Tales and Legends of the English Lakes Part 26

Of the persevering few, Some from hopeless task withdrew, When they read the dismal threat Graved upon the gloomy gate.

Few have braved the yawning door, And those few return'd no more.

In the lapse of time forgot, Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot; Sound she sleeps as in the tomb, Till waken'd by the trump of doom."

THIS IS THE END OF LYULPH'S TALE.

We must now Resume the legendary strain Of the bold Knight of Triermain.

That lord, on high adventure bound, Hath wandered forth alone, And day and night keeps watchful round In the valley of Saint John.

When first began his vigil bold, The moon twelve summer nights was old, And shone both fair and full; High in the vault of cloudless blue, O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw Her light composed and cool.

Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast, Sir Roland eyed the vale; Chief where, distinguished from the rest, Those cl.u.s.tering rocks upreared their crest, The dwelling of the fair distressed, As told grey Lyulph's tale.

Thus as he lay, the lamp of night Was quivering on his armour bright, In beams that rose and fell, And danced upon his buckler's boss, That lay beside him on the moss, As on a crystal well.

Ever he watch'd, and oft he deemed, While on the mound the moonlight streamed, It altered to his eyes; Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change To b.u.t.tress'd walls their shapeless range, Fain think, by trans.m.u.tation strange, He saw grey turrets rise.

But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high, Before the wild illusions fly, Which fancy had conceived.

For, seen by moon of middle night, Or by the blaze of noontide bright, Or by the dawn of morning light, Or evening's western flame, In every tide, at every hour, In mist, in suns.h.i.+ne, and in shower, The rocks remain'd the same.

Oft has he traced the charmed mound, Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round, Yet nothing might explore, Save that the crags so rudely piled, At distance seen, resemblance wild To a rough fortress bore.

Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps, Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps, And drinks but of the well; Ever by day he walks the hill, And when the evening gale is chill, He seeks a rocky cell, Like hermit poor to bid his bead, And tell his Ave and his Creed, Invoking every saint at need, For aid to burst his spell.

And now the moon her orb has hid, And dwindled to a silver thread, Dim seen in middle heaven, While o'er its curve careering fast, Before the fury of the blast The midnight clouds are driven.

The brooklet raved, for on the hills The upland showers had swoln the rills, And down the torrents came; Mutter'd the distant thunder dread, And frequent o'er the vale was spread A sheet of lightning flame.

De Vaux, within his mountain cave (No human step the storm durst brave), To moody meditation gave Each faculty of soul, Till, lull'd by distant torrent sound, And the sad winds that whistled round, Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, A broken slumber stole.

Twas then was heard a heavy sound (Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, 'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around, Dwelt but the gorc.o.c.k and the deer): As, starting from his couch of fern, Again he heard, in clangor stern, That deep and solemn swell,-- Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke, Like some proud minster's pealing clock, Or city's larum bell.

What thought was Roland's first when fell, In that deep wilderness, the knell Upon his startled ear?

To slander, warrior, were I loth, Yet must I hold my minstrel troth,-- It was a thought of fear.

But lively was the mingled thrill That chased that momentary chill, For Love's keen wish was there, And eager Hope, and Valour high, And the proud glow of Chivalry, That burn'd to do and dare.

Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd, Long ere the mountain-voice was hush'd, That answer'd to the knell; For long and far the unwonted sound, Eddying in echoes round and round, Was toss'd from fell to fell; And Glaramara answer flung, And Grisdale-pike responsive rung, And Legbert heights their echoes swung, As far as Derwent's dell.

Forth upon trackless darkness gazed The Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed, Till all was hush'd and still, Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar, And the night-blast that wildly bore Its course along the hill.

Then on the northern sky there came A light, as of reflected flame, And over Legbert-head, As if by magic art controll'd, A mighty meteor slowly roll'd Its...o...b..of fiery red; Thou wouldst have thought some demon dire Came mounted on that car of fire, To do his errand dread.

Far on the sloping valley's course, On thicket, rock, and torrent hoa.r.s.e, s.h.i.+ngle and Scree, and Fell and Force, A dusky light arose: Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene; Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen, Even the gay thicket's summer green, In b.l.o.o.d.y tincture glows.

De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set, At eve, upon the coronet Of that enchanted mound, And seen but crags at random flung, That, o'er the brawling torrent hung, In desolation frown'd.

