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 Cornell University Library 
 PR 5227.R37T3 
 
 Teuton; a poem 
 
 3 1924 013 539 998 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013539998 
 

 y^^^Ji^ .^<-4^^^^-€>^o--'--^ 
 
 TEUTON. 
 
TEUTON. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHRISTOPHER JAMES RIETHMULLER. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BELL AND DALDY, 186, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1861. 
 
 T 
 
A. 
 
 O-C) l-LI 
 
CHARLES ZACHARY MACAULAY, Esq. 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF 
 MANY YEARS OF UNINTERRUPTED 
 FRIENDSHIP. - 
 
 London, 1st ot May, 1861. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. Page 
 
 I. The North-King's Last Voyage . . . . 1 
 
 II. The North-King's Heir 13 
 
 III. Prince Teuton's Childhood 20 
 
 IV. Prince Teuton's Education . . . .35 
 V. The Beginning of Strife ... 49 
 
 VI. The Plight from the Castle 62 
 
 VII. The Building of the City 76 
 
 VIII. The Book and its Readers 86 
 
 IX. The New Court and Kingdom 94 
 
 X. The Sickness of the Soul .104 
 
 XL The Masque of Liberty .113 
 
 XII. Profit and Loss . . . . . . . 130 
 
 Xin. The Journey Homeward . . . . . 144 
 
 XIV. The Pair Pilgrim 162 
 
 XV. Health Restored .179 
 
 XVI. Conclusion .196 
 
TEUTON. 
 
 THE NOETH-KING S LAST VOYAGE. 
 
 ONG had the North-King led a rover's 
 life, 
 ^^j l On the wild sea, and braved with daunt- 
 less heart 
 Battle and storm. From climes of mist and snow. 
 Where gleam the icebergs in the polar night. 
 His banners, like the boreal streamers, flashed 
 Upon more Southern skies, and all the main 
 Swarmed with his dragon-ships. The old world shook. 
 Like a crazed beldam, at those portents dire ; 
 And soon, along her many-peopled coasts, 
 
 B 
 
2 The North-King's 
 
 The plundered city, and the ravaged plain. 
 With smoking ruins of deserted homes. 
 Marked the dread passage of the unbidden guest. 
 Nor this alone. He felled the forest-trees. 
 Built the strong castle on the lofty crag. 
 And gave rude laws, and worshipped savage gods, 
 Odin, and Freyr, and Thor. In his old age. 
 He brought, as captive to his sword and spear, 
 A noble maiden from the sunny land. 
 Where dwelt the Caesars in the far-off time ; 
 And her he made his bride. But now, in fight. 
 The helmet weighed upon his weary brow. 
 Wrinkled, and hoar, and seamed with many a scar. 
 And, at the feast, when ale or mead went round. 
 His hand would falter as he raised the bowl. 
 Then, one by one, the giant limbs refused 
 Their wonted service to the brain outworn. 
 His days were numbered, and his end drew nigh. 
 
 So once, at dawn, while yet in shadow slept 
 The mountains gray, and woods of oak and pine. 
 He bade his chosen warriors bear him forth 
 Upon a litter from his castle-gates. 
 
Last Voyage. 3 
 
 Down the steep cliff, and to the shelving beach. 
 Then, as the sea-breeze waved his wintry locks. 
 And to his feet the surging billows rolled, 
 Thus to the comrades of his youth he spake : 
 
 " My hour is come. Last night — 'twas in a dream — 
 Methought, I stood beneath the great ash-tree. 
 Which spreads its branches o'er the spacious world ; 
 And, while I watched the eagle on the bough. 
 The swarm of bees, that sip the honey-dew. 
 And the grim snake coiled round the trunk below, 
 I saw three maids of more than mortal mien 
 Else from the fount, which murmured at my feet. 
 Sprinkle bright water from their glittering urns, 
 And bathe the mighty tree with genial showers. 
 Ah ! then I knew the Norns, the sisters three, 
 Who Present, Past, and Future have in charge. 
 And water daily from the Fount of Time 
 The World- Tree's root, and all its growth can trace, 
 And aU the fortunes both of gods and men. 
 They looked upon me with their solemn eyes, 
 And the dread vision seemed to freeze my limbs. 
 And tie my tongue ; but, mustering strength and will. 
 
4 The North-King's 
 
 I asked them what was left for me to do. 
 
 Or else to bear — ready for either fate ! 
 
 Then, with a silent gesture, grave and sad, 
 
 They pointed to a withered branch, that broke 
 
 From the huge stem, and naked fell to earth. 
 
 While tender shoots were budding as of old. 
 
 And fresh leaves rustled in the breath of Spring. 
 
 Such is my doom. Never, ah ! never more 
 
 Shall I with you, my trusty followers, reap 
 
 The harvest-field of glory. Vain the hope. 
 
 That, in the shock of heroes, on the deck 
 
 Or blood-stained sward, amid the hurtling hail 
 
 Of arrows, and the helmet-cleaving strokes. 
 
 The Valkyrs would uplift me on their shields. 
 
 And bear me to Valhalla. Still, even now, 
 
 I will not tamely wait, and, at the last. 
 
 Die on the straw, like some poor toothless hound. 
 
 Object of pity, near akin to scorn. 
 
 One way remains. Ye, who have served me long ! 
 
 Fetch my brave ship, my dragon of the sea. 
 
 My strong-ribbed rider of the stormy deep. 
 
 And make all ready for a distant voyage ! 
 
 I go to Asgard, there to meet the gods." 
 
Last Voyage. 5 
 
 Sorrowing they heard, yet no man said him nay. 
 In silence, as became funereal rites. 
 They fetched the ship, the dragon of the sea. 
 With grisly head fierce threatening from the prow. 
 And straight unfurled its wings. Then loud they 
 
 cried : 
 " We will go with thee on this voyage of death ! " 
 
 But the king answered : — " It must not be so. 
 My queen, the gentle Lady of the South, 
 Here still a stranger, and my unborn child. 
 Will need the service of your hearts and arms. 
 The World- Tree grows, although its branches fall, 
 And leaf succeeds to leaf, and life to life. 
 It may be, that the twilight of the gods 
 Is nigh, and that, amid the gathering gloom. 
 When old forms vanish, and old fires burn dim, 
 Ye from my queen may learn that novel faith. 
 Which tells of other heavens than Skalds have sung. 
 When I am gone, let her the kingdom rule ; 
 For wise beyond the wisdom of the North 
 Is she, and gifted with prophetic power. 
 Take her my last farewell, and bid her train 
 
6 The North-King's 
 
 My son (if Skulda bring the promised boy) 
 To scorn base falsehood, and to laugh at fear. 
 As did his sire. Now help me to the ship !" 
 
 Then spake the bearded Skald, with oak-leaves 
 crowned. 
 Stately and tall : — " I sang thy valiant deeds. 
 And the red glories of the Northern heaven. 
 If thou must die, and all the heroic past 
 Fade from the mind, and Odin self resign 
 The sceptre, and the mighty hammer drop 
 From the strong grasp of Thor — what need of me. 
 And my rude rhymes, to chant the milder fame 
 Of gods, that love not war ? — Oh ! let me sail 
 With thee, and sing thy death-song at the close !" 
 
 He paused, and forth stepped one, with tangled hair. 
 And wolfish eyes, like savage of the woods. 
 And hoarsely murmured : — " This bare breast of mine 
 Hath been thy fence against a thousand spears ; 
 And, in my rage, when with fierce howl I leaped 
 Upon thy foes, I held them with a gripe. 
 That choked the life out ere I left my prey. 
 
Last Voyage. 7 
 
 Or fought witli nails and teeth, and tore their flesh, 
 And drank their hated blood. But, thou once gone. 
 Thy queen would chain me as a madman fast. 
 Thy son would as a wild beast hunt me down. 
 Let the poor Berserk go along with thee !" 
 
 Then said the king : — " Ye twain shall have your 
 choice. 
 And share my doom. Let all the rest live on ! " 
 
 With sturdy arms, unwilling, yet resolved. 
 In strict obedience to their lord's command, 
 They laid him on the deck, beside the mast. 
 While at the helm the sullen Berserk stood. 
 And at the prow the Skald, tuning his harp. 
 Then once more spake the king : — " Give me my sword ! 
 The matchless blade, keen as the lightning's edge. 
 With runic letters flaming on the steel. 
 Forged by the dwarfs in caves below the earth, 
 And since oft brandished in the sight of men ! 
 Not like a woman, with unbloodied hands. 
 Or flesh unwounded, must the warrior come 
 Before great Odin's throne. Now bring the torch. 
 
8 The North-King's 
 
 That Is to light our death-fire on the sea, 
 
 And guide the Valkyrs to the destined spot ! 
 
 Raise the loud song, bold harper I Comrades, loose 
 
 The dragon from his bonds ! — One parting cup 
 
 I yet will quaff in memory of old times. 
 
 And my last word shall be : Skol to the Brave ! " 
 
 He drained the goblet 'mid their answering shouts. 
 And many a rugged cheek was wet with tears, 
 As the ship glided from the pebbly strand. 
 Ploughing the foam. Seaward the pilot steered. 
 And long the king sat motionless, and gazed 
 Upon the shore with a calm, thoughtful brow. 
 But, as the group of warriors on the beach. 
 The yeUow sands, the overhanging cliffs. 
 Receded, and above them rose in view 
 The castle-towers, and all the distant hills. 
 The monarch grimly smiled, and grasped his sword. 
 Cutting deep gashes on his aged breast. 
 Till freely flowed the blood. Meanwhile, the Skald 
 Struck hard the chords, and thus in triumph sang : 
 
 " Hail, Hero of the North ! 
 
Last Voyage. 
 
 Thou shalt not slumber 'neath the grassy mound, 
 In dull, ignoble rest ! 
 
 Thy goodly war-horse, and thy faithful hound. 
 Shall not be sent upon a bootless quest 
 To serve their master in the grave 1 
 But, driving thy sea-chariot forth 
 Upon the ocean wave. 
 Be thou as at the close of battle found 
 With blood-besprinkled breast. 
 With fire above thee glancing like a crest, 
 And maids divine shall bear thee to the skies ! 
 They the coward race despise. 
 Who cling to life, although with sorrow stored. 
 And sink, low- wailing, to the dark domain, 
 Where Hela dwelleth in the Halls of Pain, 
 Sickness her bed, and Hunger at her board. 
 High in the clouds I see them wait. 
 Those virgin messengers of fate. 
 Each on her steed, with flashing sword. 
 And golden buckler at her side. 
 Before heaven's starry gate. 
 Hark ! I hear the trampling feet 
 Of their coursers wild and fleet, 
 
 c 
 
10 The North-King's 
 
 As down the rainbow-bridge they ride. 
 Through the thunder-realm so wide. 
 And, when they reach the sea — 
 They shall plunge into the tide. 
 They shall snatch thee from the foam, 
 And bear thee to the glorious home 
 Of the Brave and Free ! " 
 
 Such was the strain, that floated o'er the deep. 
 When they, who watched the vessel from the shore. 
 Beheld a light flame creep along the deck. 
 And climb the lofty shrouds. The ship was fired ! 
 Soon rolled on high thick volumes of black smoke ; 
 And, as the burning hull (now like a sun. 
 That sets beneath the wave, half crimson glow. 
 Half lurid haze) went drifting to its doom. 
 The harp still sounded, and still rose the song : 
 
 " Rejoice ! Rejoice ! 
 
 The Gjallar-horn is blowing ! 
 In Gladsheim's porch the gods expectant stand ; 
 
 Each look and voice 
 
 With kindly warmth o'erflowing, 
 To greet the stranger from the distant land ! 
 
Last Voyage, 11 
 
 " While the red gore 
 
 From that firm heart is welling. 
 Which throbbed exulting 'mid the mortal strife. 
 
 On Asgard's shore 
 
 Are kindred bosoms swelling. 
 And friends await him in the nobler life ! 
 
 " Thor will be there 
 
 Upon his hammer leaning, 
 Tyr with his falchion, Braga with his lute. 
 
 And Freya fair 
 
 With soft eyes full of meaning. 
 And sweet Iduna with her golden fruit ! 
 
 " King Odin's hand. 
 
 The warrior's grasp returning, 
 Shall lead him onward to Valhalla's dome. 
 
 Whose chosen band, 
 
 With rival ardour burning, 
 Will bid the hero welcome to his home ! 
 
 « And he shall fight. 
 And he shall feast in glory, 
 
12 Tlie North-King's Last Voyage. 
 
 'Mid those brave champions in their stately hall- 
 Till drops the night 
 O'er Saga's finished story. 
 
 And Lok's dread offspring make an end of all ! 
 
 " Cease, harp and voice ! 
 
 The flames are closing round us. 
 And human strength must yield to fiery odds — 
 
 Yet, oh ! rejoice ! 
 
 The maids divine have found us. 
 And deathless valour soareth to the gods ! " 
 
13 
 
 II. 
 
 ^OW had the North-King vanished from 
 the scene 
 Of his great exploits. Earth, his battle- 
 ground. 
 Ocean, his broad highway, saw him no more ; 
 And, in his place, the Lady of the South, 
 Ecclesia, daughter of the Latin line. 
 Held undisputed empire o'er the realm. 
 Which he by arms had won. Still, as of old. 
 Grim warriors, clad in shining harness, paced 
 The castle-courts, and thence would sally forth. 
 To launch their ships, or vault upon their steeds. 
 And seek adventures both by flood and field. 
 Still in the haU the ancient trophies hung. 
 And round them would the ancient memories cling. 
 Yet much was changed. No mountain-tops were 
 crowned 
 
14 The North-King's Heir. 
 
 With fires to Balder, and, in silent depths 
 
 Of wood and grove, no rough-hewn altar smoked 
 
 Before the images of cruel gods. 
 
 That took delight in blood. The white-robed priests. 
 
 With flowers and incense, hymns and solemn chants, 
 
 Paid to All-Father, by a holier name. 
 
 More fitting homage. Valour ceased to be 
 
 The only virtue. Peace, though absent far 
 
 From the rude stir of each man's daily life, 
 
 Was honoured now, and Love sat throned in heaven. 
 
 There was a chamber in the gloomy pile 
 Reared by the North-King, which had late been 
 
 decked 
 With tapestry, to hide its rugged walls — 
 Gay tapestry, the lady's needle-work. 
 All figured o'er with stories of old time. 
 And pastoral legends of the morning-land. 
 Where patriarchs dwelt in tents, and to them came 
 Benignant angels, like familiar guests. 
 Holding free commerce 'twixt the earth and sky. 
 Such themes, arrayed in many a brilliant hue. 
 Adorned the room ; but, in the midst, there stood. 
 
The North-King's Heir. 15 
 
 A silver shrine, with lamps and tapers bright. 
 Before a statue carved by skilful hands — 
 The statue of a Mother and a Child, 
 In whom the tenderness of human love 
 Seemed strangely blended with some higher sense 
 Of awe and mystery. On a purple couch. 
 Near to this shrine, a living mother lay, 
 And to her bosom pressed her new-born babe. 
 While her attendant maidens, bending low 
 As lilies in the breeze, hung o'er the bed. 
 With smiles of welcome for the prince, and looks 
 Of admiration fixed upon their queen. 
 Who smiled in turn. Most beautiful she was. 
 Majestic, clothed in dignity and grace. 
 Like to a Roman matron, such as bore 
 The conquerors of the world. Her lustrous hair. 
 Dark as the night, in ample volutes rolled 
 About her marble brows, accorded weU 
 With lofty features, passionless and pure, 
 And large black eyes, calm in their depths of thought. 
 Yet with imperial glances, which betrayed 
 The seven-hilled city's pride. But none could 
 doubt. 
 
16 The North-King'' s Heir. 
 
 That Northern blood was in the Infant's veins — 
 
 A blue-eyed boy, fair as the opening day, 
 
 And, like the sun-god, crowned with locks of gold. 
 
 Soon, at the ponderous door of massive oak 
 Studded with iron, a mingled sound arose 
 Of many voices, and, admittance given. 
 The bearded warriors, and the tonsured priests, 
 In coat of mail, in rochet, cowl, or cope. 
 Came flocking to salute the promised heir. 
 And pay him homage. All beheld with joy 
 The blooming child ; but chiefly those, who shared 
 The North-King's fame, his comrades old and true. 
 Scanned with approving gaze each well-formed limb. 
 Then from the hall they fetched the hero's shield, 
 And, on a royal mantle soft and warm, 
 Within that martial cradle gently laid 
 The princely babe, and raised him high in air, 
 While, brandishing their naked swords, they cried : 
 " We will defend him, even to the death ! " 
 
 But the most reverend of the priestly band 
 Thus interposed : — " Thee it behoves, O queen. 
 
The North-King's Heir. 17 
 
 To let this child at once be consecrate 
 
 To his Great Master's service. Put no trust 
 
 In shining steel, or in the fleshly arm, 
 
 To save him from the ills of mortal life. 
 
 Far other weapons will he need, to guard 
 
 His inmost soul, and fight against the wiles 
 
 Of unseen foes — God's soldier from the first. 
 
 Enlisted 'neath the banner of the Cross ! 
 
 Therefore, receive him with no heathen rite. 
 
 No shout of battle, no fierce clang of war. 
 
 But humbly, as beseemeth sinful men. 
 
 To whom a high and solemn charge is given ; 
 
 And, having borne him to the sacred font. 
 
 Let us baptize him by the hallowed name 
 
 Of mild apostle, or of martyred saint. 
 
 That he may follow in their heavenward path ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said a warrior ; " thou art wise, sir priest ! 
 But other men have lived before thy day. 
 And this old world cannot be all new made. 
 Odin has fallen, and Thor no longer shakes 
 The sky with echoes of his heavy tread ; 
 But valour still is valour, strength is strength. 
 
18 The North-King'' s Heir. 
 
 And he, that would the stubborn Northland rule, 
 
 Must keep the fiery heart, and ready hand. 
 
 Weakling or coward will not do for us. 
 
 And Southern names, though musical and soft 
 
 As linnet's note, ring falsely in our ears. 
 
 Then be this child a hero, like the race 
 
 From which he sprang ; no subtle, smooth-tongued 
 
 clerk. 
 But a great captain, such as led the host 
 Of Israel, when they smote Philistine foes. 
 Or like that champion, who pulled down the house 
 Upon the heads of all his enemies ! 
 There's law, methinks, for such brave deeds, sir priest ! 
 And let us call him by his father's name — 
 A glorious name — Prince Teuton of the North ! " 
 
 To whom the queen : — " Since erst I gave consent 
 To share the North-King's throne — not lightly wooed. 
 And only won by promise of the work. 
 Which I might so achieve — full well I knew. 
 That, while I taught his people truths divine. 
 Some cherished feelings, and some customs old. 
 Would mock my power to change. Nor do I wish 
 
The North-King's Heir. 19 
 
 To stifle impulses, that may be blest. 
 
 When turned to worthier use. Take ye the boy I 
 
 And bear him proudly on his father's shield ! 
 
 But let the priest receive him at the font ; 
 
 And call him by whatever name ye will, 
 
 So that he be baptized a Christian child ! " 
 
 Loud rose the applauding shout, and the swords 
 clashed 
 In stormy joy. " Prince Teuton ! " was the cry ; 
 And " Teuton ! Teuton ! " soon resounded far, 
 Beyond the outer gates, from cliff to cliff. 
 Along the coast, by rivers, woods, and hills. 
 And o'er the sea. Meanwhile, a sunbeam stole 
 (All unobserved amid the general din) 
 Through a long loop-hole in the castle-wall, 
 And rested, like a glory from above, 
 On the fair features of the innocent babe. 
 
20 
 
 III. 
 
 PKINCE teuton's CHILDHOOD. 
 
 * HE lady sat within a garden bright. 
 Fenced round about by the gray walls and 
 towers 
 
 Of the grim castle. There sweet roses bloomed. 
 And flowers of varied hue, but little known 
 To the chill North, smiled from the gay parterre. 
 This was her work ; and there she sat reclined. 
 In summer days, beside the murmuring fount. 
 And in the shadow of the sculptured cross, 
 A rich, illumined volume in her hand. 
 While the child -sported at her feet. To him 
 All things were new and fair, and oft he laughed 
 In boundless glee, and rolled upon the grass. 
 Or vainly strove to reach the nodding buds 
 On their tall stems, or plucked his mother's robe. 
 Pointing with tiny finger to the flight 
 
Prince TentorHs Childhood. 21 
 
 Of bird or butterfly. And, as he passed 
 From the first stage of helpless infancy, 
 And held himself erect, and lisped out words. 
 The lady guided with a mother's care 
 His tottering steps, led him the garden round. 
 And taught him many a name, and made reply 
 To many a question. But not she alone 
 Was with him. Women of his father's race 
 Had rocked his cradle, soothed him in their arms, 
 And sung him oft to sleep with runic rhymes ; 
 And from these nurses he had learned old tales. 
 Old names, old memories ; and rough Northland 
 
 sounds 
 Were more familiar to his youthful ear 
 Than all the Southern music. Warriors too 
 Would linger on the garden's verge, to watch 
 The boy at play ; and, when he caught the gleam 
 Of helm or corselet, he would never rest. 
 Till he was climbing on the wearer's knee. 
 To view his image in the steel, and toy 
 With the huge sword-hilt, while a gauntlet pressed 
 His shining curls, and a gruff voice declared. 
 That he would yet be worthy of his sires. 
 
22 Prince Teuton^s Childhood. 
 
 But now the queen oft drew him to her side, 
 And told a tale more moving and more strange 
 Than aught in runic story — how, of old. 
 In a far land, beyond the rising sun. 
 The shepherds were by songs of angels led, 
 The wise men guided by a wandering star, 
 To a poor stable, where a little babe — 
 A little babe, such as himself had been. 
 And, like him, tended by a mother's love — 
 Lay in a manger. Yet the wise men knelt. 
 The shepherds worshipped ; for that little babe 
 (Weak nursling, reared in humblest poverty !) 
 Was rightful Lord of all the worlds, come down 
 From his high palace, and imperial state. 
 To take upon himself that lowly form, 
 And live for men, and die for men. She told 
 Of what he did and suffered here below. 
 Benignant healer of all human ills. 
 Consoler, binder up of broken hearts. 
 Meek, patient martyr, long-enduring prince — 
 Until he bowed his head upon the cross. 
 And, with his finished work, went home to God, 
 His Father and our Father, to prepare 
 
Prince TeuturCs Childhood. 23 
 
 Mansloas for those who love him, and to reign 
 In heaven, till he come back to judge the earth. 
 
 And the child listened to the wondrous tale, 
 AYith every sense awake, and at full stretch 
 To master all its meaning. In mute joy. 
 He pictured to himself the babe divine. 
 And with deep reverence lingered o'er each act 
 Of that most blessed life ; but, when he heard 
 Its mournful close, and how by cruel men 
 The Holy One was mocked, and scourged, and slain — 
 High swelled his little breast with passionate sobs. 
 And, pity's self soon giving way to rage. 
 Sparks of the Berserk fire, stiU unsubdued. 
 Darted amid the tears from his blue eyes. 
 Threatening and furious. Then his mother soothed 
 His ire (though just) with wise and gentle words. 
 And joined his palms, and made him kneel and pray. 
 Till, calm once more, he nestled at her feet. 
 To learn the sequel of the wondrous tale. 
 
 And now another infant came to dwell 
 In that fair garden. From the Orient land 
 
24 Prince Teuton's Childhood. 
 
 Of milk and honey, olive, date, and vine. 
 
 Where all those wonders had been wrought, she came- 
 
 The orphan child of parents, who had died 
 
 In witness of their faith. Brave, honest men 
 
 Had borne her with them over desert sands. 
 
 And roaring seas, through perils manifold. 
 
 To place her 'neath the queen's protecting care. 
 
 Not of the earth she looked. The delicate form. 
 
 That only wanted wings to soar to heaven. 
 
