakeful ear! + + "In the dread stillness of the night, + To lose the faint, faint sound of breath! + To listen in restrain'd affright, + To deprecate each thought of death! + + "And, when a movement chas'd that fear, + And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow, + In thrilling awe the prayer to hear + Through the clos'd curtain murmur'd low! + + "The prayer of him whose holy tongue + Had never yet exceeded truth! + Upon whose guardian care had hung + The whole dependence of thy youth! + + "Who, noble, dauntless, frank and mild, + Was, for his very goodness, fear'd; + Belov'd with fondness like a child, + And like a blessed saint rever'd! + + "I have known friends--but who can feel + The kindness such a father knew? + I serv'd him still with tender zeal, + But knew not then how much was due! + + "And did not Providence ordain + That we should soon be laid as low, + No heart could such a stroke sustain,-- + No reason could survive the blow! + + "After that fatal trial came, + The world no longer was the same. + I still had pleasures:--who could live + Without the healing aid they give? + But, as a plant surcharg'd with rain, + When radiant sunshine comes again, + Just wakes from a benumbing trance, + I caught a feverish, fitful glance. + The dove, that for a weary time + Had mourn'd the rigour of the clime, + And, with its head beneath its wing, + Awaited a more genial spring, + Went forth again to search around, + And some few leaves of olive found, + But not a bower which could impart + Its interchange of light and shade; + Not that soft down, to warm the heart, + Of which her former nest was made. + Smooth were the waves, the ether clear, + Yet all was desert, cold, and drear! + + "Affection, o'er thy clouded sky + In flocks the birds of omen fly; + And oft the wandering harpy, Care, + Must thy delicious viands share: + But all the soul's interior light, + All that is soothing, sweet, and bright, + All fragrance, softness, colour, glow, + To thee, as to the sun, we owe! + + "Years past away! swift, varied years! + I learnt the luxury of tears; + And all the orphan's wretched lot, + 'Midst those she pleas'd and serv'd, forgot. + + "By turns applauded and despis'd, + Till one appear'd who duly priz'd; + Bound round my heart a welcome chain, + And earthward lur'd its hopes again; + When, careless of all worldly weal, + By Fancy only taught to feel, + My raptur'd spirit soar'd on high, + With momentary power to fly; + Or sang its deep, indignant moan, + With swells of anguish, when alone. + + "Yet lovely dreams could I evoke + Of future happiness and fame-- + I did not bow to kiss the yoke, + But welcom'd every joy that came. + + "Often would self-complacence spread + Harmonious halos round my head; + And all my being own'd awhile + The warm diffusion of her smile. + + "One morn they call'd me forth to sing + Fore our then liege, the English king. + Thy guest, my Lord de Semonville, + His gracious presence was the seal + Of favour to a servant true, + To boasted faith and fealty due! + + "It never suits a royal ear + Prowess of foreign lands to hear; + And, leaving tales of Charlemagne + For British Arthur's earlier reign, + I, preluding with praise, began + The feats of that diviner man; + Let loose my soul in fairy land, + Gave wilder licence to my hand; + And, learn'd in chivalrous renown, + By song and story handed down, + Painted my knights from those around, + But placed them on poetic ground. + The ample brow, too smooth for guile; + The careless, fearless, open smile; + The shaded and yet arching eye, + At once reflective, kind, and shy; + The undesigning, dauntless look,-- + Became to me a living book. + I read the character conceal'd, + Flash'd on by chance, or never known + Even to bosoms like its own; + Shrinking before a step intrude; + Touch, look, and whisper, all too rude; + Unsunn'd and fairest when reveal'd! + The first in every noble deed, + Most prompt to venture and to bleed! + Such hearts, so veil'd with angel wings, + Such cherish'd, tender, sacred things, + I since discover'd many a time, + O Britain! in thy temper'd clime; + In dew, in shade, in silence nurs'd, + For truth and sentiment athirst. + + "As seas, with rough, surrounding wave, + Islands of verdant freshness save + From rash intruder's waste and spoil;-- + As mountains rear their heads on high, + Present snow summits to the sky, + And weary patient feet with toil, + To screen some sweet, secluded vale, + And warm the air its flowers inhale;-- + Reserve warns off approaching eyes + From where her choicer Eden lies. + + "Such are the English knights, I cried, + Who all their better feelings hide; + Who muffle up their hearts with care, + To hide the virtues nestling there, + Who neither praise nor blame can bear. + + "My hearers, though completely steel'd + For all the terrors of the field; + Mail'd for the arrow and the lance, + Bore not unharm'd my smiling glance; + At other times collected, brave, + Recoiled when I that picture gave; + As if their inmost heart, laid bare, + Shrank from the bleak, ungenial air. + + "Proud of such prescience, on I went;-- + The youthful monarch was content. + 'Edgar de Langton, take this ring-- + No! hither the young Minstrel bring: + Ourself can better still dispense + The honour and the recompence.' + I came, and, trembling, bent my knee. + He wonder'd that my looks were meek, + That blushes burnt upon my cheek! + 'We would our little songstress see! + Remove those tresses! raise thy head! + Say, where is former courage fled, + 'That all must now thy face infold? + At distance they were backward roll'd. + Whence, then, this most unfounded fear? + Are we so strange, so hateful here?' + + "I strove in vain to lift my eyes, + And made some indistinct replies; + When one, more courteous and more kind, + Stepp'd forth to save my fainting mind. + 'My liege, have pity! for, in truth, + It is too hard upon her youth. + Though so alert and fleet in song, + The strain was high, the race was long; + And she before has never seen + A monarch, save the fairy queen: + But does the lure of thought obey + As falcons their appointed way; + Train'd to one end, and wild as those + If aught they know not interpose. + Vain then is strength, and skill is vain, + Either to lead them or restrain. + The eye-lid closes, and the heart, + Low-sinking, plays a traitor's part; + While wings, of late so firmly spread, + Hang flagg'd and powerless as the dead! + With courts familiar from our birth, + Is it fit subject for our mirth, + That thus awakening from her theme, + Where she through air and sea pursues, + And all things governs, all subdues, + (Like fetter'd captive in a dream,) + Blindly to tread on unknown land, + Without a guide or helping hand, + No previous usage to befriend, + (As well we might an infant lend + Our eyes' experience, ear, or touch!) + Can we in reason wonder much, + Her steps are tottering and unsure + Where we have learnt to walk secure? + Is it not true, what I have told?' + Her paus'd, my features to behold-- + Earl William paus'd: across his mien + A strong and sudden change was seen, + The courtier bend, protecting tone. + And smile of sympathy, were gone. + Abrupt his native accents broke, + And his lips trembled as he spoke. + + "'How thus can Memory, in its flight, + On wings of gossamer alight, + Nor showing aim, nor leaving trace, + From a poor damsel's living face + To features of a brave, dead knight! + In eyes so young, and so benign, + What is it speaks of Palestine? + Of toils in early life I prov'd, + And of a comrade dearly lov'd! + 'Tis true, he, like this maid, was young, + And gifted with a tuneful tongue! + His looks [Errata: locks], like her's, were bright and fair, + But light and laughing was his eye; + The prophecy of future care + In those thin, helmet lids we spy, + Veiling mild orbs, of changeful hue, + Where auburn half subsides in blue! + Lord Fauconberg, canst thou divine + What is the curve, or what the line, + That makes this girl, like lightning, send + Looks of our long lamented friend? + If Richard liv'd, that sorcery spell + Quickly his lion-heart would quell: + He never could her glance descry, + And any wish'd-for boon deny! + She's weeping too!--most strangely wrought + By workings of another's thought! + She knows no English; yet I speak + That language, and her paling cheek + With watery floods is overcast.-- + Fair maid, we talk of times long past; + A friend we often mourn in vain-- + A knight in distant battle slain, + Whose bones had moulder'd in the earth + Full many a year before thy birth. + He fed our ears with songs of old, + And one was of a heart of gold,-- + A native ditty I would fain, + But never yet could hear again. + It spoke of friendship like his own, + Once only in existence known. + My prime of life the blessing crost, + And with it life's first charm I lost!' + + "'Chieftain, allow me, on my knee + To sing that English song to thee! + For then I never dare to stand, + Nor take the harp within my hand; + Sacred it also is to me! + And it should please thy fancy well, + Since dear the lips from whence it fell; + 'And dear the language which conveys + The only theme of real praise! + O! if in very truth thou art + A mourner for that loyal heart, + A lowly minstrel maid forgive, + Who strives to make remembrance live!' + + + + SONG. + + "'Betimes my heritage was sold + To buy this heart of solid gold. + Ye all, perchance, have jewels fine, + But what are such compar'd to mine? + O! they are formal, poor, and cold, + And out of fashion when they're old;-- + But this is of unchanging ore, + And every day is valued more. + Not all the eye could e'er behold + Should purchase back this heart of gold. + + "'How oft its temper has been tried! + Its noble nature purified! + And still it from the furnace came + Uninjur'd by the subtil flame. + Like truth itself, pale, simple, pure, + Yielding, yet fitted to endure,-- + No rust, no tarnish can arise, + To hide its lustre from our eyes; + And this world's choicest gift I hold, + While I can keep my heart of gold. + + "'Whatever treasure may be lost, + Whatever project may be crost, + Whatever other boon denied, + The amulet I long have tried + Has still a sweet, attractive power + To draw the confidential hour,-- + That hour for weakness and for grief, + For true condolement, full belief! + O! I can never feel bereft, + While one possession shall be left; + That which I now in triumph hold, + This dear, this cherish'd heart of gold! + + "'Come, all who wish to be enroll'd! + Our order is, the heart of gold. + The vain, the artful, and the nice, + Can never pay the weighty price; + For they must selfishness abjure, + Have tongue, and hand, and conscience pure; + Suffering for friendship, never grieve, + But, with a god-like strength, believe + In the oft absent power of truth, + As they have seen it in their youth. + Ye who have grown in such a mould + Are worthy of the heart of gold!' + + "Ceasing, and in the act to rise, + A voice exclaim'd, 'Receive the prize! + Earl William, let me pardon crave, + Thus yielding what thy kindness gave! + But with such strange, intense delight, + This maiden fills my ear, my sight; + I long so ardently to twine + In her renown one gift of mine; + That having but a die to cast, + Lest our first meeting prove our last, + I would ensure myself the lot + Not to be utterly forgot! + And this, my offering, here consign, + Worthy, because it once was thine! + Then, maiden, from a warrior deign + To take this golden heart and chain! + Thy order's emblem! and afar + Its light shall lead me, like a star! + If thou, its mistress, didst requite + With guerdon meet each chosen knight; + If from that gifted hand there came + A badge of such excelling fame, + The broider'd scarf might wave in vain, + Unenvied might a rival gain, + Amid assembled peers, the crown + Of tournay triumph and renown; + For me its charm would all be gone, + E'en though a princess set it on!' + + "I bow'd my thanks, and quick withdrew, + Glad to escape from public view; + Laden with presents, and with praise, + Beyond the meed of former days. + But that on which I gaz'd with pride, + Which I could scarcely lay aside, + Even to close my eyes for rest; + (I wear it now upon my breast, + And there till death it shall remain!) + Was this same golden heart and chain! + The peacock crown, with all its eyes, + Its emerald, jacinth, sapphire dyes, + When first, irradiate o'er my brow, + Wav'd its rich plumes in gleaming flow, + Did not so deep a thrill impart, + So soften, so dilate my heart! + No praise had touch'd me, as it fell, + Like his, because I saw full well, + Honour and sweetness orb'd did lie + Within the circlet of his eye! + Integrity which could not swerve, + A judgment of that purer nerve, + Fearing itself, and only bound + By truth and love to all around: + Which dared not feign, and scorn'd to vaunt, + Nor interest led, nor power could daunt; + Acting as if it mov'd alone + In sight of the Almighty's throne. + + "His graceful form my Fancy caught,-- + It was the same she always brought, + When legends mentioned knights of old, + The courteous, eloquent, and bold. + The same dark locks his forehead grac'd, + A crown by partial Nature plac'd, + With the large hollows, and the swells, + And short, close, tendril twine of shells. + Though grave in aspect, when he smil'd, + 'Twas gay and artless as a child, + With him expression seem'd a law,-- + You only Nature's dictates saw; + But they in full perfection wrought + Of generous feeling, varied thought,-- + All that can elevate or move, + That we admire, esteem, and love! + + "Thus, when it pleas'd the youthful king, + Who wish'd yet more to hear me sing, + That I should follow o'er the main, + In good Earl William's sober train, + As slow we linger'd on the seas, + I inly blest each wayward breeze; + For still the graceful knight was near, + Prompt to discourse, relate, and hear: + The spirit had that exercise, + The fine perceptions' play, + That perish with the worldly wise, + The torpid, and the gay. + + "In the strings of their lyres as the poets of old + Fresh blossoms were used to entwine; + As the shrines of their gods were enamell'd with gold, + And sparkling with gems from the mine: + + "So, grac'd with delights that arise in the mind, + As through flowers, the language should flow! + While the eye, where we fancy all soul is enshrin'd, + With divine emanations should glow! + + "The voice, or the look, gifted thus, has a charm + Remembrance springs onward to greet; + And thought, like an angel, flies, living and warm, + When announcing the moment to meet! + + "And it was thus when Eustace spoke, + Thus brightly his ideas glanc'd, + Met mine, and smil'd as they advanc'd, + For all his fervour I partook,-- + Pour'd out my spirit in each theme, + And follow'd every waking dream! + Now in Fancy's airy play, + Near at hand, and far away, + All that was sportive, wild, and gay! + Now led by Pity to deplore + Hearts that can ache and bleed no more, + We roam'd long tales of sadness o'er! + Now, prompted by achievements higher, + We caught the hero's, martyr's fire! + Who, listening to an angel choir, + Rapt and devoted, following still + Where duty or religion led, + The mind prepar'd, subdued the will, + Bent their grand purpose to fulfil: + Conquer'd, endur'd, or meekly bled! + Nor wonder'd we, for we were given, + Like them, to zeal, to truth, and heaven. + + "Receding silently from view, + Freedom, unthought of, then withdrew; + We neither mark'd her as she flew, + Nor ever had her absence known + From care or question of our own. + At court, emotion or surprize + Reveal'd the truth to other eyes. + The pride of England's nobles staid + Too often near the minstrel maid; + And many in derision smil'd, + To see him pay a peasant's child, + For such they deem'd me, deep respect, + While birth and grandeur met neglect. + Soon, sway'd by duty more than wealth, + He listen'd and he look'd by stealth; + And I grew careless in my lays; + Languish'd for that exclusive praise. + Yet, conscious of an equal claim, + Above each base or sordid aim, + From wounded feeling and from pride, + My pain I coldly strove to hide: + And when, encounter'd by surprize, + Rapture rose flashing in his eyes, + My formal speech and careless air + Would call a sudden anger there. + + "Reserv'd and sullen we became, + Tenacious both, and both to blame. + Yet often an upbraiding look + Controul'd the sentence as I spoke; + Prompt and direct its flight arose, + But sunk or waver'd at the close. + Often, beneath his softening eye, + I felt my resolution die; + And, half-relentingly, forgot + His splendid and my humble lot. + + "Sometimes a sudden fancy came, + That he who bore my father's name, + Broken in spirit and in health, + Was weary of ill-gotten wealth. + I to the cloister saw him led, + Saw the wide cowl upon his head; + Heard him, in his last dying hour, + Warn others from the thirst of power; + Adjure the orphan of his friend + Pardon and needful aid to lend, + If heaven vouchsaf'd her yet to live; + For, could she pity and forgive, + 'Twould wing his penitential prayer + With better hope of mercy there! + Then did he rank and lands resign, + With all that was in justice mine; + And I, pretending to be vain, + Return'd the world its poor disdain, + But smil'd on Eustace once again! + + "Thus vision after vision flew, + Leaving again before my view + That [Errata: The] hollow scene, the scornful crowd, + To which that heart had never bow'd, + Whose tenderness I hourly fed; + While thus I to its nursling said;-- + + "Be silent, _Love!_ nor from my lip + In faint or hurried language speak! + Be motionless within my eye, + And never wander to my cheek! + Retir'd and passive thou must be, + Or truly I shall banish thee! + + "Thou art a restless, wayward sprite, + So young, so tender, and so fair, + I dare not trust thee from my sight, + Nor let thee breathe the common air! + Home to my heart, then, quickly flee, + It is the only place for thee! + + "And hush thee, sweet one! in that cell, + For I will whisper in thine ear + Those tales that Hope and Fancy tell, + Which it may please thee best to hear! + I will not, may not, set thee free-- + I die if aught discover thee!" + + Where are the plaudits, warm and long, + That erst have follow'd Marie's song? + The full assenting, sudden, loud, + The buz of pleasure in the crowd! + The harp was still, but silence reign'd, + Listening as if she still complain'd: + For Pity threw her gentle yoke + Across Impatience, ere he spoke; + And Thought, in pondering o'er her strains, + Had that cold state he oft maintains. + But soon the silence seem'd to say, + "Fair mourner, reassume thy lay!" + And in the chords her fingers stray'd; + For aching Memory found relief + In mounting to the source of grief; + A tender symphony she play'd, + Then bow'd, and thus, unask'd, obey'd. + + + + + +The Lay of Marie + +_CANTO THIRD._ + + "Careless alike who went or came, + I seldom ask'd the stranger's name, + When such a being came in view + As eagerly the question drew. + 'The Lady Osvalde,' some one cried, + 'Sir Eustace' late appointed bride, + His richest ward the king's behest + Gives to the bravest and the best.' + + "Enchantments, wrought by pride and fear, + Made me, though mute, unmov'd appear. + My eye was quiet, and the while + My lip maintain'd a steady smile. + It cost me much, alas! to feign; + But while I struggled with the pain, + With beauty stole upon my sight + An inward feeling of delight. + + "Long did the silken lashes lie + Upon a dark and brilliant eye; + Bright the wild rose's finest hue + O'er a pure cheek of ivory flew. + Her smile, all plaintive and resign'd, + Bespake a gentle, suffering mind; + And e'en her voice, so clear and faint, + Had something in it of complaint. + Her delicate and slender form, + Like a vale-lily from the storm, + Seem'd pensively to shrink away, + More timid in a crowd so gay. + Large jewels glitter'd in her hair; + And, on her neck, as marble fair, + Lay precious pearls, in countless strings; + Her small, white hands, emboss'd with rings, + Announc'd high rank and amplest wealth, + But neither freedom, power, nor health. + + "Near her Sir Eustace took his stand, + With manner sad, yet soft and bland; + Spoke oft, but her replies were tame; + And soon less frequent both became. + Their converse seem'd by labour wrought, + Without one sweet, free-springing thought; + Without those flashes of delight + Which make it tender, deep, or bright! + It was not thus upon the sea + He us'd to look and talk with me! + Not thus, when, lost to all around, + His haughty kinsmen saw and frown'd! + Then all unfelt the world's controul,-- + Its rein lay lightly o'er his soul; + Far were its prides and cautions hurl'd, + And Thought's wide banner flew unfurl'd. + + "Yet we should do fair Osvalde wrong + To class her with the circling throng: + Her mind was like a gentle sprite, + Whose wings, though aptly form'd for flight, + From cowardice are seldom spread; + Who folds the arms, and droops the head; + Stealing, in pilgrim guise along, + With needless staff, and vestment grey, + It scarcely trills a vesper song + Monotonous at close of day. + Cross but its path, demanding aught, + E'en what its pensive mistress sought, + Though forward welcoming she hied, + And its quick footstep glanc'd aside. + + "Restraint, alarms, and solitude, + Her early courage had subdu'd; + Fetter'd her movements, looks, and tongue, + While on her heart more weighty hung + Each griev'd resentment, doubt, and pain, + Each dread of anger or disdain. + A deeper sorrow also lent + The sharpen'd pang of discontent; + For unconceal'd attachment prov'd + Destructive to the man she lov'd. + + "Owning, like her, an orphan's doom, + He had not that prescriptive home + Which wealth and royal sanction buys; + No powerful friends, nor tender ties;-- + No claims, save former promise given, + Whose only witness was in heaven; + And promise takes a slender hold, + Where all is selfish, dull, and cold. + + "Slowly that bloomless favour grew, + Before his stern protectors knew + The secret which arous'd disdain. + Declaring that he did but feign, + They, in unpitying vengeance, hurl'd + A sister's offspring on the world. + Thus outrag'd, pride's corroding smart, + The fever of a throbbing heart, + Impell'd him first to wander round, + And soon to leap that barrier ground, + And seek the arch'd, embowering way, + In which her steps were wont to stray. + + "No sleep his heavy eyes could close, + Nor restless memory find repose, + Nor hope a plan on which to rest, + In the wild tumult of a breast + With warring passions deeply fraught. + To see her was his only thought; + Feel once again the tones that sprung + So oft to that endearing tongue, + Flow on his heart; desponding, faint, + But too indignant for complaint; + Say how completely he resign'd + All former influence o'er her mind, + Where it was better to destroy + Each vestige of their days of joy. + To breathe her name he would not dare, + Except in solitude and prayer! + 'Beyond belief I love, adore, + But never will behold thee more!' + Thus thinking o'er each purpose high, + Tears gather'd blinding in his eye; + And bitter, uncontroul'd regret + Exclaim'd, 'Why have we ever met?' + + "These conflicts and these hopes were fled; + Alas! poor youth! his blood, was shed, + Before the feet of Osvalde trod + Again on the empurpled sod. + No voice had dar'd to tell the tale; + But she had many a boding thrill, + For dumb observance watch'd her still; + For laughter ceas'd whene'er she came, + And none pronounc'd her lover's name! + When wilfully she sought this spot, + Shudderings prophetic mark'd his lot; + She look'd! her maiden's cheek was pale! + And from the hour did ne'er depart + That deadly tremor from her heart. + Pleasure and blandishment were vain; + Deaf to persuasion's dulcet strain, + It never reach'd her mind again. + + "Arise, lovely mourner! thy sorrows give o'er, + Nor droop so forlornly that beautiful head! + Thy sighs art unheard by the youth they deplore, + And those warm-flowing tears all unfelt by the dead. + + "Then quit this despondence, sweet Osvalde! be gay! + See open before thee the gates of delight! + Where the Hours are now lingering on tiptoe, away! + They view thee with smiles, and are loth to take flight. + + "See the damsels around thee, how joyous they are! + How their eyes sparkle pleasure whenever they meet! + What sweet flowers are entwin'd in their long, floating hair! + How airy their movements, how nimble their feet! + + "O! bear her from hence! when she sees them rejoice, + Still keener the pain of her agony burns; + And when Joy carols by, with a rapturous voice, + To hopeless Remembrance more poignantly turns. + + "Thus often has her bosom bled; + Thus have I seen her fainting led + From feasts intended to dispel + The woeful thoughts she nurs'd so well. + And must she, by the king's command, + To Eustace plight that fever'd hand? + Proud, loyal as he is, can he, + A victim to the same decree, + Receive it, while regretting me? + For that poor, withering heart, resign + The warm, devoted faith of mine! + + "Have I, too, an allotted task? + What from the Minstrel do they ask? + A nimble finger o'er the chords, + A tongue replete with gracious words! + Alas! the tribute they require, + Truth, sudden impulse, should inspire; + And from the senseless, subject lyre, + Such fine and mellow music flow, + The skill that forms it should not know + Whence the delicious tones proceed; + But, lost in rapture's grateful glow, + Doubt its own power, and cry, 'Indeed, + Some passing angel sweeps the strings, + Wafting from his balsamic wings + The sweetest breath of Eden bowers, + Tones nurs'd and hovering there in flowers, + Have left their haunts to wander free, + Linger, alight, and dwell on thee!' + + "In Osvalde's porch, where, full in bloom, + The jasmine spread its rich perfume; + And, in thick clustering masses, strove + To hide the arch of stone above; + While many a long and drooping spray + Wav'd up, and lash'd the air in play; + Was I ordain'd my harp to place, + The pair with bridal strains to grace. + + "The royal will,--and what beside? + O! what I since have lost,--my pride, + Forbade the wonted song to fail: + I met him with a cheerful hail. + I taught my looks, my lips, to feign + I bade my hand its task sustain; + And when he came to seek the bride, + Her rival thus, unfaltering, cried:-- + + "'Approach! approach, thou gallant knight! + England's first champion in the fight, + Of grace and courtesy the flower, + Approach the high-born Osvalde's bower! + And forth let manly valour bring + Youth's timid meekness, beauty's spring! + + "'Thou darling of a vassal host, + Thy parents' stay, thy kinsman's boast; + Thou favourite in a monarch's eyes, + Whose gracious hand awards the prize; + Thee does the brightest lot betide, + The best domain, the fairest bride!' + + "Mine sunk beneath the mournful look + Which glanc'd disdainful as I spoke; + And, when his step past hurrying by, + And when I heard his struggling sigh, + A moment on my quailing tongue + The speech constrain'd of welcome hung; + But in the harp's continuous sound + My wandering thoughts I quickly found. + + "'Haste on! and here thy duteous train + In rapt expectance shall remain; + Till, with thee, brilliant as a gem + Set in a kingdom's diadem, + Thy lovely mistress shall appear! + O! hasten! we await thee here!' + + "Again did that upbraiding eye + Check my false strain in passing by; + And its concentred meaning fell + Into my soul:--It was not well + To triumph thus, though but in show; + To chant the lay that joyance spoke, + To wear the gay and careless look.