What sees he by that meteor's lour?-- A banner'd castle, keep, and tower, Return the lurid gleam, With battled walls and b.u.t.tress fast, And barbican and ballium vast, And airy flanking towers, that cast Their shadows on the stream.

'Tis no deceit! distinctly clear Crenell and parapet appear, While o'er the pile that meteor drear Makes momentary pause; Then forth its solemn path it drew, And fainter yet and fainter grew Those gloomy towers upon the view, As its wild light withdraws.

Forth from the cave did Roland rush, O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush; Yet far he had not sped, Ere sunk was that portentous light Behind the hills, and utter night Was on the valley spread.

He paused perforce, and blew his horn, And, on the mountain echoes borne, Was heard an answering sound, A wild and lonely trumpet-note,-- In middle air it seemed to float High o'er the battled mound; And sounds were heard, as when a guard Of some proud castle, holding ward, Pace forth their nightly round.

The valiant Knight of Triermain Rung forth his challenge-blast again, But answer came there none; And 'mid the mingled wind and rain, Darkling he sought the vale in vain, Until the dawning shone; And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, Distinctly seen by meteor-light, It all had pa.s.sed away!

And that enchanted mount once more A pile of granite fragments bore, As at the close of day.

Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart Scorn'd from his venturous quest to part, He walks the vale once more; But only sees, by night or day, That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray, Hears but the torrent's roar.

Till when, through hills of azure borne, The moon renew'd her silver horn, Just at the time her waning ray, Had faded in the dawning day, A summer mist arose; Adown the vale the vapours float, And cloudy undulations moat That tufted mound of mystic note, As round its base they close.

And higher now the fleecy tide Ascends its stern and s.h.a.ggy side, Until the airy billows hide The rock's majestic isle; It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn, By some fantastic fairy drawn Around enchanted pile.

The breeze came softly down the brook, And sighing as it blew, The veil of silver mist it shook, And to De Vaux's eager look Renew'd that wondrous view, For, though the loitering vapour braved The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved It's mantle's dewy fold: And still, when shook that filmy screen, Were towers and bastions dimly seen, And Gothic battlements between Their gloomy length unroll'd, Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye Once more the fleeting vision die!

--The gallant knight can speed As prompt and light as when the hound Is opening, and the horn is wound, Careers the hunter's steed.

Down the steep dell his course amain Hath rivall'd archer's shaft; But ere the mound he could attain, The rocks their shapeless form regain, And, mocking loud his labour vain, The mountain spirits laugh'd.

Far up the echoing dell was borne Their wild unearthly shout of scorn.

Wroth wax'd the Warrior.--"Am I then Fool'd by the enemies of men, Like a poor hind, whose homeward way Is haunted by malicious fay?

Is Triermain become your taunt, De Vaux your scorn? False fiends, avaunt!"

A weighty curtal-axe he bare; The baleful blade so bright and square, And the tough shaft of heben wood, Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued.

Backward his stately form he drew, And at the rocks the weapon threw, Just where one crag's projected crest Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest, Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock Rent a huge fragment of the rock, If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell, Or if the blow dissolved some spell, But down the headlong ruin came, With cloud of dust and flash of flame.

Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn, Till staid at length, the ruin dread c.u.mber'd the torrent's rocky bed, And bade the waters' high-swoln tide Seek other pa.s.sage for its pride.

When ceased that thunder, Triermain Survey'd the mound's rude front again; And lo! the ruin had laid bare, Hewn in the stone, a winding stair, Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lend The means the summit to ascend; And by whose aid the brave De Vaux Began to scale these magic rocks, And soon a platform won, Where, the wild witchery to close, Within three lances' length arose The Castle of Saint John!

No misty phantom of the air, No meteor-blazon'd show was there: In morning splendour, full and fair, The ma.s.sive fortress shone.

Embattled high and proudly tower'd, Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lower'd The portal's gloomy way.

Though for six hundred years and more, Its strength had brook'd the tempest's roar, The scutcheon'd emblems which it bore Had suffer'd no decay: But from the eastern battlement A turret had made sheer descent, And, down in recent ruin rent, In the mid torrent lay.

Else, o'er the castle's brow sublime, Insults of violence or of time Unfelt had pa.s.s'd away.

In shapeless characters of yore.

The gate this stern inscription bore:--

INSCRIPTION.