 The pure, pale cheek, the finely-pencilled brows. 
 
 And hazel eyes, pensive beyond her years. 
 
 By their long lashes shaded — all expressed 
 
 The spirit-light within. She seemed to shrink 
 
 From every stranger touch ; but the bold boy 
 
 Gazed on her, half in pleasure, half in awe. 
 
 Till, won by her mild beauty, he drew nigh. 
 
 And flung his arms about her neck, and hailed 
 
 His new-found sister with a brother's kiss. 
 
 They called her Christabel. Day after day. 
 Those children grew to love each other more. 
 And, wandering hand in hand, or couched beside 
 The cross and fountain, spent the sunny hours 
 
Prince TeutorCs Childhood. 25 
 
 In sweet and innocent prattle. Yet their minds 
 Were cast in different moulds. The boy was brave, 
 Generous, and frank, eager to learn and know. 
 But rash, impetuous, self-willed, hard to rule. 
 The girl was ever gentle, modest, shy. 
 Obedient, kind, complying — save when aught 
 Invited, which her conscience disapproved ; 
 Then she too could be firm. Self had no place 
 In that pure bosom : duty there was all. 
 And to its law was subject every thought. 
 And word, and action. But in deeds of love 
 She most delighted. Oft her suppliant voice 
 Rescued the captive bird from Teuton's grasp. 
 And purchased back its freedom ; oft her smile 
 Lured him from truant mischief, or the path 
 Forbidden, to attend his mother's steps ; 
 And, when his stubborn or rebellious mood 
 Provoked rebuke and chastisement, her tears 
 Pleaded with such resistless eloquence. 
 That the boy yielded, and the queen forgave. 
 
 Together at the lady's feet they sat. 
 And listened to her talk of many things. 
 
26 Prince Teutonh Childhood. 
 
 Beyond the One Great Life. For much she told 
 
 Of marvellous powers, for ages handed down 
 
 Through a long line of priests, and gifts conferred 
 
 By outward symbol, and by mystic rite — 
 
 Much of the Virgin Mother and the Saints — 
 
 Of holy men, who dwelt in deserts lone. 
 
 And spent their days in fasting, penance, prayer, 
 
 Cladtheirlean limbsinsackcloth,scourgedwith thongs 
 
 Their wasted frames, or stood on columns high 
 
 Through weary years, while beat the winds of heaven 
 
 Upon their naked heads — of women too. 
 
 Leaving their parents, friends, companions, homes. 
 
 The joys of youth, and all the hopes of earth. 
 
 To muse in silent cell, most like a tomb. 
 
 But blest with visions, and ecstatic dreams. 
 
 All this, and more — of relics long preserved 
 
 By miracle, and sickness cured by touch 
 
 Of dead men's bones — would Teuton gladly hear ; 
 
 Even as he whilom heard his nurses tell 
 
 How Vieland, the wise smith, made himself wings. 
 
 Or Siegfried, having bathed in dragon's blood. 
 
 Was weapon-proof, until by treachery stabbed 
 
 In the one mortal part. But Christabel 
 
Prince TeutorCs Childhood. 27 
 
 Pondered those stories with a deeper sense 
 Of what they might contain of true or fair. 
 And, in the spirit of love, turned all to gold. 
 
 The trumpet sounds, the silken banners wave. 
 Loud neigh the steeds, the castle-courts are thronged 
 With champions, bearing on their arms the cross. 
 And ready for the field. High on her throne. 
 The queen is waiting to approve and bless 
 Her chosen warriors. In her name they go. 
 To win the land, where Christabel was born. 
 The soil made sacred by its Master's tread. 
 From the fierce Infidel. The flush of joy 
 Mantles on Teuton's cheek, his blue eyes dance 
 With proud excitement, as he longs to join 
 Those martial ranks, and ride to glorious war. 
 But Christabel, paler than even her wont. 
 With strong, suppressed emotion, self-controlled. 
 Prays from the inmost depths of her full heart. 
 That angels may watch o'er them, and their deeds 
 Be hallowed as their cause. Oh ! many a day. 
 And many a changing season shall pass by. 
 And oft the tide of battle ebb and flow. 
 
28 Prince Teuton^s Childhood. 
 
 With varied fortune, peril, wounds, and death. 
 Ere the survivors of that goodly host 
 Return, to hang torn flags and battered shields 
 In the old hall, and, round the Christmas-fire, 
 Relate the wonders of the morning-land ! 
 
 Meanwhile, the children in their Northern home 
 Saw miich, heard much. Oft to the castle came 
 The sandalled pilgrim, toil-worn, travel-stained. 
 With staff, and scrip, and cruise, and scallop-shell. 
 To beg for rest and food. From him they learned 
 How he had crossed the mountains, where the snow 
 Lies all unmelted in the summer sun, 
 To wander by blue lakes, o'er smiling plains. 
 Beneath a cloudless sky, and reach ere long 
 The seven-hilled city (birth-place of their queen) 
 Where, 'raid triumphal arches, temples, shrines, 
 Bath, palace, theatre — the mighty wreck 
 Of a departed glory — one old man 
 Still sways the world, because to him are given 
 The keys of Holy Peter, and the power 
 To loose or bind. Then would the pilgrim tell 
 How he had sailed upon a calm, bright sea. 
 
Prince Teuton's Childhood. 29 
 
 By beauteous islesj and cities famed of yore, 
 
 To the far East ; and how at length he trod 
 
 The sacred soil, and 'neath the sultry noon. 
 
 Or in the shadowy moonlight, still pursued 
 
 His journey, till he found each well-known spot — 
 
 To memory dear — dear to man's common heart — 
 
 And, kneeling, kissed the stones, and with his tears 
 
 Moistened the dust. Little he with him brought. 
 
 Save some few relics, tokens, amulets, 
 
 Or branches of the palm. Not so the Jew, 
 
 The cowering figure with the beetle-brows. 
 
 Inured to craft by contumely and wrong, 
 
 Who, casting many a furtive glance around. 
 
 Unpacked his treasures at the castle-gate. 
 
 And to the children's wondering eyes displayed 
 
 Rich stuffs and jewels rare. Even the brave knight, 
 
 Returning homewards, at his saddle-bow 
 
 Would bear some trophies, and his men-at-arms 
 
 Be laden with costly spoil. The Orient paid 
 
 This tribute to the West, and so gave birth 
 
 To new desires, new wants, new hopes, new aims ! 
 
 But more than all the pilgrim's travel talk. 
 
30 Prince Teuton's Childhood. 
 
 More than the sight of tissues, gems, and gold. 
 
 Ivory, and pearls, or even the damasked steel. 
 
 Did Teuton love the minstrel and his song. 
 
 For him the hoy filled high the largest horn. 
 
 And the best seat beside the blazing hearth 
 
 Was kept for him, a prized and honoured guest. 
 
 And he would sing — not only of the war, 
 
 Which Christian waged with Moslem, and the deeds 
 
 Performed amid the pomp of Eastern climes. 
 
 In mimic tourney, or in bloody field — 
 
 But also of a fancy-peopled realm. 
 
 Where champions fought with giants, and the spells 
 
 Of dread enchanters, and prompt rescue brought 
 
 To innocent damsels, captive in the toils 
 
 Of some foul sorcery. Not in vain he sang ; 
 
 For each heroic lay an echo found 
 
 In Teuton's heart, and roused the strong desire 
 
 Of noble knighthood, to redress all wrongs, 
 
 And, at the risk of life, to stand between 
 
 The proud oppressor, and the weak oppressed. 
 
 O bounteous gift of fairy poesy ! 
 
 Dear to the young ! perchance, more precious far 
 
 Than the grave wisdom of man's riper years ! 
 
Prince Teuton^ s Childhood. 31 
 
 Thou art the food to nourish ardent minds I 
 And oft, in after days, would Teuton dwell 
 With fond remembrance on those minstrel strains, 
 Which first inspired his soul with lofty views 
 Of chivalrous virtue, and romantic love ! 
 
 " Go forth, sir knight ! " the minstrel sang. 
 
 " In honour's name I bid thee go ! 
 Nor people's shout, nor trumpet's clang. 
 
 Shall cheer thee on to meet the foe ! , 
 Alone, through many a desert place. 
 
 Pursue thy way with courage free ; 
 Trust only in Our Lady's grace. 
 
 And I will trust thy sword and thee ! 
 
 " The path is rugged, winding, steep, 
 
 The gulf below is yawning wide — 
 The river floweth swift and deep. 
 
 Nor man, nor horse, may stem the tide — 
 And long shall toil thy weary steed. 
 
 Ere yet the downward track be won. 
 And still press on with panting speed. 
 
 To reach the ford by set of sun. 
 
32 Prince TeutorCs Childhood. 
 
 " There, In mid-stream, the giant stands. 
 
 With iron mace uplifted high. 
 Like flail in skilful thresher's hands ; 
 
 He, that would pass, must do or die ! 
 Spur on, spur on, thou champion brave ! 
 
 Strike at the knee, if not the crown, 
 Till blood shall mingle with the wave. 
 
 And that huge bulk go toppling down ! 
 
 " Now rest thee on the sward awhile. 
 
 Beside the well ; but, oh ! beware 
 The beckoning water-spirit's smile. 
 
 Cold as the ice-drops in her hair ; 
 Nor venture, when the moon is bright. 
 
 Where dance the fairies round their king. 
 For woe befalls the luckless knight, 
 
 Who strays into their magic ring ! 
 
 " But nought shall tempt thy steps to stray. 
 Nor beauty's smile, nor dance, nor song ; 
 
 Still forward, onward, lies thy way. 
 
 Though gibbering ghosts around thee throng ; 
 
 While triple darkness shrouds the wold. 
 And goblin lights perplex and blind. 
 
Prince TeutorHs Childhood. 33 
 
 Before thee towers the sorcerer's hold. 
 And he, who seeks, is sure to find ! 
 
 " There weeps in chains the maid hereft 
 
 Of every solace, every friend ; 
 Her hope in heaven alone is left. 
 
 And in the champion heaven may send. 
 Through the pale mist of early morn 
 
 Shalt thou behold those moated walls ; 
 Then wind three times the enchanted horn, 
 
 And down the bridge in thunder falls ! 
 
 " A thousand shapes that sorcerer grim 
 
 WUl take, to scare thee from his den, 
 All foul with many a mangled Hmb, 
 
 And ghastly heads of murdered men ; 
 But soon the forest's shaggy lord. 
 
 And soon the dragons' fiery band. 
 Shall fly before the avenging sword. 
 
 That flashes in a hero's hand ! 
 
 " Through each disguise, the wretch shall feel 
 Thy trusty weapon biting sore, 
 
34 Prince TeutorHs Childhood. 
 
 Till in his heart thou plunge the steel. 
 And death the hideous form restore ; 
 
 Then wave the brazen key on high, 
 That from the wizard's girdle hung. 
 
 And back the jarring bolts shall fly. 
 And wide the dungeon-gates be flung. 
 
 " And she, whom thou hast loved in dreams. 
 
 The maid long sought through toil and pain- 
 The star, that shone with fltful gleams. 
 
 When night had covered all the plain — 
 Rescued by thee from griefs and fears. 
 
 And called from darkness into day. 
 Shall thank thee both with smiles and tears. 
 
 And thou shalt kiss the tears away ! 
 
 " For such is still the law of life. 
 
 That dauntless valour, steadfast truth. 
 Should bear victorious from the strife 
 
 The wreaths of fame, and flowers of youth ! 
 Or, if some fall, and miss the prize 
 
 Of world's renown, and woman's love — 
 For each good knight, who bravely dies. 
 
 Our Lady weaves a crown above!" 
 
35 
 
 IV. 
 
 PRINCE teuton's education. 
 
 ?HE boy grows wild. He breaks the 
 castle-bounds, 
 Follows the game through many a forest- 
 glade. 
 And boldly ventures into paths unknown. 
 His hawk and hound, when eager for the chase. 
 Are not more restless. It were well, methinks. 
 To school his opening mind in other lore 
 Than woodcraft only. Let him learn the tongue. 
 In which are hived the thoughts of wisest men. 
 And knowledge of past ages. He should love 
 His mother's language for his mother's sake, 
 And studious hours will tame unquiet blood." 
 
 So spake the lady to her priestly friends — 
 The pale, grave men, with foreheads high and bare. 
 
36 Prince TeutorHs Education. 
 
 Who shunned the glitter and the din of arms. 
 And dwelt apart In cloisters, with the tomes 
 Of ancient learning. To their feet was brought 
 The unwilling boy, to feed awhile on husks. 
 Or what so seemed — the dry integuments 
 Of logic and of grammar. Long he toiled. 
 Impatient, through the tangled maze obscure. 
 Confused by barbarous jargon. Slowly dawned 
 Upon his brain the sense of something vast. 
 Noble, and fair, concealed behind the veil 
 Of Roman speech ; and many a weary hour 
 He pored, despairing, o'er some worthless page 
 Of dull, scholastic pedant, ere he knew 
 Livy's bright legend, TuUy's high discourse. 
 Or Virgil's echo of the Homeric song. 
 
 Those pale, grave teachers had but little taste 
 For lofty eloquence, and finest art ; 
 But well they loved disputes without an end. 
 Questions without an answer. StiU they strove 
 To weigh the counsels of the Eternal Mind 
 In man's poor, finite balance. Still they talked 
 Of fate, free-will, foreknowledge, and the cause. 
 
Prince TeutorCs Education. 37 
 
 The final cause of evil and of good, 
 
 Essence and substance, matter, space, and time. 
 
 And real existences, and modes of thought. 
 
 And all the ceaseless war of names and things. 
 
 Like deadly foes, that combat in the dark, 
 
 They oft struck wide, or grasped at empty air. 
 
 Though giving proof of courage, strength, and skill. 
 
 Could they but see. From that vain strife of words. 
 
 Perplexed and sad would Teuton turn away. 
 
 And to his mother breathe the first, chill doubts. 
 
 That sent a warning shudder through his soul. 
 
 But she, with aspect stern, rebuked the boy. 
 
 And bade him, like his masters, only take 
 
 Such themes abstruse for mental exercise — 
 
 But, in all else, submit to ancient rule. 
 
 And let obedience stifle every doubt. 
 
 Then silenced, yet unsatisfied, he asked 
 
 Of Christabel:— " Can doubt be thus subdued?" 
 
 And she, with tender pity in her voice. 
 
 Made answer : — " Truth alone can banish doubt. 
 
 And truth, my brother, must be gained through love. 
 
 And love and truth are both the gift of God. 
 
 Do thou God's will, and thou shalt find repose !" 
 
38 Prince Teuton's Education. 
 
 But now, among that priestly band, the boy- 
 Discovered some, far different from the rest, 
 Full-bro-wed, square-headed, who, in Eastern climes. 
 Had learned from Arab sages abstract laws. 
 In lines and figures lay their chief delight, 
 And, as they talked, their fingers seemed to trace 
 Circle and triangle ; and they would vaunt 
 The mystic power of numbers, and pursue. 
 By use of symbols, and with infinite toil. 
 The patient search of quantities unknown. 
 But they had also looked upon the w^orld 
 "With steadfast gaze ; and oft, on starry nights. 
 They took the prince to some high tower, and showed 
 The bright array of all the heavenly host. 
 Marshalled in order, while the queenly moon 
 Led forth the planets on their stately march. 
 Then would they tell of mighty wonders wrought 
 By those celestial powers, and how they ruled 
 The times and seasons of revolving years. 
 The swelling tides of ocean, and the course 
 Of human lives, propitious or unkind. 
 For such belief was held by wisest men. 
 And these were skilled to cast nativities. 
 
Prince Teuton^ Education. 39 
 
 And in the horoscope to read the signs 
 
 Of future fate. Well was it for the soul 
 
 Of Teuton, that he gave but little heed 
 
 To such false dreams. A nobler voice within 
 
 Had whispered to his heart : — " Man is born free ! 
 
 Let the stars keep their destined paths above. 
 
 And guide, it may be, outward things below ; 
 
 The mind, the conscience, cannot be their slaves. 
 
 Happen what will, do bravely, and defy 
 
 The blackest fortune !" — Then a gentle hand 
 
 Was laid upon his arm, and Christabel 
 
 Smiled on him, as in sweetest tone she said : 
 
 " Happen what wUl, do right, and trust in God !" 
 
 Among the castle's battlements and towers. 
 One turret stood apart, shunned by the herd. 
 Who darkly hinted, that, beneath its roof. 
 In a lone chamber, a magician dwelt. 
 And practiced arts unlawful. Night by night. 
 Flames of all colours played about the spot. 
 And clouds of vapour rose into the air ; 
 And thither, led by strong desire to pierce 
 The mystery, in despite of warnings sage. 
 
40 Prince Teuton s Education. 
 
 Young Teuton crept in secret. There he found 
 
 A thin, sharp-featured man, with restless eyes. 
 
 And beads of sweat upon his pallid brow. 
 
 Who stood before a glowing furnace, bent 
 
 To watch the crucible, wherein he fused 
 
 The tortured metals. Round his narrow room 
 
 Were many vessels ranged of various forms. 
 
 Long-necked, big-bellied, twisted like the snake, 
 
 And rows of phials of a thousand hues. 
 
 With gums, and salts, and oils, and minerals rare ; 
 
 And oft into the crucible he threw 
 
 Fine powder, or some drops of liquid poured. 
 
 While with his foot he still the bellows plied. 
 
 Much wondering. Teuton asked : — " What may this 
 
 be. 
 For which thou toilest with such eager haste?" 
 
 Then said the man : — " O prince, I may not rest 
 From this my labour, till I find the way 
 To turn the baser metals into gold. 
 Which doth surpass them all, even as the sun 
 Outshines the stars of heaven. Oft have I failed. 
 Just as the consummation seemed at hand 
 
Prince Teuton's Education. 41 
 
 Of my best hopes ; but now I think to win ! " 
 
 While yet he spake, with sudden, loud report 
 The crucible was shivered, and the mass 
 Of molten ore, a fiery stream, was spilled. 
 And scattered far and wide. Teuton drew back ; 
 But the man said : — " It is a common chance ! 
 I shall begin again with threefold care. 
 And this time I am certain to succeed." 
 
 Then Teuton asked : — " Is gold the only aim 
 Of all thy weary and laborious life ? " 
 
 " Not so," replied the man. " Gold is the key 
 To much I covet — pleasure, pomp, and ease. 
 And power to rule the wills of other men. 
 But gold itself would not give back my youth. 
 Nor drive away the hideous spectre. Death, 
 Whose image haunts me in my busiest mood. 
 Therefore, in my alembics I distil 
 The soul of herbs and flowers, and ever seek 
 The principle of life in aU that lives. 
 Until I find (as I shall do ere long) 
 
 G 
 
42 Prince Teuton^s Education. 
 
 The prime elixir, that cures every form 
 Of mortal sickness, checks the slow decay 
 Of nature, and dispels each baneful taint. 
 Each canker in the blood, each fount of ill. 
 Assuring vigorous health, and green old age. 
 Thanks to the spirits of Water, Fire, and Air, 
 Such secrets will I wring from Mother Earth ! " 
 
 " But thou hast tried already," Teuton said, 
 " These many times. How often hast thou failed ? " 
 
 " Failed ! " cried the Alchemist. " Man's life 
 below 
 Is failure upon failure, fall on fall — 
 And then success, it may be. If, till now, 
 I and my fellows have not won the prize. 
 For which we strove — our toil hath borne some fruit, 
 As earnest of the future. Look around ! 
 Within each jar and phial captive lies 
 Some healing influence, or some latent force. 
 See this black powder ! it looks tame enough ; 
 Touch it with fire, and it will rend the rock. 
 Or, stuffed in hollow tubes, hurl forth great globes. 
 
Prince Teutonics Education. 43 
 
 That, used against an array, shall beat down 
 Both horse and rider — ay, and crush their way 
 Through triple walls and towers. The time's at hand, 
 When, even in battle, the strong arm must yield 
 To the slow labours of the scheming brain ! " 
 
 " It were foul shame," the Indignant boy replied, 
 " That knightly valour should be overcome 
 By such vile, treacherous arts ! — Tell me no more ! 
 Thy craft is devilish, and thy toil accurst ! " 
 
 " O prince, thou wearest a sword upon thy thigh," 
 Answered the man. " What need of aught in fight. 
 Save the bare hands to guard the naked head ? 
 Trust me, since first the smith, by help of fire, 
 Upon his anvil forged the deadly steel. 
 The brain hath bid defiance to the might 
 Of sinews merely. Shall the arrow speed 
 To reach thy bosom, from a thousand bows. 
 And thou not use in thy defence the power 
 As of a thousand arrows ? — I am weak ; 
 Must I be therefore trampled by the strong. 
 When here, within my grasp, I hold the means 
 
44 Prince TeutorCs Education. 
 
 To blow the proudest boaster to the moon ? 
 Take of this powder — show it to thy friends — 
 And, if the knightly helmet covers still 
 Some skulls uncrazed, they will not scorn the gift. 
 But leave me now, for I must to my task. 
 Life, at the best, is short — with much to do, 
 Ere the long night, when all man's work is o'er ! " 
 
 Full of deep thought, did Teuton quit the cell 
 Of that lone searcher into Nature's mine. 
 Led by false lights, but to his purpose true. 
 And so not falling wholly. Oft the prince 
 Renewed his visits to the magic tower ; 
 And, if he learned not to make gold from lead. 
 Nor found the cordial, that gives back its youth 
 To wrinkled age, and nerves the palsied limb. 
 He gained some secrets, which, in after years, 
 "Wrought changes no less wondrous — even as now 
 That sooty mixture, in the trial, proved 
 Too strong for knightly usages and laws. 
 Too strong for all the tactics and the arms 
 Of chiefs and captains ; and, ere many days. 
 New weapons gleamed along the fnartial lines. 
 And mimic thunder shook the field of war. 
 
Prince Teuton's Education. 45 
 
 But humbler workers toiled at divers tasks. 
 Both in the castle, and the neighbouring plains. 
 Under the queen's protection. StUl the woods 
 Resounded to the axe ; while pleasant leas. 
 Great herds of cattle, flocks of woolly sheep. 
 The golden harvest, and the curling smoke 
 From many a vale, and many a green hill-side. 
 Gave signs of rustic labour. Oft there came 
 Across the country, winding through the trees, 
 Long files of pack-horses and sumpter-mules. 
 Bearing the merchant's wealth. And, nestling close 
 Beneath the shelter of the castle-walls. 
 The homes of burgher and of artisan 
 Began to lift their heads. Then said the queen : 
 " Meet is it, that we build a house to God, 
 Nobler and fairer than the dwelling-place 
 Of any child of man. For this great end. 
 Let all unite their efforts, and devote 
 Kiches, and strength, and wit, and patient toil. 
 To Him, who gave each talent they possess — 
 To Him, and to His glory ! " — At the word. 
 All rushed to bring their offerings to the feet 
 Of her, who spake. Soon was the figure traced 
 
46 Prince TeutorCs Education, 
 
 Of a huge cross upon the solid earth. 
 
 And from foundations in that form designed 
 
 Rose, by degrees, buttress, and arch, and wall. 
 
 And tower, and pinnacle. From morn to eve. 
 
 Hammer and chisel rang upon the stone. 
 
 The pulley creaked, the saw went whirring on. 
 
 And songs of busy masons fiUed the air — 
 
 Till soared the clustering columns, like a grove 
 
 Of tall, but slender trunks, which bending join 
 
 Their graceful branches in a vaulted roof. 
 
 And, stretching far away in stately rows. 
 
 Present a boundless vista to the eye. 
 
 So grew the long, majestic avenues 
 
 Of chancel, nave, and aisle — awakening thoughts 
 
 Of infinite power, inspiring solemn awe. 
 
 And deep devotion — while, as from the heart 
 
 Of that strong frame, upsprang the central spire. 
 