-- + The ardent and the tender know + What pain those self-reproaches brought, + When conscience took the reins of thought + Into her hand, avenging more + All that she seem'd to prompt before. + O tyrant! from whose stern command + No act of mine was ever free, + How oft wouldst thou a censor stand + For what I did to pleasure thee! + The well-propp'd courage of my look, + The sportive language, airy tone, + To wounded love and pride bespoke + A selfish hardness not my own! + And only lulling secret pain, + I seem'd to fling around disdain. + + "To him, with warm affections crost, + Who, owning happiness was lost, + Had said, 'Dear maiden, were I free, + They would not let me think of thee; + The only one who on my sight + Breaks lovely as the morning light; + Whom my heart bounding springs to greet, + Seeks not, but always hopes to meet; + With eager joy unlocks its store, + Yet ever pines to tell thee more!' + To him, should feign'd indifference bring + A killing scorn, a taunting sting? + To Osvalde, drooping and forlorn, + A flower fast fading on the stem, + All exultation seem'd like scorn, + For what was hope and joy to them? + As with awakening judgment came + These feelings of remorse and shame, + With the throng'd crowd, the bustling scene, + Did deep abstractions intervene, + O'er yielding effort holding sway, + As, humbled, I pursued my way. + + "The festive flowers, the incens'd air, + The altar taper's reddening glare; + The pausing, slow-advancing pair, + Her fainter, his most watchful air; + The vaulted pile, the solemn rite, + Impress'd, then languish'd on my sight; + And all my being was resign'd + To that strong ordeal, where the mind, + Summon'd before a heavenly throne, + Howe'er surrounded, feels alone. + When, bow'd in dust all earthly pride, + All earthly power and threats defied, + Mortal opinion stands as nought + In the clear'd atmosphere of thought; + And selfish care, and worldly thrall, + And mean repining, vanish all. + When prayers are pour'd to God above, + His eyes send forth their beams of love; + Darkness forsakes our mental sky, + And, demon-like, our passions fly. + The holy presence, by its stay + Drives failings, fears, and woes away; + Refines, exalts, our nature draws + To share its own eternal laws + Of pure benevolence and rest, + The future portion of the blest-- + Their constant portion! Soon this flow + Of life I lost--recall'd below: + From prayers for them recall'd. Around, + A sudden rush, of fearful sound, + Smote on my ear; of voices crying, + 'The bride, the Lady Osvalde dying! + Give place! make room!' the hurrying press + Eustace alarm'd; and, in distress, + Calling for air, and through the crowd + Which an impeded way allow'd, + Forcing slow progress; bearing on + Her pallid form; when, wholly gone + You might have deem'd her mortal breath, + Cold, languid, motionless as death, + I saw before my eyes advance, + And 'woke, astounded, from my trance. + + "The air reviv'd her--but again + She left not, for the social train, + The stillness of her chamber;--ne'er + Its threshold pass'd, but on her bier: + Spoke but to one who seem'd to stand + Anear, and took his viewless hand, + To promise, let whate'er betide, + She would not be another's bride. + Then, pleading as for past offence, + Cried out aloud, 'They bore me hence! + My feet, my lips, refus'd to move, + To violate the vows of love! + My sense recoil'd, my vision flew, + Almost before I met thy view! + Almost before I heard thee cry + Perfidious Osvalde! look and die! + + "'Oppose them? No! I did not dare! + I am not as a many are, + Ruling themselves: my spirits fly, + My force expires before reply. + Instinctively a coward, free + In speech, in act, I could not be + With any in my life, but thee! + Nor strength, nor power do I possess, + Except, indeed, to bear distress! + Except to pour the aching sigh, + Which only can my pain relieve; + Inhuman ye who ask me why, + And pause, to wonder that I grieve: + Mine are the wounds which never close, + Mine is a deep, untiring care; + A horror flying from repose, + A weight the sickening soul must bear. + The tears that from these eyelids flow, + The sad confusion of my brain, + All waking phantoms of its woe, + Your anger, and the world's disdain,-- + Seek not to sooth me!--they are sent + This feeble frame and heart to try! + It is establish'd, be content! + They never leave me till I die!' + + "So little here is understood, + So little known the great and good, + The deep regret that Eustace prov'd, + Brought home conviction that he lov'd + To many: others thought, her dower, + The loss of lordships, wealth, and power, + Full cause for sorrow; and the king + Hop'd he might consolation bring, + And bind a wavering servant o'er, + (Not found too loyal heretofore,) + By linking his sole daughter's fate + In wedlock with an English mate-- + His favourite too! whose own domain + Spread over valley, hill, and plain; + Whose far-trac'd lineage did evince + A birth-right worthy of a prince; + Whose feats of arms, whose honour, worth, + Were even nobler than his birth; + Who, in his own bright self, did bring + A presence worthy of a king-- + A form to catch and charm the eye, + Make proud men gracious, ladies sigh; + The boldest, wisest, and the best, + Greater than each presuming guest;-- + I speak from judgment, not from love,-- + In all endowments far above + Who tastes this day of festal cheer, + And whom his death assembles here! + + "That he is known those look avow, + The mantling cheek, the knitting brow: + I could not hope it did he live, + But now, O! now, ye must forgive! + Most recreant they who dare offend + One who has lost her only friend! + De Stafford's widow here appears-- + For him, my Eustace, flow these tears! + Ye may not blame me! ye have wives, + Who yet may sorrow for your lives! + Who, in the outset of their grief, + Upon a father's neck may spring; + Or find in innocence relief, + And to a cherish'd infant cling; + Or thus, like me, forlornly shed + Their lonely wailing o'er the dead! + + "Can eyes that briny torrents steep, + Others in strong subjection keep? + Yes! here are some that mine obey, + And, self-indignant at the sway + I hold upon them, turn away! + Some, too, who have no cause for shame, + Whom even the injur'd cannot blame, + Now here, now there, above, below, + Their looks of wild avoidance throw! + Nay, gentle cousin, blush not so! + And do not, pray thee, rise to go! + I am bewilder'd with my woe; + But hear me fairly to the end, + I will not pain thee, nor offend. + O no! I would thy favour win; + For, when I die, as next of kin, + So 'reft am I of human ties, + It is thy place to close my eyes! + + "With state and wealth to thee I part, + But could not with De Stafford's heart! + Nor could I mute and prudent be + When all at once I found 'twas thee, + Doom'd ever, in thy own despite, + To take my rank, usurp my right! + I told, alas! my father's name, + The noble stock from which I came:-- + 'Marie de Brehan, sounds as well, + Perhaps,' I cried, 'as Isabel! + And were the elder branch restor'd, + (My grandsire was the rightful lord,) + I, in my injur'd father's place, + Those large domains, that name would grace.' + + "I never saw a joy so bright, + So full, so fledg'd with sparkling light, + As that which on the instant flew + To his quick eye, when Eustace knew + He had not yielded to a yoke + Which prudence blam'd, or reason broke. + 'O! trebly blest this hour,' he cried; + 'I take not now another bride! + I bow'd to duty and to pride; + But, here I pledge my solemn vow, + To wealth alone I will not bow! + The only offspring of a race + No misalliance did disgrace; + Nurtur'd, school'd, fashion'd by their laws, + Not wishing an exceptive clause, + Till thee, my only choice, I met; + And then, with useless, deep regret, + I found in birth, and that alone, + Thou wert unworthy of a throne! + My ancestors appear'd too nice; + Their grandeur bore too high a price, + If, with it, on the altar laid, + Freedom and happiness were paid! + Yet, could I give my father pain, + Or treat those lessons with disdain, + I heard a child upon his knee; + And, at the present, knew to be + Entwin'd with every vital part? + To scorn them were to break his heart! + My mother too, though meek and kind, + Possessing such a stately mind, + That once perceiving what was fit, + If 'twere to die, must still submit; + Knowing no question in the right, + Would not have borne me in her sight; + Though quick her sands of life would run, + Deserting, angry with her son! + Yet noble both, by honour bound, + To take no other vantage ground, + They will not use a meaner plea, + Nor sordid reasons urge to me! + Good and high-minded, they will yield: + I shall be victor in that field; + And for my sovereign, we shall find + Some inlet to his eager mind; + At once not rashly all disclose, + His plans or bidding to oppose,-- + That his quick temper would not brook; + But I will watch a gracious look, + And foster an auspicious hour, + To try both love and reason's power. + Zealous I cannot fail to be, + Thou canst not guess to what degree, + Dear Marie, when I plead for thee!' + + "That the result was plain, I knew, + For I had often heard him sue, + And never known a boon denied. + In secret I became his bride: + But heaven the union disapprov'd-- + The father he so truly lov'd, + Before this first offence was told, + Though neither sick, infirm, or old, + Without a moment's warning, died! + + "This seal'd his silence for awhile; + For, till he saw his mother smile, + Till time the cloud of woe should chace + From her pale, venerable face, + He felt the tale he dar'd not break,-- + He could not on the subject speak! + And oh! the gentle mourn so long, + The faint lament outlasts the strong! + + "Her waning health was fair pretence + To keep his voyage in suspence; + But still the king, averse or mute, + Heard coldly his dejected suit, + To give the lingering treaty o'er; + And once exclaim'd, 'Persuade no more! + This measure 'tis resolv'd to try! + We must that veering subject buy; + Else, let the enemy advance, + De Brehan surely sides with France!'" + + The harp again was silent; still + No fiat of the general will + Bade her to cease or to proceed: + Oft an inquiring eye, indeed, + The strangers rais'd; but instant check'd, + Lest the new vassals should suspect + They thought the monarch's reasons just, + And faith so varying brought mistrust. + De Brehan, with a bitter smile, + Eyes closing, lips compress'd the while, + Although Remorse, with keenest dart, + And disappointment wrung his heart; + Although he long'd to thunder--"Cease!" + Restrain'd his fury, kept his peace. + + + + + +The Lay of Marie. + + + + +CANTO FOURTH. + + Marie, as if upon the brink + Of some abyss, had paus'd to think; + And seem'd from her sad task to shrink. + One hand was on her forehead prest, + The other clasping tight her vest; + As if she fear'd the throbbing heart + Would let its very life depart. + Yet, in that sad, bewilder'd mien, + Traces of glory still were seen; + Traces of greatness from above, + Of noble scorn, devoted love; + Of pity such as angels feel, + Of clinging faith and martyr'd zeal! + + Can one, who by experience knows + So much of trial and of woes, + Late prone to kindle and to melt, + To feel whatever could be felt, + To suffer, and without complaint, + All anxious hopes, depressing fears; + Her heart with untold sorrows faint, + Eyes heavy with unshedden tears, + Through every keen affliction past, + Can that high spirit sink at last? + Or shall it yet victorious rise, + Beneath the most inclement skies, + See all it loves to ruin hurl'd, + Smile on the gay, the careless world; + And, finely temper'd, turn aside + Its sorrow and despair to hide? + Or burst at once the useless chain, + To seem and be itself again? + + Will Memory evermore controul, + And Thought still lord it o'er her soul? + Queen of all wonders and delight, + Say, canst not thou possess her quite, + Sweet Poesy! and balm distil + For every ache, and every ill? + Like as in infancy, thy art + Could lull to rest that throbbing heart! + Could say to each emotion, Cease! + And render it a realm of peace, + Where beckoning Hope led on Surprize + To see thy magic forms arise! + + Oh! come! all awful and sublime, + Arm'd close in stately, nervous rhyme, + With wheeling chariot, towering crest + And Amazonian splendors drest! + Or a fair nymph, with airy grace, + And playful dimples in thy face, + Light let the spiral ringlets flow, + And chaplet wreath along thy brow-- + Thou art her sovereign! Hear her now + Again renew her early vow! + The fondest votary in thy train, + If all past service be not vain, + Might surely be receiv'd again! + + Behold those hands in anguish wrung + One instant!--and but that alone! + When, waving grief, again she sang, + Though in a low, imploring tone. + + "Awake, my lyre! thy echoes bring! + Now, while yon phoenix spreads her wing! + From her ashes, when she dies, + Another brighter self shall rise! + 'Tis Hope! the charmer! fickle, wild; + But I lov'd her from a child; + And, could we catch the distant strain, + Sure to be sweet, though false and vain, + Most dear and welcome would it be!-- + Thy silence says 'tis not for me! + + "With Pity's softer-flowing strain, + Awake thy sleeping wires again! + For she must somewhere wander near, + In following danger, death, and fear! + From her regard no shade conceals; + Her ear e'en sorrow's whisper steals: + She leads us on all griefs to find; + To raise the fall'n, their wounds to bind-- + Oh! not in that reproachful tone, + Advise me first to heal my own! + + "Alas! I cannot blame the lyre! + What strain, what theme can she inspire, + Whose tongue a hopeless mandate brings! + Whose tears are frozen on the strings! + And whose recoiling, languid prayer, + Denies itself, in mere despair? + So tamely, faintly, forth it springs; + Just felt upon the pliant strings, + It flits in sickly languor by, + Nerv'd only with a feeble sigh! + + "I yield submissive, and again + Resume my half-abandon'd strain! + Leading enchain'd sad thoughts along, + Remembrance prompting all the song! + But, in the journey, drawing near + To what I mourn, and what I fear, + The sad realities impress + Too deeply; hues of happiness, + And gleams of splendors past, decay; + The storm despoiling such a day, + Gives to the eye no clear, full scope, + But scatters wide the wrecks of Hope! + Yet the dire task I may not quit-- + 'Twas self impos'd; and I submit, + To paint, ah me! the heavy close, + The full completion of my woes! + And, as a man that once was free, + Whose fate impels him o'er the sea, + Now spreads the sail, now plies the oar, + Yet looks and leans towards the shore, + I feel I may not longer stay, + Yet even in launching court delay. + + "Before De Stafford should unfold + That secret which must soon be told; + My terrors urg'd him to comply; + For oh! I dar'd not then be nigh; + And let the wide, tumultuous sea, + Arise between the king and me! + 'O! tell him, my belov'd, I pine away, + So long an exile from my native home; + Tell him I feel my vital powers decay, + And seem to tread the confines of the tomb; + But tell him not, it is extremest dread + Of royal vengeance falling on my head! + + "'Say, if that favour'd land but bless my eyes, + That land of sun and smiles which gave me birth, + Like the renew'd Antaeus I shall rise, + On touching once again the parent earth! + Say this, but whisper not that all delight, + All health, is only absence from his sight!' + + "My Eustace smil'd--' It shall be so; + From me and love shall Marie go! + But on the land, and o'er the sea, + Attended still by love and me! + The eagle's eye, to brave the light, + The swallow's quick, adventurous flight, + That faithfulness shall place in view, + That service, daring, prompt, and true, + Yet insufficient emblems be + Of zeal for her who flies from me! + + "'Deserter? hope not thus to scape! + Thy guardian still, in every shape, + Shall covertly those steps pursue, + And keep thy welfare still in view! + More fondly hovering than the dove + Shall be my ever watchful love! + Than the harp's tones more highly wrought, + Shall linger each tenacious thought! + Apt, active shall my spirit be + In care for her who flies from me!' + + "And, it had been indeed a crime + To leave him, had I known the time, + The fearful length of such delay, + Protracting but from day to day, + Which reach'd at length two tedious years + Of dark surmises and of fears! + + "How often, on a rocky steep, + Would I upon his summons keep + An anxious watch: there patient stay + Till light's thin lines have died away + In the smooth circle of the main, + And render'd all expectance vain. + + "At the blue, earliest glimpse of morn, + Pleas'd with the lapse of time, return; + For now, perchance, I might not fail, + To see the long expected sail! + Then, as it blankly wore away, + Courted the fleeting eye to stay! + As they regardless mov'd along, + Wooed the slow moments in a song. + The time approaches! but the Hours + With languid steps advance, + And loiter o'er the summer flowers, + Or in the sun-beams dance! + Oh! haste along! for, lingering, ye + Detain my Eustace on the sea! + + "Hope, all on tiptoe, does not fail + To catch a cheering ray! + And Fancy lifts her airy veil, + In wild and frolic play! + Kind are they both, but cruel ye, + Detaining Eustace on the sea! + + "Sometimes within my cot I staid, + And with my precious infant play'd. + 'Those eyes,' I cried, 'whose gaze endears, + And makes thy mother's flow in tears! + Those tender lips, whose dimpled stray + Can even chase suspense away! + Those artless movements, full of charms, + Those graceful, rounded, rosy arms, + Shall soon another neck entwine, + And waken transports fond as mine! + That magic laugh bespeaks thee prest + As surely to another breast! + That name a father's voice shall melt, + Those looks within his heart be felt! + Drinking thy smiles, thy carols, he + Shall weep, for very love, like me! + + "Those who in children see their heirs, + Have numberless, diverging cares! + Less pure for them affection glows,-- + Less of intrinsic joy bestows, + Less mellowing, less enlivening, flows! + Oh! such not even could divine + A moment's tenderness like mine! + Had he been destin'd to a throne, + His little darling self alone, + Bereft of station, grandeur, aught + But life and virtue, love and thought, + Could wake one anxious thrill, or share + One hallow'd pause's silent prayer! + + "Ye scenes, that flit my memory o'er, + Deck'd in the smiles which then ye wore, + In the same gay and varied dress, + I cannot but admire and bless! + What though some anxious throbs would beat, + Some fears within my breast retreat, + Yet then I found sincere delight, + Whenever beauty met my sight, + Whether of nature, chance, or art; + Each sight, each sound, impress'd my heart, + Gladness undrooping to revive, + All warm, and grateful, and alive! + But ere my spirit sinks, so strong + Remembrance weighs upon the song, + Pass we to other themes along! + + "Say, is there any present here, + Whom I can have a cause to fear?-- + Whom it were wrongful to perplex, + Or faulty policy to vex? + In what affrights the quiet mind + My bitter thoughts employment find! + In what torments a common grief + Do I alone expect relief! + Our aching sorrows to disclose, + Our discontents, our wrongs repeat, + To hurl defiance at our foes, + And let the soul respire, is sweet! + All that my conscience wills I speak + At once, and then my heart may break! + + "Too sure King Henry's presage rose;-- + De Brehan link'd him with our foes: + Yes! ours! the Brehans us'd to be + Patterns of faith and loyalty: + And many a knightly badge they wore, + And many a trace their 'scutcheons bore, + Of noble deeds in days of yore,-- + Of royal bounty, and such trust + As suits the generous and the just. + + "From every record it appears, + That Normandy three hundred years + Has seen in swift succession run + With English kings, from sire to son: + But which of all those records saith, + That we may change and barter faith: + That if our favour is not sure, + Or our inheritance secure; + If envy of a rival's fame, + Or hatred at a foeman's name, + Or other reason unconfest, + Now feigning sleep in every breast; + Upon our minds, our interest weigh, + While any fiercer passion sway; + We may invite a foreign yoke, + All truth disown'd, allegiance broke? + Plot, and lay guileful snares to bring, + At cost of blood, a stranger king? + And of what blood, if it succeed, + Do ye atchieve the glorious deed? + Not of the base! when ye surprize + A lurking mischief in the eyes, + Dark hatred, cunning prompt to rise, + And leap and catch at any prey, + Such are your choice! your comrades they! + But if a character should stand + Not merely built by human hand; + Common observances; the ill + Surrounding all; a wayward will; + Envy; resentment; falsehood's ease + To win its way, evade, and please: + If, turning from this worldly lore, + As soul-debasing, servile, poor, + The growing mind becomes, at length, + Healthy and firm in moral strength; + Allows no parley and no plea, + The sources of its actions free, + They spring strait forward, to a goal + Which bounds, surmounts, and crowns the whole! + Ye seek not to allay such force, + To interrupt so bold a course! + What were the use of minds like these, + That will not on occasion seize, + Nor stoop to aid the dark design, + Nor follow in the devious line? + As soon, in the close twisted brake, + Could lions track the smooth, still snake, + As they the sinuous path pursue + Which policy may point to you! + Nay, menace not with eyes, my lords! + Ye could not fright me with your swords. + + "E'en threats to punish, and to kill + With tortures difficult to bear, + Seem as they would not higher fill + The measure of my own despair! + + "Such terrors could not veil the hand + Now pointing to my husband's bier; + Nor could such pangs a groan command + The childless mother should not hear! + + "All now is chang'd! all contest o'er, + Here sea-girt England reigns no more; + And if your oaths are bound as fast, + And kept more strictly than the last, + Ye may, perchance, behold the time + Service to her becomes a crime! + + "The troubles calling Eustace o'er, + Refresh'd my eyes, my heart, once more; + And when I gave, with pleasure wild, + Into his circling arms our child, + I seem'd to hold, all evil past, + My happiness secure at last; + But found, too soon, in every look, + In every pondering word he spoke, + Receding thought, mysterious aim: + As I did all his pity claim. + A watchfulness almost to fear + Did in each cautious glance appear. + And still I sought to fix his eye, + + "And read the fate impending there,-- + In vain; for it refus'd reply. + + "'Canst thou not for a moment bear + Even thy Marie's look,' I cried, + 'More dear than all the world beside?' + He answer'd,' Do not thou upbraid! + And blame me not, if thus afraid + A needful, dear request to make. + One painful only for thy sake, + I hesitate, and dread to speak, + Seeing that flush upon thy cheek, + That shrinking, apprehensive air.-- + Oh! born with me some ills to share, + But many years of future bliss, + Of real, tranquil happiness; + I may not think that thou wouldst choose + This prospect pettishly to lose + For self-indulgence! Understood, + Love is the seeking others' good. + If we can ne'er resign delight, + Nor lose its object from our sight; + And only present dangers brave, + That which we dearest hold to save;-- + If, when remov'd beyond our eye, + All faith in heaven's protection die, + Can all our tenderness atone + For ills which spring from that alone?' + My fancy rush'd the pause between-- + 'What can this fearful prelude mean? + Art thou but seeking some pretence, + So lately met! to send me hence? + Believ'st thou terrors will not shake, + Nor doubts distract, nor fears awake, + In absence? when no power, no charm, + Can grant a respite from alarm! + Unreal evils manifold, + Often and differently told, + Scaring repose, each instant rise, + False, but the cause of tears and sighs. + How often I should see thee bleed! + New terrors would the past succeed, + With not a smile to intervene + Of fair security between!' + + "'No, Marie, no! my wife shall share + With me the trials soldiers bear: + No longer and no more we part.--- + Thy presence needful to my heart + I now more evidently know; + Making the careful moments flow + To happy music! on my brow + The iron casque shall lighter prove,-- + The corslet softer on my breast, + The shield upon my arm shall rest + More easy, when the hand of love + There places them. Our succours soon + Arrive; and then, whatever boon + I shall think fitting to demand, + My gracious monarch's bounteous hand + Awards as guerdon for my charge, + And bids my wishes roam at large. + Then if we from these rebels tear + The traitor honours which they wear, + Thy father's tides and domain + Shall flourish in his line again! + And Marie's child, in time to come, + Shall call his grandsire's castle, home! + Alas! poor babe! the scenes of war + For him too harsh and frightful are! + Would that he might in safety rest + Upon my gentle mother's breast! + That in the vessel now at bay, + In Hugh de Lacy's care he lay! + My heart and reason would be free, + If he were safe beyond the sea. + + "'Nay, let me not my love displease! + But is it fit, that walls like these + The blooming cherub should inclose! + And when our close approaching foes + Are skirmishing the country o'er, + We must adventure forth no more.' + + "At length I gave a half consent, + Resign'd, submissive, not content: + For, only in intensest prayer, + For, only kneeling did I dare, + Sustaining thus my sinking heart, + Suffer my infant to depart. + Oh! yet I see his sparkling tears; + His parting cries are in my ears, + As, strongly bending back the head, + The little hands imploring spread, + Him from my blinding sight they bore, + Down from the fort along the shore. + + "From the watch-tower I saw them sail, + And pour'd forth prayers--of no avail! + Yet, when a tempest howl'd around, + Hurling huge branches on the ground + From stately trees; when torrents swept + The fields of air, I tranquil kept.-- + + "Hope near a fading blossom + Will often take her stand; + Revive it on her bosom, + Or screen it with her wand: + But to the leaves no sunbeams press, + Her fair, thick locks pervading; + Through that bright wand no dew-drops bless, + Still cherish'd, and still fading:-- + Beneath her eye's bright beam it pines, + Fed by her angel smile, declines. + + "Eustace, meanwhile, with feverish care, + Seem'd worse the dire suspense to bear. + Bewilder'd, starting at the name + Of messenger, when any came, + With body shrinking back, he sought, + While his eye seem'd on fire with thought, + Defying, yet subdued by fear, + To ask that truth he dar'd not hear. + + "He went his rounds.--The duty done, + His mind still tending toward his son; + With spirit and with heart deprest, + A judgment unsustain'd by rest;-- + Fainting in effort, and at strife + With feelings woven into life; + And with the chains of being twin'd + By links so strong, though undefin'd, + They curb or enervate the brain, + Weigh down by languor, rack by pain, + And spread a thousand subtil ties + Across the tongue, and through the eyes; + Till the whole frame is fancy vext, + And all the powers of mind perplext. + + "What wonder, then, it sunk and fail'd! + What wonder that your plans prevail'd! + In vain by stratagem you toil'd;-- + His skill and prudence all had foil'd; + For one day's vigilance surpast + Seeming perfection in the last. + Each hour more active, more intent, + Unarm'd and unassail'd he went; + While every weapon glanc'd aside, + His armour every lance defied. + The blow that could that soul subdue + At length was struck--but not by you! + It fell upon a mortal part-- + A poison'd arrow smote his heart; + The winds impelling, when they bore + Wrecks of the vessel to our shore! + + "Oh! ever dear! and ever kind! + What madness could possess thy mind, + From me, in our distress, to fly? + True, much delight had left my eye; + And, in the circle of my bliss, + One holy, rapturous joy to miss + Was mine!