"Patience waits the destined day, Strength can clear the c.u.mber'd way.

Warrior, who hast waited long, Firm of soul, of sinew strong, It is given to thee to gaze On the pile of ancient days.

Never mortal builder's hand This enduring fabric plann'd; Sign and sigil, word of power, From the earth raised keep and tower.

View it o'er, and pace it round, Rampart, turret, battled mound.

Dare no more! To cross the gate Were to tamper with thy fate; Strength and fort.i.tude were vain, View it o'er--and turn again."-- "That would I," said the warrior bold, "If that my frame were bent and old, And my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold As icicle in thaw; But while my heart can feel it dance, Blithe as the sparkling wine of France, And this good arm wields sword or lance, I mock these words of awe!"

He said; the wicket felt the sway Of his strong hand, and straight gave way, And, with rude crash and jarring bray, The rusty bolts withdraw; But o'er the threshold as he strode, And forward took the vaulted road, An unseen arm, with force amain, The ponderous gate flung close again, And rusted bolt and bar Spontaneous took their place once more, While the deep arch with sullen roar Return'd their surly jar.

"Now closed is the gin and the prey within By the Rood of Lanercost!

But he that would win the war-wolf's skin, May rue him of his boast."

Thus muttering, on the Warrior went, By dubious light down steep descent.

Unbarr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a port Led to the Castle's outer court: There the main fortress, broad and tall, Spread its long range of bower and hall, And towers of varied size, Wrought with each ornament extreme, That Gothic art, in wildest dream Of fancy, could devise; But full between the Warrior's way And the main portal arch, there lay An inner moat; Nor bridge nor boat Affords De Vaux the means to cross The clear, profound, and silent fosse.

His arms aside in haste he flings, Cuira.s.s of steel and hauberk rings And down falls helm, and down the s.h.i.+eld, Rough with the dints of many a field.

Fair was his manly form, and fair His keen dark eye, and close curl'd hair, When, all unarm'd, save that the brand Of well-proved metal graced his hand, With nought to fence his dauntless breast But the close gipon's under-vest, Whose sullied buff the sable stains Of hauberk and of mail retains,-- Roland De Vaux upon the brim Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim.

Accoutred thus he dared the tide, And soon he reached the farther side, And enter'd soon the Hold, And paced a hall, whose walls so wide Were blazon'd all with feats of pride, By warriors done of old.

In middle lists they counter'd here, While trumpets seem'd to blow; And there, in den or desert drear, They quell'd gigantic foe, Braved the fierce griffon in his ire, Or faced the dragon's breath of fire.

Strange in their arms, and strange in face, Heroes they seem'd of ancient race, Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name, Forgotten long by later fame, Were here depicted, to appal Those of an age degenerate, Whose bold intrusion braved their fate In this enchanted hall.

For some short s.p.a.ce, the venturous Knight With these high marvels fed his sight, Then sought the chamber's upper end, Where three broad easy steps ascend To an arch'd portal door, In whose broad folding leaves of state Was framed a wicket window-grate, And ere he ventured more, The gallant Knight took earnest view The grated wicket-window through.

O, for his arms! Of martial weed Had never mortal Knight such need!-- He spied a stately gallery; all Of snow-white marble was the wall, The vaulting, and the floor; And, contrast strange! on either hand There stood array'd in sable band Four maids whom Afric bore; And each a Lybian tiger led, Held by as bright and frail a thread As Lucy's golden hair, For the leash that bound these monsters dread Was but of gossamer, Each Maiden's short barbaric vest, Left all unclosed the knee and breast, And limbs of shapely jet; White was their vest and turban's fold, On arms and ankles rings of gold In savage pomp were set; A quiver on their shoulders lay, And in their hand an a.s.sagay.

Such and so silent stood they there, That Roland wellnigh hoped He saw a band of statues rare, Station'd the gazer's soul to scare; But, when the wicket oped, Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw, Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw, Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw; While these weird Maids, in Moorish tongue, A wild and dismal warning sung.

"Rash adventurer, bear thee back!

Dread the spell of Dahomay!

Fear the race of Zaharak,[25]

Daughters of the burning day!

"When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling, Ours it is the dance to braid; Zarah's sands in pillars reeling, Join the measure that we tread, When the Moon has donn'd her cloak, And the stars are red to see, Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, Music meet for such as we.