 And, leaving all man's troubled world below. 
 
 Pain, fear, doubt, sorrow, passion, strife, and sin. 
 
 Serenely pointed to the heaven above. 
 
 The calm, bright region of eternal peace. 
 
 Ah ! who shall paint the rapture of the boy. 
 
Prince TeutorCs Education. 47 
 
 When, hand in hand with Christabel, he passed 
 Beneath the porch, and saw the goodly pile. 
 Finished, and thronged with fervent worshippers ? 
 Through mullioned windows streamed the purple light 
 On sculptured saints, and heads of cherubim. 
 And many a kneeling form ; but, all around. 
 Distance and vastness lent their shadowy gloom 
 To harmonize the scene — save where, like stars, 
 The tapers twinkled, and the altar flamed 
 In one rich blaze of gold. There, while the priests 
 Moved ever to and fro, and ofttimes bowed 
 Before the image of the Crucified, 
 Thick clouds of incense rose, and songs of praise, 
 Which mingled with the organ's pealing notes, 
 TOl the chant died away in muttered prayer. 
 Then all fell prostrate ; and the shrill-voiced bell, 
 The lifted host, and chalice gleaming bright. 
 Proclaimed the present miracle ; for Faith 
 Dwelt in that temple, reverent, full of trust. 
 Making the outward glory more divine 
 By inward adoration. Teuton owned 
 The influence of the place. With swimming eyes. 
 He gazed upon its beauty, till it sank 
 
48 Prince Teuton^s Education. 
 
 Deep, deep into his soul ; then, one by one. 
 The gorgeous windows, columns, arches, shrines. 
 Faded like dreams, and in their stead arose 
 A more resplendent vision. He beheld. 
 As in a trance, heaven's everlasting gates. 
 And heard the quire of angels round the throne ! 
 
49 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF STRIFE. 
 
 kHE prince had won his knightly spurs. He 
 led 
 His youthful comrades in all feats of arms. 
 And bearded men looked to the fair, frank brow, 
 Flushed with exertion, and the clear, blue eye. 
 Sparkling with courage, and were proud to own 
 Their future sovereign. He the trophies laid 
 Of his first exploits at his mother's feet. 
 And she with smiles received them from her son ; 
 But soon a change appeared. As spread the fame 
 Of his young strength and valour through the land, 
 The priests, that were the lady's counsellors. 
 Began to hint suspicions, doubts, and fears 
 Of what might come. He was too free, they said, 
 Too light of bearing, and too bold of speech. 
 For the realm's safety. The old, heathen taint 
 
 H 
 
50 The Beginning of Strife. 
 
 StUl lingered In his blood. True, he might kneel 
 
 Before the altar with a pious air ; 
 
 But oft he questioned about sacred things, 
 
 And, worse than all, no fittiag reverence paid 
 
 To saintly men, of whom he sometimes talked 
 
 In mocking tone. All those, who sighed for change. 
 
 Or fretted 'neath the yoke of lawful rule, 
 
 Had marked him as their chief. This could not last. 
 
 It must be checked, or evil would ensue. 
 
 Then the queen bent on him her awful frown. 
 And bade him tell what rashness had provoked 
 This ghostly censure. " Mother," he replied, 
 " To thee I will make answer, not to those, 
 Who slander me with vain and foolish words. 
 It is my nature still to speak the truth 
 (Perchance, too careless whom I may offend) 
 And truth is wormwood to the false and base. 
 I reverence holy things, and holy men. 
 But not the shows of either. If I laugh 
 At the friar's hood, 'tis only when it cloaks 
 Foul sins and vileness. If I grasp the hand 
 Of some, on whom authority looks down 
 
The Beginning of Strife. 51 
 
 As wanderers from the fold, 'tis that I find 
 Wisdom and worth are ofttimes strangely housed. 
 And, for the rest, I am no more a child. 
 And so, methinks, may learn to walk alone, 
 Without presumption, and without reproach." 
 
 To whom the queen : — " Be warned in time, my 
 son ! 
 Pride is the demon, which thou hast to dread 
 More than aU other sins. Thy life hath been 
 Happy till now, because encircled round 
 By law and duty. Follow thine own will. 
 And it may lead thee to a deeper fall 
 Than the rebellious angel's. Watch and pray ! 
 Trust not thyself, but listen to the voice 
 Of heaven-appointed teachers, whom to doubt 
 Is blasphemy, nor dare with impious haste 
 To judge their actions. 'Tis enough to know. 
 They are God's servants, and thy mother's friends. 
 For thee to pay them honour. As for those. 
 Who would misguide thee with their specious talk. 
 Their idle fancies, and their new-fledged schemes — 
 Let them beware the guilt of heresy. 
 
52 The Beginning of Strife. 
 
 Nor deem, that I will bear the sword in vain ! " 
 
 Sternly she passed upon her way. " Unjust ! 
 Unkind ! " he said. " This have I not deserved. 
 I love my mother ; must I therefore love 
 Each filthy monk, that grovels at her gate. 
 Or churchman sleek, that banquets at her board ? 
 Would they not spoil me of my heritage. 
 And keep me ever helpless as a child. 
 Now chidden, now cajoled, amused with toys. 
 Or occupied with glittering masques and shows. 
 While they were ruling o'er my father's land ? 
 This too I might endure ; but let them pause. 
 Before they touch my friends — brave, honest hearts. 
 Who seek for truth, love God, and fear not man — 
 Lest I remember, that I am a prince ! " 
 
 Then he poured out his soul to Christabel, 
 And she, as in their childish days, advised 
 Patience, and meek submission — bade him hope. 
 That the stern mother would relent ere long, 
 And that the slanderers would draw back ashamed. 
 In any case, 'twere better to endure. 
 
The Beginning of Strife, 53 
 
 Than to commit injustice. He, whose name 
 They held most holy, suifered grievous wrong. 
 And by that suffering had subdued the world. 
 " Take up thy cross," she said, " and follow Him ! " 
 
 Still Teuton chafed, and still the feud grew worse 
 Betwixt him and the priests. They dogged his steps. 
 Noted his actions, and a record kept 
 Of every idle word. He, in his turn. 
 Spake out more plainly his undying scorn 
 Of all hypocrisy, and oft made mirth 
 Of Ignorance, that wore the doctor's robe. 
 Pride clothed in rags. Avarice in saintly garb. 
 And solemn shams, like empty scarecrows set 
 To frighten silly fowl. Much he conversed 
 With young, bold spirits, and pursued with zeal 
 Studies before unknown. That ancient speech. 
 Which, like a deep-toned, yet sweet-murmuring sea. 
 Flowed round the Grecian isles, to him revealed 
 Its beauty and its glory. Even the tongue 
 Of Sinai and of Sion yielded up 
 Its old, prophetic treasure. Dusty scrolls. 
 Half eaten by the envious tooth of Time, 
 
54 The Beginning of Strife. 
 
 Were drawn from secret places, hunted out 
 From nooks obscure, and, like new risen ghosts. 
 The minds of former ages walked the earth 
 In the pale shadow of that second dawn. 
 
 And many a scribe toiled hard for Teuton's sake. 
 Copying the precious fragments of the past ; 
 Till, on a day, he met an artisan. 
 Who, with a flash of triumph in his eye. 
 Asked of the prince a page of written lore. 
 Which, ere another sunset, he brought back. 
 But multiplied a hundred-fold, and each 
 Like to its fellow as twin blades of grass. 
 Then Teuton learned the wonder-working power 
 Of the great engine, which controls and guides 
 The modern world. Henceforth, he ceased to 
 
 fear. 
 That ancient knowledge, rescued from the night. 
 Could e'er again be lost ; and the hope rose 
 Within him, that all noble thoughts and true 
 Would now have wings to travel fast and far. 
 And so the gathered wisdom of the wise 
 Bear strength and healing to the souls of men. 
 
The Beginning of Strife, 55 
 
 Amid the stir of this unquiet time. 
 There came a rumour from the distant South, 
 That even the fixed and solid earth had grown 
 Beyond its former limits. Many a year, 
 A lonely dreamer pondered in his heart 
 A glorious vision. When he told his dream. 
 Some mocked, some pitied, all believed him mad. 
 And none would lend their aid. Yet his strong faith 
 Vanquished each obstacle, rebuked each doubt. 
 Wrung slow consent from power, and niggard help. 
 Till he sailed forth upon the Western sea. 
 To seek the country, which his prophet-soul 
 Had there presaged. It was no more a dream ! 
 He stood upon the long-expected shore ; 
 And others followed in his track, to find 
 New isles, new continents, new savage tribes. 
 Crowned with the plumage of bright, unknown birds. 
 And rich Doradoes, boundless in their wealth. 
 Where mighty rivers washed down sands of gold. 
 Through virgin valleys, and primeval woods, 
 Beneath the splendours of the starry cross. 
 Swift flew the marvellous tale from land to land, 
 By Teuton heard with ever fresh delight, 
 
56 The Beginning of Strife. 
 
 And full of promise to his ardent youth. 
 
 As, on a fair spring-morn, he lay reclined, 
 Among the early flowers, and budding leaves, 
 Communing with himself of that new world, 
 And many a mystery more, to him drew nigh 
 A noticeable man. It was a friar. 
 Clad in poor habit, and of modest mien. 
 But with strong lines upon a care-worn face. 
 And thoughtful eyes, deep set 'neath shaggy brows. 
 And breadth of chest and forehead like the steer. 
 Massive and huge. In his right hand he held 
 A volume, stained with all the marks of age. 
 Which oft he pressed unto his lips and heart. 
 As though it were a talisman — then spake : 
 
 " To thee I come, O prince, to bid thee guard 
 Against thy foes and mine. Such as I am, 
 A peasant's son, bred in a lowly cot. 
 Then a poor scholar, and a monk obscure. 
 By help of this one volume have I roused 
 The fury of the great ones of the earth. 
 And now they would destroy me, and the word. 
 
The Beginning of Strife. 61 
 
 Which God hath put into my mouth. Heaven knows, 
 
 I would have rather led a peaceful life. 
 
 In humble service, and in patient toil. 
 
 But that a power was on me, and a voice 
 
 Called to me, which I dared not disobey. 
 
 Long had I striven to cleanse my soul from sin, 
 
 By vigil, fast, and penance, but in vain ; 
 
 For stUl the Tempter, that old, mocking fiend. 
 
 Laughed at my efforts — when (oh ! not by chance, 
 
 But by the guiding hand above) I found. 
 
 Among forgotten tomes, this precious Book, 
 
 Which taught me how salvation comes by grace. 
 
 Free gift of God, bestowed on living faith. 
 
 Not on dead forms. Henceforth, when shameless 
 
 men 
 Sold in the market-place some worthless rag. 
 Called an Indulgence, which they said would save 
 From sin's appointed doom — could I (a priest. 
 Who had the charge of many simple souls. 
 And needs must answer for their bliss or bale) 
 Let my poor flock believe the blasphemous lie. 
 And still keep silence ? — Well I knew the cost ; 
 Labour and sorrow, peril, strife, and hate — 
 
 I 
 
58 The Beginning of Strife. 
 
 Perchance, a violent death — yet must I speak, 
 
 Or my full heart would burst, to hear God's truth 
 
 Thus foully libelled, and God's word profaned. 
 
 So, in His Name, I spake. The little cloud. 
 
 Formed by my breath, grew to a mighty storm. 
 
 Which now is rolling o'er my head. The bolt 
 
 May fall and crush me. To thy hands, O prince. 
 
 Do I commit the cause of all the land ! 
 
 If I should perish, do thou guard my flock — 
 
 Thou, who art young and bold — nor let the wolves 
 
 Prey on the innocent sheep ; but, above all. 
 
 Do thou preserve this sacred heritage, 
 
 This volume, which contains our Father's wiU, 
 
 And leave it to thy children. If I live. 
 
 They yet shall read it in their native tongue. 
 
 But now I go to face mine enemies. 
 
 Where they are met upon this April morn. 
 
 To judge and to condemn me. Fare thee well ! 
 
 Watch thou, and pray, and sometimes think of me ! " 
 
 Serenely sad, he passed upon his way ; 
 Then up sprang Teuton with a sudden start. 
 Like one aroused from sleep. " It must not be. 
 
The Beginning of Strife. 59 
 
 That I should here lie dreaming in the sun. 
 While this brave man does battle for the truth, 
 Or what he deems so. I will follow straight, 
 And see this combat, where contending minds 
 Break lances in the lists of thought and speech. 
 Myself a neutral. But should other arms 
 Be used, and force alone usurp the field, 
 I too may strike upon the weaker side." 
 
 Within the North-King's ancient hall had met 
 Warriors, and chiefs, and men of high renown, 
 With priest and prelate, mitred, tonsured, cowled, 
 And in the midst stood forth that lowly friar. 
 To plead his cause unaided. All around. 
 The people thronged, to watch the unequal strife. 
 And women held on high their children small. 
 To see the champion, who thus dared to wage 
 Alone such perilous war. But he was calm, 
 Earnest, and wise — not boastful, nor austere — 
 And long he argued for the inherent right 
 Of human souls, humbly to seek God's truth 
 In God's own word. "Recant! Eecant!" they cried; 
 " Submit thyself, and thy vainglorious thoughts. 
 
60 The Beginning of Strife. 
 
 To lawful censure ! " — " For myself," he said, 
 
 " I am a frail, imperfect, erring man. 
 
 Whom ignorance may deceive, or passion blind ; 
 
 What I have spoken of my own accord 
 
 May well be rash and false. Prove it is so. 
 
 By natural reason, or the page divine, 
 
 And I will be the first to make amends. 
 
 And sue for pardon. But, till this be done. 
 
 Authority and threats alike are vain ; 
 
 I cannot palter with the sacred truth, 
 
 Nor wrest from their plain sense the solemn words 
 
 Of this pure Gospel. I will not recant. 
 
 'Tis neither safe, nor prudent, to do aught 
 
 Against the conscience. Here I take my stand. 
 
 I have no choice. God be my help ! Amen ! " 
 
 He ended, and a murmur, like the sea, 
 Kose in the hall ; and now the priests cried out. 
 That they should doom the rebel to the flames. 
 But, in that moment. Teuton cast aside 
 All boyish fears, and grew at once a man, 
 A prince and leader. " I will never brook," 
 He said, as to the front he strode, and flung 
 
The Beginning of Strife. 61 
 
 His glove into the midst, " that such foul wrong 
 Should stain my father's hearth. The monk speaks 
 
 well; 
 Answer him, if you can, but not with fire. 
 Which is a dumb and cruel argument. 
 Worthy of beasts, not men. There lies my gage. 
 If blood must needs be shed, the quarrel's mine ! " 
 
 Loud was the tumult, fierce and high the wrath ; 
 But many pressed around their youthful prince. 
 And laid their hands upon their swords. None dared 
 To seize the destined victim. He withdrew 
 Unharmed amid the uproar, and was borne 
 By friendly care, and no ungentle force. 
 To a safe refuge 'mongst the woods and hills. 
 Where long he lay concealed, and whence his voice, 
 Like some lone trumpet sounding through the night. 
 Stirred all a slumbering host — while Teuton trod 
 His native courts with firmer, bolder step. 
 And smiled in proud defiance of the hate. 
 Which he had kindled in the hearts he scorned. 
 
62 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE FLIGHT FROM THE CASTLE. 
 
 TEUTON, I have sought thee far and 
 
 near, 
 To warn thee of thy danger. Blackest 
 night 
 Is closing round thy path, and all the stars 
 Will soon be hid in heaven. Pause, pause awhile. 
 Before it is too late ! — Old love, old faith. 
 The duties and the hopes of childish years. 
 And all the fond remembrances, that cling 
 About life's morning, must lie cold in death. 
 Ere thou rebel against thy mother's rule. 
 And take thy course alone. Even now she weeps — 
 Her anger flashes from her eyes through tears — 
 Gentle or harsh, she is thy mother stiU, 
 And she would fain forgive. O let not pride. 
 False, impious pride, reject the proffered peace ! 
 
The Flight from the Castle. 63 
 
 Submission to a mother brings no shame, 
 And the whole future hangs upon this hour." 
 
 So pleaded Chrlstabel, and Teuton grasped 
 Her hands in his, and looked into her face 
 With soft, relenting pity. " Dearest maid. 
 Sweet friend and sister, counsellor and guide. 
 Think not, that I can lightly rend the ties. 
 Which are my heart-strings. I have asked my soul. 
 If it were pride, which brought me to this woe, 
 That I might trample out its latest spark ; 
 And I will kneel before my mother's feet. 
 And try whate'er a son may do, for peace. 
 No labour, and no penance will I shun. 
 To free me from the curse, which stiU pursues 
 Kebellion, and the fierce, unnatural strife 
 Of child with parent, hateful to behold. 
 But what if I am urged to steep my lips 
 In falsehood, and to sanction foul deceits, 
 Which truth, and honour, and God's law condemn ? 
 Or stain my soul with guilt of innocent blood ? 
 Can filial duty consecrate the sin ? 
 Do thou make answer ! Thou shalt be my judge I " 
 
64 The Flight from the Castle. 
 
 " Ah, no ! " said Christabel. " If thou must 
 choose 
 Between thy mother and thy faith to heaven. 
 There is no room for doubt. But 'tis a grief 
 Worse than all other woes, when rival claims, 
 Both hallowed by affection, both revered. 
 Tug at one human heart. O brother mine ! 
 Pray, that in this dread crisis of thy fate. 
 When a word rashly spoken may decide 
 The destiny of years — pray, that no thought 
 Of selfish ends, no narrow feelings base. 
 No stubbornness of nature, may deceive 
 Thy calmer judgment. Look to heaven for light. 
 And follow where it shines, whate'er betide ! " 
 
 Upward she gazed, like one, that converse holds 
 With unseen worlds ; and tenderly he kissed 
 Her pure, white brow, and promised all she asked. 
 Then to his mother he repaired, and knelt 
 Before her footstool, and essayed to take 
 Her jewelled hand ; but sternly she drew back. 
 And in harsh accents thus addressed her son : 
 
 " So, thou art come ! — Here have I tarried long, 
 
The Flight from the Castle. 65 
 
 To see if love or duty yet had power 
 
 To bring thee to my feet. I will not dwell 
 
 Upon the public scandal, and the shame, 
 
 Which all the land hath witnessed. I would know 
 
 This only : — Art thou ready to renounce 
 
 Thy fond conceits, false views, and falser friends, 
 
 With their pernicious promptings, and to make 
 
 Submission to thy mother and thy queen. 
 
 Without exception or reserve ? If so. 
 
 The past may be forgiven, and all be well." 
 
 " Mother," he said, " not as a two-years child, 
 Helpless and weak, did I more gladly cling 
 To thee, and to thy love and care. Submit ! 
 Oh, for myself, it is my dearest wish ! 
 But what must I renounce ? — The right to use 
 God's gift of reason, the free search for truth. 
 The peace of conscience, and the valued friends. 
 Faithful to me, to heaven more faithful still. 
 Whose mettle has been tried in fire ? — Ah, no ! 
 A mother's blessing cannot thus be won ! " 
 
 " And who," she asked, " art thou, presumptuous 
 boy. 
 
66 The Flight from the Castle. 
 
 To seek with thy frail reason to discern 
 
 The bounds of truth and falsehood ? Yesterday, 
 
 Thou wast a little prattling babe, whose lore 
 
 Was gathered at my knee. And, for thy friends. 
 
 What friendship can outweigh maternal love, 
 
 And filial gratitude ? I gave thee all — 
 
 The precious milk of life, and life itself. 
 
 The power of speech, the sense of right and wrong, 
 
 And thoughts, and feelings, nursed by watchful care, 
 
 And patient teaching — and if now, perchance. 
 
 Ambition tempt thee on to rule the land, 
 
 'Twas I, who from a desert, where wild beasts 
 
 Roamed among men as wild, made it a place 
 
 For human habitation. Dost thou think 
 
 To cancel in a moment all thy debt. 
 
 And live as though the past had never been?" 
 
 " Mother," he answered, " I do not forget 
 How much I owe thee, and would fain express. 
 By reverence, love, and service, heart-felt thanks. 
 But nothing can bring back the yesterday. 
 Of which thou speakest. Not my limbs alone 
 Have grown to manly strength ; the nobler mind. 
 
The Flight from the Castle. 67 
 
 That whilom lay unfledged within Its nest. 
 
 Hath found its wings, and needs must fly abroad. 
 
 In quest of truth. Haply, the search may fall : 
 
 But still to labour and to strive is now 
 
 My spirit's law. I cannot take on trust 
 
 All that my simple childhood once believed ; 
 
 I cannot utter what I know is false ; 
 
 I cannot homage pay where none is due ; 
 
 And never, never will I join the cry. 
 
 The base and coward cry of hireling souls. 
 
 Against some honest man, who dares to walk 
 
 By his own light, blameless in word and deed. 
 
 O mother, let me love thee as of old, 
 
 Eevere thy wisdom, and thy counsel prize. 
 
 Yet be myself, not a mere shade of thee. 
 
 And seek to know God's will, and do God's work. 
 
 As He vouchsafes to guide ! — The peril's mine ; 
 
 And mine must be the free, unbiassed choice ! " 
 
 " This might avail," she said, " if I but spake. 
 In my own name, things of my own device. 
 But to my charge the highest truths were given. 
 From heaven transmitted through prophetic lips, 
 
68 The Flight from the Castle. 
 
 By saints preserved, and sealed with martyrs' blood. 
 
 And still attested by the living voice 
 
 Of him, vrho bears the keys. Therefore, I speak 
 
 As one empowered to teach, control, command. 
 
 Claiming obedience even more than love. 
 
 It is my privilege, and mine alone. 
 
 To knit in bonds of union many minds. 
 
 However else opposed. Once snap the chain. 
 
 The golden chain of my maternal rule. 
 
 And thou shalt ne'er unite the severed links. 
 
 But aU the household will be scattered wide. 
 
 And brother wage with brother deadly war. 
 
 And mark me well ! betwixt thyself and me. 
 
 No truce can e'er be made, no hollow peace. 
 
 No treaty signed. Either thou art my son. 
 
 My loyal, true, obedient, loving son. 
 
 Or else a rebel, and my mortal foe, 
 
 Whom 'twere a crime to spare. I plead no more. 
 
 If natural instincts, pious memories old. 
 
 And all the ties of blood and gratitude, 
 
 Have lost their power — I lift my hand to heaven, 
 
 Invoking justice. Go, and plot with those. 
 
 Who talk of duty, conscience, truth, and God, 
 
The Flight from the Castle. 69 
 
 But in whose hearts dwell hate and bloated pride, 
 Slow-festering envy, sullen discontent. 
 And avarice eager to divide the spoil, 
 And licence panting for unbridled sin ! 
 Help them to spurn my sceptre, break my laws. 
 Profane my sanctuaries, and with brutal scorn 
 Heap insults on thy mother's head — but know. 
 That I will not restrain the avenging stroke, 
 Even though in falling it should crush my son ! " 
 
 She rose, and stood before him in her wrath. 
 Terribly beautiful. But with calm brow. 
 And high resolve in his clear, steadfast eyes. 
 He met her gaze, and answered : — " I too lift 
 My hand to heaven, appealing from thy words 
 To its eternal justice. May it deal 
 With me, as I have kept my conscience pure. 
 Led by the honest wish to find the truth, 
 Not by base passions, or ignoble aims. 
 Some there may be, that would throw off thy yoke. 
 Because it galls their vices — even as some. 
 Among thy flatterers, only kneel for hire. 
 Of such I reck not. Other minds abound. 
 
70 The Flight from the Castle. 
 
 And worthier motives. Good and simple souls, 
 
 O'erburdened by the intolerable weight 
 
 Of old abuses, for deliverance seek. 
 
 For freedom seek, and light, and look to me 
 
 As to their lawful prince. Had I the power, 
 
 I fain would satisfy both them and thee. 
 