--Yet I had more than this, + Before my wounds were clos'd, to bear! + See thee, an image of despair, + Just rush upon my woe, then shun + Her who alike deplor'd a son; + And, ere alarm had taken breath, + Be told, my husband, of thy death! + And feel upon this blighted sphere + No tie remain to bind me here! + Still in my life's young summer see + A far and weary path to thee! + Along whose wild and desert way + No sportive tribes of fancy play; + No smiles that to the lips arise, + No joys to sparkle in the eyes;-- + No thrills of tenderness to feel, + No spring of hope, no touch of zeal. + All sources of heart-feeling stopt, + All impulse, all sustainment dropt. + With aching memory, sinking mind, + Through this drear wilderness to find + The path to death;--and pining, roam + Myriads of steps to reach the tomb! + Of which to catch a distant view, + The softest line, the faintest hue, + As symbol when I should be free, + Were happiness too great for me!" + + Here clos'd at once, abrupt, the lay! + The Minstrel's fingers ceas'd to play! + And, all her soul to anguish given, + Doubted the pitying care of Heaven. + But evil, in its worst extreme, + In its most dire, impending hour, + Shall vanish, like a hideous dream, + And leave no traces of its power! + + The vessel plunging on a rock, + Wreck threatening in its fellest shape, + No moment's respite from the shock, + No human means or power to 'scape, + Some higher-swelling surge shall free, + And lift and launch into the sea! + So, Marie, yet shall aid divine + Restore that failing heart of thine! + Though to its centre wounded, griev'd, + Though deeply, utterly bereav'd. + There genial warmth shall yet reside, + There swiftly flow the healthful tide; + And every languid, closing vein, + Drink healing and delight again! + + At present all around her fades, + Her listless ear no sound pervades. + Her senses, wearied and distraught, + Perceive not how the stream of thought, + Rising from her distressful song, + In hurrying tide has swept along, + With startling and resistless swell, + The panic-stricken Isabel! + Who--falling at her father's feet, + Like the most lowly suppliant, kneels; + And, with imploring voice, unmeet + For one so fondly lov'd, appeals.-- + + "Those looks have been to me a law, + And solely by indulgence bought, + With zeal intense, with deepest awe, + A self-devoted slave, I caught + My highest transport from thy smile; + And studied hourly to beguile + The lightest cloud of grief or care + I saw those gracious features wear! + If aught induced me to divine + A hope was opposite to thine, + My fancy paus'd, however gay; + My silent wishes sunk away! + Displeasure I have never seen, + But sickness has subdued thy mien; + When, lingering near, I still have tried + To cheer thee, and thou didst approve; + But something still each act belied, + My manner chill'd, restrain'd my love! + E'en at the time my spirit died + With aching tenderness, my eye, + Encountering thine, was cold and dry! + To maim intention, fondness,--came + The sudden impotence of shame. + Thy happiness was thriftless wealth, + For I could only hoard by stealth! + Affection's brightly-glowing ray + Shone with such strong, o'erpowering sway, + That service fainted by the way! + + "But now an impulse, like despair, + Makes me these inner foldings tear! + With desperate effort bids me wrest + The yearning secret from my breast! + Far be the thought that any blame + Can fix on thy beloved name! + The hapless Minstrel may not feign; + But thou, I know, canst all explain-- + Yet let me from this place depart, + To nurse my fainting, sicken'd heart! + Yet let me in a cloister dwell, + The veiled inmate of a cell; + To raise this cowering soul by prayer!-- + Reproach can never enter there! + + "Turn quickly hence that look severe! + And, oh! in mercy, not a tear! + The most profuse of parents, thou + Didst every wish fulfil--allow; + Till that which us'd to please--invite, + Had ceas'd to dazzle and delight; + And all thy gifts almost despis'd, + The love that gave alone I priz'd. + + "My yielding spirit bows the knee; + My will profoundly bends to thee: + But paltry vanities resign'd, + Wealth, gauds, and honours left behind, + I only wanted, thought to quit + This strange, wild world, and make me fit + For one of better promise--given + To such as think not this their heaven! + Nay, almost in my breast arose + A hope I scarcely dare disclose; + A hope that life, from tumult free,-- + A life so harmless and so pure, + A calm so shelter'd, so secure, + At length might have a charm for thee! + That supplications, patient, strong, + Might not remain unanswer'd long! + And all temptations from thee cast, + The altar prove thy home at last!" + + The artless Isabel prevails-- + That hard, unbending spirit fails! + Not many words her lips had past, + Ere round her his fond arms were cast; + But, while his vengeful conscience prais'd, + He chid; and, frowning, would have rais'd + Till her resistance and her tears, + The vehemence of youthful grief, + Her paleness, his paternal fears, + Compell'd him to afford relief; + And forc'd the agonizing cry-- + That he could never her deny! + + Of what ambition sought, beguil'd, + His crimes thus fruitless! and his child, + The beautiful, the rich and young-- + Now, in his most triumphant hours! + The darling he had nurs'd in flowers! + His pride, the prais'd of every tongue! + So gentle as she was!--the rein + Of influence holding, to restrain + His harsher power, without pretence, + In graceful, gay beneficence-- + An angel deem'd, her only care + To comfort and to please! + Whose smiling, whose unconscious air, + Bespoke a heart at ease-- + By her--on whom sweet hopes were built, + His cup when fill'd thus rashly spilt! + The treasures he had heap'd in vain, + Thrown thankless on his hands again! + While--father to this being blest, + He saw a dagger pierce her breast, + In knowledge of his former guilt! + And of his projects thus bereft, + What had the wretched parent left? + Oh! from the wreck of all, he bore + A richer, nobler freight ashore! + And filial love could well dispense + On earth a dearer recompense, + If he its real worth had known, + Than full success had made his own. + + So ardent and so kind of late, + Is Marie careless of their fate, + That, wrapt in this demeanour cold, + Her spirits some enchantments hold? + That thus her countenance is clos'd, + Where high and lovely thoughts repos'd! + Quench'd the pure light that us'd to fly + To the smooth cheek and lucid eye! + And fled the harmonizing cloud + Which could that light benignly shroud, + Soothing its radiance to our view, + And melting each opposing hue, + Till deepening tints and blendings meet + Made contrast' self serene and sweet. + + Vainly do voices tidings bring, + That succours from the former king, + Too late for that intent,--are come + To take the dead and wounded home; + Waiting, impatient, in the bay, + Till they can safely bear away,-- + Not men that temporize and yield, + But heroes stricken in the field; + True sons of England, who, unmov'd, + Could hear their fears, their interest plead; + Led by no lure they disapprov'd, + Stooping to no unsanction'd deed! + Spirits so finely tun'd, so high, + That grovelling influences die + Assailing them! The venal mind + Can neither fit inducement find + To lead their purpose or their fate-- + To sway, to probe, or stimulate! + What knowledge can they gain of such + Whom worldly motives may not touch? + Those who, the instant they are known, + Each generous mind springs forth to own! + Joyful, as if in distant land, + Amid mistrust, and hate, and guile, + Insidious speech, and lurking wile, + They grasp'd a brother's cordial hand! + Hearts so embued with fire from heaven, + That all their failings are forgiven! + Nay, o'er, perchance, whose laurel wreath + When tears of pity shine, + We softer, fonder sighs bequeath; + More dear, though less divine. + + Can kind and loyal bosoms bleed, + And Marie not bewail the deed? + Can England's valiant sons be slain, + In whose fair isle so long she dwelt-- + To whom she sang, with whom she felt! + Can kindred Normans die in vain! + Or, banish'd from their native shore, + Enjoy their sire's domains no more! + Brothers, with whom her mind was nurs'd, + Who shar'd her young ideas first!-- + And not her tears their doom arraign? + + Alas! no stimulus avails! + Each former potent influence fails: + No longer e'en a sigh can part + From that oppress'd and wearied heart. + + What broke, at length, the spell? There came + The sound of Hugh de Lacy's name! + It struck like lightning on her ear-- + But did she truly, rightly hear? + For terror through her senses ran, + E'en as the song of hope began.-- + His charge arriv'd on England's coast, + Consign'd where they had wish'd it most, + Had brave De Lacy join'd the train + Which sought the Norman shores again?-- + _Then_ liv'd her darling and her pride! + What anguish was awaken'd there! + A joy close mating with despair-- + He liv'd for whom her Eustace died! + + Yes! yes! he lives! the sea could spare + That Island warrior's infant heir! + For whom, when thick-surrounding foes, + Nigh spent with toil, had sought repose, + Slow stealing forth, with wary feet, + From covert of secure retreat,-- + A soldier leading on the way + To where his dear commander lay,-- + Over the field, at dead midnight, + By a pale torch's flickering light, + Did _Friendship_ wander to behold, + Breathing, but senseless, pallid, cold, + With many a gash, and many a stain, + Him,--whom the morrow sought in vain! + _Love_ had not dar'd that form to find, + Ungifted with excelling grace! + Nor, thus without a glimpse of mind, + Acknowledg'd that familiar face! + Disfigur'd now with many a trace + Of recent agony!--Its power + Had not withstood this fatal hour! + _Friendship_ firm-nerv'd, resolv'd, mature, + With hand more steady, strong, and sore, + Can torpid Horror's veil remove, + Which palsies all the force of _Love!_ + + What is _Love's_ office, then? To tend + The hero rescued by a friend! + All unperceiv'd, with balmy wing + To wave away each restless thing + That wakes to breathe disturbance round! + To temper all in peace profound. + With whisper soft and lightsome touch, + To aid, assuage,--relieving much + Of trouble neither seen nor told-- + Of pain, which it alone divines, + Which scarcely he who feels defines, + Which lynx-like eyes alone behold! + + And heavy were De Stafford's sighs, + And oft impatient would they rise; + Though Friendship, Honour's self was there, + Until he found a nurse more fair! + A nicer tact, a finer skill, + To know and to perform his will-- + Until he felt the healing look, + The tones that only Marie spoke! + + How patient, then, awaiting ease, + And suffering pain, he cross'd the seas! + How patient, when they reach'd the shore, + A long, long tract he journey'd o'er! + Though days and months flow'd past, at length, + Ere he regain'd his former strength, + He yet had courage to sustain, + Without a murmur, every pain! + "At home once more--with friends so true-- + My boy recover'd thus"--he cried, + "His mother smiling by my side-- + Resigned each lesser ill I view! + As bubbles on the Ocean's breast, + When gloriously calm, will rise; + As shadows from o'er-clouded skies, + Or some few angry waves may dance + Nor ruffle that serene expanse; + So lightly o'er my comfort glides + Each adverse feeling--so subsides + Each discontent--and leaves me blest!" + + + + +NOTES. + + + + +NOTE I. + + +_The Lay of Marie_.--Title. + +The words _roman, fabliau_, and _lai_, are so often used indifferently +by the old French writers, that it is difficult to lay down any positive +rule for discriminating between them. But I believe the word _roman_ +particularly applies to such works as were to be supposed strictly +historical: such are the romances of Arthur, Charlemagne, the Trojan +War, &c. The _fabliaux_ were generally, stories supposed to have been +invented for the purpose of illustrating some moral; or real anecdotes, +capable of being so applied. The _lai_, according to Le Grand, chiefly +differed from the _fabliau_, in being interspersed with musical +interludes; but I suspect they were generally translations from the +British. The word is said to be derived from _leudus_; but _laoi_ seems +to be the general name of a class of Irish metrical compositions, as +"Laoi na Seilge" and others, quoted by Mr. Walker (Hist. Mem. of Irish +Bards), and it may be doubted whether the word was not formerly common +to the Welsh and American dialects.--_Ellis's Specimens_. + +The conclusion of Orfeo and Herodiis, in the Auchinlech MS, seems to +prove that the lay was set to music: + + That lay Orfeo is yhote, + Gode is the lay, swete is the note. + +In Sir Tristrem also, the Irish harper is expressly said to sing to the +harp a merry _lay_. + +It is not to be supposed, what we now call metrical romances were always +read. On the contrary, several of them bear internal evidence that they +were occasionally chaunted to the harp. The Creseide of Chaucer, a long +performance, is written expressly to be read, or else sung. It is +evident that the minstrels could derive no advantage from these +compositions, unless by reciting or singing them; and later poems have +been said to be composed to their _tunes_.--_Notes to Sir Tristrem_. + + + + +NOTE II. + + +_Baron De Brehan seem'd to stand_.--p. 6. l. 10. + +Brehan--Maison reconnue pour une des plus anciennes. _Vraie race +d'ancienne Noblesse de Chevalerie_, qui dans les onxieme et douzieme +siecles, tenoit rang parmi les _anciens Barons_, avant la reduction +faite en 1451. + + + + +NOTE III. + +_Where does this idle Minstrel stay?_--p. 5. l. 13. + +It appears that female minstrels were not uncommon, as one is mentioned +in the Romance of Richard Coeur de Lion, without any remark on the +strangeness of the circumstance. + + A goose they dight to their dinner + In a tavern where they were. + King Richard the fire bet; + Thomas to the spit him set; + Fouk Doyley tempered the wood: + Dear abought they that good! + When they had drunken well, a fin, + A minstralle com theirin, + And said, "Gentlemen, wittily, + Will ye have any minstrelsy?" + Richard bade that she should go; + That turned him to mickle woe! + The minstralle _took in mind_,[1] + And said, "Ye are men unkind; + And, if I may, ye shall _for-think_[2] + Ye gave me neither meat ne drink. + For gentlemen should bede + To minstrels that abouten yede, + Of their meat, wine, and ale; + For _los_[3] rises of minstrale." + She was English, and well true, + By speech, and sight, and hide, and hue. + +_Ellis's Specimens of early English Metrical Romances_. + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] Was offended. + +[2] Repent. + +[3] Reputation, glory. + + + + +NOTE IV. + +_On which the slightest touch alone would kill_.--p. 24. l. 6. + +An unfortunate mistake in printing the word _trill_ instead of _kill_, +has made this appear ridiculous: it alludes to the old proverb-- + + You should neither tell friend nor foe + Where life-blood go. + +Any wound in a place while this pulsation passed through being esteemed +fatal. + + +NOTE V. + +_Abrupt his native accents broke_.--p. 50. l. 7. + +The Anglo-Norman dynasty, with their martial nobility, down to the reign +of Edward III. continued to use, almost exclusively, the Romance or +ancient French language; while the Saxon, although spoken chiefly by the +vulgar, was gradually adopting, from the rival tongue, those +improvements and changes, which fitted it for the use of Chaucer and +Gower. In the introduction to the Metrical Romance of _Arthur and +Merlin_, written during the minority of Edward V. it appears that the +English language was then gaining ground. The author says, he has even +seen many gentlemen who could speak no French (though generally used by +persons of that rank), while persons of every quality understood +English.--_Sir Tristrem_. + + + + +NOTE VI. + +_The broider'd scarf might wave in vain_.--p. 57. l. 1. + +To such as were victorious, prizes were awarded by the judges, and +presented by the hands of the ladies; who also honoured the combatants +with the wreath or chaplet, silken drapery, and other appropriate +ornaments; and by presenting them with ribbands, or scarfs, of chosen +colours, called liveries, spoken of in romance, appear to have been the +origin of the ribbands which still distinguish knighthood. + + +NOTE VII. + +_Laden with presents and with praise_.--p. 57. l. 9. + +In the ancient metrical romance of Sir Tristrem, an Irish earl arrives +at the court of Cornwall, in the disguise of a minstrel, and bearing a +harp of curious workmanship. He excites the curiosity of King Mark, by +refusing to play upon it till he shall grant him a boon. The king having +pledged his knighthood to satisfy his request, he sings to the harp a +lay, in which he demands the queen as his promised gift-- + + "Y prove the for fals man, + Or Y shall have thi quen." + +He accordingly carries her off; but her lover Tristrem, who had been +absent at the time, + + "chidde with the king, + Gifstow glewemen thy quen, + Hastow no other thing?" + +The usual gifts to minstrels when they sung were often profuse; rich +clothes, &c. They were, by rank, classed with knights and heralds, and +permitted to wear silk robes, a dress limited to persons who could spend +a hundred pounds of land rent.--_Sir Tristrem, edited by Walter Scott, +Esq_. + +Generosity to minstrels is perpetually recommended in the lays, of +fabliaux and romances. + + + +NOTE VIII. + + +_The peacock crown with all its eyes_.--p. 57. l.17. + +According to Menestria and St. Palaye, the troubadours, or poets of +Provence, were adorned by the ladies with crowns, interwoven with +peacock's feathers; (the eyes of which expressed the universal attention +they attracted)--a plumage in great request, and equivalent to the +laurel of the academic bards. Differing, perhaps, little in intrinsic +value, but superior in beauty and permanence, and more consonant with +the decorations of chivalry. They were not restricted to the +troubadours; for such a diadem, ornamented with gold, was sent by Pope +Urban III. to Henry II. wherewith one of his sons was crowned King of +Ireland; as mentioned by Selden, under the title Lord, and by Lord +Lyttleton, under the year MCLXXXVI. _A Summary Review of Heraldry, by +Thomas Brydson, F.A.S. Edinburgh_. + + + + +APPENDIX I + + +_Extracts from a Dissertation on the Life and Writings of Marie, an +Anglo-Norman Poetess of the thirteenth century. By Monsieur La Rue. +Archaelogia, vol. 13._ + +Mary must be regarded as the Sappho of her age; she made so considerable +a figure amongst the Anglo Norman _Trouveurs_, that she may very fairly +lay claim to the minutest investigation of whatever concerns her memory. +She informs us that she was born in France, but has neither mentioned +the province that gave her birth, her family name, nor the reasons of +her going to England. As she appears, however, to have resided in that +country at the commencement of the 13th century, we may reasonably +conclude that she was a native of Normandy. Philip Augustus having made +himself master of that province in 1204, many Norman families, whether +from regard to affinity, from motive of adventure, or from attachment to +the English government, went over to Great Britain, and there +established themselves. If this opinion be not adopted, it will be +impossible to fix upon any other province of France under the dominion +of the English, as her birth-place, because her language is neither that +of Gascony, nor of Poitou, &c. She appears, however, to have been +acquainted with the _Bas-Breton_, or Armoric tongue; whence it may be +inferred that she was born in Bretayne. The Duke of that province was +then Earl of Richmond in England; many of his subjects were in +possession of knight's fees in that honour, and Mary might have belonged +to one of these families. She was, besides, extremely well versed in the +literature of this province; and we shall have occasion to remark, that +she frequently borrowed much from the works of its writers in the +composition of her own. If, however, a preference should be given to the +first opinion, we must suppose that Mary got her knowledge, both of the +Armoric and English languages, in Great Britain. She was, at the same +time, equally mistress of the Latin; and from her application to three +several languages, we must take it for granted that she possessed a +readiness, a capacity, and even a certain rank in life, that afforded +time and means to attain them. It should seem that she was solicitous to +be personally known only at the time she lived in. Hence we find in her +works those general denominations, those vague expressions, which +discourage the curious antiquary, or compel him to enter into dry and +laborious discussions, the result of which, often turns out to be little +more than conjecture. In short, the silence or the modesty of this +lady, has contributed, in a great degree, to conceal from us the names +of those illustrious persons whose patronage her talents obtained. + +The first poems of Mary are a collection of Lays, in French verse; +forming various histories and gallant adventures of our valiant knights: +and, according to the usage of those times, they are generally +remarkable for some singular, and often marvellous catastrophe. These +Lays are in the British Museum, among the Harleian MSS. No. 978. They +constitute the largest, and, at the same time, most ancient specimen of +Anglo-Norman poetry, of this kind, that has been handed down to us. The +romances of chivalry, amongst the old Welsh and Armoric Britons, appear +to have furnished the subjects of these various Lays; not that the +manuscripts of those people were continually before her when she +composed them; but, as she herself has told us, depending upon an +excellent memory, she sometimes committed them to verse, after hearing +them recited only: and, at others, composed her poems from what she had +read in the Welsh and Armoric MSS. + + Plusurs en ai oi conter, + Nes voil laisser ne oublies, &c.[4] + Plusurs le me ant conte et dit + Et jeo l'ai trove en escrit, &c[5] + +She confined herself to these subjects, and the event justifies her +choice. To the singularity of such a measure was owing its celebrity. By +treating of love and chivalry, she was certain of attuning her lyre to +the feelings of the age; and consequently of ensuring success. Upon this +account her Lays were extremely well received by the people. Denis +Pyramus, an Anglo-Norman poet, and the contemporary of Mary, informs us +that they were heard with pleasure in all the castles of the English +barons, but that they were particularly relished by the women of her +time. He even praises them himself; and this from the mouth of a rival, +could not but have been sincere and well deserved, since our equals are +always the best judges of our merit.[6] Insomuch as Mary was a +foreigner, she expected to be criticised with severity, and therefore +applied herself with great care to the due polishing of her works. +Besides, she thought, as she says herself, that the chief reward of a +poet, consists in perceiving the superiority of his own performance, and +its claims to public esteem. Hence the repeated efforts to attain so +honourable a distinction, and the constant apprehensions of that chagrin +which results from disappointment, and which she has expressed with so +much natural simplicity. + + Ki de bone mateire traite, + Mult li peise si bien n'est faite, &c.[7] + +She has dedicated her lays to some king,[8] whom she thus addresses in +her Prologue: + + En le honur de vos nobles reis, + Ki tant estes preux et curteis, + M'entremis de Lais assembler. + Par rime faire et reconter; + + En mon quoer pensoe et diseie, + Sire, le vos presentereie. + Si vos les plaist a receveir. + + Mult me ferez grant joie aveir, + A tuz juirs mais en serai lie, &c.[9] + +But who is this monarch? 1. We may perceive in it her apprehension of +the envy which her success might excite in a strange country: for this +reason she could not have written in France. 2. When at a loss for some +single syllable, she sometimes intermixes in her verses words that are +pure English, when the French word would not have suited the +measure.--"Fire et chaundelez alumez." It should seem, therefore, that +she wrote for the English, since her lines contain words that +essentially belong to their language, and not at all to the _Romance_. +3. She dedicates her lays to a king who understood English, because she +takes care to translate into that tongue all the Welsh and Armoric +proper names that she was obliged to introduce. Thus in the Lay of +_Bisclaveret_, she says, the English translate this name by that of +_Garwaf_, (Were-wolf); in that of _Laustic_, that they call it +_Nihtgale_ (Nightingale); and in that of _Chevrefeuille, Gotelef_, +(Goatleaf) &c. It is certain, then, she composed for a king who +understood English. 4. She tells us that she had declined translating +Latin histories into _Romance_; because so many others having been thus +occupied, her name would have been confounded with the multitude, and +her labours unattended with honour. Now this circumstance perfectly +corresponds with the reign of Henry III. when such a number of Normans +and Anglo-Normans had, for more than half a century, translated from +the Latin so many romances of chivalry; and especially those of the +Round Table, which we owe to the Kings of England. 5. Fauchet and +Pasquier inform us, that Mary lived about the middle of the 13th +century, and this would exactly coincide with the reign of that +prince.[10] 6. Denis Pyramu[11], an Anglo-Norman poet, speaks of Mary as +an author, whose person was as much beloved as her writings, and who +therefore must have lived in his own time. Now it is known that this +poet wrote under Henry III. and this opinion could only be confuted by +maintaining that it was rather a King of France of whom she speaks, +which king must have been Louis VIII. or St. Louis his son. But this +alteration will not bear the slightest examination; for how could it be +necessary to explain Welsh and Armoric words to a French king in the +English language? How could the writer permit herself to make use of +English words, in many parts of her work, which would most probably be +unintelligible to that prince, and most certainly so to the greatest +part of his subjects? It is true that she sometimes explains them in +Romance, but not always; and when, upon the other hand, she makes a +constant practice of translating them into English, she proves to what +sort of readers she was principally addressing herself. The list of the +lays of Mary is omitted here, as a translation follows. + +The smaller poems of Mary are, in general, of much importance, as to the +knowledge of ancient chivalry. Their author has described manners with a +pencil at once faithful and pleasing. She arrests the attention of her +readers by the subjects of her stories, by the interest which she +skilfully blends in them, and by the simple and natural language in +which she relates them. In spite of her rapid and flowing style, nothing +is forgotten in her details--nothing escapes her in her descriptions. +With what grace has she depicted the charming deliverer of the unhappy +Lanval! Her beauty is equally impressive, engaging, and seductive; an +immense crowd follows but to admire her; the while palfrey on which she +rides seems proud of his fair burden; the greyhound which follows her, +and the falcon which she carries, announce her nobility. How splendid +and commanding her appearance; and with what accuracy is the costume of +the age she lived in observed! But Mary did not only possess a most +refined taste, she had also to boast of a mind of sensibility. The +English muse seems to have inspired her; all her subjects are sad and +melancholy; she appears to have designed to melt the hearts of her +readers, either by the unfortunate situation of her hero, or by some +truly afflicting catastrophe. Thus she always speaks to the soul, calls +forth all its feelings, and very frequently throws it into the utmost +consternation. + +Fauchet was unacquainted with the Lays of Mary, for he only mentions her +fables[12]. But, what is more astonishing, Monsieur le Grand, who +published many of her lays, has not ascribed them all to her. He had +probably never met with a complete collection like that in the British +Museum; but only some of those that had been separately transcribed; +and, in that case, he could not have seen the preface, in which Mary has +named herself. + +The second work of our poetess consists of a collection of fables, +generally called Aesopian, which she translated into French verse. In +the prologue she informs her readers that she would not have engaged in +it, but for the solicitation of a man who was "_the flower of chivalry +and courtesy_," and whom, at the conclusion of her work, she styles +_Earl William_. + + Por amor le counte Guillaume, + Le plus vaillant de cest royaume, + Mentremis de cest livre faire, + Et de l'Anglois en Romans traire, &c.