 But, if I needs must choose — forgive me, mother ! 
 
 I cannot rid me of the heritage. 
 
 Which is my birthright. God hath placed me here. 
 
 To help and guide this people at their need ; 
 
 Nor priest, nor monk, nor the great name of Rome, 
 
 Nor even the love I still must bear to thee. 
 
 Shall stand betwixt me and my work. Henceforth, 
 
 I feel, that I must tread my path alone. 
 
 Beset with dangers, and oppressed with cares. 
 
 Toiling and struggling through a night of gloom 
 
 Into a clearer day. Farewell, my mother ! 
 
 Wilt thou not bless me once before I go ? " 
 
 She turned, and as in silent scorn withdrew ; 
 In sorrow and in anger did they part. 
 But saw not yet how wide a gulf had yawned 
 'Twixt the proud mother and her once-loved son. 
 
The Flight Jrom the Castle. 71 
 
 She hoped ere long to force him to submit, 
 And then to welcome back the truant child. 
 He still believed, that she would soon relent. 
 And grant the freedom, which befits a man. 
 Both cherished in their secret hearts a dream 
 Of reconcilement, and old times restored. 
 Not knowing, that the fatal hour had struck. 
 The inevitable hour of change and death, 
 And that the past was gone beyond recall. 
 
 Wise men there were, and good, on either side. 
 Who strove to pour the oil of soothing words 
 Upon the troubled waters, and long sought 
 By fair concession to compound the strife. 
 But all their plans were crossed by passions fierce. 
 By rude impatience, clamour, fiery zeal. 
 And prejudice, deep-rooted as the oak. 
 And innovation, restless as the wind. 
 While yet they parleyed, onward rushed the stream 
 Of dire events, and, with a torrent's force. 
 Swept down the last remaining hopes of peace. 
 
 Round Teuton gatherfed all the rash and young. 
 
72 The Flight from the Castle. 
 
 Urging him to revolt ; and, when he paused. 
 By habit and affection still restrained. 
 The sterner bigots whispered to the queen. 
 That she must strike some great, decisive blow. 
 Soon went the mandate forth — and pious men, 
 Whose crime had been to speak too loud the truth. 
 Were seized, imprisoned, tortured, doomed to die. 
 ' 'Twas rumoured, that a dungeon was prepared. 
 In which his ghostly censors would immure 
 The prince, who dared to question what they taught, 
 And there, by penance, fasting, darkness, chains, 
 Break the free spirit, and the stubborn will. 
 Then Teuton paused no more. He summoned 
 
 straight 
 His friends, companions, followers, and allies. 
 And bade them all make ready to depart 
 From that grim castle, in whose stifling air 
 No freeman now could breathe. In fear and haste. 
 Beneath the shelter of the friendly night. 
 They met, of either sex, and every age. 
 Laden with what they valued most ; and morn 
 Beheld them on their way, to seek a home, 
 Where they might dwell secure, and worship God 
 
The Flight from the Castle. 73 
 
 In quietness of mind. Ere from the gate 
 
 He turned, the youthful leader of the band. 
 
 Reining his eager and high-mettled steed. 
 
 Cast on those ancient- walls one lingering look. 
 
 And murmured : — " Scene of all I yet have known. 
 
 Castle of Mediaeva, fare thee well ! 
 
 Farewell the haunts of boyhood's happy years ! 
 
 And farewell too the simple, bright content. 
 
 The meek obedience, and the trusting faith, 
 
 Which only childhood owns ! — Before me lies 
 
 A stern, hard future, and the work to do 
 
 WiU need far other gifts. Be strong, my soul ! 
 
 As my brave fathers launched their tiny barks 
 
 On stormy seas, and oceans unexplored. 
 
 To found new kingdoms for the Northern race. 
 
 So wiU I venture on this course untried, 
 
 Sure of myself, whatever else may fail ! " 
 
 Up to his bridle reached a gentle hand, 
 A fair and fragile form beside him stood. 
 And a sweet voice, like to a spirit's song. 
 Stole on his ear : — " Not in thyself, my brother. 
 But in the heaven above thee put thy trust ! 
 
 L 
 
74 The Flight from the Castle. 
 
 Old ties are broken, old afFections fade, 
 
 And all the world is full of shattered hopes. 
 
 Divided duties, and forgotten vows ; 
 
 But the same Power Divine, whose name is Love, 
 
 Pities our need, and watches o'er us still. 
 
 We may not dwell together as of yore. 
 
 In daily, hourly converse, unreproved, 
 
 A brother and a sister. Thou must go 
 
 Upon thy task, and I keep true to mine. 
 
 Which is to wait and serve, believe and pray. 
 
 But take this Book, my parting gift to thee. 
 
 And prize it as the holiest thing on earth ! 
 
 'Twill teach thee how to live, and how to die." 
 
 It was the volume, which the dauntless monk 
 Had rescued and preserved, when hostUe tongues 
 Were clamouring for his blood — interpreted 
 In the familiar speech of common men. 
 That all might understand. As Teuton bent 
 To take It, and to kiss the donor's cheek. 
 She glided from his presence like a dream. 
 A moment yet irresolute he stayed — 
 Then thrust the tome beneath the silken folds. 
 
The Flight from the Castle. 
 
 75 
 
 That clothed his bosom, and, with one more glance 
 At those old towers, he gave his horse the rein. 
 And, bounding forward, waved his cap and plume, 
 A sign to all, that they should follow him. 
 
VII. 
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE CITY. 
 
 [ N safety Teuton led his people forth, 
 By mountain-pass, wild wood, and desert 
 plain. 
 
 To a new land, where, on the shelving bank 
 Of a great river, they encamped their force. 
 And soon, with native strength of heart and limb, 
 And the rude vigour of the sons of Thor, 
 Laid the foundations of their future home. 
 It was no more a castle flanked with towers. 
 On the bare summit of a rocky height. 
 Standing aloof in solitary state. 
 Or only with the proud cathedral near. 
 And some few dwellings round. A nobler thought 
 Filled Teuton's brain, suggesting glorious dreams 
 Of a vast city thronged with busy life, 
 A commonwealth of freemen. " Therefore build," 
 
The Building of the City. 77 
 
 He said, " upon a wide and generous plan, 
 By no strict bounds confined. Let there be room 
 For all, and ample space to grow and thrive. 
 And we will have our churches and our halls. 
 Our seats of learning, and our marts of trade. 
 With law, and rule, and custom as of old. 
 Albeit in other forms. Whate'er is good 
 We will not scorn to borrow from the past. 
 While truth and reason teach us what to shun." 
 
 Wisely he spake, and they, with resolute will. 
 Set themselves to the work ; but scarcely rose 
 The walls above the ground, when from afar 
 Came, with alarums and loud clash of arms. 
 The heavy tramp of an advancing host. 
 Beneath the banner of the cross they came. 
 Fired with the frenzy of religious hate. 
 And pouring from the castle of their queen. 
 To sweep all rebels from the face of earth. 
 Then paused the builders in their task, and fear 
 Fell upon many hearts, and woman's cry 
 Of grief was heard, and childhood's piteous wail ; 
 But the men seized their weapons, and prepared. 
 
78 The Building of the City. 
 
 With stern, pale faces, for the coining strife. 
 While, grave and calm, rode Teuton through their 
 
 ranks. 
 And ordered all things as a warrior should. 
 " Not upon us," he said, " will rest the blood. 
 That must be shed. We would have lived at peace, 
 Content to build, and dig, and plant, and sow. 
 Hoping hereafter to enjoy the fruit 
 Of honest labour, and, molesting none. 
 To be by none molested or assailed. 
 But, since they come against us with the sword, 
 'Tis time to show, that we, who have to guard 
 A cause most sacred — not alone the lives. 
 The dear and innocent lives of those we love. 
 But all the cherished rights of freeborn men. 
 And true religion, pure as heaven's own light — 
 Are not less valiant than our heathen sires. 
 Nor less in earnest than our zealous foes ; 
 And He, who is the God of Battles, judge 
 'Twixt them and us! — He is our strength and 
 
 shield ; 
 And, in His name, will we go forth to seek 
 A glorious victory or a stainless death!" 
 
The Building of the City. 
 
 Now front to front tlie hostile armies stood. 
 And Teuton's followers, by their chief inspired. 
 Felt the high courage of the warlike North 
 Stir in their veins, and longed to close in fight. 
 Yet, 'neath the mystic banner blest by Rome, 
 Against them was arrayed a mighty power. 
 Bravely accoutred, glittering all in arms. 
 Led by great captains, and with burning zeal 
 In many a heart. Ere yet the battle joined. 
 On the one side were solemn masses sung. 
 In silent homage knelt the steel-clad lines. 
 And to the priestly benediction bowed 
 Pennon and lance ; while, from the rival ranks. 
 Deep, manly voices raised the fervent prayer. 
 Followed by exhortation, and the swell 
 Of choral notes in some such strain as this : 
 
 " Arise ! O Lord of Hosts, arise ! 
 
 "Without Thee none may stand ; 
 And strong, and weak, and fools, and wise, 
 
 Alike are in Thy hand. 
 
 " For what avails each other gift. 
 If Thou refuse to save ? 
 
80 The Building of the City, 
 
 The race belongs not to the swift. 
 Nor battle to the brave. 
 
 " But, led by Thee, no humblest thing 
 
 Need fear the proudest foe ; 
 A pebble from a shepherd's sling 
 
 Will lay the giant low. 
 
 " Then let them rage — let all the powers 
 
 Of earth and hell combine — 
 We deck not Ashtaroth's fane with flowers, 
 
 Nor kneel at Dagon's shrine ! 
 
 " And, if the desert's fiery sand 
 
 Must by our feet be trod. 
 We bear amid our faithful band 
 
 The sacred Ark of God ! 
 
 " O Lord, arise ! and, as of yore 
 
 The chariots floated wide. 
 When Israel from the Red Sea shore 
 
 Watched the returning tide — 
 
The Building of the City. ,81 
 
 " As Pharaoli and his warriors fled, 
 Vain flight from certain doom ! 
 
 Till rolled the waves above their head. 
 With darkness of the tomb — 
 
 " So let our foes be scattered all. 
 
 By sudden fate o'erthrown, 
 And we, who triumph in their fall. 
 
 Will praise Thy name alone ! " 
 
 While thus they sang, the stern, old Hebrew mood. 
 The flerce, fanatic, unrelenting mood. 
 Began to mingle with the Northman's fire. 
 His scorn of danger, and his love of arms. 
 It urged them on as ministers of wrath. 
 Ordained, predestined, bound by heaven's decree, 
 To smite, and not to spare. With equal hate. 
 The soldiers of the cross advanced to war. 
 They rushed together like two thunder-clouds. 
 The earth beneath them trembled at the shock, 
 And all the sky was veiled in dust and smoke. 
 Through the dense vapour deadly flashes gleamed. 
 Swift volleys poured, and oft emerged to view 
 
 M 
 
82 The Building of the City. 
 
 The charging squadrons, and the glancing steel. 
 
 As to and fro the dreadful battle swayed. 
 
 And every inch of ground was bought with blood. 
 
 Yet, after matchless struggles all the day, 
 
 Great deeds performed, lives prodigally spent. 
 
 The night was with no single vantage crowned. 
 
 And either army to its camp retired. 
 
 Weak, worn, and weary, but unconquered still. 
 
 And, day by day, from morn till set of sun. 
 
 Did they pursue the strife. Kound the white plume 
 
 Of Teuton pealed the combat's wildest din. 
 
 Swelling to fury, and his voice rang out 
 
 Above the storm : — " Men of the North, fight on ! 
 
 Fight for free homes, and altars undefiled — 
 
 Or else for honoured graves, and rest in heaven ! 
 
 There is no middle course. God be our Aid ! " 
 
 So the war lasted, without pause or truce. 
 But with strange turns of fortune, acts of prowess 
 On either side, and feats of high renown, 
 And, as it long appeared, with no result. 
 Yet, in the end, the spirit of freedom, roused 
 In Northern hearts, vanquished each hostile force. 
 
The Building of the City. 83 
 
 And backward, as from rocks of adamant. 
 In broken eddies rolled the invading flood. 
 Then, faint and bleeding, from the well-fought field 
 Teuton withdrew his troops, but still prepared. 
 Like a wise leader, for the next attack. 
 Meanwhile, he bade resume their former task. 
 And build as best they might, amid the stir 
 Of hourly expectation. Some kept guard. 
 While others toiled, and soon once more the walls 
 Of the new city 'gan to grow and spread. 
 Irregular, oft bearing marks of haste. 
 Now copied from the past, now fresh-designed. 
 Incongruous, void of Grecian symmetry. 
 But a safe refuge, and fit dwelling-place. 
 For men, who value free and quiet homes 
 Beyond all forms of beauty. When the foe 
 Keturned to the assault, the way was blocked 
 By strong defences, ravelin, scarp, and trench. 
 And, after many a vain attempt, the siege 
 Was in despair abandoned. Since that time. 
 Oft has the ancient hate flamed forth anew. 
 And oft, by open force, or covert guile. 
 Have soldiers from the castle sought to make 
 
84 The Building of the City. 
 
 The conquest of the city ; but their pains 
 Have all been fruitless, and, by vigilant care. 
 The sturdy Northman still has kept his hearth 
 Inviolate, and his temple unprofaned. 
 
 And now, in longer intervals of peace. 
 The city grew and flourished more and more, 
 With stately buildings, gay and busy streets, 
 And pleasant walks along the river's bank. 
 And wharfs, to which came ships from foreign parts. 
 Laden with untold wealth. Far different men 
 From the grim warriors of the olden days. 
 Albeit with no less energy endued — 
 The merchant keen, the skilful artisan. 
 And all the varied multitudes, that fill 
 The callings and the posts of civil life — 
 Were soon assembled there. These to direct. 
 To teach, to govern, was henceforth the task 
 Laid upon Teuton by supernal power ; 
 And, as he brooded o'er the mighty work. 
 No wonder that his spirit sank within. 
 No wonder that he cried : — " Where shall I seek 
 For counsel ? For support and guidance where ? 
 
The Building of the City. 85 
 
 No mother now speaks in the name of heaven, 
 No priest expounds the law. The reverend voice 
 Of old authority is hushed on earth. 
 The oracles are dumb. Well ! be it so ! 
 As I have chosen, I must needs abide. 
 This volume stiU remains — the precious gift 
 Of her I loved in childhood — and its page 
 Shall be my chart and compass, to discern 
 My path across the yet unfathomed deep ! " 
 
86 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE BOOK AND ITS EEADERS. 
 
 [N his lone chamber, througli the silent night. 
 And when his lamp waxed pale at dawn of 
 day. 
 
 Did Teuton turn the sacred leaves, and pore 
 Over the volume, heart and mind intent 
 To mould the theory of a Church and State. 
 True doctrine would he gather for the one. 
 And for the other laws and sanctions find. 
 Based upon perfect wisdom. All would trust 
 In that sure guide, and so there would prevail 
 Through the blest land a harmony of thought. 
 Opinions, customs, feelings, institutes. 
 Such as the world had never seen before. 
 In the long march of ages. And that none 
 Might err from ignorance, he bade multiply 
 The copies of the Book, and had it read 
 
The Booh and its Readers. 87 
 
 Aloud in public places. Many a soul. 
 That dwelt in darkness and the shadow of death. 
 Now heard for the first time the words of life, 
 And a great joy thrilled the brave spirits of those. 
 Who for the truth had suffered, fought, and bled. 
 And now beheld it strong, victorious, crowned. 
 
 Ah ! well might they rejoice, when, from on high. 
 The glory and the poetry of heaven. 
 Which saints and sages had revered afar. 
 Came down to be the daily nourishment 
 Of common men ! — ^WeU might they fondly hope. 
 That words divine would kindle holy thoughts. 
 And these express themselves in noblest deeds 
 Of charity, and knit the bonds of peace ; 
 While whatsoe'er is selfish, foul, and base 
 Would slink abashed from that celestial light. 
 And hateful passions, petty rivalries. 
 Harsh judgments, bitter feelings, narrow views. 
 Be lost in one bright flame of Christian love ! 
 
 Alas ! it was not so of old, when He 
 Walked the sad earth — and it was not so now ! 
 
88 The Booh and its Readers. 
 
 Soon rose a murmur, and a noise of strife. 
 Which drowned the seraph-music from above. 
 Or turned it all to discord. Men, who saw 
 Some fragment of the truth, blind to the rest, 
 Could tolerate no eye-sight save their own. 
 They read the Book in many a diverse sense. 
 And, as they wrangled o'er each doubtful text. 
 Candour and patience fled, and mutual help 
 Gave way to scorn and hatred. Long and loud 
 Their disputations raged, with looks as fierce. 
 And blows as deadly, as when erst they stood 
 In serried ranks, to face a common foe. 
 And the same stubborn vigour, which had won 
 Their victories in the field, threatened to shake 
 The city with a new and bloodier war. 
 
 Then Teuton called a council of the chiefs. 
 Grave elders, chosen pastors of the flock, 
 And bade them speak their wishes, and expound 
 Their several doctrines, that these bitter feuds, 
 If once the cause were fully understood. 
 Might haply be appeased. But as, at eve. 
 When twilight settles on the gloomy marsh. 
 
The Book and its Readers, 89 
 
 A thousand hideous croakings fill the air. 
 So swelled the tumult of contending tongues. 
 Hoarse, inarticulate, deafening. Faith and works. 
 Original sin, imputed righteousness. 
 Free-will, predestination, power of grace. 
 Election, perseverance, final doom — 
 And all the words, with which men strive to mask 
 Their ignorance of the mysteries of God — 
 Were in this quarrel bandied to and fro. 
 Like balls from rackets. Vainly Teuton asked : 
 " Did not the cloistered monks in by-gone years. 
 When at their feet I sat, a listening child. 
 Talk of these things, although by other names. 
 And find no end to their unquiet doubts ? 
 And, if the Book have solved such riddles old. 
 Wherefore dispute ? " — Then all at once cried out : 
 " 'Tis to the Book alone, that we appeal ! 
 We will be judged by it, and not by thee ! " 
 
 Long Teuton laboured, patiently and long. 
 To reconcile those jarring elements. 
 And blend them into one. He sought each text. 
 On which the sectaries built their several creeds. 
 
90 The Book and its Readers. 
 
 And weighed the sense in nicely balanced scales. 
 
 Yet only proved, that the same words impart 
 
 A different meaning unto different minds. 
 
 They still objected, argued, cavilled, clung 
 
 To trifles, harped on one discordant string. 
 
 But shunned the themes, on which they aU agreed. 
 
 And ever found new cause for hate and strife ; 
 
 Till Teuton closed the volume, in despair 
 
 From very weariness. " Tell me no more ! " 
 
 He said. " Whatever else be false or true, 
 
 'Tis not our Father's will, our Master's law. 
 
 That ye should dwell in godless enmity. 
 
 Or Cain-like dip your hands in brother's blood. 
 
 Think what ye will, and henceforth preach and pray, 
 
 Even as ye list. None shall contest your right ; 
 
 But neither shall ye judge another's faith. 
 
 This be our city's glorious charter still : 
 
 Safety and Peace for aU, and Conscience free ! " 
 
 Sternly he spake, with resolute voice and look, 
 That awed them to obedience ; and, ere long. 
 The mass of men, who live by toil and thrift. 
 And have no time for controversial lore. 
 
The Book and its Readers. 91 
 
 Began to praise the wisdom of their prince, 
 Who thus had conjured down the rising storm. 
 Before it rent the state. Meanwhile, the sects, 
 Various and party-coloured as the swarms. 
 That buzz and flutter in the noontide beam. 
 Drew more and more apart ; and, day by day. 
 Did Teuton's hope grow less to found a church. 
 That in its precincts should include them all. 
 Oft he conferred with one or other chief. 
 And oft admired, in men of different views. 
 Their pious ardour, and unflinching truth. 
 And marvelled much what faint, invisible lines 
 Kept them asunder. But he also saw 
 Too well, that priestcraft was not wholly left 
 Behind in that old castle. Here as there. 
 Ambition, rivalry, and spiritual pride. 
 Insatiate avarice, and the lust of power. 
 Would sometimes wear Eieligion's holiest garb. 
 Mimic her language, and disgrace her name. 
 Yet this was far less frequent, than the zeal 
 Of honest ignorance, obstinately blind 
 To aught, which lay beyond the narrow path. 
 Where accident or custom bade it walk. 
 
92 The Book and its Readers. 
 
 So soon had faded the great light from heaven ! 
 
 And what of them, the small peculiar band. 
 Who, with no selfish ends, nor blindly led 
 By accident or custom, ever strove 
 To shape and colour all their thoughts and deeds 
 In strict accordance with the word divine ? 
 Earnest and pure, they moved among the rest 
 Like separate spirits from a higher sphere ; 
 But, in their lonely musings, they forgot 
 The wants and weakness of humanity. 
 And sought perfection not to be attained. 
 In looks, and speech, and every outward form. 
 So they grew rigid, quaint, exacting, harsh. 
 Frowned on the innocent pleasures of the young. 
 And magnified mere foibles into sins. 
 Waking the scorn and laughter of the crowd 
 By their strange talk, sad garb, and solemn mien. 
 With them awhile did Teuton converse hold. 
 And then drew back. " 'Tis the same tale," he said. 
 " The iron girdle, and the shirt of hair. 
 The scourge, the fast, the vigil, have I left 
 In old, monastic cells — only to find 
 
The Book and its Readers. 93 
 
 The spirit of the monk revived in these. 
 
 And with a wider aim ; for they would make 
 
 The world a cloister, and proscribe at once 
 
 Its week-day business, and its sabbath mirth. 
 
 To such dark meanings may the Book ,be wrenched. 
 
 Even by the pure of heart ! " — With a deep sigh. 
 
 He gave himself again to cares of state. 
 
 And, though the volume still was at his side. 
 
 Less and less often did he turn the page. 
 
 Then slowly waned the glory of the dream. 
 
 Which late had cheered him with so bright a hope, 
 
 And, as the vision melted from his view. 
 
 He dropped from heaven down to the solid earth. 
 
94 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE NEW COURT AND KINGDOM. 
 
 |ET the past sleep ! it had its fleeting day, 
 And now may rest. We wUl not wake 
 it more. 
 
 Its memory still may serve for masque or song. 
 But its old forms have vanished from our life. 
 And with them all the substance of its being. 
 And, for the future, clouds and darkness hang 
 Around the limits of the visible world. 
 And all beyond is night. This much we know : 
 The present is our own, wherein to work 
 "With tools, that Nature puts into our hands. 
 And teaches how to use. Study her laws. 
 Follow her guidance, emulate her toil. 
 And thou, like her, shalt make the desert bloom. 
 And force the elements to be thy slaves. 
 Till earth and ocean shall unite to bring 
 
The New Court and Kingdom. 95 
 
 Their treasures to thy feet. Oh, not in vain 
 
 To man was given the high, aspiring mind. 
 
 That ever seeketh to achieve and win ! 
 
 And not in barren speculation Kes 
 
 Its proper use. By observation keen, 
 
 By wise induction, and experience sure. 
 
 It learns how wide its empire may extend 
 
 O'er the vast system of material things. 
 
 And so it multiplies the joys of sense. 
 
 And makes the universe itself more fair. 
 
 With many a pang diminished or subdued. 
 
 Fate less unkind, and life serener far. 
 
 Oh, this indeed is rule beneficent ! 
 
 This were a sceptre, worthy of the grasp 
 
 Of mightiest monarchs ! And that man should claim 
 
 This brave inheritance of boundless good. 
 
 Is the choice fruit, and noblest birth of Time ! " 
 
 So spake the Sage in Teuton's listening ear. 
 The Sage with forehead like the dome of heaven. 
 And full, mellifluous voice. By him inspired, 
 A thousand busy workers thronged the court. 
 And the prince gave them audience, one by one. 
 