[13] + +M. le Grand, in his preface to some of Mary's fables, which he has +published in French prose, informs us that this person was _Earl William +de Dampierre_. But William, Lord of Dampierre, in Champagne, had in +himself no right whatever to the title of Earl. During the 13th century, +this dignity was by no means assumed indiscriminately, and at pleasure, +by French gentlemen; it was generally borne by whoever was the owner of +a province, and sometimes of a great city, constituting an earldom: such +were the earldoms of Flanders, of Artois, of Anjou, of Paris, &c. It was +then, that these great vassals of the crown had a claim to the title of +earl, and accordingly assumed it.[14] Now, the territory of Dampierre +was not in this predicament during the 13th century; it was only a +simple lordship belonging to the lords of that name.[15] + +Convinced, as I am, that Mary did not compose her fables in France, but +in England, it is rather in England that the Earl William, alluded to by +Mary, is to be sought for; and luckily, the encomium she has left upon +him is of such a nature, as to excite an opinion that he was William +Longsword, natural son of Henry II. and created Earl of Salisbury and +Romare by Richard Coeur de Lion. She calls him "_the flower of chivalry, +the most valiant man in the kingdom_," etc.; and these features +perfectly characterize William Longsword, so renowned for his +prowess.[16] The praise she bestows on him expresses, with great +fidelity, the sentiments that were entertained by his contemporaries; +and which were become so general, that for the purpose of making his +epitaph, it should seem that the simple eulogy of Mary would have +sufficed. + + Flos comitum, Wilhelmus obit, stirps regia, longus + Ensis vaginam capit habere brevem.[17] + +This earl died in 1226;[18] so that Mary must have written her fables +before that time. The brilliant reputation she had acquired by her lays, +had no doubt determined William to solicit a similar translation of +_Aesopian Fables_, which then existed in the English language. She, who +in her lays had painted the manners of her age with so much nature and +fidelity, would find no difficulty in succeeding in this kind of +apologue. Both require that penetrating glance which can distinguish +the different passions of mankind; can seize upon the varied forms which +they assume; and marking the objects of their attention, discover, at +the same moment, the means they employ to attain them. For this reason, +her fables are written with all that acuteness of mind, that penetrates +into the very inmost recesses of the human heart; and, at the same time, +with that beautiful simplicity so peculiar to the ancient romance +language, and which causes me to doubt whether La Fontaine has not +rather imitated our author, than the fabulists either of Rome, or of +Athens. It most, at all events, be admitted that he could not find, in +the two latter, the advantages which the former offered him. Mary wrote +in French, and at a time when that language, yet in its infancy, could +boast of nothing but simple expressions, artless and agreeable turns, +and, on all occasions, a natural and unpremeditated phraseology. + +On the contrary, Aesop and Phaedrus, writing in Latin, could not supply +the French fabulist with any thing more than subject matter and ideas; +whilst Mary, at the same time that she furnished him with both, might +besides have hinted expression, manner, and even rhyme. Let me add, that +through the works of La Fontaine will be found scattered an infinite +number of words in our ancient language, which are at this day +unintelligible without a commentary. + +There are, in the British Museum, three MS. copies of Mary's fables. +The first is in the Cotton library, Vesp. b. xiv. the second in the +Harleian, No. 4333; and the third in the same collection, No. 978. In +the first, part of Mary's prologue is wanting, and the transcriber has +entirely suppressed the conclusion of her work. This MS. contains only +sixty-one fables. The second has all the prologue, and the conclusion. +It has 83 fables. The third is the completest of all, and contains 104 +fables. M. le Grand says that he has seen four MSS. of these fables in +the libraries of Paris, but all different as to the number. He cites one +in the library of St. Germain des Pres, as containing 66 fables; and +another in the Royal Library, No. 7615, with 102.[19] As he has said +nothing about the other MSS. it is to be supposed that he has purposely +mentioned that which had the greatest number of fables, and that which +had the least. Under this idea, the Harleian MS. No. 978, is the +completest of all that have been yet cited. + +In examining the manner in which she speaks of herself, we shall +perceive she does not call herself _Marie de France_, as he has stated, +but says _she is from France_. + + Al finement de cest escrit, + Me nomerei par remembrance, + Marie ai non si suis de France, &c.[20] + +If we consider well the latter verse, there will be no difficulty in +perceiving that Mary wrote in England. Indeed, it was formerly a very +common thing for authors to say that they were of such a city, and even +to assume the name of it. Or even, when writing in Latin, state +themselves either natives of England, or of France. But when an author +writes in France, and in the language of the country, he does not say +that _he is of France_. Now this precaution, on the part of Mary, +implies that she wrote in a foreign country, the greater part of whose +inhabitants spoke her native language; which was the case in England. +She stated herself to be a native of France, that her works might be +regarded as written in a purer and correcter style. + +Monsieur le Grand does not believe that Mary really translated from a +collection that existed in her time in the English language, under the +title of the _Fables of Aesop_; but, if we examine the fables +themselves, we shall discover in them internal evidence of their being +translated from the English. + +Mention is made of counties and their judges, of the great assemblies +held there for the administration of justice, the king's writs, &c. &c. +Now what other kingdom, besides England, was at that time divided into +counties? What other country possessed similar establishments? But Mary +has done more; in her French translation she has preserved many +expressions in the English original; such as _welke_, in the fable of +the Eagle, the Crow, and the Tortoise; _witecocs_, in that of the Three +Wishes; _grave_, in that of the Sick Lion; _werbes and wibets_, in that +of the Battle of the Flies with other Animals; _worsel_, in that of the +Mouse and the Frog, &c. + +The completest MS. of Mary's translation, has but 104 fables; out of +which, 31 only are Aesop's. So the English version that she had before +her, was not a true and complete translation of that fabulist, but a +compilation from different authors, in which some of his fables had been +inserted. Nevertheless, Mary has intitled her work, "_Cy Commence li +Aesope_;" she repeats, also, that she had turned this fabulist into +romance language. Mary, therefore, imagined that she was really +translating Aesop; but her original had the same title; and I am the +more convinced of this, because, in the Royal MS. before cited, which +contains a collection of Aesopian fables, there are but 56. According to +the introduction, they had been already translated into Latin prose, and +then into English prose; and in this MS. as well as in Mary's, there are +many fables and fabliaux ascribed to Aesop, which never could have been +composed by him. + +Again, if we compare the fables which generally pass for Aesop's, with +those written by Mary, we shall perceive that the translation of the +latter could never have been regarded as a literal version of the +former. She is a great deal more particular than Aesop; her +moralizations are not the same. In a word, I think she comes nearer to +Phaedrus than to the Greek writer. + +It will, no doubt be answered, that the Works of Phaedrus have only been +known since the end of the 16th century. This I admit; but am not the +less persuaded that Mary was better acquainted with Phaedrus than with +Aesop. It will, moreover, be contended, that she has herself declared, +that the English version, which served her as a model, was a translation +from the Greek. To this I reply; first, that Phaedrus's fables may very +properly be stiled _Aesopian_, as he has himself called them: + + Aesopus auctor quam materiam reperit, + Hanc ego polivi versibus senariis.[21] + + +And, secondly, that although Mary possessed the fire, the imagination, +and the genius of a poet, she nevertheless had not the criticism, or +erudition, of a man of letters. For example; she informs us, that before +her fables were translated into English, they had already been turned +from Greek into Latin by Aesop.[22] She then gives the fable of an ox +that assisted at mass, of a wolf that keeps Lent, of a monk disputing +with a peasant, &c. + +Amongst these compilers of fables, we find the names of Romulus, Accius, +Bernardus, Talon, and many others anonymous. The first is the most +celebrated; he has addressed his fables to his son Tiberius; they are +written in Latin prose, sixty in number, and many of them are founded +upon those of Aesop and Phaedrus. Rimilius published them at the end of +the 15th century, and Frederic Nilant gave an edition in 1709, at +Leyden, with some curious and interesting notes. Fabricius, in his +Bibliotheca Latina, says, that these sixty fables are more than five +hundred years old.[23] I have already mentioned that there is a MS. of +them in the Royal Library in the British Museum, 15 A. VII., which was +written in the 13th century, and contains only fifty-six fables. They +are said, in the preface, to have been translated out of Greek into +Latin, by the Emperor Romulus. Mary likewise mentions this Romulus, and +gives him the same title. After having remarked with how much advantage +learned men might occupy themselves, in extracting from the works of the +ancient philosophers, proverbs, fables, and the morals they contained, +for the purpose of instructing men, and training them to virtuous +actions, she adds, that the emperor had very successfully pursued the +plan, in order to teach his son how to conduct himself with propriety +through life[24]. + +Vincent de Beauvois, a contemporary of Mary, speaks likewise of this +Romulus and his fables[25]; and lastly, Fabricius informs us that this +author has very much imitated Phaedrus, and often preserved even his +expressions.[26] But, after all, it is uncertain who is this Romulus, +thus invested with the title of emperor; whether the last Roman emperor +of that name, who is likewise called Augustulus or Romulus the +grammarian. I should rather attribute them to some monk of the 11th or +12th century. The rites of the Roman Catholic worship are several times +alluded to, and entire passages of the Vulgate very frequently inserted. + +It is, however, enough to know that in the time of Mary, there did +actually exist a collection of fables called Aesopian, and published +under the name of Romulus; that this author, whether real or imaginary, +had very much imitated Phaedrus; that these Latin fables had been +translated into English; that, without doubt, those of some other +unknown writers were added to them; and, finally, that from this latter +version Mary made her translation into French verse. + +In a MS. of the fables of Mary, it is said this English version was the +work of King Mires.[27] The Harleian MS. No. 978, makes the translation +to have been King _Alurez_. The MS. cited by Pasquier, calls him King +Auvert.[28] The MS. in the Royal Library, 15 A. VII. says the +translation was made by the order of King _Affrus_; and, lastly, the +Harleian MS. No. 4333, makes it the work of King _Henry_. + +With respect to King _Alurez_ or _Auvert_, every one who has examined +our ancient writers of romance, during the 12th and 13th centuries, must +know that the name of Alfred was thus disfigured by them. Thus, two +kings of England, Alfred and Henry, have a claim to that honour. But +whence is it that the historian of Alfred, Asser, as well as William of +Malmesbury, have mentioned the different translations of this prince, +without having noticed that of Aesop?[29] Is it credible that an +Anglo-Saxon version of the ninth century would have been intelligible to +Mary, who had only learned the English of the thirteenth? Had not the +lapse of time, and the descents of the Danes and Normans in the eleventh +century, contributed, in the first place, to alter the Anglo-Saxon? and +afterwards, during the twelfth, the rest of the people from the northern +and western provinces of France, having become dependent upon England, +did not they, likewise, by their commerce, and residence in that +country, introduce a considerable change into its language? The names of +Seneschal, Justiciar, Viscount, Provost, Bailiff, Vassal, &c. which +occur in these fables, both in the Latin text and French translation by +Mary, ought naturally to have been found in the English version. Now +these several terms were all, according to Madox, introduced by the +Normans;[30] and the morals to these fables, which make frequent +allusion to the feudal system, prove more and more, that this English +translation must have been posterior to the time of Alfred. + +In the last place, the Harleian MS. No. 4333, ascribes the translation +to King Henry. The Normans were acquainted with the fables of Aesop, or, +at least, those which were attributed to him during the middle ages. The +collateral heirs of Raoul de Vassy, who died in 1064, when, after the +death of William the Conqueror, they found means to establish their +claims against Robert Courthose; in asserting it, reproach his father +with having made the _lion's partition_ in seizing Upon their +inheritance.[31] + +This proverbial expression very clearly shews that the writings of the +Greek fabulist, or at least of those who had followed him, were known to +the Normans from the eleventh century. It is possible, therefore, that +Henry I. might have studied and translated them into English. Again, all +historians agree in giving this prince the title of _Beauclerk_, though +no one has assigned any reason for a designation so honourable: and this +opinion would justify history, which has given to Henry a name with +which authors alone were dignified. + +Whether Mary followed the English version literally cannot be +ascertained, as we do not even know whether it now exists; and are +therefore under the necessity of collating her fables with those of the +middle ages: and it appears, she translated from the English 104 fables +into French verse; and of this number there are 65, the subjects of +which had already been treated of by Aesop, Phaedrus, Romulus, and the +anonymous author of the _Fabulae Antiquae_, published by Niland. + +The English translation was not only compiled from these different +authors, but from many other fabulists, whose names are unknown to us; +since, out of the 104 fables of Mary, there are 39 which are neither +found in the before mentioned authors, nor in any other known to us. + +The English version contained a more ample assemblage of fables than +that of Mary, since out of the 56 in the Royal MS. 15 A. VII, which made +a part of the former, it appears that she made a selection of subjects +that were pleasing to her, and rejected others. It is very singular, +that England appears to have had fabulists during the ages of ignorance, +whilst Athens and Rome possessed theirs only amidst the most refined +periods of their literature. + +Some may, perhaps, be disposed to conclude that the 39 additional fables +were actually composed by Mary; but I believe, upon reflection, this +opinion must be abandoned. She terms her work a translation, glories in +the enterprize; and, if it had been only in part the labours of her +genius, would scarcely have passed over that circumstance in silence. + +Monsieur Le Grand has published 43 of Mary's fables in prose. His +translation, however, is not always literal; and seems, in many places, +to have departed from the original. He has likewise published many of +the _fabliaux_, or little stories, which he has unadvisedly attributed +to the transcribers of them, and which belong indisputably to her. + +I have examined La Fontaine, to ascertain whether he were acquainted +with the fables of Mary, and had actually borrowed his subjects from the +39 fables which are wanting in all the writers of this kind with whom we +are at present acquainted; and have actually discovered, that he is +indebted to them for those of the Drowning Woman, the Fox and the Cat, +and the Fox and the Pigeon. From others he has only taken the subject, +but changed the actors; and, by retouching the whole in his peculiar +manner, has enriched them with a new turn, and given them an appearance +of originality. + +The third work of Mary consists of a history, or rather a tale, in +French verse, of St. Patrick's Purgatory. This performance was +originally commenced in Latin, at the Abbey of Saltrey, and dedicated to +the abbot of that monastery, and is to be found in MS. in many public +libraries. There are two translations of it into French verse. The first +of these is in the Cotton Library, Domit. A. IV. and the second in the +Harleian, No. 273, but they are not from the same pen: the former +consists of near 1000 lines, and the latter of about 700. M. Le Grand +has given an analysis of one of these translations in his _fabliaux_, +vol. V.; and it is upon the authority of this writer that I have +ascribed it to Mary, as he maintains that she was the author of it, but +without adducing the necessary proofs for this assertion. The Cotton MS. +however, contains nothing that gives the least support to M. Le Grand's +opinion, or even screens it with probability. Neither is Mary's name +mentioned in the Harleian MS.; but as the translator, in his preface, +entitles the work "a lay," and professes he had rather engage in it than +_relate fables_, it may afford a conjecture that Mary has sufficiently +developed herself in speaking of her labours. This, however, is merely a +conjecture. It is not impossible that the MS. which M. Le Grand +consulted contained more particular details on this subject; but he is +certainly mistaken in one respect, and that is, in supposing Mary to +have been the original author of this piece, whilst all the MSS. that +exist attest that she could have been only the translator: and if the +translation in the Harleian MS. actually be her performance, she there +positively declares that she had been desired to translate the work from +Latin into Romance. + +This poem was, at a very early period, translated into English verse. It +is to be found in the Cotton library, Calig. A. II. under the title of +_Owayne Miles_, on account, of Sir Owen being the hero of the piece, and +whose descent into St. Patrick's purgatory is related. Walter de Metz, +author of the poem entitled _Image du Monde_, mentions also the wonders +of St. Patrick's purgatory, the various adventures of those who +descended into it, and the condition of those who had the good fortune +to return from it; but I am uncertain whether he speaks from the +original Latin of the monk of Saltrey, or from Mary's French +translation. In the latter case it should appear that Mary finished her +translation before 1246, the year in which Walter says he composed his +work.[32] + +Whether Mary was the author of any other pieces I have not been able to +ascertain: her taste, and the extreme facility with which she wrote +poetry of the lighter kind, induce a presumption that she was; but I +know of none that have come down to us. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] _Prologue des Lais de Marie._ + +[5] _Lai du chevrefeuille_. + +[6] Pyramus, Vie de St Edmund, Bibl. Cotton. Domit. A. XI. + +[7] Prolog. des Lais de Marie. + +[8] It is reasonable to conclude, that writers flocked in +greater numbers to the court where they were most in request, and were +likely to be most liberally rewarded. Now it is evident that the Dukes +of Normandy, when possessed of the crown of England, were incomparably +more wealthy, though not in the same proportion more powerful, than the +contemporary Kings of France; and it may be presumed that the crowd of +candidates for their patronage, was consequently, much more numerous. +Our Henry the Second possessed, in right of his father, Maine, Anjou, +and Touraine; in right of his wife Eleanor, divorced by Louis le Jeune, +the counties of Poictou and Guienne; in right of his mother Matilda, +Normandy and England; and his power in the latter, the most valuable +part of his dominions, was paramount and uncontrolled, while Louis was +surrounded by powerful and rival vassals. We are, therefore, justified +in suspecting that the courts of our Norman sovereigns, rather than +those of the Kings of France, produced the birth of romance literature; +and this suspicion is confirmed by the testimony of three French +writers, whose authority is the more conclusive, because they have +formed their opinion from separate and independent premises. + +The first of these is M. de la Ravallere. In his Essay on the +Revolutions of the French Language, a work of considerable learning, +supported by original authorities, whose words he almost constantly +quotes, he distinctly asserts that the pretended patronage of the French +princes, anterior to Philippe Auguste, had no visible effect on their +domestic literature; that while so many poets were entertained at the +courts of the Anglo-Norman princes, no one can be traced to that of +Louis le Jeune; that the chronicles of Britain and Normandy, the +subjects chosen by Wace and his contemporaries, were not likely to +_interest_ the French, &c. + +The second authority is M. le Comte de Tressan, a writer, perhaps, of no +deep research, but whose good taste is conclusive on points of internal +evidence. In his preface to the prose romance of "La Fleur des +Batailles," (one of those relating to Charlemagne) he says--The style +and character of these romances lead us to think that they were composed +at the court of the English kings, descended from William the Conqueror. +We find in those of the Round Table, a marked affectation of dwelling on +every thing which can contribute to the glory of the throne and court of +England, whose princes and knights always play the chief and most +brilliant part in the piece. + +Thirdly, the Abbe de la Rue may be considered as having proved the fact, +by pointing out, in English history, the persons to whom the original +romances were addressed. His three dissertations on the Anglo-Norman +poets, in the twelfth and thirteenth volume of the Archaelogia, will +convince the reader that no man has studied, with more attention, the +early history and poetry of France; and he has given it as his decided +opinion, that "_it was from England and Normandy that the French +received the first works which deserve to be cited in their +language."--Ellis's Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances_. + +[9] Prolog. des Lais de Marie. + +[10] Oeuvres de Fauchet, 579. Recherches de la France, l.8. s. i. + +[11] Pyramus loco citate. + +[12] Oeuvres de Fauchet, p. 579. + +[13] Conclusion of Mary's Fables. + +[14] Dictionaire Raisonnee de Diplomatique Verbo _Comte_. + +[15] Martineus Dict. Geographique, v. Dampierre. + +[16] Sandford's Genealogical History of the Kings of England, +p. 114. + +[17] Ibid, p. 116, and M. Paris, p. 817 + +[18] Sandford, ibid. + +[19] Fabliaux, vol. iv. p.330. + +[20] Conclusion of Mary's Fables. + +[21] Phaedr. Prolog. lib. i. + +[22] Preface to Mary's Fables. + +[23] Fabric. Bibl. Latin, lib. ii. c. 3. + +[24] Preface to the Fables of Mary + +[25] Vincent Bellovac, lib. iv. c. 2. + +[26] Fabric. loco citato. + +[27] Menage Diction. Etymol. V. Romans. Duchesne, Oeuvres de +Maistre Alain Chartris, p. 861. + +[28] Pasquier Recherches, liv. viii. c. 1. + +[29] Asser, Vita Alfredi, Malsmb. + +[30] Madox's Hist. of the Exchequer, c. 4. + +[31] Ordoric. Vitalis Hist. apud Duchesne, pp. 488, 681, & +1084. + +[32] See his Works amongst the Harleian MSS. No. 4333. + + + + +APPENDIX II. + + +MARIE'S LAYS. + + +Versions of only two of the Lays can be given; but it will be better to +lay before the reader an abstract of the whole collection, which is in +many respects interesting, because it was certainly written in this +country, was never printed, and is known to exist only in one +manuscript, viz. Harl. MSS. No. 978. + +About 56 lines at the beginning of the work are intended as a general +prologue; and 26 more form the introduction to the first Lay. This +prefatory matter is written in a style of considerable obscurity, which +the author defends by the example of the ancients, and quotes Priscian +as her authority. But the doctrine she means to inculcate is, that those +who possess talents are bound to employ them; and that study is always +good as a preservative from vice and from affliction. She tells us, she +had therefore form'd a plan of translating, from Latin into romance, +_some good history_, but found her project had been anticipated by +others. She then thought of the numerous lays which she _had heard, and +carefully treasured in her memory_. These, she was sure, must be new to +the generality of her readers; and, in this confidence, she offers to +the king the fruits of her labours. After complaining she has met with +envy and persecution where she deserved praise, she declares her +intention to persevere, and relate, as briefly as possible, such stories +as she _knows to be true_, and to have been _formed into lays by the +Britons_. + + Les contes ke jeo sai _rerrais, + Dunt li Bretun ont fait ces lais_, + Vus conterai asez briefment, &c. + +The Lays are twelve in number; nine of which, with the above +introduction, are extracted, with some trifling abridgment, from the +Specimens of early English Metrical Romances, by George Ellis, Esq.; the +two in verse from Way's Fabliaux; and the other from the notes to Sir +Tristrem, by Walter Scott, Esq. + + + + +No. 1.