96 The New Court and Kingdom. 
 
 Smiled on their efforts, and approved their schemes. 
 
 Till labour triumphed in a great success. 
 
 Before undreamt of. All the sister Arts 
 
 Paid suit and service to a common lord. 
 
 And Science from her starry heights came down 
 
 To minister to man. No wizard's wand 
 
 E'er wrought such changes in a fairy tale. 
 
 As did the roused and practiced intellect 
 
 In the true, natural world. With every day. 
 
 New wonders dawned upon the startled sense, 
 
 New conquests marked the progress of the war. 
 
 Which mind with matter waged. A palace rose 
 
 For Teuton's dwelling, of proportions vast. 
 
 With many windows glittering in the sun. 
 
 With gates of bronze, and marble staircases. 
 
 Tall columns, painted ceilings, gilded frieze. 
 
 And endless galleries, rich with stores untold. 
 
 The tribute both of near and distant lands. 
 
 Books fiUed the shelves, and pictures lined the walls. 
 
 And velvet carpets on the floors were spread. 
 
 And lofty mirrors magnified the sheen 
 
 Of silks, and stuffs, and costly furniture. 
 
 A splendid mansion gorgeously arrayed 
 
The New Court and Kingdom. 97 
 
 Was there, with all the soft appliances 
 
 Of wealth and luxury, and around it bloomed 
 
 The terraced gardens and the bosky lawns. 
 
 And milk-white statues gleamed amid the spray 
 
 Of silvery fountains. Thither would resort 
 
 The young, the fair, the graceful, and the gay. 
 
 In garb of every hue, a varied show. 
 
 And oft they joined in banquet or in dance. 
 
 Or listened to sweet music, or beheld 
 
 The stately drama its bright scenes unfold. 
 
 Nor did there lack, in that most brilliant court. 
 
 The valiant and the wise ; and grave discourse 
 
 "Was ofttimes heard amid its pomp and mirth. 
 
 It seemed, as though beauty and strength had met. 
 
 And that the golden age had come at last. 
 
 With pride and pleasure, from his palace-roof. 
 Did Teuton gaze beyond the garden-walls. 
 Into the busy streets, and crowded marts. 
 And, further still, on warehouses and wharfs. 
 Piled with huge bales of goodly merchandise. 
 On ships at anchor, and the distant swell 
 Of a land teeming with the kindly fruits 
 
98 The New Court and Kingdom, 
 
 Of human industry. " All hail ! " he cried. 
 
 " Hail, happy kingdom ! — Though some tribes of 
 
 men 
 Boast a more genial soil, and warmer skies. 
 Thou art the first among the realms of earth. 
 Thy children are the world's imperial race. 
 And I must needs be blest, whose privilege 
 It is to lead them on from step to step, 
 Through fresh delights, and glories yet unknown, 
 Tow'rds the perfection of a nation's life. 
 For ever kept in view. What joy to see 
 The long procession of the coming years. 
 Each with its trophy and triumphal crown, 
 Superior to the last ! — Ah, now I feel 
 How weak and foolish was my former dread 
 Of change, and of the light, which freedom brings 
 To chase the goblins, that deceive our youth. 
 And hold us back from lofty enterprise ! 
 Henceforth, away with doubt ! away with fear ! 
 Not dreams, but action, be my future lot. 
 Still adding to my people's wealth and power. 
 Gaining new victories over space and time. 
 And god-like spreading happiness around ! 
 
The New Court and Kingdom. 99 
 
 And all by use of Nature's common gifts — 
 
 The observant eye, quick ear, and dexterous hand, 
 
 With the sound brain adapting means to ends." 
 
 So mused the prince, and so the kingdom grew 
 In all material greatness. Not alone 
 The city flourished, and the landscape near 
 Laughed with the joy of plenty, but the wealth 
 Of that rich hive o'erflowed to foreign shores. 
 And from it issued busy swarms, to plant 
 And colonize waste places of the earth. 
 Bearing the blood and language of the North 
 To realms unwhitened by the Northern snows. 
 And, while so many thronged the haunts of trade. 
 Wrought at the loom, the anvil, or the mine. 
 Or tilled the soil, or ploughed the stormy sea, 
 A few, with vision fixed upon the skies. 
 Measured the distance of the sun and stars. 
 And taught the laws, by which the planets move. 
 And some drew forth the harmonies of sound. 
 Or shaped the marble into forms of life. 
 Or touched the canvass with the hues of heaven ; 
 And some, in lofty, or in lowly strains. 
 
100 The New Court and Kingdom, 
 
 Chanted the praise and glory of their race. 
 And the sure progress of the enfranchised world. 
 
 Then, filled with the intoxicating wine 
 Of prosperous fortune. Teuton gave whole days 
 To pleasure only. As the charms of sense 
 Gained more and more dominion o'er his soul. 
 He toyed with beauty, wooed each soft delight. 
 And, though still brave and generous, could not 'scape 
 The influence of the court's enfeebling air. 
 In which so many virtues droop and die. 
 It seemed, as though the spirit of his youth. 
 Strong, simple, earnest, reverential, pure. 
 Had gone for ever. Little now he thought 
 Of old, heroic memories, once so dear. 
 Of old affections, nursed with mother's milk. 
 And aU, which hallowed or redeemed the past ; 
 But, in their stead, he listened, half amused. 
 And half assenting, to the bitter taunts 
 Of cynics and buffoons, who held in scorn 
 Each native feeling, and each fond belief, 
 That swayed his childhood with mysterious power. 
 Nor was there wanting the logician's art. 
 
The New Court and Kiiigdom. 101 
 
 To justify the sceptic's doubts, and lend 
 A show of reason to the scoffer's jest ; 
 While, for the minstrel's lay of bright romance. 
 More level verse in polished numbers flowed. 
 And this was still the burden of the song : 
 
 " Enjoy ! — The world has ample wealth in store ; 
 
 At Nature's board the daintiest fare is rife. 
 The grapes are pressed, the purple cup runs o'er. 
 
 And he, who will, may taste the sweets of life. 
 Who sows the seed shall reap the golden grain. 
 
 For labour stiU its due reward bestows — 
 Fame, riches, beauty, health of heart and brain. 
 
 Triumphant rapture, and serene repose ! 
 
 " Leave Superstition to her gloomy cell. 
 
 Her useless toil, and self-inflicted pain. 
 Her moon-struck terrors, hideous dreams of hell. 
 
 And idle prayers, that weary heaven in vain ! 
 Forget the beldam's tale, the bigot's creed. 
 
 Fetters that bind, and barriers that delay — 
 Enjoy the present hour in thought and deed ! 
 
 Fear not the morrow ! — Let us live to-day ! 
 
102 The New Court and Kingdom. 
 
 " The classic age revives, to glad the soul 
 
 With pleasant images of graceful things. 
 Young Cupids play, while Bacchus wreathes the 
 bowl. 
 
 To all the Muses bright Apollo sings ; 
 His deep-mouthed shell sounds Triton o'er the brine, 
 
 The Fauns and Dryads peer from wood and grove, 
 Still Venus smiles on Mars — with glance divine. 
 
 Springs the armed Pallas from the brow of Jove ! 
 
 " For these, though fables, are the flowers of art. 
 
 No more believed in, yet so fresh and fair. 
 That to the realms of fiction they impart 
 
 The brilhant colouring, and the balmy air ; 
 And, in those regions, all is gay and free. 
 
 No laws to check, no conscience to reprove. 
 But the mind floats on fancy's boundless sea. 
 
 Or basks at leisure in the light of love ! 
 
 " Then build on earth a home of perfect bliss. 
 Kept sacred from the touch of pain or woe ; 
 
 Let human wisdom only toil for this. 
 To weave the web of happiness below ! 
 
The New Court and Kingdom. 
 
 103 
 
 And ifj at length, one fatal hour must be. 
 When Death will needs intrude (unwelcome 
 guest ! ) 
 
 May the ripe fruit drop gently from the tree, 
 And the tired senses calmly sink to rest ! " 
 
104 
 
 THE SICKNESS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 ^APT In a trance of pleasure and success, 
 Awhile did Teuton slumber. Then he 
 woke 
 
 To a dull consciousness of secret pain, 
 A craving at the heart. The pomp and pride, 
 Which late had swelled the currents of his blood. 
 Turned to an idle, unsubstantial show. 
 And all the dear delights, that once had thrilled 
 The nerves, or charmed the fancy and the taste. 
 Now palled upon his jaded appetite, 
 And left behind a longing and a thirst. 
 Which nothing could assuage ; while, in his ear, 
 A mocking voice seemed ever to repeat, 
 That life is in the main a sorry jest, 
 And all is vanity beneath the sun ! 
 
The Sickness of the Soul. 105 
 
 Alas for man ! lie drains the sparkling bowl. 
 And finds the dregs are bitter — gazes round 
 On forms of beauty, till they fade in night — 
 Hears dulcet music, which in discord dies — 
 Smells at sweet flowers, that wither 'neath his 
 
 touch — 
 And to his bosom clasps an airy shape. 
 That melts in his embrace. Alas for man ! 
 So oft deceived by false, delusive hopes. 
 And promise of an earthly paradise. 
 Which flies before him when he comes too near. 
 Oh, rather, well for man ! that to the soul. 
 For heaven designed, and by heaven's breath inspired. 
 This animal nature, these material joys. 
 Have never yet sufficed — and least of all 
 To noble spirits, loftiest of their kind ! 
 
 So Teuton walked about his kingly home. 
 Through splendid galleries, and majestic halls, 
 By crystal fountains, and gay garden-bowers. 
 In restless mood. He climbed his palace-roof. 
 But looked abroad in vain, to find a cure 
 For black despondency. Upon him weighed 
 
106 The Sickness of the Soul. 
 
 A weary load of sullen discontent, 
 
 And, though he oft would smile in bitterness 
 
 At his own gloom, he could not chase the cloud. 
 
 Which darkened his fair front, and azure eyes. 
 
 Then said he : — " I will quit these gilded courts. 
 
 With their monotonous glories, and go forth 
 
 Among the hardy tillers of the soil. 
 
 Or simple craftsmen, rude artificers. 
 
 Who spend their lives in honest poverty. 
 
 And earn by sweat of brow their daily bread, 
 
 To see if I may share the humble joys 
 
 And sweet refreshments of their happier lot." 
 
 He clothed himself in plainest garb, and sought 
 The dwellings of the poor. Then first he learned- 
 So late comes knowledge to the ears of kings ! — 
 How, in the heart of cities. In the shade 
 Of palace-walls, and close beside the haunts 
 Of wealth, refinement, beauty, luxury, taste. 
 May lurk a poverty — not such as tempts 
 The artist's pencil, or with homely grace 
 Invites the tribute of the poet's song — 
 But savage, hideous, foul, and terrible. 
 
The Sickness of the Soul. 107 
 
 By ghastly shapes attended, gaunt and pale. 
 
 Ignorant as babes, and yet in vices old. 
 
 And fiercely ravening, like fell beasts, for prey. 
 
 There saw he men, with manhood's strength debased 
 
 To vilest uses — women's features changed 
 
 To a grim mask, that mocked with hollow mirth 
 
 The bosom's pangs — children with looks of eld — 
 
 And sordid age, unreverenced and unblest. 
 
 Making white hairs a by-word. On him struck 
 
 A sudden chill of pity and remorse. 
 
 As to himself he said : — " Where have I been 
 
 These many days (light reveller on a throne !) 
 
 While this my people sank to lowest depths 
 
 Of misery and despair ? Much have I done. 
 
 To raise the noble, and exalt the proud. 
 
 And magnify the wisdom of the wise. 
 
 And still we boasted, that our kingdom grew 
 
 In civil virtues, and the arts of life ; 
 
 Yet now I find, even at my palace-gates. 
 
 Barbarians, worse than ever crossed the sea 
 
 With my brave sires, and reft of every trace 
 
 Of old, barbarian vigour. How retrieve 
 
 The wasted hours ? How give these blind men sight ? 
 
108 The Sickness of the Soul. 
 
 How lift them to the level of their time ? 
 What spell can wake the dead ? And who believes 
 In any magic more ? Help is there none. 
 Nor hope — until some suffering more intense. 
 Some great convulsion, some unlooked for shock, 
 Shall rouse this people from their sleep of death. 
 And, teaching what they are, and what they lack. 
 Restore them to the dignity of man ! " 
 
 He turned away in heaviness of heart. 
 And, when again he trod his marble halls. 
 He tasked the wit and wisdom of his court 
 For some good counsel, to relieve the throes. 
 Which he had witnessed. Then around him drew 
 A crowd of talkers, little known before. 
 Who much enlarged upon the mournful theme. 
 And on their own o'erflowing tenderness. 
 Their sweet compassion, and fine sympathies — 
 Until it seemed, as though they took delight 
 In sorrow, and enjoyed voluptuous tears — 
 But, all the while, lounged in the gay saloon. 
 Fared sumptuously at board, lay soft and warm 
 On silken couches, and no finger stirred 
 
The Sickness of the Soul, 109 
 
 To ease the misery, which they still bewailed 
 
 With doleful iteration. Not for long 
 
 Could Teuton brook that false and hollow whine ; 
 
 The frankness of his nature, well preserved 
 
 Amid the varying colours of his mind. 
 
 Shrank, as by instinct, from the weak pretence 
 
 Of sensibility, that found its vent 
 
 In studied phrases, and in maudlin show. 
 
 " Waste not your pity," he at length exclaimed, 
 
 " On vulgar pains, that ye have never known ! 
 
 Keep it for griefs, that ye yourselves have felt. 
 
 And I too feel — the weariness of life. 
 
 The sated passion, and the listless mood. 
 
 Torpor of sloth, and surfeit of excess. 
 
 Which are the bane and curse of prosperous days ! 
 
 But spare the poor ! Let hunger and fierce want 
 
 Be sacred from vain words, and empty sighs. 
 
 And aU the petty mimicry of woe. 
 
 Nor mock the anguish, which you cannot cure ! " 
 
 Then he took counsel of far different minds — 
 The grave philosophers, who test the worth 
 Of human motives, and adjust the scale 
 
110 The Sickness of the Soul. 
 
 Of thought and action. These by logic proved. 
 
 That his late melancholy had no ground 
 
 In reason, and was either a disease. 
 
 To be by medicine from the blood expelled. 
 
 Or else a folly, to be scorned and shunned. 
 
 " It may be true," he said ; " but, when we sleep. 
 
 And all our functions in black durance lie. 
 
 What effort of the will has power to move 
 
 The grisly nightmare seated on our breast, 
 
 Or give us better dreams ? Nay, tell me rather — 
 
 What can be done for my poor people, sunk 
 
 In that abyss, which yawns so dark and wide 
 
 Amid the city's splendour ? Must they live 
 
 A savage life, by no rude virtue graced. 
 
 By no wUd freedom sweetened or adorned. 
 
 And have the tree of knowledge in their reach, 
 
 Only to pluck its worst and bitterest fruit ? " 
 
 The wise men answered, that one half the need, 
 And more than half the sufferings of the poor. 
 Are the rank growth of ignorance and vice. 
 Remediable by labour, temperance, thrift. 
 And in their own control. If Teuton asked 
 
The Sickness of the Soul. Ill 
 
 How this might help them, being weak and bUnd — 
 
 The sages made reply, that man is man, 
 
 Allured by pleasure, and deterred by pain. 
 
 Still guided by self-interest and self-love. 
 
 The same to-day as in all other time. 
 
 Therefore, they argued, teach the people once 
 
 Where lies their happiness, and which the road. 
 
 And they must take it, by compulsion strong 
 
 As that, which drives the swallow o'er the sea 
 
 In quest of summer. " Does this law hold good. 
 
 Even with you ? " said Teuton. " Does the mind. 
 
 Long schooled by reason, its behests obey. 
 
 When passion, or a near indulgence, tempts 
 
 To sacrifice the higher, distant aim ? 
 
 And will the untutored, lawless multitude. 
 
 With fiercer passions, and with feebler powers. 
 
 Be more obedient, more amenable. 
 
 To this cold censor, reason ? — No ! ah, no ! 
 
 Unless ye have some subtle remedy. 
 
 More potent than the shallow, stale device 
 
 Of trusting selfishness to conquer self. 
 
 Ye spend your breath as mountebanks dispense 
 
 Their drugs, with promise of a speedy cure. 
 
112 The Sickness of the Soul. 
 
 Yet touch not the disease. O for the voice 
 Of stern, old prophets, with the tongues of fire. 
 To sear, and so to heal, our deepest wounds ! 
 O for some true physician of the soul ! 
 How gladly would we at his feet lay down 
 Our wealth and ease, our luxury and pride. 
 Our cherished culture, and our boasted arts, 
 If we might win back health's elastic force. 
 Shake off the gloom, the languor, and the sloth, 
 And bid our palsied brethren rise and live ! " 
 
113 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE MASQUE OF LIBERTY. 
 
 gPON a day, when all was drear and void, 
 Like the dull morrow of some riotous feast, 
 A brilliant guest appeared at Teuton's court. 
 And woke it into sudden life. A queen. 
 Or of a queenly presence, passing fair, 
 "With waving tresses, and loose-flowing robe. 
 And joy and beauty in her fearless glance. 
 Noble, yet full of kindly courtesy — 
 Aurora-like, she through the palace swept. 
 Gay youths and maidens scattering flowers around. 
 As though she brought the sunshine in her train. 
 To flood those halls with light. Emblems were borne 
 Before her, that seemed relics of the past — 
 The Roman fasces, and the Phrygian cap — 
 But she was young, and, it was said, new crowned 
 By young enthusiasts from the banks of Seine, 
 
 Q 
 
114 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 Or swift Garonne, and the blue Midland sea. 
 Her Teuton welcomed with admiring gaze. 
 And princely greeting — led her to a seat 
 Beside his own — and listened, deeply moved, 
 "While she in silvery tone thus frankly spake : 
 
 " I come to thee in hope and confidence, 
 As to a friend. Thy fame is widely spread. 
 And generous natures are, methinks, not slow 
 To understand each other. Thou and thine 
 Have done good service to the grateful world — 
 Have ploughed, sown, reaped, dug, planted, built, 
 
 and spun, 
 Wooed every science, fostered every art, 
 Unfurled the sails of commerce, and explored 
 The depths of ocean, and the bounds of earth. 
 And yet, amid thy glory and thy wealth. 
 Something is wanting still, and oft thine ear 
 Is vexed by groans and murmurs, and the wail 
 Of anguish, travailing for a better time. 
 What may this mean ? — It is, that human souls. 
 More than all pomp, all riches, all delight, 
 Have need of that, which gold can never buy — 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 115 
 
 The god-like gift of freedom. This one boon 
 I can bestow. The grand idea, which filled 
 The mind of Grecian sages, and inspired 
 The patriot's vision, and the poet's song. 
 May now be realized ; for it has grown 
 To form and substance in this woman's brain. 
 And shall be spoken by this woman's lips. 
 To charm away thy cares. It is the spell, 
 "Which, uttered in the dotage of mankind. 
 Shall fright the rich from indolent repose. 
 And rouse the poor from helpless misery. 
 It makes my pulses dance, my bosom throb 
 With joyful expectation, but to think 
 Of what shall be, if thou wilt lend thine aid 
 To this great cause, uplift the sacred flag 
 Of liberty in all the people's sight. 
 And teach the nations how to seize the prize ! " 
 
 " Methinks, that men will ask no better guide 
 Than lips like thine," said Teuton. " But, in truth. 
 This freedom is no unfamiliar word 
 To me and to my people. Of old time. 
 They battled for it many a stormy day. 
 
116 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 And slavery long ago became a sound 
 
 Accursed by all, who speak the Northern tongue. 
 
 For freedom's sake, they left the sheltering walls 
 
 Of that proud castle, where I spent my youth. 
 
 And followed me to seek another home ; 
 
 And, when we built our city, not in vain 
 
 We strove, by law and justice, to preserve 
 
 This heritage of freedom. Where we fail 
 
 Is rather by submission to the yoke 
 
 Of our own vices, than to any form 
 
 Of outward tyranny. This throne and state 
 
 Are founded on a willing loyalty. 
 
 Not on brute force, or base, unmanly fear." 
 
 " It may be so," she answered ; " but thy rule. 
 However wise and just, doth not suffice 
 To keep men free. Thou art indeed a king ; 
 Yet, in thy name, a thousand crimes are wrought. 
 Which thou hast never sanctioned. In thy name. 
 The privileged noble, and the courtly few. 
 The high-born, and the wealthy, and the strong. 
 Earth's favoured children, oft oppress the poor. 
 And the weak many choose to be oppressed. 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 117 
 
 Because they yield obedience to the power 
 
 Of the blind despot. Custom. Foolish rags 
 
 Of faded, worn tradition did they bring 
 
 From that old castle, where thy youth was spent. 
 
 And these with them pass current for beliefs. 
 
 And serve instead of reasons. Hence the wish 
 
 To crawl for ever in the self-same track. 
 
 Unmindful of new paths, and prospects fair. 
 
 Hence the compliance with established wrong. 
 
 And tame endurance of unnumbered ills. 
 
 Which else they might have conquered. Be- it mine 
 
 To root from out the soil these noxious weeds 
 
 Of superstition, habit, prejudice. 
 
 That, when the ground is cleared, we may have room 
 
 To plant a garden in the desert place." 
 
 '' Yet flowers and weeds," said Teuton, with a sigh, 
 " Oft grow together. Must we root up both ? 
 And, grant the wisdom of the end in view. 
 What are thy means to move the sluggish mass. 
 And break the trammels of their life-long sleep ? " 
 
 She rose, and stood before him, like a dream 
 
118 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 Of grace and beauty — smiled her sweetest smile. 
 
 O'er her white shoulders shook the clustering curls, 
 
 And proudly answered : — " I have little fear. 
 
 That even the poorest drudge, the dullest slave. 
 
 However dwarfed and stunted, will refuse 
 
 To listen to my voice, when I proclaim 
 
 The charter of his manhood. I will take 
 
 His hand in mine, and bid him walk erect. 
 
 For all are equal,- and none high or low. 
 
 Save by a fiction. I wiU show his rights. 
 
 The common rights of all the sons of men. 
 
 Outraged, neglected, oft by craft concealed. 
 
 But never lost, and not to be resigned, 
 
 Except with life. The great ones of the world 
 
 Have had a long monopoly of good — 
 
 Of riches, pleasure, knowledge, fame, and power — 
 
 Because they taught the nations to believe. 
 
 That so it should be ordered. When my breath 
 
 Has blown their flimsy cobwebs into air. 
 
 They will but gain in modesty and truth. 
 
 Whatever else they lose ; and all the poor. 
 
 The weak, down-trodden, suffering, toiling crowd. 
 
 Will rise majestic in the scale of being. 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 119 
 
 Grasp their full share of Nature's bounteous gifts. 
 
 And seek for no imaginary heaven, 
 
 But a real Eden on the blooming earth ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " thought Teuton ; " have the rich and 
 wise 
 Found such an Eden ? " — but she looked so fair. 
 So radiant, so inspired with lofty hope. 
 That he forgot to question what she said. 
 And his heart yielded to a secret joy, 
 As at her feet he sank, and pressed her hand 
 To his warm lips. " Teach me thy lore," he cried ; 
 " Teach me to raise my people and myself 
 To heights of reason, whence we may discern 
 Whate'er is best and loveliest ! — Oh, be thou 
 The star to guide us, and the friend to bless, 
 And we will crown the hoary brows of Time 
 With a fresh garland of life's choicest flowers ! " 
 
 " That comes hereafter," gaily she replied ; 
 " For we may hope for bright and halcyon days, 
 When next we meet. Meanwhile, do thou thy part ! 
 Go to thy people, and proclaim the truth 
 
120 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 Of man's equality. Lay down thy state, 
 
 And bid thy nobles and thy chiefs resign 
 
 The rank usurped, the titles oft disgraced. 
 
 And power, and privilege, abused too long, 
 
 And forfeit now to justice. Let old laws, 
 
 Old customs, old opinions, old beliefs, 
 
 AU. worthless as the herald's blazonry. 
 
 Be held in like contempt. For then will rise 
 
 The fair, new world of liberty and peace, 
 
 Of equal rights, and social brotherhood. 
 
 In which the natural law wiU reign supreme. 
 
 And virtue be the sole nobility. 
 
 Then labour shall be honoured, life made sweet 
 
 To every honest heart, and love, set free 
 
 From narrow bonds, and vile hypocrisies. 
 
 Burn with pure jSres, and scorn the blush of shame. 
 
 happy time ! I hail its advent now ! 
 
 1 feel it in the sun, and in the breeze. 
 And in the buoyant spirits of the morn. 
 And all good omens tell me it Is near ! " 
 
 The flame, which glistened in her beauteous eyes. 
 Had kindled Teuton's fancy ; yet he paused. 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 121 
 
 When thus she counselled, and the shades of doubt 
 
 Fell cold between them. " 'Twere to break," he said, 
 
 " The last, fine links, that bind me to the past ! 
 
 To blot out every trace of childhood's years. 
 
 And live without a memory or regret ! 
 
 I cannot do it. Much as I have lost 
 
 Of early feeling, habit, and belief, 
 
 I would not wholly cut away the bridge. 
 
 That brought me hither, nor all naked stand. 
 
 Like the first man, with nothing gone before, 
 
 Amid a world unknown. My people too 
 
 Are not of those, who seek the new and strange. 
 
 By restless impulse led. They rather cling 
 
 To custom, and the fond, familiar names. 
 
 Learned in their youth, and by long use endeared. 
 
 The worst among them have some reverence left 
 
 For that, which is above them. To destroy 
 
 Their ancient landmarks, were to risk at once 
 
 Symbol and substance, and so ruin all." 
 
 Light laughed the lady. " Oh, thou shouldst 
 have stayed 
 At home in that old castle ! Symbols there 
 
122 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 Had meaning, and were not mere shadowy ghosts ! 
 
 But, since thy people are so slow of foot, 
 
 I must return to mine, a nimbler race, 
 
 And lead them to the goal. In that fair land. 
 
 The border-land between the North and South, 
 
 Where the grape yields its most enlivening juice. 
 
 The men are gay and sparkling as their wine. 
 
 Quick to conceive, and prompt to execute. 
 
 And eager still for change. Them will I make 
 
 The mirror and the model of the world. 
 
 Soldiers of freedom, champions of the oppressed, 
 
 And founders of a perfect polity. 
 
 In all its parts harmonious and complete. 
 
 Like music of the spheres. Thou and thy realm 
 
 Must follow, soon or late. Meanwhile, abide 
 
 In hazy twilight 'twixt the false and true. 
 
 And soothe thyself with fancies and with dreams ! 
 
 When towers the young republic o'er the wreck 
 
 Of time-worn temples, idols overthrown. 
 
 And ruins of an empire, long decayed 
 
 Ere it for ever fell — thou too wilt smile 
 
 At the vain scruples, which have held thee back 
 
 From sharing in the glory of my work. 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 123 
 
 And thank me, that I would have shown the way 
 To speedier triumph o'er ignoble doubts ! " 
 
 Then, as he would have answered, she withdrew 
 The lily hand, which he had sought to clasp, 
 Waved to her train the signal to depart. 
 And with profound obeisance, half in scorn. 
 And half in petulant impatience, took 
 A brief fareweU, and through the palace-gates 
 Passed in her beauty. Long he stood and gazed. 
 As at the setting sun. " We meet again ! " 
 He murmured. " Yes ! methinks, we meet again ! 
 No fairer vision ever blessed my sight. 
 And I can even forgive this proud contempt. 
 But strange it is, that I, who still have led 
 The boldest of adventurers in the search 
 Of truth and freedom, should myself decline 
 To follow her, whose charms can move me thus. 
 On the same road. What instinct bids me pause ? 
 Whence comes the voice of warning, like a knell, 
 The rush of memory, and the sudden fear 
 Of reckless innovation ? Is it strength 
 Of reason, or mere weakness of the heart ? 
 
124 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 I scarcely know — ^but this, at least, I feel — 
 That all our complex being is so entwined. 
 We cannot, dare not, would not, if we could. 
 Pluck from the tangled web those delicate threads, 
 Which Nature hallows, and which Time hath spared !" 
 
 Yet, spite of caution, still his fancy strayed 
 In quest of that fair stranger ; and, ere long. 
 Among his people spread the vague report 
 Of her achievements. First, they wondering heard 
 How she had trampled all distinctions down. 
 Removed all barriers between man and man. 
 Called on the common family to share 
 The goods of fortune, and, with songs of joy. 
 With waving banners, and triumphal shows. 
 Led the grand march of freedom. Then there came 
 Less pleasing news. Amid the music pierced 
 The cry of terror, and the howl of hate. 
 And blasphemy, and shrieks of wild despair. 
 The slaves were freed from fetters, but remained 
 Slaves in their souls, and so could not forgive. 
 They sought revenge, not libertypel The torch 
 Was in the blind man's hand, to For tbe world. 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 125 
 
 And the keen sword flashed in the maniac's grasp ; 
 And hideous crimes were wrought, and innocent 
 
 blood 
 Was shed like water. Vainly did she strive — 
 She, their deliverer, and their chosen queen — 
 To save the people she had loved and served 
 From their own frenzy. Ignorance is deaf. 
 Cruel is Anger, but more cruel Fear, 
 And these men trembled with a nameless dread. 
 Suspecting each his brother, and in turn 
 By him suspected. Then began a round 
 Of ghastly orgies, where the bacchanals 
 Were drunk with horrors. To the cannibal feast 
 KoUed the dark tumbrils with their piteous load. 
 And still new victims bowed beneath the knife ; 
 Nor could the heads of beauty, love, and youth. 
 Nor reverend heads, crowned with their own white 
 
 hairs. 
 Glut that insatiate hunger — nor the stream. 
 Poured out from noblest veins, quench that fell 
 
 thirst — 
 While, round the gory banquet, bristling pikes 
 Formed a thick hedge against the indignant host 
 
126 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 Of nations, roused from their long apathy. 
 To feel once more the throb of human hearts ! 
 
 For every land was stirred with passionate life. 
 Terror, and pity, and tumultuous wrath, 
 And every class, and order, and degree 
 Armed in defence of what they valued most 
 In custom or tradition. Teuton saw. 
 That, in the struggle 'twixt the old and new. 
 Inevitable now, and near at hand, 
 He too must play his part. While yet he stood 
 Expectant, on the confines of the storm. 
 He once again beheld that lady bright. 
 Who late had charmed his fancy — but no more 
 Glittering and gay. Helpless and lone she came, 
 A fugitive, with garments rent and soiled. 
 Dishevelled locks, dim eyes, and pallid cheeks — 
 Then, tottering, sank exhausted at his feet. 
 And faintly murmured : — " All our dream is done ! 
 The masque is over, and we wake to truth. 
 Yet was the vision glorious ! " — A wan smile 
 Lingered about her lips, but all her frame 
 Shook with sharp throes, and from her bosom weUed 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 127 
 
 The heart's warm blood. " O gentle queen ! " he 
 
 cried ; 
 " Thou art sore wounded ! " — " Unto death," she 
 
 said; 
 " Slain by the people, that I would have saved, 
 'Tis but another crime, wrought in my name. 
 Ah, may it be the last ! " — There failed her voice ; 
 She gasped for breath, and, with a sigh, expired. 
 
 Oh, bitter, bitter were the tears he shed 
 For that fair woman ! — but the perilous time 
 Left him small leisure to lament her loss. 
 Like some great river, swollen by vernal rains. 
 And melted mountain-snow, those anarchs wild 
 O'erflowed their borders, and in fury swept 
 O'er all the neighbouring lands. Their slaughtered 
 
 queen 
 Was now replaced by one of different mould — 
 A warlike chief, with adamantine will — 
 One, who could guide the torrent in its course. 
 And use it for his own designs, to awe 
 And subjugate the nations. Dire the strife. 
 Which thence arose — bloody, and fierce, and long. 
 
128 The Masque of Liberty. 
 
 Kich plains were wasted, harvests trampled down, 
 Cities besieged, sad burghers driven to flight. 
 With the pale mothers, and their weeping babes. 
 And many a village was in ashes laid. 
 And many a hearth left cold and desolate — 
 But, in that struggle. Teuton found once more 
 The freshness and the vigour of his youth. 
 Raised his old war-cry, called his people forth 
 To battle, bore his flag through storm and fire. 
 And, after many a doubtful, hard-fought field. 
 Many a rude eflPort, many a black reverse. 
 Triumphed at last. He broke the fangs of steel. 
 Scourged back the wolves and tigers to their lair. 
 And, on the evening of a glorious day. 
 Amid the shouts of his victorious host. 
 Leaning upon his sword, which, crimson-dyed. 
 Gleamed in the westering light — he felt a thriU. 
 Of such deep joy, and boundless gratitude. 
 As years of ease and luxury never gave. 
 " O Life," he said, " thou art not all in vain. 
 If noble deeds bring moments bright as this ! 
 And thou, O Freedom, art no empty sound ! 
 But let none seek thee in destructive rage. 
 
The Masque of Liberty. 129 
 
 Or selfish passion for equality. 
 
 Which is but envy, ignorance, and pride ! 
 
 Thou dweUest with love, obedience, duty, law. 
 
 Old memories, meekness, reverence, self-respect ; 
 
 And where these are — though slumbering for a time. 
 
 Or seeming dead — who shall despair of man ? " 
 
130 
 
 XII. 
 
 PROFIT AND LOSS. 
 
 ^1 jOW peace returned, and witli it prosperous 
 days. 
 In which the latent energy, aroused 
 By war and peril, did a giant's work 
 In other fields, where honest labour wins 
 The highest prize. Not only, as of old. 
 Were all hands busy at the plough or loom — 
 Not only did the streamlet turn the mill, 
 And the ship spread its canvass to the breeze — 
 But a new power, by heat and vapour bred. 
 When water joins with fire in nuptial rites, 
 Moved ponderous engines, whirled a thousand wheels 
 As lightly as the schoolboy bowls his hoop, 
 Sent saUless barks to meet the wind and tide. 
 And soon, victorious over space and time, 
 Bore its long train of chariots through the land. 
 
Profit and Loss. 131 
 
 On wingSj that mocked the courser's utmost speed. 
 
 Then wealth increased, and all the goods of earth, 
 
 Brought more within men's reach, helped to impart 
 
 A decent competence to humble homes. 
 
 And even the poorest shared the general growth 
 
 Of outward well-being. Nor in this alone 
 
 Was their lot mended ; for the rich and great. 
 
 Alarmed by that dread outbreak from below. 
 
 Which threatened to destroy the social frame. 
 
 Began to stoop from their high thrones, and gave 
 
 Of their abundance with no niggard hand. 
 
 To teach the ignorant, and reclaim the lost. 
 
 And so to civilize the savage tribes. 
 
 Who prowl too near the gorgeous palaces 
 
 For ease or safety. Thus a brighter dawn 
 
 Hose on the outcasts of the human race ; 
 
 And that fair queen, who perished in her prime. 
 
 Though frustrate of the purpose she conceived. 
 
 And seeming vanquished, had not died in vain ! 
 
 With hope renewed, and spirit all awake, 
 Did Teuton watch, approve, admire, and aid 
 The progress of his people. Eound him drew 
 
132 Profit and Loss. 
 
 The men of action, and the men of thought, 
 
 Workmg together for the public weal. 
 
 And, day by day, would theory more incline 
 
 To shape itself to practice. Nor yet failed 
 
 The vigour of the speculative mind. 
 
 Though used on other themes than those of yore. 
 
 Adventurous Science climbed the milky-way. 
 
 Scattered the diamond powder of the heavens 
 
 Into fresh groups of undeveloped worlds. 
 
 Bead the mute record of the primal rocks. 
 
 Built up a whole creation from the bones 
 
 Long lost and buried, and, with daring step. 
 
 Followed the vanished ages on the track 
 
 Of vast, unknown, immeasurable time. 
 
 Never before did mortal vision pierce 
 
 So far into the depths and secret caves 
 
 Of this material universe, or sense 
 
 Reveal such wonders, and such powers, to man ! 
 
 Yet soon, like ravening vultures to their prey, 
 Came back the old despondency and doubt. 
 To feed on Teuton's heart. " Of what avail 
 Are all these triumphs," to himself he said. 
 
Profit and Loss. 133 
 
 " While the great mystery still remains unsolved ? 
 What if the poor attain the amplest good. 
 That can befall the rich, are these so blest. 
 As not to murmur at their present lot ? 
 And wiU the present last ? — If earth and sea 
 Furnish my banquet, and adorn my haUs — 
 If, wrapped in clouds, I drive the fiery car 
 On land, or skim the waves without a sail. 
 Or use the lightning for my messenger. 
 To do my errand in remotest climes, 
 Or make the sun my painter, and impress 
 The passing image on the mirror's face — 
 Will these things banish sorrow, pain, or sin. 
 Conquer the grave, or take the sting from death ? 
 And though I search illimitable space. 
 And still discover Hnks of Nature's chain 
 Before unknown, or find what higher law 
 Includes the lower in its wider range. 
 How am I nearer to the Eternal Cause ? 
 Nay, rather, is not heaven more distant now 
 Than in my days of childish innocence. 
 When God's voice seemed so clear, God's hand so 
 nigh? 
 
134 Profit and Loss. 
 
 What is It to have gained a thousand worlds, 
 And lost a Father ? — O ye wise ! " he cried, 
 " Who read the volume of the universe. 
 And would interpret aU. its secret signs ! 
 Tell me no more of matter and its laws. 
 But what ye know of life, the soul, and God ! " 
 
 They gave him different answers. Some replied, 
 That life is but a quivering of the nerves. 
 Electric currents from the central brain. 
 Which is the source of mind, or mind itself. 
 Seeing that both together have their birth. 
 Together grow, together fail and die ; 
 And what men Nature call, or haply God, 
 Is but the sum of forces in the world — 
 That huge Machine, which works from age to age. 
 In everlasting order, unexplained. 
 These were the few. A larger number far. 
 Who on the former looked with lofty scorn 
 As on a herd irreverent and impure. 
 Spake of a Spirit of the Universe, 
 Which, all pervading, is in all revealed. 
 In sun and stars, mountains, and seas, and streams. 
 
Profit and Loss. 135 
 
 In every budding tree, and opening flower. 
 
 In beast, bird, insect, life, and soul, and mind. 
 
 All beautiful it seemed, and wondrous great. 
 
 But if it ever pity felt, or love. 
 
 Or knew the creatures, whom its breath inspired, 
 
 None could determine. Man, like all the rest. 
 
 Was but a part of that stupendous whole. 
 
 Immortal, because nothing is destroyed. 
 
 And vital power is never really lost. 
 
 But only reproduced in other forms. 
 
 As when dead winter blossoms into spring. 
 
 " Small difference," Teuton said, " can I perceive 
 Between these answers. "What is it to me. 
 Whether brute matter some blind force obey. 
 Which yet with order moves, and works by law. 
 On some great Spirit beautiful and strong. 
 Which knows me not, and I can never know ? 
 And what's the worth of immortality, 
 Which we must share with every withered leaf. 
 That rots into the ground, and so may spring 
 Into new forms of life ? — The heart recoils 
 From such a creed, so cheerless and so cold. 
 
136 Profit and Loss, 
 
 Better the fierce Valhalla of our sires. 
 Than this mechanic earth, and godless heaven ! 
 But 'tis a bookman's dream. I'U talk no more 
 With sages, whom their learning hath made mad. 
 The vulgar still believe, and hope, and pray. 
 And I from them will glean the stubborn truths. 
 That brave the tempest, and survive the wreck." 
 
 So once again he mixed with common men. 
 And found, that ancient names were still preserved. 
 Old customs followed, and due worship paid 
 In many a temple. But too well he saw. 
 That all the vigour, earnestness, and zeal 
 Were for the mart, and not the sanctuary. 
 Religion might be reverenced, but it seemed 
 A thing apart from daily wants and cares. 
 From household joys, and sweet, familiar love — 
 A thing, like lace and jewels, to be kept 
 For some high festival, and never worn 
 Save with a court-day suit. Nay, even at best. 
 When chimed the sabbath bells from tower and spire. 
 And the full churches held a countless throng. 
 How oft, ere half the usual rites were done. 
 
Profit and Loss. 137 
 
 A listless apathy stole o'er the scene, 
 
 And drowsy votaries heard, like distant swell 
 
 Of ocean, or low murmur of the breeze. 
 
 The droning preacher, and the mumbled prayer ! 
 
 Yet these, both priest and people, had not slept 
 
 O'er any week-day task, and would have toiled 
 
 With energy, that shames each feebler race, 
 
 In halls of science, or in haunts of trade. 
 
 What made religion then so dry a theme ? 
 
 And if, at times, the spiritual nature woke. 
 It was but to a short, galvanic life. 
 And took so strange a form, that sober men 
 Shrank from its touch. Pale lips, and writhing limbs. 
 Hysterical shrieks, and groans of agony. 
 With a wild torrent of unmeaning words. 
 Or inarticulate sounds no language owns. 
 Might come from the deep stirrings of the soul — 
 But also from disease, illusion, fraud. 
 And could not teach, enlighten, or convince. 
 Then more fantastic tales by some were told. 
 Of spinning tables, and of dancing chairs. 
 And frolic spirits tapping on the wall 
 
138 Profit and Loss. 
 
 Like woodpeckers on trees — and how the pen. 
 
 Or pencil, guided by invisible hands, 
 
 Gave tidings of the dead — and how the ghost 
 
 Of mighty poet, or majestic sage. 
 
 Poured forth a flood of such insensate stuff. 
 
 As silliest mortal could not well surpass — 
 
 And other legends of the world unseen. 
 
 Wherewith compared, hobgoblin stories old 
 
 Seem true and wise. " Ah, surely," Teuton said, 
 
 " Credulity dwells hard by unbelief! 
 
 And doubt, and superstition, leagued together. 
 
 May yet be destined for my people's curse ! " 
 
 Grave thinkers answered : " It must needs be so — 
 Since man will never be content with doubt, 
 Which is negation merely, and despair — 
 Till faith return. Faith is the mind's chief want. 
 The only fountain to allay its thirst. 
 Health's bright elixir, freedom's talisman. 
 Key to all mysteries, shield against all fears. 
 The main-spring of great actions. Faith being dead. 
 The soul creeps darkling through vile, narrow ways. 
 Intent on self, blind to the heaven above, 
 
Profit and Loss, 139 
 
 Blind to Its fellows — till, in pure disgust, 
 And weariness of that monotonous gloom, 
 It takes each wandering fen-light for a star, 
 And follows headlong into deeper sloughs. 
 But, faith revived, the soul starts up erect. 
 Walks in the light, meets boldly friend or foe. 
 Lives for high purposes, and glorious ends, 
 Not for self only. Knowledge may give power. 
 But faith alone makes heroes ! and the worth 
 Of this our world is measured by the men. 
 Who in it do heroic work, and choose 
 Toil, suffering, danger, obloquy, or death. 
 For truth's sake, and the service of their kind ! ", 
 
 " 'Tis well and wisely spoken," said the prince. 
 " But faith in what ? There is the question now. 
 For faith is, after all, a barren word. 
 Of no more potency than other sounds. 
 Unless it point to some distinct belief. 
 Which the mind seizes, and the heart approves. 
 'Tis having faith, not talking about faith. 
 That makes men strong. Where shall we find our 
 strength ? " 
 
140 Profit and Loss. 
 
 But those grave thinkers only shook their heads. 
 Or laid a warning finger on the lip. 
 And, with oracular mutterings, went their way. 
 " Cold comfort have ye brought me ! " Teuton cried. 
 " What need to tell a tired and hungry man, 
 That he wants rest and food, but never show 
 The path, that leads to either ? — Here I stand — 
 Here, in the midst of not inglorious life, 
 Successful, prosperous, honoured, envied, feared — 
 Loved too, it may be — yet dissatisfied. 
 Both for myself and others. All my gains 
 Seem light as air, when weighed against my loss. 
 What are discoveries, arts, inventions, laws. 
 Which now a pleasure give, now soothe a pain. 
 Augment our wealth, our knowledge, and our pride, 
 Or even add, perchance, a few brief years 
 To poor threescore and ten — If this be all ? 
 What is the progress, that must end in death ? 
 'Tis vain to babble of eternal change. 
 When we, and all we love, and aU we know, 
 Are blotted from existence. Man's whole race. 
 The globe, on which we dwell, the sun, the stars — 
 So Science deems — must perish, or assume 
 
Profit and Loss. 141 
 
 New forms of being. What then remains for us ? 
 What hope ? What aim ? Let Science answer 
 
 that! 
 I cannot rise to those transcendent heights, 
 From which the soul looks down upon the world, 
 As on a theatre, whose shifting scenes 
 Concern it only as a spectacle. 
 This life is mine, wherein to play my part — 
 Methinks, with mighty issues — and I miss 
 The guidance, that alone could make them sure. 
 O days of youth ! dear, happy days of youth ! 
 In which obedience was the sovereign test 
 Of duty and belief — how far ye seem. 
 Like twinkling lights upon the horizon's verge ! 
 How cold and dark the time, which rolls between ! 
 O mother ! mother ! once again to be 
 A simple child, to listen to thy voice, 
 And at thy feet to glean the words of life ! 
 What though we parted in tempestuous mood. 
 Have no fond thoughts, no pitying thoughts and 
 
 kind. 
 Followed the wanderer, even as mine have strayed. 
 And oft will stray, to thee and our old home ? 
 
142 Profit and Loss. 
 
 When, 'mid the whirl and tumult of the court. 
 
 The head turns dizzy, and the heart grows faint, 
 
 How have I longed to spend a tranquil hour 
 
 With thee, in that fair garden-solitude. 
 
 Beside the cross and fountain ! — Very vain 
 
 Is all, that reason can object or urge. 
 
 Against the subtler logic of the soul. 
 
 I cannot, and I will not tarry here. 
 
 In this thick haze of doubt. Happen what may. 
 
 At any cost I wiU retrace my steps. 
 
 Find out the castle, which I left in youth. 
 
 Revisit every scene my boyhood knew. 
 
 And, when I lay this weary, aching brow 
 
 Upon a mother's breast, her love, perchance, 
 
 WiU bring the wisdom, which the world denies, 
 
 And peace, which prosperous fortune hath not given. 
 
 O Thou, Great Spirit, whom yet I dare not name ! 
 
 Thou, whom I once called Father ! if indeed 
 
 Thou carest for human wants, and human woes — 
 
 And all my nature tells me, that thou art 
 
 No mere Abstraction, deaf to mortal prayers — 
 
 Be with me in my loneliness and gloom. 
 
 Forgive my errors, and my rash conceits. 
 
Profit and Loss. 
 
 143 
 
 And lead me back, however rough the road, 
 Through humbling sorrows, and atoning pains, 
 To my lost home, to childhood's blissful bowers, 
 And hope, that builds, and faith, that rests on Thee ! " 
 
144 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD. 
 
 'T early morn, while court and city slept, 
 A horse stood saddled at the palace-gate, 
 And thence, ere long, like errant knight of 
 yore. 
 Teuton rode forth alone. He went to seek 
 His birthplace, and the dwelling of his youth. 
 To look upon his mother once again. 
 Kneel at her feet, like prodigal returned. 
 And, while he begged a blessing from her lips, 
 See if the ancient feud might not be stayed. 
 Lost love revived, and banished peace restored. 
 
 Pensive he passed along the silent streets. 
 And o'er the bridge, and by the river's bank. 
 Through the trim suburb, with its villas fair. 
 And through the country lanes for many a mile. 
 