--_The Lay of_ SIR GUGEMER, _or_ GUIGEMAR. + + + While Arthur reign'd, (so chim'd, in earlier day, + Loud to the twanging harp the Breton lay,) + While Arthur reign'd, two kingdoms born to bless, + Great Britain's king, and suzerain of the less; + A lord of Leon, one of fair report + Among the vassal barons of his court, + Own'd for his son a youth more bravely thew'd + Than aught both countries yet had seen of good. + Dame Nature gave the mould; his sire combin'd + Due culture, exercise of limbs and mind, + Till the rare strippling, now no longer boy, + Chang'd his fond parents' fearful hope for joy. + + His name was Gugemar: as strength grew on, + To Arthur's court the sire consign'd his son. + There soon in feats of arms the youth excell'd, + Magnanimous, in sports, or deadly field. + + Chief of the Table-round, from time to time + Illustrious Arthur mark'd his opening prime, + Then dealt him noble meed; the honour high, + From his own hand, of glorious chivalry. + + Knightly in arms he was; one grievous blot, + So deem'd full many a courtly dame, I wot, + Cross'd the full growth of his aspiring days, + And dimm'd the lustre of meridian praise: + With bootless artifice their lures they troll'd; + Still, Gugemer lov'd not, or nothing told. + The court's accustom'd love and service done, + To his glad sire returns the welcome son. + Now with his father dwelt he, and pursued + Such pastimes as are meet for youth of noble blood. + The woods of Leon now would shrilly sound + Oft with his joyous shout and choral hound + At length, one morn his disadventurous dart, + Lanc'd, as the game was rous'd, at hind or hart, + Wing'd through the yielding air its weetless way, + And pierc'd unwares a metamorphos'd fay. + Lo! back recoiling straight, by fairy craft, + Back to its master speeds the reeking shaft; + Deep in his sinewy thigh inflicts a wound, + And strikes the astonish'd hunter to the ground, + While, with a voice which neither bray'd nor spoke, + Thus fearfully the beast her silence broke:-- + "Pains, agonizing pains must thou endure, + Till wit of lady's love shall work the cure: + Wo, then, her fated guerdon she shall find + The heaviest that may light on womankind!" + + Sir Gugemer, who strove, with courage vain, + Up from the earth to rise, distraught with pain, + While hies his varlet home for succour strong, + Crawls slow with trailing limb the sward along; + 'Twas part precipitate, steep rocky shore; + Hoarse at its foot was heard old Ocean's roar; + And in a shelter'd cove at anchor rode, + Close into land, where slept the solemn flood, + A gallant bark, that with its silken sails + Just bellying, caught the gently rising gales, + And from its ebon sides shot dazzling sheen + Of silvery rays with mingled gold between. + A favouring fairy had beheld the blow + Dealt the young hunter by her mortal foe: + Thence grown his patroness, she vows to save, + And cleaves with magick help the sparkling wave: + Now, by a strange resistless impulse driven, + The knight assays the lot by fortune given: + Lo, now he climbs, with fairy power to aid, + The bark's steep side, on silken cordage stay'd; + Gains the smooth deck, and, wonders to behold, + A couch of cypress spread with cloth of gold, + While from above, with many a topaz bright, + Two golden globes sent forth their branching light: + And longer had he gaz'd, but sleep profound, + Wrought by the friendly fairy, wrapt him round. + Stretch'd on the couch the hunter lies supine, + And the swift bark shoots lightly o'er the brine. + For, where the distant prospect fading dies, + And sea and land seem mingling with the skies, + A massy tower of polish'd marble rose; + There dwelt the fair physician of his woes: + Nogiva was the name the princess bore; + Her spouse old, shrewd, suspicious evermore, + Here mew'd his lovely consort, young and fair, + And watch'd her with a dotard's bootless care. + Sure, Love these dotards dooms to jealous pain, + And the world's laugh, when all their toil proves vain. + This lord, howe'er, did all that mortal elf + Could do, to keep his treasure to himself: + Stay'd much at home, and when in luckless hour + His state affairs would drag him from his tower, + Left with his spouse a niece himself had bred, + To be the partner of her board and bed; + And one old priest, a barren lump of clay, + To chant their mass, and serve them day by day. + Her prison room was fair; from roof to floor + With golden imageries pictur'd o'er; + There Venus might be seen, in act to throw + Down to the mimick fire that gleam'd below + The 'Remedies of Love' Dan Ovid made; + Wrathful the goddess look'd, and ill-repaid; + And many more than I may well recall, + Illumining throughout the sumptuous wall. + For the old ghostly guide--to do him right-- + He harbour'd in his breast no jailor's spite; + Compassionate and poor, he bore in mind + His prisoner's health might languish, much confin'd + And oft would let her feet and fancy free, + Wander along the margin of the sea. + There then it chanc'd, upon the level sand, + That aunt and niece were pacing hand in hand, + When onward to the marble tower they spied + With outspread sail the fairy vessel glide: + Both felt a momentary fear at first, + (As women oft are given to think the worst) + And turn'd for flight; but ere they far were fled, + Look'd round to view the object of their dread; + Then, seeing none on board, they backward hied, + Perchance by fairy influence fortified, + Where the trim bark was run its course to end, + And now both dames its ebon deck ascend; + There on a couch, a silken pall beneath, + So wrapt in sleep he scarcely seem'd to breathe, + Sir Gugemer they spied, defil'd with gore, + And with a deadly pale his visage o'er: + They fear them life was fled; and much his youth, + And much his hap forlorn did move their ruth: + With lily hand his heart Nogiva press'd, + "It beats!" she cried, "beats strong within his breast!" + So loud her sudden voice express'd delight, + That from his swoon awoke the wondering knight: + His name, his country, straight the dames demand, + And what strange craft had steer'd his bark to land? + He, on his elbow rais'd, with utterance weak, + Such as his feeble strength avail'd to speak, + Recounts his piteous chance, his name, his home, + How up the vessel's side ere while he clomb, + And then sunk down in sleep; but who impell'd + Its ebon keel, or tissued canvas swell'd, + He wist not: faint, and lacking vital heat, + He sought some needful aid from looks so sweet. + "So brave a knight!--to yield of succour nought-- + What heart of flint could cherish such a thought? + Yet where to harbour him, and how to hide?-- + The husband not at home, means must be tried!"-- + So thought these dames, I ween, that fateful hour, + While feebly onward to the marble tower, + Propp'd, right and left, by snowy shoulders twain, + Sir Gugemer repair'd with mickle pain. + There on a bed of down they plac'd their guest, + Cleans'd the deep wound, with healing balsam dress'd, + Brought, for his plight most fit, choice simple food, + And, watchful how he far'd, attendant stood; + Till now returning strength grew swiftly on, + And his firm voice confess'd his anguish gone. + In sooth, the fay, protectress of his worth, + Had shower'd down balm, unknown to wights on earth; + One night achieves his cure; but other smart + Plays o'er the weetless region of his heart; + Pains, such as beam from bright Nogiva's eyes, + Flit round his bed, and quiral [Errata: genial] slumber flies. + Now, as the ruddy rays of morning peer, + Him seem'd his kind physician's step drew near; + She comes; his cheeks with new-found blushes burn; + Nogiva--she, too, blushes in her turn: + Love sure had neither spar'd; yet at the last + Faintly she asks him how the night had pass'd? + O! how the trembling patient then confess'd + Strange malady at heart, and banish'd rest: + And sued once more for life, restor'd so late, + Now hers alone to grant, the mistress of his fate. + She speaks assurance kind with witching smile, + "No ill from sickness felt so little while!" + Yet nought the knight believes; a kiss, I ween, + Fell from her dainty lips, and clos'd the scene. + + One year or more within some secret bower, + So dwelt the knight beneath the marble tower; + Thoughts of his sire, at last, how he might bear + His son's long absence, so awaken'd care, + Needs must he back to Leon: vainly here + Sues fond Nogiva's interdicting tear. + "Sad leave reluctantly I yield!" she cries, + "Yet take this girdle, knit with mystick ties, + Wed never dame till first this secret spell + Her dextrous hands have loosen'd:--so farewell!" + "Never, I swear, my sweet! so weal betide!" + With heavy heart Sir Gugemer replied; + Then hied him to the gate, when lo! at hand + Nogiva's hoary lord is seen to stand, + (Brought by the fairy foe's relentless ire,) + And lustily he calls for knight and squire: + Now with his trusty blade, of temper good, + The stout knight clears his course to ocean's flood, + Sweeps right and left the scatter'd rout away, + And climbs the bark of his protectress fay; + Light glides the ebon keel the waters o'er, + And his glad footsteps press his native shore. + + His father, who had long time, woe-begone, + Bewail'd the absence of his darling son; + Ween'd the best course to hold him now for life, + Should be to link him closely to a wife. + Sir Gugemer, urg'd sore, at length avows, + He never will take woman's hand for spouse, + Save her's, whose fingers, skill'd in ladies' lore, + Shall loose that knot his mystick girdle bore. + + Straight all that Bretany contain'd of fair, + Widows, and dainty maids, the adventure dare: + Clerks were they all, I ween; but knots like these + May not be loos'd when earthly beauties please. + + Thus while it fares with those, in dungeon deep + See sad Nogiva never cease to weep! + Doom'd by her jealous lord's revengeful mood, + The well her beverage, bitter bread her food, + Lo there with iron gyves chain'd down she lies, + And wails unheard her hopeless miseries: + Scarce brooking longer life, but that the thought + Of Gugemer some gleams of solace brought: + Him would she name full oft, and oft implore + Heaven, but to view his winning face once more. + Long had she sorrow'd thus; her fairy friend + Hears at the last, and bids her sufferings end: + Burst by her magic touch the fetters fall, + Wide springs the gate, and quakes the obdurate wall; + Close to the shore the enchanted pinnace glides, + Feels its fair guest within its arching sides, + Then ploughs the foaming main with gallant state, + Till Bretany's far coast receives the freight. + Meriadus--(that name the monarch bore, + Where first Nogiva's footsteps prest the shore,) + Meriadus such charms not vainly view'd; + He saw, felt love, and like a sovereign woo'd: + She briefly answers:--"None this heart may move, + This bosom none inspire with mutual love, + Save he whose skill this girdle shall unbind, + Fast round my waist with mystick tie confin'd." + Much strove Meriadus, strove much in vain, + Strove every courtly gallant of his train: + All foil'd alike, he blazons far and wide + A tournament, and there the emprize be tried! + There who may loose the band, and win the expectant bride! + Sir Gugemer, when first the tidings came + Of the quaint girdle, and the stranger dame. + Ween'd well Nogiva's self, his dame alone, + Bore this mysterious knot so like his own. + On to the tournament elate he hies, + There his liege lady greets his wistful eyes: + What now remain'd? "Meriadus! once more + I view," he cries, "the mistress I adore; + Long have our hearts been one! great king, 'tis thine + Twin [Errata: Twain] lovers, sadly sunder'd long, to join. + So will I straight do homage, so remain + Thy liegeman three full years, sans other gain, + Thine with a hundred knights, and I their charge maintain." + Brave was the proffer, but it prosper'd nought; + Love rul'd alone the unyielding monarch's thought. + Then Gugemer vows vengeance, then in arms + Speaks stern defy, and claims Nogiva's charms: + And, for his cause seem'd good, anon behold + Many a strange knight, and many a baron bold, + Brought by the tourney's fame, on fiery steeds + Couch lance to aid; and mortal strife succeeds. + Long time beleagur'd gape the castle walls; + First in the breach the indignant monarch falls: + Nogiva's lord next meets an equal fate; + And Gugemer straight weds the widow'd mate. + + + + +No. II.--EQUITAN; + +A prince of Bretagne, so passionately attached to chivalrous amusements, +that he cared neither for business nor gallantry. Nothing but the +necessity of heading his troops could withdraw him from the pleasures of +hunting and hawking; and all affairs of state were managed by his +steward, a man of equal loyalty and experience. Unfortunately this +steward had a beautiful wife: the prince heard her much praised; and +insensibly began to think his sport most agreeable, when it conducted +him, at the end of the day, to the steward's castle; where he had a +natural opportunity of seeing and conversing with the lovely hostess. +Overcome by his passion, almost before he was conscious of it, he began +by reflecting on the baseness of the part he was preparing to act; and +ended, by determining not to endure the misery of privation and +disappointment, if he could succeed in seducing her. Having devised, in +the course of a sleepless night, as many arguments as were necessary to +satisfy his own morality, and formed a plan for securing a long +interview, he set off for the chase; returning after a short time, under +pretence of sudden indisposition, and retiring to bed, he sent to +request a visit from the lady, who then received a very long and +eloquent declaration of love. To this she replied, at first, by proper +expostulations; but when at length assured, with the utmost solemnity, +that if her husband was dead she should become the partner of his +throne, she suddenly gave way, and proposed, with his assistance, to +destroy the steward, so artfully, that neither should incur the +slightest suspicion. Equitan, far from being startled at this atrocious +proposition, assured her of his concurrence, and she continued thus: +"Return, sir, for the present, to your court; then come to pursue your +diversion in this forest, and again take up your abode under our roof. +You must once more pretend to be indisposed; cause yourself to be +blooded; and on the third day order a bath, invite my husband to bathe +and afterwards to dine with you. I will take care to prepare the bathing +tubs: that which I destine for him shall be filled with boiling water, +so that he will be instantly scalded to death; after which you will call +in your and his attendants, and explain to them how your affectionate +steward had expired in the act of bathing." At the end of three months +every thing was arranged for the execution of this diabolical plot; but +the steward, who had risen early for some purpose of business or +amusement, happening to stay rather beyond the time, the lovers had met +during his absence, forgetting that their guilty project was not yet +accomplished. A maid was stationed at the door, near which stood the +fatal bath; but the husband returning with precipitation, suddenly +forced it open, in spite of her feeble opposition, and discovered his +wife in the arms of Equitan. The prince, under the first impulse of +surprize and remorse, started from the bed, and, heedlessly plunging +into the boiling bath, was instantly suffocated or scalded to death. The +husband, almost at the same instant, seized on his guilty partner, and +threw her headlong after her paramour. Thus were the wicked punished, by +the means which they contrived for the destruction of another; and such +is the substance of the lay which was composed by the Bretons under the +name of Equitan. + + * * * * * + +No. III.--LAY LE FRAINE. + +This ancient and curious little poem, translated from the French of +Marie, is preserved in the Auchinlech MSS. It was communicated by Mr. +Walter Scott to Mr. Ellis, and is inserted amongst his Miscellaneous +Romances. It is mutilated in two places, and wants the conclusion. These +defects are supplied from the French prose. + +The prologue begins by observing, that in ancient times, lays, intended +to be accompanied by the harp, were composed on all sorts of subjects. + + Some both of war, and some of woe; + And some of joy and mirth also; + And some of treachery and of guile; + Of old aventures that fell while; + And some of _bourdes_[33] and ribaudy; + And many there beth of fairy; + Of all thinges that men seth, + Most of love, forsooth, there beth. + In Bretayne, by old time, + These lays were made, so sayeth this rhyme, &c. + +The Bretons never failed converting into lays all the anecdotes they +thought worth consigning to memory; and the following was thus composed, +and called Lay le Fraine (frene), or "The Aventure of the Ash." + +In the "West countrie" lived two knights, men of opulence, friends from +their infancy, and married about the same time. One of the ladies having +twins, her husband sent to announce the event to his friend. + + The messenger goth, and hath nought forgete, + And findeth the knight at his mete; + And fair he gret, in the hall, + The lord, the levedi, the meyne all; + And sith then, on knees down him set, + And the lord full fair he gret. + "He bade that thou should to him _te_,[34] + And, for love, his _gossibbe_[35] be." + "Is his levedi deliver'd _with sounde?_"[36] + "Ya, sir, y-thonked be God, _yestronde._"[37] + "And whether a maiden child, other a knave?" + "Tway sones, sir, God hem save!" + The knight thereof was glad and blithe, + And thonked Godes sonde swithe, + And granted his errand in all thing, + And gaf him a palfray for his tiding. + Then was the lady of the house + A proud dame, and malicious, + _Hoker-full, iche mis-segging_,[38] + Squeamous, and eke scorning; + To iche woman she had envie; + She spake these words of felonie: + "Ich have wonder, thou messenger, + Who was thy lordes conseillor, + To teach him about to send, + And tell shame _in iche an end!_"[39] + "That his wife hath tway children y-bore! + Well may iche man wite therfore + That tway men her han hodde in bower: + That is hir bothe dishonour!" + +The messenger was sorely abashed by these unexpected and unjust +reflections; the husband reprimanded his wife very severely for the +intemperance of her tongue; and all the women of the country, amongst +whom the story rapidly circulated, united in prayer, that her calumny +might receive some signal punishment. Accordingly, the lady shortly +after brought into the world two daughters. She was now reduced to the +alternative of avowing herself guilty of a calumny against her innocent +neighbour, or of imputing to herself, in common with the other, a crime +of which she had not been guilty; unless she could contrive to remove +one of the twins. The project of destroying her own child, was, at +first, rejected with horror; but after revolving the subject in her +mind, and canvassing with great logical acuteness the objections to this +atrocious measure, she determined to adopt it, because she could +ultimately cleanse herself from the sin, by doing private penance, and +obtaining absolution. + +Having thus removed her scruples, she called the midwife, and directed +her to destroy one of the infants, and to declare that one only had been +born. But she refused; and the unnatural mother was reduced to seek for +a more submissive and supple agent. She had a maid-servant, educated in +the family, to whom she imparted her difficulties; and this confidential +counsellor at once proposed a contrivance for removing them: "Give me +the child," said she, "and be assured that, without destroying, I will +so remove it, that it shall never give you any further trouble. There +are many religious houses in the neighbourhood, whose inhabitants cannot +be better employed than in nursing and educating orphan children. I will +take care your infant shall be discovered by some of these good people, +under whose care, by the blessing of Providence, it will thrive and +prosper; and in the mean time I will take such means that its health +shall not suffer. Dismiss your sorrow, therefore, and trust in my +discretion." The lady was overjoyed, and accepted the offer with +assurances of eternal gratitude. + +As it was her wish that those who should find the child might know it +was born of noble parents, + + She took a rich _baudekine_,[40] + That her lord brought from _Constantine_,[41] + And lopped the little maiden therein; + And took a ring of fine gold, + And on her arm it knit, + With a lace of silk in _plit._[42] + + The maid took the child her _mid_,[43] + And stole away in an even tide, + And passed over a wild heath; + Thorough field and thorough wood she _geth_,[44] + All the winter-long night. + The weather was clear, the moon was light, + So that she com by a forest side; + She wox all weary, and gan abide. + Soon after she gan heark, + Cockes crow, and dogs bark; + She arose, and thither wold; + Near and nearer, she gan behold, + Walls and houses fell the seigh, + A church, with steeple fair and high; + Then was there nother street no town, + But an house of religion; + An order of nuns, well y-dight, + To servy God both day and night. + The maiden abode no _lengore_;[45] + But yede her to the church door, + And on her knees she sate her down, + And said, weepand, her orisones. + "O Lord," she said, "Jesus Christ, + That sinful mannes _bedes_,[46] + _Underfong_[47] this present, + And help this seli innocent! + That it mote y-christen'd be, + For Marie love, thy mother free!" + She looked up, and by her seigh + An asche, by her, fair and high, + Well y-boughed, of mickle price; + The body was hollow, as many one is. + Therin she laid the child for cold, + In the _pel_,[48] as it was, _byfold_[49] + And blessed it with all her might. + With that it gan to dowe light. + The fowles up, and sung on bough, + And acre-men yede to the plough, + The maiden turned again anon, + And took the way she had ere gon. + The porter of the abbey arose, + And did his office in the close; + Rung the bells and tapers light, + Laid forth books, and all ready dight. + The church door be undid, + And seigh anon, in the _stede_,[50] + The pel liggen in the tree, + And thought well that it might be, + That thieves had y-robbed somewhere, + And gone there forth, and let it there. + Therto he yede, and it unwound, + And the maiden child therin he found. + He took it up between his honde, + And thanked Jesu Christes sonde, + And home to his house he it brought, + And took it to his daughter, and her besought + That she should keep it as she con, + For she was _melche, and couthe thon._[51] + She bade it suck, and it wold, + For it was nigh dead for cold. + Anon, fire she a-light, + And warmed it well _aplight_,[52] + She gave it suck upon her _barm_,[53] + And siththen, laid it to sleep warm. + And when the mass was y-done, + The porter to the abbesse com full soon. + "Madame, what rede ye of this thinge? + To-day, right in the morning, + Soon after the first _stound_,[54] + A little maiden child ich found + In hollow ash thin out + And a pel her about; + A ring of gold also was there; + How it came thither I wot ne'er." + The abbesse was a-wondered of this thing. + "Go," she said, "on _hying_[55] + And fetch it hither, I pray thee; + It is welcome to God and me. + Ich will it helpen as I can, + And segge it to my kinswoman." + The porter anon it gan forth bring, + With the pel, and with the ring. + The abbesse let clepe a priest anon, + And let it christen in function. + And for it was in an ash y-found, + She cleped it _Frain_ in that stound. + The name[56] of the ash is a frain, + After the language of Bretayn; + _Forthy_[57] Le Frain men clepeth this lay, + More than ash, in each country. + This Frain thriv'd from year to year; + The abbess niece men ween'd it were. + The abbess her gan teach, and _beld._[58] + By that she was twelve winter eld, + In all England there was none + A fairer maiden than she was one. + And when she couthe ought of _manhede,_[59] + She bade the abbesse her _wisse_[60] and rede, + Which were her kin, one or other, + Father or mother, sister or brother. + The abbesse her in council took, + To tellen her she nought forsook, + How she was founden in all thing; + And took her the cloth and the ring, + And bade her keep it in that stede; + And, therwhiles she lived, so she did. + Then was there, in that cuntre, + A rich knight of land and fee, + Proud, and young, and jollif, + And had not yet y-wedded wife. + He was stout, of great renown, + And was y-cleped Sir Guroun. + He heard praise that maiden free, + And said, he would her see. + He dight him in the way anon, + And jolliflich thither is gone, + And bode his man segge, verament, + He should toward a tournament. + The abbesse, and the nonnes all, + Fair him grette in the guest-hall; + And damsel Frain, so fair of mouth, + Grette him fair, as she well couth. + And swithe well he gan devise, + Her semblant, and her gentrise, + Her lovesome eyen, her _rode_[61] so bright. + And commenced to love her anon-right; + And thought how he might take on, + To have her for his lemon [Errata: leman]. + He thought, "Gificcome her to + More than ich have y-do, + The abbesse will _souchy_[62] guile, + And _wide_[63] her away in a little while." + He compassed another _suchesoun;_[64] + To be brother of that religion. + "Madam," he said to the abbesse, + _"I-lovi_[65] well, in all goodness, + Ich will give one and other + Londes and rentes, to become your brother,[66] + That ye shall ever fare the _bet_[67] + When I come to have recet."[68] + At few wordes they ben _at one._ + He graithes him[69], and forth is gone. + Oft he com, by day and night, + To speak with that maiden bright; + So that, with his fair _behest_,[70] + And with his glosing, at lest + She granted him to don his will, + When he will, loud and still. + "Leman," he said, "thou must let be + The abbesse _thy neice_,[71] and go with me; + For ich am riche, of swich powere, + Ye finde bet than thou hast here." + The maiden grant, and to him trist, + And stole away, that no man wist; + With her took she no thing + But her pel and her ring. + When the abbess gan aspy + That she was with the knight _owy_,[72] + She made mourning in her thought, + And her _bement_,[73] and gained nought. + So long she was in his castel, + That all his meynie loved her well. + To rich and poor she gan her 'dress, + That all her loved more and less; + And thus she led with him her life, + Right as she had been his wedded wife. + His knightes com, and to him speke, + And holy church commandeth eke, + Some lordis daughter for to take, + And his leman all forsake. + And said, him were well more fair + In wedlock to get him an heir, + Than lead his life with swiche one, + Of whose kin he knew none. + And said, "Here besides, is a knight + That hath a daughter fair and bright, + That shall bear his heritage, + Taketh her in marriage!" + Loth him was for that deed to do, + Oc, at last, he granted therto. + The _forward_[74] was y-marked aright, + And were at one, and troth plight. + Allas! that he no had y-wit, + Ere the forward were y-suit! + That she, and his leman also, + Sistren were, and twinnes two! + Of o father begeten they were, + Of o mother born _y-fere_:[75] + That _hi_[76] so were ne wist none, + Forsooth, I say, but God alone. + The new bride was graithed with oil, + And brought home to the lord is host, + Her father come with her also, + The levedi her mother, and other mo. + The bishop of the lond, withouten fail, + Come to do the spousail. + + * * * * * + +The young rival of Le Frain was distinguished like her sister, by a +sylvan appellation; her name was _Le Codre_ (Corylus, the Hazel), and +the knight's tenants had sagaciously drawn a most favourable prognostic +of his future happiness, from the superiority of nuts to vile ash-keys; +but neither he nor any of his household were disposed to augur +favourably of a marriage which tended to deprive them of the amiable +orphan. The feast was magnificent, but dull; and never were apparent +rejoicings more completely marred by a general feeling of constraint and +formality. Le Frain alone, concealing the grief which preyed on her +heart, was all zeal and activity; and, by her unceasing attentions, +conciliated the pity and esteem of the bride, and even of her mother, +who had hitherto felt the utmost anxiety to procure her dismissal. At +the conclusion of the banquet she employed herself in the decoration of +the bridal chamber, and having observed that the covering of the bed was +not sufficiently costly, spread over it the magnificent mantle she had +received from the abbess, and had hitherto preserved with the utmost +solicitude. She had scarcely left the room when the bride entered it +accompanied by her mother, who casting her eyes on this splendid mantle, +surveyed it with feelings of the most poignant remorse, and immediately +recognized the testimony of her crime. She questioned the chamberlains, +who were unable to explain the appearance of an ornament they had never +before beheld; she then interrogated Le Frain, and, at the end of a +short examination, fell into a swoon, exclaiming, "Fair child, thou art +my daughter!" Her husband was then summoned, and she confessed to him +with tears, and every expression of penitence, the sinful act she had +committed, and the providential discovery of her daughter by means of +the mantle and the ring, both of which were presents from himself. The +knight embraced his child with the utmost tenderness, and prevailed on +the bishop to dissolve the just solemnized marriage, and unite their +son-in-law to the original object of his affections. The other sister +was shortly after bestowed on a neighbouring lord, and the adventures +of Le Frain and Le Codre were formed into a Lay, which received its name +from the former. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[33] Jests. + +[34] Perhaps a mistake in the MS. for ge, i.e. go. + +[35] Gossip, godfather. + +[36] Health, safety. + +[37] Yesterday. + +[38] Full of frowardness, each mis-saying or reviling. + +[39] Each an end, i.e. in every quarter. + +[40] A rich mantle, lined with fur. + +[41] Constantinople. + +[42] Plaited, twisted. + +[43] With. + +[44] Goeth. + +[45] Longer. + +[46] Prayers. + +[47] Receive. + +[48] Fur. + +[49] Folded. + +[50] Place. + +[51] She had milk, and was able to suckle it. + +[52] Certainly, I plight; I promise you. + +[53] Lap. + +[54] Hour. + +[55] In haste. + +[56] In the MS. it is "freyns," which maybe a mistake of the +transcriber. + +[57] Therefore. + +[58] Protect, defend. + +[59] Manhood, here used for the relation of consanguinity. + +[60] Teach and advise her. + +[61] Complexion. + +[62] Suspect. + +[63] Void, carry away. + +[64] Excuse. + +[65] Beloved. + +[66] Of the same religious fraternity. + +[67] Better. + +[68] Lodging, abode. + +[69] Agreed. + +[70] Promise. + +[71] It should be _thy aunt._ + +[72] Away. + +[73] Bemoaned. + +[74] Contract. + +[75] Together. + +[76] They, Sax. + + + + * * * * * + + +No. IV.--BISCLAVERET. + + +This is the Breton name for an animal, which the Normans call Garwolf; +into whose form men were often formerly metamorphosed; and during such +times were the most ferocious and destructive inhabitants of the forest. + +There lived formerly in Bretagne a baron, comely in his person, wise, +courteous, adored by his neighbours, much beloved by his sovereign, and +married to a noble and beautiful lady, for whom he felt the warmest +affection, which she appeared to return. But she had observed, her +husband was regularly absent during three days in the week; and, +suspecting there must be something mysterious in this periodical +disappearance, resolved, if possible, to extort the secret. She +redoubled her expressions of tenderness, bitterly lamented her frequent +intervals of solitude, and, affecting to be persuaded that they were +spent with a mistress, conjured him to calm her apprehensions by a +disclosure of the truth. The good baron in his turn begged her to desist +from an enquiry which would only lead to their permanent separation, +and the extinction of all her fondness; but her tears and blandishments +prevailed, and he confessed that, during half the week, he became a +Bisclaveret. The lady, though she felt a secret horror at finding +herself the wife of a wolf, pursued her enquiry;--Were his clothes also +transformed at the same time? the baron answered, that he was naked: +where, then, did he leave his dress? To this question he endeavoured to +avoid giving an answer; declaring, should that be discovered, he should +be condemned to wear his brute form through life; and observing that, if +she loved him, she could have no wish to learn a secret, useless to her, +and in its disclosure fatal to himself. But obstinacy is always an +over-match for rational argument: she still insisted; and the +good-natured husband ultimately told that, "by the side of an old +chapel, situated on the road to the thickest part of the forest, was a +bush, which overhang and concealed an excavated stone, in which he +constantly deposited his garments." The wife, now mistress of his fate, +quickly sent for a gallant, whose love she had hitherto rejected; taught +him the means of confirming the baron's metamorphosis; and, when their +friends had renounced all hope of his return, married her new favourite, +and conveyed to him a large inheritance, the fruit of their joint +treachery. In about a year the king went to hunt in the forest, and +after a chase which lasted the whole day, had nearly run down the +unfortunate Bisclaveret, when the persecuted animal rushed from the +thicket, and running straight up to him, seized his stirrup with his +fore-paw, began to lick his feet, and with the most piteous whinings to +implore his protection. The king was, at first dreadfully frightened, +but his fear gave way to pity and admiration. He called his attendants +to witness the miracle; ordered the dogs to be whipped off, solemnly +took the brute under his royal protection; and returned to his palace, +closely followed by his savage attendant. Bisclaveret became an +universal favourite; he was fed with the greatest care, slept in the +royal apartments, and though indefatigable in attentions to his master, +returned the caresses of the courtiers, who admired and esteemed, +without envying his superior intelligence and accomplishments. At +length, the king having summoned a plenar at court, his barons flocked +from all quarters, and, among the rest the husband of the false lady. No +one had thought of paying the least attention to Bisclaveret, whose +gentleness was even more remarkable than his sagacity; but no sooner did +the knight make his appearance than the animal attacked him with the +greatest fury, and was scarcely prevented, even by the interposition of +the king himself, from tearing him to pieces. The same scene occurred a +second time, and occasioned infinite surprise. Not long after this, the +king went to hunt in the same forest, and the wicked wife, as lady of +the manor, having sent before her a magnificent present, set forth to +pay her court to her sovereign. Bisclaveret saw her approach, flew upon +her, and instantly tore her nose from her face. This act of discourtesy +to a lady excited universal indignation: even the king took part against +his favourite, who would have been punished with instant death, but for +the interference of an aged counsellor. "This lady, Sir," said he to the +king, "is wife of that knight whom you so tenderly loved, and whose +unaccountable disappearance you have so long regretted." The baron whom +Bisclaveret first assaulted is her present husband. He becomes ferocious +only on the appearance of these two; there is some mystery in this, +which the lady, if imprisoned and interrogated would probably discover. +Britany is the country of wonders-- + + Mainte marveille avuns veu + Qui en Bretaigne est avenu. + +In compliance with this advice the lady was put in close confinement, +the whole secret extorted, and the clothes of Bisclaveret duly restored. +But when they were brought before him the animal appeared to survey +them with listlessness and inattention; and the king had again recourse +to his sapient counsellor, by whose advice they were transferred to the +royal bed-chamber, where Bisclaveret was left, without witnesses, to +effect, if possible, his metamorphosis. In due time the king, attended +with two of his barons, repaired to the chamber, and found the knight in +his natural form, asleep on the royal bed. His master immediately +embraced him with the utmost affection, restored all his estates; added +more, and banished the wicked wife, together with her paramour, from the +country. It is remarkable that afterwards she had several children, all +of whom were females, and distinguished by the disagreeable singularity +of being born without noses. Be assured that this adventure is strictly +true, and that the Lay of Bisclaveret was composed for the purpose of +making it known to the latest posterity. + + * * * * * + + +No. V.--_The Lay of SIR LANVAL_. + + It was the time of Pentecost the bless'd, + When royal Arthur held the accustom'd feast, + When Carduel's walls contained the vast resort + That press'd from every land to grace his plenar court. + There did the sovereign's copious hand dispense + Large boons to all with free magnificence, + To all but one; from Bretany he came, + A goodly knight, Sir Lanval was his name. + Long had the king, by partial temper sway'd, + His loyal zeal with cold neglect repaid; + Yet from a throne Sir Lanval drew his birth, + Nor could all England boast more comeliness and worth. + Whate'er the cause, no gift the monarch gave, + The knight with honest pride forbore to crave, + Till at the last, his substance all forespent, + From his lord's court the hopeless liegeman went. + No leave he took, he told no mortal wight, + Scarce had he thought to guide his steps aright, + But all at random, reckless of his way, + He wander'd on the better half of day. + Ere evening fell he reached a pleasant mead, + And there he loos'd his beast, at will to rest or feed; + Then by a brook-side down his limbs he cast + And, pondering on the waters as they pass'd, + The while his cloak his bended arm sustain'd, + Sadly he sat, and much in thought complain'd. + So mus'd he long, till by the frequent tread + Of quickening feet constrain'd, he turn'd his head; + Close by his side there stood a female pair, + Both richly clad, and both enchanting fair; + With courteous guise the wondering knight they greet + With winning speech, with invitation sweet + From their kind mistress, where at ease she lay, + And in her tent beguil'd the lingering day. + Awhile Sir Lanval reft of sense appear'd; + Then up at once his mailed limbs he rear'd, + And with his guides impatient to proceed, + Though a true knight, for once forgot his steed. + And now with costliest silk superbly dight, + A gay pavilion greets the warrior's sight; + Its taper spire a towering eagle crown'd, + In substance gold, of workmanship renown'd. + Within, recumbent on a couch, was laid + A form more perfect than e'er man survey'd: + The new-blown rose, the lily's virgin prime, + In the fresh hour of fragrant summer-time, + Though of all flowers the fairest of the fair, + With this sweet paragon might ill compare; + And o'er her shoulders flow'd with graceful pride, + Though for the heat some little cast aside, + A crimson pall of Alexandria's dye, + With snowy ermine lin'd, befitting royalty; + Yet was her skin, where chance bewray'd the sight, + Far purer than the snowy ermine's white. + 'Lanval!' she cried, as in amazed mood, + Of speech and motion void, the warrior stood, + 'Lanval!' she cried, ''tis you I seek for here; + Your worth has won me: knight, I love thee dear; + And of my love such proof will soon impart, + Shall wing with envy thy proud sovereign's heart: + Then slighted merit shall be fully known, + And kings repine at wealth beyond their own.' + Words such as these arous'd the astonish'd knight, + He felt love's kindling flame inspire his spright, + And, 'O pure paragon,' he straight replied, + 'Thy love is all! I hold no wish beside! + If bliss so rare thy favouring lips decree, + No deed shall foil thy champion's chivalry; + No toil shall wear, no danger shall dismay, + Let my queen will, and Lanval must obey: + So may I thrive as, from this moment bless'd, + One hope I cherish, one sole boon request, + Thy winning form, thy fostering smiles to see, + And never, never more to part from thee.' + + So speaking ceas'd awhile the enraptur'd knight, + For now the two fair damsels met his sight; + Each on her arm resplendent vestments brought, + Fresh from the loom, magnificently wrought: + Enrob'd in them, with added grace he mov'd, + As one by nature form'd to be belov'd; + And, by the fairy to the banquet led, + And placed beside her on one genial bed, + Whiles the twain handmaids every want supplied, + Cates were his fare to mortal man denied: + Yet was there one, the foremost of the feast, + One food there was far sweeter than the rest, + One food there was did feed the warriors flame, + For from his lady's lovely lips it came. + + What feeble wit of man might here suffice, + To point with colours dim Sir Lanval's extacies! + There lapt in bliss he lies, there fain would stay, + There dream the remnant of his life away: + But o'er their loves his dew still evening shed, + Night gathered on amain, and thus the fairy said; + 'Rise, knight! I may not longer keep thee here; + Back to the court return and nothing fear, + There, in all princely cost, profusely free, + Maintain the honour of thyself and me; + There feed thy lavish fancies uncontroul'd, + And trust the exhaustless power of fairy gold. + 'But should reflection thy soft bosom move, + And wake sad wishes for thy absent love; + (And sure such wishes thou canst never frame, + From any place where presence would be shame), + Whene'er thou call thy joyful eyes shall see + This form, invisible to all but thee. + One thing I warn thee; let the blessing rest + An unrevealed treasure in thy breast; + If here thou fail, that hour my favours end, + Nor wilt thou ever more behold thy friend:'-- + Here, with a parting kiss, broke off the fay, + 'Farewell!' she cried, and sudden pass'd away. + The knight look'd up, and just without the tent + Beheld his faithful steed, and forth he went; + Light on his back he leap'd with graceful mein, + And to the towers of Carduel turn'd the rein; + Yet ever and anon he look'd behind + With strange amaz'd uncertainty of mind, + As one who hop'd some further proofs to spy + If all were airy dream or just reality. + + And now great Arthur's court beheld the knight + In sumptuous guise magnificently dight; + Large were his presents, cost was nothing spar'd, + And every former friend his bounty shar'd. + Now ransom'd thralls, now worthy knights supplied + With equipage their scanty means denied; + Now minstrels clad their patron's deeds proclaim, + And add just honour to Sir Lanval's name. + Nor did his kindness yield a sparing meed + To the poor pilgrim, in his lowly weed; + Nor less to those who erst, in fight renown'd, + Had borne the bloody cross, and warr'd on paynim ground: + Yet, as his best belov'd so lately told, + His unexhausted purse o'erflow'd with gold. + But what far dearer solace did impart, + And thrill'd with thankfulness his loyal heart, + Was the choice privilege, that, night or day, + Whene'er his whisper'd prayer invok'd the fay, + That loveliest form, surpassing mortal charms, + Bless'd his fond eyes, and fill'd his circling arms. + + Now shall ye hear how these delights so pure + Chang'd all to trouble and discomfiture. + + 'Twas on the solemn feast of sainted John, + When knights past tale did in the castle won, + That, supper done, 'twas will'd they all should fare + Forth to the orchard green, awhile to ramble there. + The queen, who long had mark'd, with much delight, + The gallant graces of the Breton knight, + Soon, from the window of her lofty tower, + Mid the gay band espied him in a bower, + And turning to her dames with blythe intent, + 'Hence, all!' she cried; 'we join the merriment!' + All took the word, to the gay band they hied, + The queen, besure, was close to Lanval's side, + Sprightly she seem'd, and sportfully did toy, + And caught his hand to dance, and led the general joy, + + Lanval alone was dull where all was gay, + His thoughts were fixed on his lovely fay: + Soon as he deftly might, he fled the throng; + And her dear name nigh trembled on his tongue, + When the fond queen, who well had trac'd his flight, + Stepp'd forth, and cross'd his disappointed sight. + Much had she sought to meet the knight alone; + Now in these words she made her passion known: + 'Lanval!' she said, 'thy worth, long season past, + 'In my deserv'd esteem hath fix'd thee fast: + 'Tis thine this prosperous presage to improve:-- + Say, gentle knight, canst thou return my love? + + The knight, ye wot, love's paragon ador'd, + And, had his heart been free, rever'd his word; + True to his king, the fealty of his soul + Abhorr'd all commerce with a thought so foul. + In fine, the sequel of my tale to tell, + From the shent queen such bitter slander fell, + That, with an honest indignation strong, + The fatal secret 'scap'd Sir Lanval's tongue: + 'Yes!' he declar'd, 'he felt love's fullest power! + Yes!' he declar'd, 'he had a paramour! + But one, so perfect in all female grace, + Those charms might scarcely win her handmaid's place; + Those charms, were now one menial damsel near, + Would lose this little light, and disappear.' + + Strong degradation sure the words implied; + The queen stood mute, she could not speak for pride; + But quick she turn'd, and to her chamber sped, + There prostrate lay, and wept upon her bed; + There vow'd the coming of her lord to wait, + Nor mov'd till promis'd vengeance seal'd her hate. + + The king, that day devoted to the chace, + Ne'er till the close of evening sought the place; + Then at his feet the fair deceiver fell, + And gloss'd her artful tale of mischief well; + Told how a saucy knight his queen abus'd, + With prayer of proffer'd love, with scorn refus'd; + Thereat how rudely rail'd the ruffian shent, + With slanderous speech and foul disparagement, + And boastfully declar'd such charms array'd + The veriest menial where his vows were paid, + That, might one handmaid of that dame be seen, + All eyes would shun with scorn imperial Arthur's queen. + The weeping tale of her, his heart ador'd, + Wak'd the quick wrath of her deluded lord; + Sternly he menac'd some disastrous end + By fire or cord, should soon that wretch attend, + And straight dispatched three barons bold to bring + The culprit to the presence of his king. + + Lanval! the while, the queen no longer near, + Home to his chamber hied with heavy cheer: + Much did he dread his luckless boast might prove + The eternal forfeit of his lady's love; + And, all impatient his dark doom to try, + And end the pangs of dire uncertainty, + His humble prayer he tremblingly preferr'd, + Wo worth the while! his prayer no more was heard. + O! how he wail'd! how curs'd the unhappy day! + Deaf still remained the unrelenting fay. + Him, thus dismay'd, the approaching barons found; + Outstretch'd he lay, and weeping, on the ground; + To reckless ears their summons they declar'd, + Lost was his fay, for nought beside he car'd; + So forth they led him, void of will or word, + Dead was his heart within, his wretched life abhorr'd. + + They reach the presence; there he hears surpriz'd + The mortal charge of felony devis'd: + Stern did the monarch look, and sharp upbraid + For foul seducement of his queen assay'd: + The knight, whose loyal heart disdain'd the offence, + With generous warmth affirm'd his innocence; + He ne'er devis'd seduction:--for the rest, + His speech discourteous, frankly he confess'd; + Influenc'd with ire his lips forwent their guard; + He stood prepared to bide the court's award. + Straight from his peers were chosen judges nam'd: + Then fix the trial, with due forms proclaim'd; + By them 'tis order'd that the accus'd assign + Three men for pledge, or in a prison pine. + + Lanval! 'tis told, had pass'd from foreign strand, + And kinsmen none there dwelt on English land; + And well he knew that in the hour of proof + Friends for the most part fail, and stand aloof: + Sue them he would not, but with manly pride + In silence turn'd, and toward his prison hied. + With generous grief the deed Sir Gawaine view'd; + Dear to the king was he, and nephew of his blood, + But liberal worth past nature's ties prevail'd, + And sympathy stood forth, if friendship fail'd; + Nor less good-will full many a knight inspir'd; + With general voice the prisoner all requir'd, + All pledg'd their fiefs he should not fail the day, + And homeward bore him from the court away. + + His friends, for sure they well that title claim, + First thought the licence of his tongue to blame; + But, when they mark'd how deeply he was mov'd, + They sooth'd and cherish'd rather than reprov'd. + Each day, as mute he sat in desperate grief, + They spoke kind words of comfort and relief; + Each day, howe'er they sought, howe'er they sued, + Scarce might they win his lips to taste of food: + 'Come, welcome death!' forever was his cry; + 'Lo, here a wretch who wishes but to die!' + So still he wail'd, till woe such mastery wan + They trembled for his nobler powers of man; + They fear'd lest reason's tottering rule should end + And to a moping ideot sink their friend. + + At length came on the day, long since decreed, + When the sad knight should suffer or be freed. + From every part the assembling barons meet: + Each judge, as fore-ordain'd, assumes his seat; + The king, too strongly sway'd by female pride, + O'er the grave council will himself preside, + And, while the presence of his queen inspires, + Goads on the judgment as her wrath requires. + There might be seen that honourable band + Late for the prisoner pledg'd in fief and land; + Slow they advance, then stand before the board, + Whiles all behold the entrusted thrall restor'd. + With many a question next the accus'd was prov'd; + Then, while the votes were given, awhile remov'd. + But those brave warriors, when they weigh'd the plight + And the fair promise of this hapless knight, + His youth, for yet he reach'd not manhood's prime; + His gallant mien, his life without a crime, + His helpless state by kindred unsustain'd, + In a strange court and in a foreign land, + All cried aloud, were Lanval doom'd to die, + It were a doom of shame and cruelty. + + At first 'twas mov'd, that straight conducted thence, + Some meet confinement should chastise the offence; + When one grave peer, in honest hope to wave + The dire debasement of a youth so brave, + Produc'd this purpose, with such reasoning grac'd, + 'Twas with the general plaudit soon embrac'd: + ''Twas urg'd,' he said, 'and sure the offence he blam'd, + Their queen by base comparison was sham'd; + That he, the prisoner, with strange fury mov'd, + Had prais'd too proudly the fair dame he lov'd; + First, then, 'twere meet this mistress should be seen + There in full court, and plac'd beside the queen; + So might they judge of passion's mad pretence, + Or truth had wrought the ungrateful preference.' + + So spoke the judge; Sir Lanval hears the doom, + And weens his hour of destiny is come; + Quench'd is the lore that erst, in happier day, + Won to his whisper'd prayer the willing fay; + And the last licence pitying laws devise, + Serves but to close the count of miseries! + + When, lo! strange shouts of joy and clamourous cheers, + Rose from without, and stay'd the astonish'd peers: + At hand two damsels entering in were seen, + Lovely alike their look, and noble was their mien; + On a grey dappled steed each lady rode, + That pac'd for pride, as conscious of his load; + 'Lo here!' 'twas murmured round with new delight, + 'Lo here, the mistress of the Breton knight!' + The twain meanwhile pass'd onward undelay'd, + And to the king their graceful greetings paid, + Then told their lady's coming, and desir'd + Such harbourage as highest rank requir'd. + + E'en as they spoke, twain others, lovelier fair, + Of stature loftier, of more royal air, + Came proudly on: of gold their purfled vest, + Well shap'd, each symmetry of limb confess'd: + On goodly mules from farthest Spain they brought, + This pair the presence of the sovereign sought. + + The impatient king, ere well their lips had power, + To claim fit harbourage of board and bower, + Led on their way; and, court'sies scantly done, + Back to the peers be sped, and press'd the judgment on; + For much, meseems, his vengeful heart misgave + Some thwarting chance the Breton knight might save. + + Just were his boding fears: new shouts ascend + Of loud acclaim; and wide the welkin rend. + A female form the wondering peers behold, + Too bright for mixture of earth's mortal mould: + The gridelin pall that down her shoulders flow'd + Half veil'd her snow-white courser as she rode; + On her fair hand a sparrow-hawk was plac'd, + Her steed's sure steps a following grey-hound trac'd + And, as she pass'd, still pressing to the right + Female and male, and citizen and knight, + What wight soe'er in Carduel's walls was found, + Swell'd the full quire, and spread the joy around. + + Lanval, the while, apart from all the rest, + Sat sadly waiting for his doom unbless'd: + (Not that he fear'd to die: death rather sued; + For life was nought, despoil'd of all its good:) + To his dull ears his hastening friends proclaim + The fancied form and presence of his dame; + Feebly he rais'd his head: and, at the sight, + In a strange extacy of wild delight, + ''Tis she! 'tis she!' was all his faultering cry, + 'I see her once again now satisfied I die!' + + Thus while he spake, the peers with seemly state. + Led by their king, the illustrious stranger wait; + Proud Carduel's palace hail'd its princely guest, + And thus the dame the assembled court address'd. + 'List, king, and barons!--Arthur, I have lov'd + A knight most loyal in thy service prov'd; + Him, by thy foul neglect, reduc'd to need, + These hands did recompense; they did thy deed. + He disobey's me; I forbore to save; + I left him at the portal of the grave: + Firm loyalty hath well that breach repair'd-- + He loves me still, nor shall he lack reward. + 'Barons! your court its judgment did decree, + Quittance or death, your queen compar'd with me: + Behold the mistress of the knight is come, + Now judge between us? and pronounce the doom.' + + All cry aloud, the words of love were right, + And one united voice acquits the knight. + Back from the palace turns the parting fay, + And with her beauteous damsels speeds away: + Her, as she pass'd the enraptur'd Lanval view'd; + High on the portal's marble steps he stood; + On his tall steed he sprang with vigorous bound; + Thenceforth their footsteps never wight hath found. + + But 'tis the Breton tale, they both are gone + To the fair isle of fertile Avalon; + There, in the lap of love for ever laid, + By sorrow unassail'd, in bliss embay'd, + They make their won: for me, where'er they dwell, + No farther tale befalls me here to tell. + + +Thomas Chestre translated this tale in the reign of Henry 6, but the +extracts published by Mr. Warton, differ in some particulars from the +tale here given. + + + + +No. VI.