The Journey Homeward. 145 
 
 Amid tlie homesteads, and the ripening crops, 
 Or cattle pastured on the dewy meads. 
 All bore the marks of industry and wealth. 
 Until he reached the confines of the land. 
 Where wide before him stretched a desert plain ; 
 But, ere he left the cultivated tract, 
 He chanced upon a traveller, quaintly dressed 
 In fashion obsolete, with trailing sleeves. 
 And party-coloured garments like the pie, 
 And high-peaked shoes, and chain about his neck. 
 Who played upon a cithern long disused, 
 And. tripping lightly, carolled as he went: 
 
 " The minstrel's path is bright and gay ! 
 
 He roams the world at pleasure ; 
 He sports with legend and with lay. 
 
 His harp his only treasure ! 
 What recks he of the jingling gold. 
 
 Or life's prosaic story. 
 Who dwells among the scenes of old, 
 
 Their freshness and their glory ? 
 
 " He wanders east, he wanders west. 
 By mountain, lake, and river, 
 u 
 
146 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 And where on ocean's heaving breast 
 The fitful sunbeams quiver ; 
 
 And oft beneath the greenwood shade 
 He views the elfin dances. 
 
 Or follows through the opening glade 
 The gleam of knightly lances. 
 
 " He joins the feast in hall and tower, 
 
 When mirth and song are loudest ; 
 He loves to woo in lady's bower 
 
 The noblest and the proudest ; 
 He rides with monarchs in their state, 
 
 His palfrey's neck caressing. 
 But stops before the convent-gate, 
 
 To beg; the abbot's blessing. 
 
 " And when he hears the vesper-bell 
 
 From wayside chapel lowly. 
 Or seeks at eve the mossy cell 
 
 Of hermit wise and holy — 
 He signs the cross, he kneels in prayer. 
 
 And thrice his beads he numbers. 
 Maid Mary send him visions fair. 
 
 And Saints protect his slumbers ! " 
 
The Journey Homeward. 147 
 
 When paused the stranger in his cheerful song, 
 Teuton with kindly greeting him addressed. 
 " Methinks," he said, " we travel the same road, 
 Howbeit we may not in all things agree. 
 We both are bound (or I am much deceived) 
 For the bleak desert, and the castle gray, 
 Which lies beyond — my old, ancestral home." 
 
 " Nay," quoth the singer, " I shall be content 
 With a less journey, and a nearer goal. 
 On this side of the desert, close at hand, 
 A castle lies, where I can take my rest. 
 And live as merry a life with squire and dame, 
 As any master of the joyous art." 
 
 " I knew not," Teuton said, " that such abode 
 Was to be found amid these peaceful plains. 
 And, if thou tarriest here, why hast thou donned 
 This antiquated garb, and wherefore chant 
 These old-world ditties ? Minstrel mayst thou be. 
 But here, methinks, thou wilt not often meet 
 With knight or abbot, hermit, elf, or king ! " 
 
 " Nor yet with Mary and the Saints I " replied 
 
148 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 The stranger, laughter twinkling in his eye ; 
 " But still we live our life, and dream our dreams. 
 Come with me to the castle ! Thou shalt see. 
 That I am not alone fantastical. 
 But one amongst a goodly company." 
 
 He led the way, and from the beaten track 
 Passed through a little wood, and, when they gained 
 The slope beyond, amid a belt of trees 
 They saw the castle, a majestic pile. 
 With moat and. drawbridge, tower and battlement; 
 But, as they nearer came. Teuton perceived. 
 That all looked fresh, as though but newly built. 
 And that the walls, so seeming thick and strong. 
 Were slight as pasteboard, being only meant 
 For show, not use. About the moat and bridge. 
 Within the gateway, and beneath the towers. 
 Lounged many a group of idlers, mostly clad 
 In some forgotten mode, brilliant and gay. 
 But strangely out of date. " Yon silken knight," 
 Said Teuton, smiling, " scarce could lift a lance, 
 Nor would I trust yon lady for a leech. 
 Or even to make a pasty of the deer 
 
The Journey Homeward. 149 
 
 (If such there be) by yon stout archer slain. 
 
 Is it the mummery of a carnival. 
 
 Or what imports this hollow masquerade ? " 
 
 " Oh," cried the minstrel, " thou hast no romance ! 
 Else had the spirit of the olden time 
 Taught thee to prize our modern chivalry ! 
 We dwell amid the forms of ancient days ; 
 Our thoughts, our talk, our manners, and our dress 
 Are all pure Gothic. See yon artist paint ! 
 He scorns perspective, and its narrow rules. 
 And takes for model many a shape grotesque. 
 Dear to the simple infancy of art, 
 Until his finished work resembles most 
 What Infants have in every age achieved ! 
 No sensual beauty there distracts the mind 
 From contemplation of the rigid truth. 
 Which stares at us in earnest ugliness. 
 And see yon architect ! He draws the plans 
 Of buildings for a thousand ends designed, 
 But all alike must have the pointed arch. 
 Or be condemned as pagan. He would die, 
 Eather than have a lintel to his door. 
 
150 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 So staunch a champion is he in the cause 
 Of Christian masonry. To him we owe 
 The fine, new church, that looks so wondrous old. 
 Carved with inscriptions, which but few can read. 
 And symbols, which still fewer understand. 
 Then too we have our convents without vows. 
 And a green hermitage in yonder dell. 
 Without a hermit. 'Tis a pleasant thing. 
 This dallying with the memories of the past. 
 And surely harmless, if it be not wise ! " 
 
 " O friend," sighed Teuton, " I am sick of shams ! 
 Whether the talk be of progressive light, 
 Civilization, march of intellect. 
 The shallow, vain, self-gratulating vaunts 
 Of men, who deem the present all in all. 
 And are but sorry samples of its fruit — 
 Or whether fancy trifle with the past. 
 And play with its traditions and beliefs. 
 Like a fair maiden with her grandam's ruff — 
 Life is too serious to be wasted thus. 
 In empty jargon, or in chUdish sport. 
 I have a long, long journey yet to go. 
 
The Journey Homeward. 151 
 
 And may not linger even for an hour, 
 
 To view this castle, and the mimic train. 
 
 That find their pastime in its pageantries. 
 
 Let those, who can, amuse themselves with shows ! 
 
 I blame them not — I have no right to blame — 
 
 I too have squandered youth, and strength, and hope. 
 
 And many a promise of my earlier days — 
 
 But now, at least, I will not turn aside 
 
 From this my quest, nor pause upon the road. 
 
 Till once again I tread my native halls. 
 
 And see if really truth and peace be there ! " 
 
 So, leaving that mock castle, he rode forth 
 Into the desert. For a while, he passed 
 O'er swelling turf, heather, and yellow gorse. 
 Trampled gay wild-flowers 'neath his horse's feet. 
 Till all the air was laden with sweet scents. 
 And roused from covert many a bounding fawn ; 
 But soon he reached a duller, drearier waste. 
 Long miles of moorland, where rank grasses grow. 
 Where sighs the breeze among the waving flags. 
 And reeds and rushes hide the treacherous pools. 
 Oft must he pause, in spite of his resolve. 
 
152 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 To look around, uncertain of his course. 
 
 And seek the friendly guidance of the sun. 
 
 Oft would the instinct of his faithful steed 
 
 Avoid the swamps and pitfalls on the way. 
 
 Which else had been his doom. Hour after hour, 
 
 He toiled across that weary wilderness. 
 
 And, when the distant mountains rose in sight. 
 
 And on the horizon hung like summer clouds. 
 
 Noon had gone by ; and, ere he gained the wood. 
 
 That lay between the desert and the hills. 
 
 Day was far spent. He struggled through the copse, 
 
 Forcing a passage among thorns and briars. 
 
 And saw the setting radiance on the trees. 
 
 Just as he left their shelter, and began 
 
 To climb the rocky steep. On either side 
 
 Great precipices towered, and seemed to close 
 
 The path before him. 'Twas a lonesome place. 
 
 And soon the twilight added to the gloom ; 
 
 But, as the darkness deepened into night. 
 
 Star after star came out, like fairy lamps. 
 
 In the blue patch of sky, that over-head 
 
 Appeared between the mountains, and, ere long, 
 
 The moon, uprising in her majesty. 
 
The Journey Homeward. 153 
 
 Poured a white splendour down the gorge, and threw 
 
 Strange, awful shadows from the jutting crags. 
 
 A thousand memories crowded on the brain 
 
 Of Teuton, and his fancy Imaged forth 
 
 Many a wild shape of wizard, giant, dwarf. 
 
 Such as had haunted him in youthful dreams. 
 
 And now with threatening gesture seemed to bar 
 
 His onward progress. But he pressed the more 
 
 His courser's speed, urging him up the pass. 
 
 For his ear caught a well-remembered sound, 
 
 Familiar, and as childhood's music dear — 
 
 The deep and solemn murmur of the sea — 
 
 And, when he saw a turret lift its crest 
 
 Above the wall of rock now nearly won. 
 
 He cried in sudden rapture: — " Home at last!" 
 
 Oh, fervent was the joy, that made his heart 
 Leap in his bosom, as he fondly thought 
 Of long-lost love, now placed within his reach. 
 And all, that a few moments might restore. 
 Of his old life ! — Yet with it came a fear, 
 A nameless, undefined, unreasoning fear. 
 Of ills impending, and of sorrow nigh ! 
 
 X 
 
154 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 Madly he galloped up the steep ascent, 
 
 From the hard rock his horse's hoofs struck fire, 
 
 And soon his wild impatience cleared the space, 
 
 That kept him from the goal. The summit gained. 
 
 He curbed his panting steed, all flecked with foam. 
 
 And full before him in the moonlight lay 
 
 The well-known towers — the castle of his youth ! 
 
 Then, mastered by a feeling of deep awe. 
 Which stopped him in his vehement approach. 
 And bade him pause at expectation's height. 
 He with slow pace advanced. As he drew near, 
 He marked how thick the sheltering ivy clung 
 To the gray walls, and, when he reached the bridge. 
 He gazed in wonder at the rotting planks, 
 All green with slime, and at the rusty chains. 
 Long out of use. No warder wound his horn, 
 No man-at-arms stood sentry in the gate, 
 But only night and silence reigned around — 
 A silence broken by his courser's tread. 
 As Teuton passed beneath the mouldering arch. 
 And looked upon a ruin. Pale and cold 
 The moonbeams fell on those deserted courts. 
 
The Journey Homeward. 155 
 
 O'ergrown with grass, with crumbling fragments 
 
 strewn, 
 While the great hall reposed in blackest shade. 
 Save where huge fissures in the vaulted roof 
 Gave entrance to the dim and straggling light. 
 Which faintly kissed the time-corroded shields 
 Of warriors once renowned, forgotten now. 
 Both name and fame. There did the prince dis- 
 mount. 
 And, turning loose his steed to graze at will. 
 Search every nook, and every dark recess. 
 If haply he might find some trace of life. 
 He roused the bat, which flapped him in the face. 
 And the owl hooted from a distant tower. 
 But nought else stirred. He felt his blood run chill. 
 And his brave spirit sank within his breast. 
 When, as the desolation showed more clear, 
 He saw, that all his cherished hopes were vain, 
 And that his journey ended but in this — 
 To stand beside his native hearth, alone ! 
 
 He sought the garden. Shrubs and flowers were 
 dead. 
 
156 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 The path was choked with brambles and with 
 
 burs. 
 The rank soil teemed with foul and noxious weeds, 
 And, where of old the silvery fountain played, 
 A few drops trickled down the mossy side 
 Of the stone basin, cracked and weather-stained. 
 While near it prostrate lay the shattered cross, 
 Half buried among thistles. When he stooped 
 O'er the thin stream, to cool his fevered lips. 
 The very water had a brackish taste. 
 And to his nostrils from the dank earth rose 
 Vile odours of decay. Sickening he fled. 
 As from a charnel-house, and, in his flight. 
 Trod upon many a pulpy, spongy growth 
 Of hideous fungus, which had now replaced 
 More healthful vegetation. Gone for ever 
 Was all the beauty of that once-loved spot. 
 Gone all the sweetness of those garden-bowers, 
 And with them had departed from his soul 
 The vision of his early paradise ! 
 
 He wandered forth beyond the castle-walls. 
 Among the roofless dwellings, and beside 
 
The Journey Homeward. 157 
 
 The chimneys black with long-extinguished fires, 
 
 Until he stood in the cathedral-porch, 
 
 A ruin like the rest. Bare was the pile, 
 
 Keft of its ancient splendour, but the moon 
 
 Shed a dim glory on each broken arch. 
 
 And in a little chapel Teuton saw 
 
 A light still burning. 'Twas a single lamp 
 
 Before an altar — the first sign of life 
 
 In all that solitude — and there, alone. 
 
 Withered and wan, a palsy-stricken priest. 
 
 Exceeding old, with bleared and sunken eyes, 
 
 And feeble hands that trembled in their task, 
 
 Still offered up the sacred elements. 
 
 And worshipped at the shrine. Him Teuton knew, 
 
 As one, whom he had little loved of yore, 
 
 A ruthless bigot, and fierce enemy ; 
 
 But now his heart warmed to the lonely man. 
 
 So weak, yet faithful in his cheerless age. 
 
 And with due reverence he addressed him thus : 
 
 " O father, many a year has slipped away. 
 Since last we met, and all is sadly changed ! 
 Forget the rashness of my hotbralned youth. 
 
158 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 Give me once more thy blessing and thy prayers, 
 And tell me — oh, in pity tell me, father ! — 
 What means the dreadful silence of this place ? 
 Where is my mother? Where must I resort. 
 To hear one gentle, fond, familiar tone. 
 Or win a glan'^p r/^i^ndness from the past? " 
 >^strat' 
 The old man smileS ; it was a bitter smil^. 
 Killing as frost. " Ask me no more ! " he s^v^. 
 " Who sows the whirlwind needs must reap the 
 
 storm ! 
 Canst thou undo the baneful work of Time, 
 Or live again those years of wasted life ? 
 Thou canst not, and their memory is the curse. 
 Which yet may drag thee down to endless doom. 
 For thee remains but one resource, one hope. 
 One path of safety — penance for thy sin ! 
 Ask me no questions, cherish no vain dreams, 
 But humbly own, that all the fault was thine ; 
 Submit to ghostly censure, fast and pray, 
 Wear sackcloth, sprinkle ashes on thy head. 
 And get thee with thy utmost speed to Rome, 
 Where haply, moved by thy remorseful tears. 
 
The Journey Homeward. 159 
 
 The Sovereign Pontiff may absolve thy guilt. 
 
 And give thee one more chance in earth and heaven!" 
 
 With some admiring wonder. Teuton gazed 
 On that decrepit form, so stout of soul. 
 But answered firmly : — " What my sins may be 
 Will I confess to Him, who is my Judge, 
 And not to mortal ear. If I had met 
 My mother in this temple of my youth, 
 I wouldj have sought her counsel and her love. 
 But she is gone — whither I cannot tell — 
 And, were I now to turn my steps to Kome, 
 What should I find ? — An old man like to thee. 
 Fumbling with keys, which ope not any locks. 
 And girt with shadowy symbols of lost power. 
 This would not teach me truth, nor bring me 
 peace ! " 
 
 " Then go thy way ! " the churlish priest replied ; 
 " Trouble not my devotions with vain talk ! 
 Eternity is waiting for us both. 
 And life is short ! "—Back to the shrine he crept. 
 Bowed low his head, and beat his breast, and trilled 
 
160 The Journey Homeward. 
 
 With failing voice a penitential psalm, 
 Nor gave to Teuton's presence further heed. 
 
 So the prince left him to his ministry 
 Before the lonely altar, and returned 
 Into the castle, where his gallant steed 
 Came with loud whinny at its master's call. 
 And stooped its neck, and rubbed against his hand. 
 With a caressing fondness. The mute love 
 Of that poor beast was comfort in despair. 
 And by its side he laid him down to rest. 
 Beneath a portal, ivy-canopied. 
 And carpeted with moss. The rising gale 
 Swept through the battlements with mournful sound. 
 And the sea answered moaning from below ; 
 The black clouds rushed across the sky, and hid 
 The friendly moon ; ere long, the rain poured down. 
 Pattering among the leaves, and growled afar 
 The deep-toned thunder. That tempestuous gloom. 
 Those wild and awful mutterings, tallied well 
 With Teuton's mood. Awhile, he listening lay. 
 Soothed by the dirge, which Nature seemed to sing 
 O'er his deserted home, and desolate heart ; 
 
The Journey Homeward. 
 
 161 
 
 Until, exhausted by the long day's toil. 
 He felt each rude emotion slowly yield 
 To a soft languor, and as calmly slept. 
 As when in careless childhood he reposed 
 Beneath the shelter of those ancient walls. 
 
162 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE FAIR PILGRIM. 
 
 HE storm had fled with night ; the morn- 
 ing-sun 
 Rose in a golden mist ; but, seen by day, 
 The ruined castle only showed a face 
 More deeply scarred, and from those falling towers 
 Teuton went hopeless forth. Down the steep cliff 
 He led his steed, by narrow, zig-zag paths. 
 Nor mounted, till he reached the level sand, 
 Which stretched along the shore for many a mile. 
 Then he rode on, heedless what next might chance, 
 Or whither he was bound, but gazing oft 
 Upon the billows with a pensive air. 
 And speaking from the sadness of his heart : 
 
 " Most things are changed. Thou art not changed, 
 O sea! 
 
The Fair Pilgrim. 163 
 
 Still do thy rhythmic waters ebb and flow. 
 
 Obedient to their lawgiver, the moon. 
 
 And still is mirrored in thy glassy deeps 
 
 The azure dome above. As bright and fresh 
 
 Art thou, and free from every sign of age. 
 
 As when, a boy, I floated on the tide. 
 
 Or clove with vigorous arm the swelling wave. 
 
 AU else, methinks, hath suffered grievous loss. 
 
 Unless it be the mountains and the sky. 
 
 Which henceforth shall divide my days with thee, 
 
 And be my friends and comforters. The world. 
 
 With its vain triumphs, and its vainer hopes. 
 
 Hath failed me ; when I sought my youthful 
 
 haunts, 
 I found all dark and silent ; I go back 
 Once more to nature and to solitude, 
 As to my only refuge. O ye winds. 
 Blow on me with your wildest, keenest breath. 
 And I will bid you welcome ! Mighty sea. 
 Roll round my path, and lave my weary limbs. 
 And cool my aching brow ! I would not shrink 
 From close encounter with thy rudest shock. 
 Content to fall before it, and to take 
 
164 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 My last, long rest beneath the foaming flood. 
 Could I but rid me of my evil dreams ! " 
 
 So spake he in distempered fantasy. 
 Oppressed by disappointment's bitterest pang. 
 His cheek was pale from fasting, and his eye 
 Burned with the fever of unquiet thought. 
 As, with loose rein, he rode along the shore. 
 When suddenly there broke upon his ear 
 A sweet voice singing. From behind a rock, 
 Which wave and storm had carved into the shape 
 Of a gigantic sea-nymph, crowned with weeds. 
 Came, softer than the mermaid's melody. 
 And purer, holier far, this gentle strain : 
 
 " Dost thou murmur, sleepless ocean. 
 
 Dashing thus against the land. 
 With a constant, equal motion, 
 
 Kising, falling on the strand ? 
 No ! when power supernal urges. 
 
 Thy submissive strength obeys. 
 And the thunder of thy surges 
 
 Only sounds like hymns of praise ! 
 
The Fair Pilgrim. 165 
 
 " that mortals were as ready 
 
 In the bounds prescribed to move. 
 With devotion true and steady 
 
 To the guiding light above ! 
 AU the guilt, and all the sadness. 
 
 Which the human bosom fill. 
 Spring but from the selfish madness. 
 
 That disputes the eternal will ! 
 
 " Nature's mighty heart rejoices 
 
 With a simple love and awe. 
 Yet her sweet and solemn voices 
 
 Fail to teach the highest law : 
 Would we conquer fear and sorrow. 
 
 Turn to gain each fancied loss, 
 We must nobler wisdom borrow 
 
 From the lessons of the Cross ! 
 
 " Self-control and self-denial. 
 
 Life for others freely given. 
 Patience under every trial, 
 
 Hope for man, and trust in heaven — 
 These alone, our eyes unsealing. 
 
 Can the spirit's health restore. 
 
166 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 All the glorious path revealing, 
 Where our Master walked before ! 
 
 " Then, whate'er of change betldeth. 
 
 Good or ill, that fortune brings. 
 Calm in faith the soul abideth. 
 
 Resting on her folded wings — 
 Bows to one supreme dominion. 
 
 Learns to wait, and bear, and pray. 
 Till she soar with stainless pinion 
 
 Through the death-clouds into day ! " 
 
 Most dear and welcome was that soothing strain 
 To the lone traveller, for it seemed to breathe 
 The cherished feelings of long-vanished years 
 In once-familiar tones. Trembling with joy. 
 And with a hope he almost feared to grasp. 
 Lest it should perish in his eager clutch. 
 He hastened to the spot, and there beheld. 
 In snowy veil, and pilgrim's gown of gray, 
 Reclining on a rough and barren rock, 
 A well-known form. No garments could dis- 
 guise. 
 
The Fair Pilgrim. 167 
 
 No lapse of time conceal from Teuton's glance 
 The sweet companion of his happy youth ; 
 And, when she saw him, with a sudden cry 
 She rose, and, as he lightly leaped to earth. 
 Clasped both his hands, and shed delicious tears. 
 While all the past rushed back upon their souls 
 In a rich flood of golden memory. 
 
 " Christabel ! " he said, with choking voice ; 
 *' My friend ! my sister ! what a wondrous chance 
 Hath brought me once again to thy dear side. 
 When most despairing, and most desolate ! 
 Did I not seek thee in our ancient home. 
 Only to find a ruin, void of life ? 
 And now we meet upon this lonely shore. 
 Whither I came in utter hopelessness. 
 To hold sad converse with the winds and waves ! " 
 
 " Call it not chance ! " she answered. " Heaven 
 guides all ! 
 Blest be the hand, which led thee to this place ! 
 And doubly blest be this propitious hour. 
 If I may give thee comfort in thy woe ! " 
 
168 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 " Thou more than all the world, my Christabel ! 
 But where is . . . ? — How I long, yet dread to ask 
 The fatal question ! — Does my mother live ? " 
 
 She sighed, before she answered. " O believe. 
 That she lives on, but here is seen no more ! 
 She could not linger on this altered globe, 
 When all her work was done, and all her power 
 Departed from her. With the wreck and fall 
 Of her great kingdom, she lay down to sleep — 
 Nor priestly invocation, nor the pomp 
 Of solemn rites, nor spells pontifical. 
 Will ever wake her. Men still use her name. 
 And vainly seek her over half the earth — 
 Not knowing, that she never can return ! " 
 
 Awhile he stood in silence, with his face 
 Close buried in his hands. " Gone is the hope," 
 At length he murmured, " to make good the past, 
 Or even to beg forgiveness from her lips. 
 Not all my future life can now atone 
 For the rash severing of those sacred ties. 
 Which bound me to her. 'Twas an impious deed ! 
 And it has only borne me bitter fruit ! " 
 
The Fair Pilgrim. 169 
 
 " O friend," said Christabel, " we all have erred 
 In many things— but who shall judge aright ? 
 And here, methinks, thou doest thyself some wrong ! 
 I loved thy mother. She had been to me 
 A faithful guardian, sheltering from the storm 
 My infant weakness, keeping safe my youth. 
 Amid fierce conflicts, and the shock of arms. 
 And giving me the nurture and the care. 
 That might beseem a princess. Oft I marked 
 The wisdom of her mild, benignant rule. 
 Providing for each want of human souls 
 With a serene, maternal tenderness, 
 Well suited to the childhood of mankind. 
 But, for that very cause, it could not last. 
 Since men grow out of childhood, and refuse 
 To be so watched and guided. Then there came 
 Struggle, and wrath, and woe inevitable. 
 And that, which had been love, was turned to hate. 
 And power, no longer reverenced or obeyed. 
 Lost its divine, parental character, 
 And took the form of lawless tyranny. 
 Which issued in rebellion. Either side 
 May have deserved some blame, but pity more, 
 
 z 
 
170 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 And both were hurried q[uite beyond the goal 
 Of their first efforts. In so far as both 
 Were led by conscience, both were justified, 
 And heaven will judge by motives, not results. 
 Nor deem thy mother could have long survived. 
 Whatever else had chanced ! — Her hour was come. 
 Her task was finished, and her kingdom doomed 
 To perish by a swift and sure decay. 
 She could not live on names, the substance gone — 
 That misery she has left to popes and priests — 
 And, when the magic of her sceptre fled. 
 She drew the queenly robe about her face, 
 And, lying shrouded in its purple folds. 
 She passed away in silence, so that none 
 Could tell the moment when she ceased to breathe. 
 Peace to her memory ! Much we owe to her. 
 And much the world will owe for many a day. 
 Nor venomed slander, nor idolatrous praise. 
 Will from the impartial future hide her worth. 
 Most truly valued by the loftiest minds, 
 That never owned allegiance to her throne ! " 
 
 " Thanks for those gentle words," the prince re- 
 plied. 
 