--LES DEUX AMANTS. + + +In Neustria, now called Normandy is a single mountain of unusual height +and verdure, railed the mountain "of the two lovers," in consequence of +an adventure to which it gave rise, and of which the Bretons have formed +a lay. Close to it are the remains of a city, now reduced to a few +houses, but formerly opulent, founded by the king of the Pistreins, +whence it was called Depistreins, and the neighbouring valley Val de +Pistre. This king had one only daughter, whom he loved so much that he +could not bear to be separated from her. With a view to check the +pursuits of the lovers, whom her beauty and accomplishments attracted, +he published a decree, that her hand should never be granted but to a +suitor who should be able to carry her, without resting, from the bottom +to the top of the adjoining mountain. Many attempted the enterprise, for +presumption is common; none achieved it, because its execution was +barely possible. The suitors disappeared, one by one, and the beautiful +princess seemed doomed to eternal celibacy. There was one youth, the son +of a neighbouring baron, who was a favourite with the king and the whole +court, and whose assiduities, which were dictated by an unconquerable +and sincere passion, ultimately gained the lady's warmest affections. +It was long a secret to all the world: but this discretion became, at +length, almost intolerable; and the youth, hopeless of fulfilling the +condition which alone could obtain her hand, earnestly conjured her to +fly from her father's court. To this she would not consent, but +suggested a mode of accomplishing their wishes more compatible with her +filial piety: "I have," said she, "a rich aunt, who resides, and has +studied during thirty years, at Salerno. In that celebrated school she +has so completely acquired the art of medicine; has learned so many +_salves_ and drugs; has so studied _herbs_ and _roots_, that she will be +enabled to compose for you _electuaries_ and _drinks_, capable of +communicating the degree of vigour necessary to the accomplishment of +the trial prescribed by my father. To her you shall bear a letter from +me, and at your return shall demand me from the king, on the terms to +which he has himself assented." The lover thanked her; went home, +provided the necessary assortment of rich clothes, and other +merchandize, of palfreys, beasts of burthen and attendants, and set off +for Salerno. His mission was successful: the good aunt's electuaries +rendered him much more athletic than before; and he brought back, in a +small vial, an elixir capable of instantly restoring strength at the +moment of complete exhaustion. He therefore was full of confidence, and +claimed the trial. The king having summoned all his principal vassals to +behold the ceremony, conducted his daughter into the great plain on the +banks of the Seine, and found the youth already stationed at the foot of +the mountain. The lovely princess had scarcely tasted food since the +departure of her lover; she would gladly have wasted herself to the +lightness of air for the purpose of diminishing his labour. She wore +only a single robe which closely enveloped her. Her lover catching her +up with one hand, and bearing the precious vial in the other, appeared +perfectly unconscious of the burthen, and bore her, with the rapidity of +lightning, more than half way up the mountain: but here she perceived +his breath began to fail, and conjured him to have recourse to his +medicine. He replied, that he was still full of vigour; was too much +within sight of the multitude below, that their cries on seeing him +stop, even for an instant, would annoy and dishearten him; and that, +while able to proceed alone, he would not appeal to preternatural +assistance. At two-thirds of the height she felt him totter under the +weight, and again repeated her earnest entreaties. But he no longer +heard or listened: exerting his whole remains of strength, he staggered +with her to the top, still bearing the untasted vial in his hand, and +dropped dead on the ground. His mistress, thinking he had only fainted, +knelt down by his side, applied the elixir to his lips, but found that +life had left him. She then dashed the vial on the ground, uttered a +dreadful shriek, threw herself on the body, and instantly expired. The +king and his attendants, much surprized at not seeing them return, +ascended the mountain, and found the youth fast locked in the arms of +the princess. By command of her father they were buried on the spot in a +marble coffin, and the mountain still retains the name of "The Two +Lovers." Around their tomb the ground exhibits an unceasing verdure; and +hither the whole country resort for the most valuable herbs employed in +medicine, which owe their origin to the contents of the marvellous +vial.[77] + + + +No. VII.--YWONEC. + +There lived once in Britain a rich old knight, lord of Caerwent, a city +situated on the river Duglas. He had married, when far advanced in +years, a young wife of high birth, and transcendant beauty, in hopes of +having an heir; but when, at the end of seven years, this hope was +frustrated, he locked her up in his strong castle, under the care of his +sister, an aged widow lady, of great devotion and asperity of temper. +His own amusements were confined to the chace; those of his sister to +thumbing the Psalter, and chanting its contents: the young lady had no +solace but tears. One morning in April, when the birds began to sing the +songs of love, the old gentleman had risen early, and awakened his +sister, who carefully shut the doors after him, while he sallied forth +for the woods, and his young wife began her usual lamentations. She +execrated the hour when she was born, and the fatal avarice of her +parents, for having united her to an old, jealous tyrant, afraid of his +own shadow, who debarred her even from going to church. She had heard +the country round her prison was once famed for adventures; that young +and gallant knights used to meet, without censure or impediment, +beautiful and affectionate mistresses; but her lot was endless misery +(for her tyrant was certainly immortal), unless the supreme Disposer of +events should, by some miracle, suspend the listlessness of her +existence. She had scarcely finished this ejaculation, when the shadow +of a bird, which nearly intercepted all the light proceeding from the +narrow window of her room, arrested her attention, and a falcon of the +largest size flew into the chamber, and perched at the foot of her bed. +While she gazed, it gradually assumed the figure of a young and handsome +knight. She started, changed colour, and drew a veil over her face, but +still gazed and listened, with some fear, much astonishment, but more +pleasure. The knight soon broke silence. He begged her not to be +alarmed; confessed his mode of visiting was new, and rather mysterious; +but that a falcon was a gentle and noble bird, whose figure ought not to +create suspicion. He was a neighbouring prince, who had long loved her, +and wished to dedicate the remainder of his days to her service. The +lady, gradually removing her veil, ingenuously told him, he was much +handsomer, and apparently more amiable, than any man she had ever seen; +and she should be happy to accept him as a lover, if such a connection +could be legitimate, and if he was orthodox. The prince entered at large +into the articles of his creed; and concluded by advising that she +should feign herself sick, send for his chaplain, and direct him to +bring the host; "when," said he, "I will assume your appearance, and +receive the Sacrament in your stead." The lady was satisfied with this +proposal; and, when the old woman came in, and summoned her to rise, she +professed to be at the point of death, and entreated the immediate +assistance of the chaplain. Such a request, in the absence of her lord, +could not be regularly granted; but a few screams, and a fainting fit, +removed the old lady's doubts, and she hobbled off in search of the +chaplain, who immediately brought the host; and Muldumaric (the +falcon-prince) assuming the appearance of his mistress, went through the +sacred ceremony with becoming devotion, which they both considered as a +marriage contract. The lady's supposed illness enabled the prince to +protract his visit; but at length the moment of separation came, and she +expressed her wish for the frequent repetition of their +interviews.--"Nothing is so easy," said Muldumaric; "whenever you +express an ardent wish to see me, I will instantly come. But beware of +that old woman: she will probably discover our secret, and betray it to +her brother; and I announce to you, the moment of discovery will be that +of my death." With these words he flew off. His mistress, with all her +caution, was unable to conceal entirely the complete change in her +sensations. Her solitude, formerly so irksome, became the source of her +greatest delight; her person, so long neglected, again was an object of +solicitude; and her artful and jealous husband, on his return from the +chase, often discovered in her features the traces of a satisfaction his +conscience told him he was not the author of. His vague suspicions were, +after a time, communicated to his sister; but being, as she thought, the +young lady's sole companion, and not able to reproach herself with any +enlivening qualities, she could not account for this contented +demeanour. At length she was commanded to conceal herself in his wife's +apartments during his absence, to watch indefatigably, and report +whatever she could discover. The result was a full confirmation of all +his suspicions. He now exerted himself in devising means of vengeance: +he secretly prepared and placed before the fatal window a trap, composed +of sharpened steel arrows, and, rising long before day, set off on his +usual occupation. The old lady, carefully shutting the doors after him, +returned to her bed till day break; and his wife, awakened at this +unusual hour, could not refrain from uttering an ardent wish for the +company of her dear Muldumaric. He was instantly at her side; but had +received his death wound, and she found herself sprinkled with his +blood. Overpowered by fear and surprize, she could scarcely hear him say +he died for her, and that his prophecy was accomplished. She fainted in +his arms; but he conjured her to preserve her life, and announcing she +would have a son, whom she must call Ywonec, and who was destined to be +the avenger of both his parents. He then hastily departed through an +open and unguarded window. His mistress, uttering a piteous scream, +threw herself out of the same window, and pursued his flight by the +trace of his blood, which the first beams of morning enabled her to +distinguish. At length she arrived at a thick wood, where she was soon +surrounded with darkness; but pursued the beaten track, and emerged into +a meadow, where, recovering the trace of blood, she pursued it to a +large city of unexampled magnificence, which she entered, and proceeded +to the palace. No one was visible in the streets. In the first apartment +she found a knight asleep. She knew him not, and passed on to the next, +where she found a second equally unknown to her. She entered the third +room; and on a bed, which almost dazzled her by the splendour of its +ornaments, and which was surrounded by numerous torches blazing in +golden candlesticks, she recognised her dear Muldumaric, and sunk almost +lifeless with fatigue and terror by his side. Though very near his last +moments, he was still able to comfort and instruct her. He adjured her +to return instantly, while she could escape the notice of his subjects, +to whom, as their story was known, she would be particularly obnoxious. +He gave her a ring, in virtue of which he assured her she would in +future escape the persecution, and even the jealousy of her husband. He +then put into her hands his sword, with directions that it should never +be touched by man till his son was dubbed a knight; when it must be +delivered to him with due solemnity, near the tomb of his father, at the +moment he should learn the secret of his birth, and the miseries +produced by it. She would then see the first use to which her boy would +put it. The prince had nearly spent his last breath in the service of +his beloved mistress; he could only instruct her by signs to put on a +magnificent robe which lay near him, and hasten her departure. She +staggered through the town, arrived in the solitary fields, heard the +distant knell announce her lover's death, and sunk exhausted to the +ground. At length the air revived her; she slowly renewed her journey, +and returned to her castle, which, by virtue of her ring, she entered +undisturbed. Till the birth of her son, and from that time to the +conclusion of his education, she lived in silent anguish, and in patient +expectation of the day of vengeance. The young Ywonec, by his beauty and +address, recalled to her mind the loved image of his father; and at +length she beheld him, with a throbbing heart, invested, amidst the +applause of all the spectators, with the dignity of knighthood. The hour +of retribution was now fast approaching. At the feast of St. Aaron, in +the same year, the baron was summoned with his family to Caerleon, where +the festival was held with great solemnity. In the course of their +journey they stopped for the night in a spacious abbey, where they were +received with the greatest hospitality. The good abbot, for the purpose +of detaining his guests another day, exhibited to them the whole of the +apartments, the dormitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house, in +which they beheld a vast sepulchral monument, covered with a superb +pall, fringed with gold, and surrounded by twenty waxen tapers in golden +candlesticks, while a vast silver censer, constantly burning, filled +the air with fumes of incense. The guests naturally inquired concerning +the name and quality of the person who reposed in that splendid tomb; +and were told it was the late king of that country; the best, the +handsomest, the wisest, the most courteous and liberal of mankind; that +he was treacherously slain at Caerwent, for his love to the lady of that +castle; that since his death his subjects had respected his dying +injunctions, and reserved the crown for a son, whose arrival they still +expected with much anxiety. On hearing this story the lady cried aloud +to Ywonec, "Fair son, thou hast heard how Providence hath conducted us +hither. Here lies thy father whom this old man slew with felony. I now +put into thy hands the sword of thy sire; I have kept it long enough." +She then proceeded to tell him the sad adventure of his birth, and, +having with much difficulty concluded the recital, fell dead on the tomb +of her husband. Ywonec, almost frantic with grief and horror, instantly +sacrificed his hoary stepfather to the manes of his parents, and having +caused his mother to be interred with suitable honours, accepted from +his subjects the crown they had reserved for the representative of a +long line of royal ancestors. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[77] The subject of this romance appears to have been taken +from the ecclesiastical history of Normandy. There is still remaining, +near Rouen, the priory of the Lovers, which tradition reports to have +been founded by the father on the very same spot where they perished, +and on the tomb which contained them. M. de la Mere's Dissertation. + + + +No. 8.--LAUSTIC. + +The author tells us, this lay is called, in the Breton tongue, +Laustic,[78] and in "right English," the Nihtegale (Nightingale). It is +very well written, and contains many picturesque descriptions; in the +district of St. Malos is the town of Bon, which derives its name from +the goodness of two knights who formerly dwelt in it. One was married; +the other was in love with his neighbour's wife, who returned his +affection. The houses were so near, being only separated by a wall, that +they could easily, from the windows of their respective bed chambers, +interchange glances, talk without being overheard, and toss to each +other little presents and symbols of attachment. For the purpose of +enjoying this amusement, the lady, during the warm nights of spring and +summer, used to rise, and throwing a mantle over her, repair to the +window, and stay there till near the dawn of day. Her husband, much +annoyed by this practice, roughly asked what was the object which so +constantly allured her from her bed, and was told that it was the sweet +voice of the Nightingale. Having heard this he set all his servants to +work, spread on every twig of his hazels and chesnut trees a quantity of +bird-lime, and set throughout the orchard so many traps and springs, +that the nightingale was shortly caught. Immediately running to his +wife, and twisting the bird's neck, he tossed it into her bosom so +hastily that she was sprinkled with the blood; adding that her enemy +was now dead, and she might in future sleep in quiet. The lady, who, it +seems, was not fertile in expedients, submitted to the loss of her +nightly conversations, and was contented with exculpating herself +towards her lover by sending him the dead bird inclosed in a bag of +white satin, on which she embroidered the history of its fate; and her +gallant paramour caused his mistress's present to be inclosed in a +golden box, richly studded with gems, which he constantly carried about +his person.[79] + +FOOTNOTES: + +[78] Laustic is still a Nightingale in the Breton language, and +l'eaustic is the French manner of speaking. + + + +No. IX.--MILUN.[80] + +Milun was a knight of South Wales. His strength and prowess were such, +that he never met an adversary who was able to unhorse him. His +reputation spread far beyond the borders of his own country, and he was +known and admired in Ireland, Norway, Gothland, Loegria (England), and +Albany (Scotland). At no great distance from his castle dwelt an opulent +baron, who had an only daughter, courteous and beautiful. Hearing his +praises from all quarters, she became enamoured, and sent a messenger to +say, her heart was at his service if he thought it worth acceptance. +Milun, whose affections were not pre-engaged, returned an answer +expressive of gratitude, sent his gold ring as a symbol of inviolable +constancy; and, having fixed her messenger in his interests by +magnificent presents, arranged with him a secure place of meeting. Their +intercourse was managed so discreetly as to excite no suspicion; till +the young lady, sending for her lover, represented to him that longer +concealment was impossible. By an ancient law she was subject, on +discovery, at her father's option, to be punished with instant death or +sold as a slave; and she saw no means of escaping this frightful +alternative. Milun listened in silent horror, but could suggest no +expedient, when her old nurse undertook to conceal the rest, if the +child could be properly disposed of; and for this the young lady found a +ready contrivance. She had a sister richly married in Northumberland, to +whom Milun might cause the child to be conveyed, with a letter +explaining all, and his gold ring, by means of which it might, in due +time, discover and make itself known to its parents. It proved to be a +boy; the ring was hung about its neck, with a purse containing the +letter; he was placed in a soft cradle, swathed in the finest linen, +with an embroidered pillow under his head, and a rich coverlid edged +with sable to protect him from the cold. Milun, in delivering him to the +attendants, ordered that during the journey he should stop seven times +in the day, for the purpose of being washed, fed, and put to sleep. The +nurse, and all the servants who attended, had been selected with great +care, and performed their charge with fidelity; and the Northumbrian +lady assured her sister, by a letter which they brought back, that she +accepted the charge with pleasure. This being settled, Milun left his +castle for a short time on some military business, and during his +absence the young lady's father resolved to bestow her in marriage on a +neighbouring baron. She was now almost reduced to despair, her lover, to +whom she was more than ever attached, was absent; to avow to her new +husband what had happened was impossible, and to conceal it extremely +difficult. But she was compelled to submit. The marriage took place; and +Milun, on his return, was scarcely less distressed than his mistress, +till he recollected she was still in the neighbourhood, and he might +perhaps be able to devise some means of procuring an interview. He had a +favourite swan, long accustomed to feed out of his hand. Having written +and sealed a letter, he tied it round its neck, and finding it +effectually concealed by the feathers, called a favourite servant, and +directed him to repair to the lady's habitation, devise some contrivance +for gaining admission, and deliver the same into her own hands. The man +executed his commission with great ingenuity. He represented himself to +the porter of the castle as a poacher; stated that he had just caught a +fine swan close to Caerleon; and much wished to conciliate the future +intercession of the lady by presenting it to her. The porter, after some +hesitation, went to explore the anti-chamber; and, finding in it only +two knights, intent on a game of chess, returned immediately, and +conducted the man to his lady's apartment, which, on his knocking, was +opened to them. Having graciously accepted the present, she was going to +recommend the swan to the care of one of her valets; but the messenger +observing "it was a royal bird, who would only accept food from her own +hand," and desiring her to caress it, she soon perceived the letter, and +changed colour, but recovering herself, dismissed the messenger with a +present, turned out her own attendants, excepting one maid, and +proceeded to examine the mystery. It contained the warmest protestations +of her lover's unalterable attachment, expressed a hope that she might +be able to point out a secure place of meeting; and shewed her an easy +method of continuing the correspondence. "The swan, already tame, might, +by good feeding, be easily attached to her; after which, if debarred +from meat during three days, he would, when set at liberty, fly back to +his old master." After kissing the welcome letter till she had nearly +obliterated its contents she proceeded to put in practice his +injunctions; and having by stealth procured some parchment and ink, made +an equally tender reply, which, being tied round the swan's neck, was +rapidly and faithfully conveyed to Milun. During twenty years they kept +up, by this means, a regular correspondence, and their frequent +interviews were managed with a secresy which secured them against +detection. In the mean time their son, after receiving an excellent +education, had been dubbed a knight, and learned from his aunt the name +of his father, and the mystery of his birth. Inflamed with a noble +ambition, he resolved instantly to set off for foreign countries and to +surpass his sire in military glory. The next day he communicated the +project to his aunt, who gave him a number of instructions for his +future conduct; which, lest he should forget, she repeated more than +once, and accompanied her admonitions with such liberal presents as +would enable him to rival in splendour the richest of his competitors. +He repaired to Southampton; landed at Barbefluet (Barfleur); passed into +Britany; engaged, by his generosity, a numerous attendance of poor +knights, eclipsed the proudest of his rivals by superior liberality; +vanquished the stoutest; gained the prize in every tournament; and, +though he concealed his name, was quickly known through the country by +the appellation of "The Knight without a Peer." The fame of this +youthful warrior at length reached the care of his father. From the +first moment of his bestriding a horse, that father had never +encountered an equal; and as he trusted age had added to his address +more than it had yet subtracted from his vigour, he hoped to prove, by +the overthrow of this unknown, that his high renown was owing to the +absence of Milun. After this exploit he meant to go in quest of his son, +whose departure into foreign countries he had lately learnt, and having +obtained the permission of his mistress, embarked for Normandy, and +thence proceeded into Bretagne. The tournaments did not begin till the +festival of Easter; Milun, therefore, who arrived before the end of +winter, spent the interval in travelling from place to place, in +exercising hospitality, and searching out the most meritorious knights, +whom he attached to himself by his liberality. At length the festival +took place, at Mont St. Michel, and was attended by a crowd of French, +Flemish, Norman and Breton, knights, though by very few English. Milun +enquired minutely into the arms and devises of the unknown knight, and +had no difficulty in procuring ample information. The tournament began: +the two rivals separately acquired a manifest superiority, and bore down +all who opposed them, but the opinions of the assembly were divided +between the two. The strength and address of the veteran appeared +invincible, yet the suppleness and activity of the youth attracted still +more admiration. Even Milun himself beheld him with a mixture of wonder +and delight, and summoned all his skill and strength when he rode to +encounter this formidable adversary. His spear was too well-directed to +miss its aim; but it flew into a thousand splinters, while that of the +youth remained entire, and threw him at some distance upon the ground. +By the violence of the shock the ventail of his helmet was broken off, +and displayed his beard and hair, gray with age; when the youth, +bringing back his horse, courteously requested him to remount, +expressing his regret at having, by his accidental victory, sullied the +fame of a respectable veteran. Milun, surveying him with increased +admiration, discovered on his finger, while he held the rein, his own +ring, and earnestly conjured him to relate his history, and the names of +his parents. He obeyed, and was proceeding to tell all he knew, when the +old knight again springing from his horse, and catching him by the +skirts of his coat of mail, hailed him as his son, and received him in +his arms as he dismounted to request the paternal benediction. The +tournament being over, they retired amidst the tears and applauses of +the assembly, and retreated to their inn, where Milun related the whole +series of his adventures. The young man listened till the end with +respectful attention; and then exclaimed, "In faith, fair sire, I will +unite you to my mother. I will kill her present husband, and you shall +marry her." This being arranged, they parted for the night. On the next +day they arrived at the sea: embarked; landed in Wales after a short and +pleasant passage; and were proceeding to Milun's castle, when they were +met by a messenger bearing a letter to Milun from his lady, in which she +announced the death of her husband, and requested him to hasten his +return. At this joyful news they hurried on to the lady's castle; and +she had the satisfaction of being for ever united to her lover, at the +same time that she embraced a son every way worthy of his accomplished +parents. On this occasion says the author, "_the ancients_ made a lay +which I have here set down _in writing_, and which I always relate with +fresh pleasure." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[79] This lay has been translated into English metre, under the +title of "the _Nythingale_." Bibl. Cotton. Calig. A. 11. + +[80] Perhaps Milwr, a _warrior_. + + + + * * * * * + +No. X.--CHAITIVEL. + +There lived formerly, at Nantes in Bretagne, a lady of such exquisite +beauty that no one could behold her with impunity. All the young men of +the town were rivals for her smiles; but four, nearly of the same age, +and of equal birth and accomplishments, soon eclipsed all the rest of +the competitors. Each of these four deserved, and obtained, a place in +her affections; but their merits were so equal that she was unable to +make a choice. At tournaments she sent to all some mark of distinction; +a ring, a scarf, a pennant, or other ornament; and all ascribed to her, +as mistress of their actions, the exploits they had the good fortune to +perform. It happened once, that Nantes was appointed for the celebration +of a tournament at the Easter festival. The four knights set out to meet +the foreign ones, and proposed to joust with an equal number: the offer +was accepted, and the contest ended to the advantage of the town. On the +following day the four young lovers still further distinguished +themselves; but the spectacle at length degenerated, as was frequently +the case, into a real combat, in which three out of the four were +accidentally slain, and the fourth dangerously wounded. They were +brought back to the lady, who caused the three to be magnificently +interred, and summoned the best physicians of the town to assist her +attendance on the survivor. Their joint efforts were at length +successful. He became convalescent; and, finding his passion revive with +his returning health, daily importuned the lady for her hand, to which +there now remained no other equal claimant. But she gave him to +understand, that feeling herself singular in misfortune, by having lost +in one day three admirers of superior merit, she would not consent to +bear to the bridal ceremony a heart consumed by eternal regret; and +that, as a monument of her grief, she intended to compose a lay, the +title of which should be "Les quatre Dols," (the four griefs). The +lover, instead of attempting to argue her out of this resolution, only +employs his eloquence in convincing her that the title of the new lay +ought to be "Le Chaitivel," (the wretch), because his rivals had found +in death the end of their disappointments, while he was doomed to a life +of sorrow and privation. The lady having assented to this change, the +story is abruptly brought to a conclusion. + + * * * * * + +No. XI.--_Translation of the Lai DEE CHEVREFOIL_: + +_(From Notes to Sir Tristrem, edited by Walter Scott, Esq.)_ + +I am much pleased with the lay which is called Chevrefoil. Let me relate +to you truly on what occasion it was made, and by whom. Many persons +have narrated the story to me; and I have also found it in writing, in +the work which treats of Tristrem, and of the Queen; and of their +constant love, from which they suffered a thousand sorrows; and expired +on the same day.[81] + +King Markes had been much offended with his nephew, Tristrem; and had +banished him on account of his attachment to the queen. The knight +retired into the country where he was born; spent there a whole year of +affliction; and, being still forbidden to return, became careless of +life. Do not wonder at this; for a true lover, where his wishes are +crossed by insuperable obstacles, can set no bounds to his grief. +Tristrem, therefore, thus driven to despair, left his home; passed into +Cornwall, the abode of the queen, and concealed himself in the thickest +part of the forest; from which he issued only at the close of the day, +at which time he took up his lodgings among the peasants and the poorest +of mankind. After frequent questions to these his hosts, concerning the +public news of the court, he at length learned the king had convoked his +barons, and summoned them to attend him at Pentecost, at the castle of +Tintagel. Tristrem was rejoiced at this news; because it was impossible +the queen could arrive at the meeting without giving him an opportunity +of getting sight of her during the journey. On the appointed day, +therefore, be took his station, in that part of the wood through which +the road passed, cut down a branch of _codre_ (hazel), smoothed it, +wrote his name on it with the point of his knife, together with other +characters, which the queen would well know how to decypher. He +perceives her approaching; he sees her examine with attention every +object on her road. In former times they had recognized each other by +means of a similar device; and he trusts, that, should she cast her eyes +on the stick, she will suspect it to belong to her lover. This was the +purport of the characters traced on it: "That he had long been waiting +at a distance, in hopes of being favoured with some expedient which +might procure him a meeting, without which he could no longer exist. It +was with these two, as with the _chevrefoil_ and the _codre._ When the +honey-suckle has caught hold of the _codre_, and encircled it by its +embraces, the two will live together and flourish; but if any one +resolves to sever them, the _codre_ suddenly dies, and the honey-suckle +with it. Sweet friend, so it is with us; I cannot live without you, nor +you without me." + +The queen slowly riding on, perceives the stick, and recognizes the +well-known characters. She orders the knights who accompany her to stop. +She is tired; she will get off her horse for a short time, and take some +repose. She calls to her only her maid, her faithful Brenguein; quits +the road, plunges into the thickest part of the forest, and finds him +whom she loved more than all the world. Both were delighted beyond +measure at this meeting, which gives them full leisure to concert their +future projects. She tells him, that he may now be easily reconciled to +his uncle. That the king has often regretted his absence, and +attributes to the malicious accusations of their common enemies, the +severe measure of his banishment. After a long conversation, the queen +tears herself from him; and they separate with mutual grief. Tristrem +returned to South-Wales, from whence he was soon recalled by his uncle; +but, in the mean time, he had repeated to himself, over and over again, +every word of his mistress's late conversation; and, while full of the +joy he felt at having seen her, he composed (being a perfect master of +the lays) a new lay, describing his stratagem, its success, his delight, +and the very words uttered by the queen. I will tell you the name of +this lay it is called _Goat-leaf_ in English, and _Chevre-foil_ in +French. I have now told you the whole truth.[82] + +FOOTNOTES: + +[81] Marie, who drew all her materials from Bretagne, probably +refers to some Armorican edition, of the history of these ill-fated +lovers. + +[82] From this, which forms no part of the Sir Tristrem of +Thomas, the Rhymer, it is evident that the same tale was popular in +France, at least thirty years before the probable date of that work. + + + + +No. XII.--ELIDUC. + + +This is stated to be a _very_ old Breton lay. Its original title was +"Guildeluec ha Gualadun," from the names of the two heroines; but it was +afterwards more commonly stiled, The Lay of Eliduc. + +Eliduc was a knight of Bretagne, much admired for military prowess, +courtesy, and political sagacity; in consequence of which, his +sovereign, who loved and admired him, was in the habit of entrusting to +his management the most important cares of government. Indeed, so great +was his influence at court, that he enjoyed, almost as completely as the +king, the privilege of the chace in the royal forests. But the favour of +sovereigns is always precarious; and so adroit were his enemies, that he +was suddenly deprived of all his honours, and even banished the country, +without being able to obtain from his once indulgent master, the +privilege of knowing his crimes, or being confronted with his accusers. +Fortunately he was in the prime of life, fond of adventure, and not of a +temper to despond. He retired to his castle, convened his friends, and +communicated to them the king's injustice, and his own projects; which +were, to embark for England, and there enter into the pay of the first +king who might want his assistance. But he had a wife, the fair and +amiable Guildeluec, whom he tenderly loved; and whom, as he was +unwilling to carry her into exile, he earnestly recommended to their +care and attentions. He then selected ten knights as his companions, and +departed for the sea-coast, escorted by nearly all his friends and +vassals, and accompanied by his wife, who was almost frantic with grief +at this cruel separation, and whom he could scarcely reconcile to her +fate, by repeating again and again the most solemn assurances of eternal +and inviolable fidelity. At length he embarked with a fair wind, and +landing at Totness, in Devonshire, proceeded towards Exeter. The king of +this district had an only daughter, heiress of his dominions; and, +having refused to bestow her on a neighbouring prince, was at that time +involved in a most distressful war, and besieged in his capital. Eliduc +went no further: he sent a message to the distressed king, offering his +assistance; and requesting, should the proposal be rejected, a safe +conduct through the country. The king most gladly accepted the offer, +and ordered his constable to prepare a house for the reception of the +welcome guests, and issue a suitable sum of money, with a supply of +provisions for their monthly expenditure. Eliduc and his attendants were +magnificently entertained. His inn was the house of the richest burgess +in the town, and _the grand tapestry room_[83] was surrendered to the +knight by its proprietor. Eliduc on his part was equally liberal. He +issued strict orders to his attendants, that during the first forty +days, none of them should accept either pay or provisions from the +court; and during this time kept, at his own expence, a profuse table +for the accommodation of such knights as were unprovided with other +means of subsistence. On the third day, an alarm was spread that the +enemy had again over-run the country, and might shortly be expected at +the gates. Eliduc flew to arms; and, having assembled his ten knights, +was soon after joined by fourteen more from different parts of the city, +who declared themselves ready to encounter, under his commands, any +inequality of numbers. Eliduc praised their zeal; but observed, that +this intemperate valour was more fitted for the lists of a tournament +than for useful service; and requested that they, who knew the country, +would shew him some defile in which he could hope to attack the enemy on +equal terms. They pointed out a hollow way in the neighbouring forest, +by which the invaders usually passed and returned; and Eliduc, while +hastening there, described the measures he meant to pursue, and exhorted +them to follow him with vigour. All was so well planned and executed, +that the foe were surprized laden with booty; and their commander, with +thirty principal officers, seized on his palfrey, and made prisoners +almost without resistance. The squires and other attendants at the same +time secured a large quantity of baggage, and the troop immediately +hastened their return towards the city, where their appearance excited +no small consternation. The king, having mounted a watch-tower, had +descried his small garrison of knights engaged in a distant action with +very superior numbers; after which, seeing a large body in full march +for the city, he concluded Eliduc had betrayed him; caused the gates to +be shut, the alarm to be sounded, and commanded the citizens to defend +the walls. But being quickly undeceived, he welcomed his deliverer with +transports of joy and gratitude; and, after receiving his oath of +allegiance for a year, invested him with the supreme military command, +and assigned ample pensions to himself and all his attendants. The +king's daughter, the beautiful Guilliadun, became anxious in her turn to +behold the extraordinary stranger, who had confirmed her father in his +throne, by means of a troop of knights, who scarcely appeared competent +to the defence of the walls. She invited him to an audience, to which he +was formally introduced by one of her chamberlains; seated him near her +on a bed; and entered into conversation on a variety of indifferent +topics. But during the discourse, she could not help remarking that this +consummate warrior and statesman was young and handsome; and found her +heart completely engaged. After sighing and turning pale, and making +many reflections on the indelicacy of avowing her passion, she would +probably have done it, if the knight had not, by respectfully taking +leave, put an end to the interview. He, in the mean time, had not been +blind to her perfections, her youth, beauty, simplicity and frankness of +character, and, above all, those artless sighs which assured him of her +affection, had made an indelible impression on his heart. At length the +image of his wife, and his solemn assurances of fidelity, interrupted +the dream of happiness in which he had involuntarily indulged; but the +interruption became painful; and while he mentally repeated the promise +of adhering to duty, he felt that promise disavowed by his inclination. +Guilliadun, after a sleepless night, found it impossible to keep her +secret, and having summoned a trusty chamberlain, confided to him her +sudden, and, as she thought, inexplicable passion. After a long +discussion, she at length, at his suggestion, dispatched him to the +knight with the usual salutations of courtesy, and with the present of +her ring and a rich girdle. Eliduc immediately replied by an equally +courteous message; put the ring on his finger; bound the girdle round +his loins; offered a rich present to the chamberlain, who declined it; +but avoided all discussion on the subject of his message. The impatient +princess was almost driven to despair by the report of her chamberlain, +who, though convinced that Eliduc could not be insensible to the +kindness of his mistress, was unable to satisfy her mind, or even his +own, concerning the cause of such extreme discretion. Both, indeed, were +ignorant of the conflicts by which he was agitated. To recall his former +fondness for his wife, and to conciliate his duty and affection, was no +longer possible: to betray and dishonour the amiable Guilliadun would be +infamous; and to encourage her passion and his own, without being +hurried too far, was extremely difficult; yet on this he ultimately +resolved; and, having mounted his horse, set off for the palace under +pretence of paying his court to the king, but with the real view of +obtaining an interview with his daughter. The monarch was at that moment +in the apartment of the princess, to whom, while be played a game of +chess with a foreign knight, he explained the moves. On the entrance of +Eliduc he immediately introduced him to her, enjoining her to entertain +and form an acquaintance with a knight, who had few equals in merit; and +the young lady, gladly obeying the injunction, retired with her lover to +the farther end of the apartment. After a long silence equally painful +to both, and which each ineffectually attempted more than once to +interrupt, Eliduc luckily bethought himself of returning thanks for the +ring and girdle; which, as he assured her, he valued far beyond all his +earthly possessions. This warmth of expression encouraging the princess, +she frankly proceeded to make an avowal of her passion, declaring, if he +should reject her hand, there was no other man on earth whom she would +ever accept as a husband; and, when he mysteriously replied, that, as +far as his wishes were concerned, there could be no bar, but that it was +his purpose, after the year of service for which he was pledged to her +father, to return and establish himself in his own country, she told him +she had full confidence in his honour, and was persuaded, when the time +arrived, he would make all proper arrangements for her future destiny. +Thus ended the interview to their mutual satisfaction. Eliduc, watchful, +enterprizing, and indefatigable, soon recovered for her father all the +lost provinces, and insured future tranquillity by the capture of his +enemy; but scarcely was the war concluded, when the knight received an +embassy from his former master, whose ingratitude had been punished by +the loss of half his kingdom, and the jeopardy of the rest, adjuring him +to come with all speed to the rescue of a country which was now purged +of the monsters whose false accusations had occasioned his exile. Such +an embassy, a few months sooner would have been most welcome, but to +part with Guilliadun now appeared the heaviest of misfortunes. He felt, +however, that duty called him away, and determined to obey the summons. +He went to the king; read the letters he had received; and earnestly +requested leave to depart, though his stipulated term of service was not +expired; observing, at the same time, that the state of his majesty's +affairs no longer required his attendance; and, promising at the first +appearance of difficulty, he would return with a powerful body of +knights. The king, after making the most splendid offers to detain him, +unwillingly yielded; but to obtain the consent of Guilliadun was far +more difficult. Trusting that she possessed the whole heart of her +lover, and perfectly unconscious that his hand had been previously given +to another, she insisted on accompanying him, and threatened to destroy +herself in case of his refusal. His remonstrances were accompanied by +fainting fits, which terrified Eliduc into a solemn promise of +unqualified submission to her will; but he represented, that having +sworn fealty to her father, she could not now go with him, without a +breach of his oath; whereas, after the expiration of his term of +service, he could, without disgrace, comply with her wishes; and he +promised, on the honour of a knight, that if she would fix a day, he +would return and carry her off. With this promise she was satisfied, and +after many tears, and a mutual exchange of rings, ultimately permitted +him to depart. The return of Eliduc gave infinite pleasure to his +friends, to the king his master, and above all, to his excellent wife, +who now hoped she should be indemnified, by his beloved society, for her +long and dreary hours of widowhood. But she beheld, with surprise and +consternation that he harboured some secret grief, and anxiously +enquired if any thing in her conduct had given him displeasure. Eliduc +assured her of the contrary, but told her, in apparent confidence, that +he was forced by his oath to return to the king whom he had lately +quitted, so soon as he should have settled the affairs of his own +country; that he had much to endure, much to accomplish; and that, +harassed as he was on all sides, he should never regain his former +gaiety till he should have extricated himself from all his difficulties. +In the mean time, his mere name had inspired the enemy with alarm; his +re-appearance at the head of the armies brought back victory to the +royal standard; he saw and seized the moment of making an advantageous +peace; and, having done so, prepared for the execution of a more +pleasing enterprise. Taking with him only two nephews, a chamberlain and +a trusty squire, all of whom he swore to secresy, he embarked for +Loegria; stationed his vessel at some distance from the harbour of +Totness; and landing his chamberlain alone, and in disguise, sent him, +with secret instructions to the princess. The confidant executed his +commission with address; made his way unobserved to the chamber of +Guilliadun, informed her of his master's arrival, and explained the +measures he had devised for her escape. They waited for the approach of +night; when Guilliadun, without any other attendant, having muffled +herself in a short and warm mantle, which concealed the richness of her +usual garments, followed him out of the town, to a small wood, where +Eliduc, who had deferred his landing till evening, awaited her. The +knight instantly placed her on a horse, springing on another, and taking +her rein in his hand, hurried forward to the sea, and embarked without +having excited the slightest suspicion of the enterprise, to which none +were privy excepting those on board. Both wind and tide were favourable; +they arrived near the coast of Bretagne, and were on the point of +entering the harbour, when a sudden squall from the shore split their +mast, rent their sail, and exposed them for some hours to the most +imminent danger. All exertions to guide the vessel being ineffectual, +they had recourse to prayers, invoking St. Nicholas and St. Clement, and +requesting the intercession of the blessed Virgin and her Son, that they +might be permitted to land in safety. The storm continued; when one of +the sailors suddenly exclaimed, "Sir knight, you carry with you the +cause of our calamity. In defiance of God, religion, justice and honour, +you are carrying off that lady, having already a beautiful and lawful +wife in your own country. Permit us to throw your paramour into the sea, +and we shall speedily find our prayers effectual." The princess was then +lying, almost exhausted with fatigue, sickness, and fear, in the arms of +her lover; who, though bursting with rage, could only express it by +execrations, which he vented as loudly as he could in the hope of +drowning the hateful voice of the mariner, but the fatal assurance +"Eliduc was already married," had reached the ear, and sunk deeply into +the heart of Guilliadun. She fainted, and though he and his friends +employed all the means in their power for her recovery, they were unable +to produce any symptom of returning animation, a general exclamation of +grief pronounced her dead; when the knight, starting from the body, +seized an oar, felled at one blow the presumptuous seaman, threw him by +the foot into the sea, took possession of the helm, and directed it so +skilfully that the vessel reached the harbour in safety. They all +landed, and in a very few hours might reach the castle of Eliduc, which +was not far from the coast; but where could he deposit the body of his +mistress, how inter it with all the honours suitable to her rank and +merit? he at length recollected, that in the forest which surrounded his +mansion, dwelt an aged hermit, at whose cell the corpse might remain +till its interment: he could then enjoy the sad pleasure of visiting +daily the object of all his solicitude, and he determined to found on +the spot an abbey, in which a number of monks should pray for ever for +the soul of the lovely and injured Guilliadun. He then mounted his +palfrey, and, carrying the body in his arms, proceeded with his +attendants to the hermitage. The door was shut; and they discovered, +after having at length procured an entrance, the grave of the holy man, +who had expired a few days before. Eliduc caused a bed to be made within +the chapel; and placing on it his mistress, whose deadly paleness had +not yet injured her beauty, burst into a flood of tears, kissed her +lips and eyes, as if in the hopes of restoring their animation; and +solemnly pronounced a vow, that from the date of her interment he would +never more exercise the functions of a knight; but, after having erected +an abbey on the spot, sanctified by her remains, would assume himself +the monastic habit, and daily visit her tomb to express his love, his +grief, and his remorse. He then, with difficulty tore himself from the +body, and departed; having first sent a messenger to his castle to +announce that he was arrived, but so much fatigued and way-worn, as to +require nothing but repose and solitude. His wife met him with her usual +gentleness of affection; but instantly saw in his haggard looks that his +heart laboured with some misery which her tenderness was unable to +remove. His manners were such as to awaken without satisfying her +curiosity. He rose at day break, spent some hours at prayers, walked +alone into the forest, proceeded instinctively to the fatal hermitage, +and returned late in the evening, bearing with him, as it appeared, an +additional load of misery. He saw with astonishment that death seemed to +abstain from ravaging the beauties of Guilliadun; he involuntarily gave +way to the most flattering hopes; and, after many long sad hours of +tears and fruitless prayer, retired in anguish and disappointment. On +the third day he gave notice he should go to court, and pass the evening +with the king. His wife, in the mean time, by the promise of the most +tempting rewards, had engaged one of her pages to follow his master at a +distance, during his forest walk, and report what he should see and +hear; and the page, having on that morning executed his commission, she +determined to take advantage of Eliduc's absence to visit the hermitage, +and discover, if possible, the cause of that excessive grief to which he +gave way; and of which the death of the old hermit, much as he might +have loved him, was far from affording a satisfactory explanation. She +set forth with the page, entered the chapel, beheld, with much surprize, +a bed handsomely ornamented; and, on lifting up the covering, saw, with +still more astonishment, the young and blooming Guilliadun, "_qui +resemblot rose nuvele_." The faultless beauty of a living rival might +have excited some indignation in the bosom of the most patient wife, but +the eyes of the lovely object before her, appeared closed for ever; and +Guildeluec could find no place in her heart, for any sentiments but +those of admiration and pity. After calling her page to survey the +spectacle which fully explained and excused her husband's immoderate +grief, she sat down by the bed to reflect on the past, and decide on +her own future conduct. During, the long absence of Eliduc she had +devoted the greater part of her time to religious exercises, and now +clearly saw that to them only could she look for comfort. Having +convinced herself of this necessity, she turned, with tears in her eyes, +to the fair object of her husband's regret; when a circumstance, +apparently trifling, involuntarily arrested her attention. A weasel, +creeping from under the altar, ran upon the bed, and passing several +times over the face of the entranced Guilliadun, so far incensed the +page, that with a blow of his stick he laid it dead at his feet, and +then threw it on the floor. The animal had lain there only a few +moments, when another weasel, coming from the same hole, ran up, and +attempted awhile to sport with it, and then, after exhibiting every +appearance of grief, suddenly ran off into the wood, and returned with a +flower of a beautiful vermilion colour, which it carefully inserted into +the mouth of the dead animal. The effect was sudden, the weasel +instantaneously got upon its legs, and was preparing to escape; when the +lady exclaimed to the page, to strike it again, and he aimed a second +blow, that caused the creature to drop the flower, which Guildeluec +instantly seized, and carefully placed between the lips of Guilliadun. +The plant had not lost its efficacy. The princess, awakening from her +trance, expressed her surprise at having slept so long, and then gazed +with astonishment at the bed on which she lay, at the walls of the +chapel by which she was surrounded, and at the two unknown figures, of +Guildeluec and the page; who, kneeling by her side, loudly expressed +their thanksgiving to the Almighty for what they thought her miraculous +resurrection. At length the good lady, having finished her devotions, +began to question the fair stranger respecting her birth and preceding +adventures, which she related with the utmost candour and exactness, +till the fatal moment when the discovery of Eliduc's prior marriage had +deprived her of sense and motion. The rest was better known to her +hearers than herself; and Guildeluec, more and more charmed with her +innocence, and frankness, after avowing herself, lost no time in +comforting her, by the assurance that all her hopes and wishes might now +be speedily gratified. "Your youthful beauty," said she, "might +captivate any heart, and your merit will fix for ever that of Eliduc, +who is unalterably attached to you, and whose grief for your loss was +such as to preclude all hopes of consolation. It is my intention to take +the veil, and abandon all claim to those affections which are estranged +from me for ever. In restoring you to the now wretched Eliduc, I shall +promote, by the only means in my power, that happiness to which I have +hitherto been the unintentional obstacle." Guilliadun consented, with +silent gratitude, to accept the sacrifice so generously offered, and was +united to her lover as soon as the solemn ceremony had taken place, by +which Guildeluec consecrated the remainder of her days to heaven, in a +nunnery erected and endowed by her husband, on the site of the ancient +hermitage. Their union was followed by many years of happiness; and they +closed a life of charity and benevolence by following the pious example +of Guildeluec, who received Guilliadun into her order, while Eliduc took +the cowl in a monastery, to the endowment of which he dedicated the +remainder of his worldly possessions. From the adventure of these three, +"the olde gentil Bretons" (_li auncien Bretun curteis_) formed a lay to +transmit to future ages. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[83] + + La bele chambre encurtinee + Li ad li ostes deliveree. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAY OF MARIE*** + + +******* This file should be named 11857.txt or 11857.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/8/5/11857 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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