The Fair Pilgrim, 171 
 
 " So faithful to the living and the dead ! 
 
 I can but echo : Peace to her and all ! 
 
 But, since the ruin of our ancient home, 
 
 Where hast thou dwelt, or whither hast thou strayed ? 
 
 And wherefore have we never met till now ?" 
 
 " I have been as a wanderer on the earth," 
 She answered, smiling, " yet oft near to thee. 
 Nearer than thou hast known. While cares of state. 
 And mighty plans to aid thy nation's growth 
 In arts and learning, wealth and policy. 
 Filled up each instant of thy busy life — 
 Another task was mine. The poor, the sad. 
 The sick, the suffering, all required my help. 
 To many a hungry, many a weary soul. 
 Unnoted 'mid the splendours of the world. 
 To many a victim on the couch of pain. 
 To many a mourner weeping o'er a bier. 
 To many a sinner burdened with his sin. 
 Have I brought comfort. Children, mothers, wives. 
 Beside the death-bed, where sweet love lay cold. 
 The empty cradle, or the new-turfed grave. 
 Have listened to my voice — because I spake 
 
172 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 Of One, who watches o'er the orphans here. 
 
 And takes the slumbering infants to His arms, 
 
 And sanctifies the yearnings of the heart 
 
 With a divine compassion. Guilty men 
 
 Have told me the dark story of their crimes. 
 
 With sighs and tears of unfeigned penitence. 
 
 Because I led them to a Father's feet. 
 
 Who knows each weakness, each temptation weighs, 
 
 And judges all in mercy. Oft I came 
 
 Within the shadow of thy lofty gates. 
 
 To soothe or cheer some humble worshipper. 
 
 And passed unheeded through thy glittering court. 
 
 I saw thee from a distance in thy pomp, 
 
 Too great and glorious to have need of me ! " 
 
 " More need than ever, Christabel!" he said. 
 " But sit we down, and rest among the rocks. 
 For joy and sorrow shake this mortal frame 
 With a like power, and leave us weak and faint." 
 
 " And, while we linger in this house of flesh. 
 The spirit may not scorn its tenement. 
 Or both must pay the forfeit. I have learned. 
 In my long pilgrimage, to minister 
 
The Fair Pilgrim. 173 
 
 Both to the mind and body. Thou art pale — 
 It may be, worn with fasting and with toil — 
 Take then of these good gifts, and eat, and live ! " 
 
 From her full scrip she drew the welcome store 
 Of fruit and bread, poured from her flask the wine, 
 A temperate draught of the grape's genuine juice. 
 And spread the modest banquet on a slab 
 Of rugged stone. So Christian charity 
 Relieves the natural, with the moral want. 
 And feeds, as well as soothes. From that slight feast 
 Teuton rose up refreshed, and still pursued 
 His eager converse with the long-lost maid. 
 
 " When I believed, that all true faith had fled. 
 Thou couldst find fervent votaries. Like enough. 
 That self-love, and the pride of intellect. 
 Have blinded me to what lay close at hand. 
 But tell me — in what church, or sect, or creed. 
 Were nursed and trained these followers of the cross. 
 Who kept their fealty 'mid a rebel host?" 
 
 " Each may claim some," she answered. " Though 
 their hues 
 
174 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 Be various as the million-coloured flowers, 
 
 They form one garden in their Maker's sight. 
 
 I have known divers creeds, but God in all ! 
 
 I have seen many churches, but one Christ I 
 
 Wherever men lead pure and honest lives, 
 
 And humbly pray, in singleness of heart. 
 
 To Him, whose name is Father — it imports 
 
 But little, whether they their voices raise 
 
 In old cathedrals, 'mid the pomp and state 
 
 Of sacerdotal worship, with the swell 
 
 Of organs, and the solemn, choral chant — 
 
 Or whether, in the plain conventicle. 
 
 They listen to some zealous preacher's word. 
 
 Or roam in silence through the woods and fields. 
 
 Or muse along the barren mountain-side. 
 
 Or on the lonely shore — to them will come 
 
 The Spirit, which gives all wisdom. Only seek. 
 
 And ye shall find, for God is ever nigh ! 
 
 Do but His will, and ye shall know the truth ! 
 
 So was it said of old, so is it now." 
 
 " AJas ! " cried Teuton ; " I have shunned to talk 
 Of these momentous themes, for still I heard 
 
The Fair Pilgrim. 175 
 
 A language, which to me seemed idle sound. 
 Narrow, presumptuous, fierce, intolerant. 
 Or else unjust, irreverent, and profane. 
 I rather chose to treat with worldly men 
 Of the world's business, neutral ground for aU, 
 And to be silent upon sacred things." 
 
 " But didst thou ne'er take counsel of the Book, 
 Which to thy hands I gave," asked Christabel, 
 " When, riding forth on that eventful morn. 
 Thou sawest me standing at the castle-gate?" 
 
 " I have it here," he answered, as he drew 
 The volume from his bosom ; " but the clasps 
 Are stiff for lack of use. They wearied me 
 With splitting hairs, and quibbling over words. 
 Until the page grew all confused and dim, 
 As in the twilight ; and I looked no more. 
 Oh, let me wander through the world with thee. 
 Share in thy toils, aid thee in every task, 
 Serve God and man, be humble, faithful, pure, 
 And thou shalt teach me how to read aright. 
 And show the meaning of each doubtful text ! " 
 
176 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 " Thou canst not wander on with me," she said. 
 " Each mortal life hath its own work to do, 
 And may not change it for another part. 
 Thine is the sceptre, mine the pilgrim's staff. 
 Thy mission is to lead and rule mankind. 
 Not to go forth in search of suffering souls. 
 And, if we both perform our duty well. 
 So far as human frailty may permit, 
 Heaven wUl approve and bless. Thou art a king. 
 Keturn to where thy people need thy sway. 
 And deal once more with manners, customs, laws, 
 And arts, and policy ! — All these are powers, 
 Which may be used for evil or for good, 
 And must be judged of only by their fruit." 
 
 " I wUl return, but not alone," he cried. 
 " Come with me, Christabel! — So late we met. 
 So long were parted, and so much remains 
 For thee to utter, and for me to hear ! 
 Come with me, I implore thee, and abide 
 For some brief space — a golden time to me, 
 However brief. None are so poor and weak, 
 As to need more thy solace and support 
 
The Fair Pilgrim. \11 
 
 Thau I, left lonely in my regal state. 
 Thou art my earliest and my truest friend ; 
 Do not desert me now. Come to my home. 
 And give me back the lofty aims of youth, 
 The generous impulse, and the soaring hope ! " 
 
 " If thou wouldst have my counsel or my aid," 
 She answ^ered, with a sweet simplicity. 
 And noble frankness, " I will not refuse 
 To turn aside, even from my chosen path, 
 To serve thee as I may. All I can do 
 Is but to bring to mind forgotten truths. 
 Talk over themes once dear, and so revive 
 The slumbering sparks, and fan them into flame. 
 Heaven grant the fire may yet burn clear and bright, 
 "Warmth to the heart, light to the intellect, 
 A lamp for thee, a beacon for the world ! " 
 
 She rose, with kindling fervour in her eye. 
 And reached her hand to Teuton. Near them stood, 
 As waiting on the pleasure of his lord, 
 The faithful steed. Then the prince lifted her 
 Into the saddle, with admiring gaze 
 
 AA 
 
178 The Fair Pilgrim. 
 
 Fixed on her lovely face, the bridle took. 
 And led the way in silence. O'er them bent 
 A sky of cloudless blue, on the tall cliffs 
 The snow-white gulls basked in the noontide sun. 
 And the sea rippled on the sparkling sand. 
 It was an hour of deepest, holiest calm. 
 When every harsher sound was lulled to rest, 
 And Nature, smiling in her sabbath mood. 
 With all her thousand voices whispered peace. 
 So, through the stillness of that genial air. 
 Onward, with hearts attuned to joy and hope 
 By contemplation of the tranquil scene. 
 Passed the fair pilgrim, and the gentle king. 
 
179 
 
 XV. 
 
 HEALTH EESTORED. 
 
 IE.EAT was the wonder in the mocking 
 court. 
 When Teuton with that beauteous maid 
 returned. 
 As one, who brings a priceless treasure home. 
 Many a gross comment, many a ribald jest. 
 Circling from mouth to mouth, rude laughter woke. 
 Or with foul breath tainted the wholesome air. 
 But she, in her sweet modesty, smiled down 
 Their foolish talk, and by pure goodness won 
 The admiration of her bitterest foes ; 
 And soon 'twas proved, as oftentimes before. 
 That shallow mockery, and irreverent mirth. 
 Are not the native growth of Northern minds. 
 But rather false and foreign parasites. 
 That have no root profound. As spread the fame 
 
180 Health Restored. 
 
 Of simple acts of charity and love. 
 Performed in secret, but remembered still 
 By grateful hearts, and by free lips proclaimed. 
 The laughter changed to murmurs of applause, 
 And high respect, and deepest sympathy ; 
 And those, who doubted of her mission's truth. 
 Paid willing homage to her stainless life. 
 And all her holy service to mankind. 
 
 Then, day by day, from her did Teuton learn 
 The long-suspected, long-neglected law, 
 That knowledge is not wisdom — that the mind 
 May store all facts, and all conclusions weigh. 
 Master each science, practice every art. 
 And yet be blind as mole to heaven's own light — 
 That duty and obedience are the speUs, 
 Which to the spirit open wide the gates 
 Of everlasting truth — that wilful sin. 
 And narrow selfishness, deceive us more 
 Than all external shows — that prayer and praise. 
 If oflFered up in honesty of soul. 
 Sooner than logic reach the heart of things. 
 And tell us more of God. Then streamed a flood 
 
Health Restored. 181 
 
 Of sudden radiance on the sacred page. 
 Making all clear, that seemed so dark before. 
 And once again the discords of the world 
 Were lost in rich, seraphic harmonies. 
 
 It was a happy time, while Teuton sat 
 Beside the maid, or at her feet reclined. 
 Listening to the soft music of her voice. 
 And drinking in large draughts of faith and hope 
 From her mild eyes. But, when she would depart, 
 A sadness fell upon him, chill as death. 
 And oft he begged another day's delay, 
 "Which she still granted. Yet it came at last. 
 The hour of parting. In such earnest tone. 
 Had she expressed her strong wish to pursue 
 Her pilgrimage, that he could not resist 
 The mighty impulse. From a sleepless couch 
 He rose at morn, to take a last farewell ; 
 And in the palace-gardens met the pair. 
 While yet the dewdrops glittered on the grass. 
 
 *' Do not lament," she said, " that I must go 
 Upon our Master's business. Thou and I 
 
182 Health Restored. 
 
 Have each our several functions to perform. 
 And, absent far, may still unite in thought. 
 And prayer, and blessing. It is thine to rule, 
 And mine to serve the people. If our ends 
 Be right, no matter for the different means ! " 
 
 " O, Christabel ! " he cried ; " dost thou not see, 
 That, severed, we are only half ourselves ? 
 That each requires the other, to make up 
 The complement of nature ? Left alone, 
 I may discharge the duties of a king 
 "With cold formality — be wise and just 
 In government, and skilful in affairs — 
 Yet hardeniug 'neath a crust of worldly thoughts. 
 Absorbed in present interests, deaf and blind 
 To spiritual influence, and to future hope ; 
 Or, if not wholly callous, then perplexed 
 By doubts, and fears, and wants unsatisfied. 
 Around me still may gather busy men. 
 Brave workers, builders up of mighty states. 
 Winners of wealth, and conquerors of the earth ; 
 But, 'mid their proudest triumphs, they will find 
 A yawning gulf for ever at their feet. 
 
Health Restored, 183 
 
 A grisly death's head in their banquet-halls, 
 
 And fairest fruit to dust and ashes turned. 
 
 And, for the rest — while myriads only live 
 
 For selfish ends, with no ennobling faith — 
 
 The baser passions needs must have their sway, 
 
 The rich continue to despise the poor. 
 
 The poor to envy and malign the rich. 
 
 And botli to wage a never-ending war. 
 
 Secret or open. Thou alone hast power, 
 
 By the sweet magic of thy voice and look. 
 
 To wean us from ourselves — to fix our gaze 
 
 On lofty aims, eternal destinies, 
 
 Man's true perfection, heaven's unchanging law — 
 
 And so unite and reconcile us all. 
 
 Banish our fears, and give us lasting peace. 
 
 But fully to achieve this glorious good, 
 
 I too may lend thee aid. Pure as thou art, 
 
 And like a lone star in the crystal sky, 
 
 Thou shinest too remote, too high above 
 
 Our common life. Men view thee from afar, 
 
 Amid the shadow and repose of night. 
 
 But lose thee in the heat and glare of day. 
 
 And so it chances oft — too oft, alas ! — 
 
184 Health Restored. 
 
 That the strong minds, who grapple with the world, 
 
 And help its progress, or command its ear. 
 
 Know nought of thee ; while they, who love thee 
 
 best, 
 Know just as little of their fellow-men. 
 It is the sad divorce between us two. 
 Which makes the stirring intellect profane — 
 And piety effeminate, maudlin, weak — 
 And both intolerant, narrow, judging ill 
 Each of the other, full of rude contempt. 
 Or bitter hate, instead of sympathy. 
 Oh, let this cease ! Have pity on us all ! " 
 
 " What wouldst thou haveme do?" asked Christabel. 
 " I cannot serve two masters, tread two paths." 
 
 " Ah, no ! " he cried ; " but let the paths be one ! 
 If to serve man be really serving heaven. 
 That worship may be paid in divers forms — 
 Not only at the altar and the shrine, 
 And in the hour of suffering, or of death — 
 But daily, in the common walks of life. 
 Amid its homely cares, and vulgar joys. 
 
Health Restored. 185 
 
 And also in the business of the world. 
 
 Laws, commerce, politics, and arts, and arms. 
 
 In all I need thy help ; and thou wilt find. 
 
 That I can give thee what thou too requirest — 
 
 The power to deal, not with a scattered few. 
 
 But with whole nations — to enlist the aid 
 
 Of the best intellects, and noblest hearts. 
 
 Who stand aloof, because they know thee not, 
 
 Nor understand thy language — and so bring 
 
 Once more the highest human to unite 
 
 With the divine. Stay with me, Christabel ! 
 
 Go not upon thy lonely pilgrimage. 
 
 Too glorious in thy maiden purity 
 
 For any closer ties! — Come down to earth — 
 
 To this poor earth, which yet our Master blessed — 
 
 And share the lot of one, not worthy thee. 
 
 But who will give thee all his love and faith, 
 
 And whom thou shalt make better, and direct 
 
 To loftier purposes. Oh, do not scorn 
 
 The sweetest, holiest, most mysterious bond. 
 
 First knit in paradise, and still entwined 
 
 With the last Eden-flowers, that bloom below ! 
 
 Stay with me ! Be my love, my queen, my wife ! 
 
 B B 
 
186 Health Restored, 
 
 Help me to bear the burden of a crown, 
 And I will take the pilgrim's staff with thee, 
 And we will work together. Answer yes I 
 Upon that answer hangs my weal or woe. 
 And, with it, all the future of my race ! " 
 
 She blushed — a beautiful and innocent blush. 
 Such as suffused our general mother's cheek. 
 When Adam first beheld his virgin bride — 
 Then murmured : — " If it were indeed the best. 
 And heaven had so ordained ! — Thou knowest full 
 
 well, 
 I was thy friend many a long year ago. 
 And, even in absence, still I. thought of thee, 
 And hoped, and prayed for thy true happiness. 
 But can I leave the narrow, thorny road, 
 "Which seemed to me a consecrated path. 
 To walk upon the highways of the world. 
 Amid its pomp, its pleasure, and its pride. 
 Nor lose the spirit of the Christian life ? " 
 
 " Thou canst," he answered. " It is thine to show. 
 That Piety is not a cloistered nun. 
 
Health Restored. 187 
 
 Who needs must shrink abashed from stranger-eyes, 
 
 Nor yet a censor rigid and austere. 
 
 Who judges harshly of all human joys. 
 
 But the sweet friend of all things fair and good. 
 
 Noble and generous. It is thine to bless 
 
 Not sacred sorrow only, and the tears 
 
 Of penitence, and the deep sense of awe — 
 
 But all our natural pleasures, hopes, and loves. 
 
 Household aifection, social intercourse. 
 
 Smiles, laughter, kisses, fond, familiar talk. 
 
 The daily toil, the traffic of the mart. 
 
 And liberal culture, science, poesy. 
 
 Deeds of the brave, and counsels of the wise. 
 
 And the great business of the commonweal. 
 
 These thou must share, if thou wouldst purify. 
 
 And make them holy. Ah ! too long, too long. 
 
 Has the one seamless robe been rent in twain ! 
 
 Too long has this broad Christendom been torn. 
 
 Not only by the everlasting war 
 
 Of good and evil, or the combats fierce 
 
 Of rival sects and churches — but stiU more 
 
 By feuds between the functions and the powers 
 
 Of man's own mind, his graces and his gifts. 
 
188 Health Restored, 
 
 Which all were meant to serve a common cause. 
 Not struggle each for proud supremacy. 
 Help me to reconcile these jarring claims ! 
 That, which my mother vainly sought to do 
 By forced observance of established rules. 
 And bonds of outward uniformity. 
 Let us achieve by freedom's nobler law. 
 'Tis in our union, that the world must find 
 Its pledge of future peace. Give me thy hand ! 
 By all the memories of our happiest days, 
 By all the sorrows of our long divorce. 
 By all the ills, that we alone can cure. 
 By all the blessings we may yet bestow — 
 Give me thy hand ! I ask it in heaven's name ! " 
 
 Gently she laid her hand in his, and said : 
 " I trust thee. Teuton. I believe thy words. 
 I too have felt my loneliness, and seen. 
 That I was powerless oft for highest good. 
 Because I dwelt apart from many a source 
 Of human sympathy. If I have paused — 
 It is, that conscious weakness made me fear 
 How soon I might forget all else in thee ! 
 
Health Restored. 189 
 
 But could we work together — could I keep 
 
 My fealty to my Master, and yet share 
 
 Thy thoughts and wishes — and if thou wouldst bring 
 
 Thy manly strength, thy wisdom and renown, 
 
 To aid the cause of truth and holiness — 
 
 It were a blest alliance for us both ! " 
 
 " And so, please heaven, it shall be ! " cried the 
 prince. 
 " Henceforth, I dedicate my life to thee. 
 As to my chosen lady, and my queen. 
 Oh, never have I felt so light of heart ! 
 Nor am I now deceived by empty fumes. 
 As may have been the visions of my youth. 
 I know, that in our union we shall meet 
 Trial, temptation, sorrow — 'tis the lot 
 Of all on earth — that our best plans may fail. 
 And we ourselves fall far below the height 
 Of our own purpose. But I likewise know. 
 That I shall not lose courage in the strife. 
 Sustained by thee, and by thy love inspired — 
 That every disappointment will but lead 
 To renewed efforts — and that hope and faith. 
 
190 Health Restored. 
 
 If once combined with reason, sense, and fact. 
 Must triumph over all. Methinks, I see 
 A coming time, in which this Northern race. 
 This people, whom we both are called to rule. 
 Shall give the great example, how to blend 
 Freedom and progress in their boldest flights 
 With virtue and religion. They have shown 
 Already, in their worst and darkest days. 
 That they could cling to law and liberty. 
 As to the two strong pillars of the state ; 
 But they have still to crown the edifice 
 With higher justice than the written law. 
 And with that perfect liberty, which frees 
 The soul itself from durance. This to do — ■ 
 The grandest mission ever yet assigned 
 To man or nation — needs conjunction rare 
 Of many qualities. If I can bring 
 Some of the vigour and the love of truth. 
 Which I, perchance, inherit from my sires. 
 The purer, holier feelings all are thine. 
 Together we must reign, together serve. 
 And from that joint dominion, and the power 
 Of that united action, will arise 
 
Health Restored, 191 
 
 A better, happier world. Then shall be solved 
 
 The thousand problems, which distract mankind. 
 
 The long, long feuds between the old and new, 
 
 Contests of reason with authority. 
 
 Disputes of churches, and opposing schemes 
 
 Of government, for which their partisans 
 
 So blindly and so passionately fight. 
 
 Shall melt away before the clearer gaze. 
 
 That sees in all the spirit, and not the form. 
 
 Wealth, which enjoys, will cease to be at war 
 
 "With labour, which produces — reconciled, 
 
 Not by a vain attempt to share the fruit 
 
 In equal portions, not by flattery paid 
 
 To rich or poor, but by plain speech to both. 
 
 And honest dealing with the rights of all. 
 
 Mutual forbearance, and the interchange 
 
 Of kindly offices. No woman more 
 
 WiU, like dishevelled Maenad, cast aside 
 
 The decent veil and mantle of her sex. 
 
 To shriek out wild laments o'er fancied wrongs. 
 
 And with shrill utterance claim the place of man ; 
 
 But women, in the quiet, household sphere. 
 
 Which Nature made their own, will silently 
 
192 Health Restored. 
 
 Improve each faculty, and so obtain 
 A wiser, safer, more beneficent sway. 
 Then will a land full of well-ordered homes, 
 Of happy children trained to virtuous lives. 
 And helpful, useful citizens, content 
 Each with his proper duties — yet inspired 
 With infinite thoughts, and hopes, that reach to 
 
 heaven — 
 More than the pride of armies and of fleets. 
 More than the riches of the loom and mine, 
 Attest our people's glory. Nor alone 
 To this one race, but to all human kind. 
 Of every clime and colour, shall extend 
 Our influence, like the world-embracing sea. 
 Or universal sunshine. We will give 
 Shoots of the hardy plants that blossom here, 
 To men of other lineage ; till they learn 
 To prize, above the beauties of the South, 
 Above the glittering treasures of the West, 
 Our temperate freedom, guarded round by law. 
 And pure religion, based on gospel-truth. 
 Then dawns a Golden Age, as bright and fair 
 As ever poet sang ! Then swell the notes 
 
Health Restored. 193 
 
 Of grateful happiness from shore to shore ! 
 
 And all the praise, O dearest maid, belongs 
 
 To thee, for thou hast saved us from despair. 
 
 And brought us back to health, and peace, and God ! " 
 
 Smiling through tears of J07, she answered him : 
 " Though the bright dream may not in all come true. 
 Yet be content ! — If for such ends we toil, 
 With singleness of purpose, unseduced 
 By selfishness, by weakness unsubdued. 
 Success or failure will alike be blest. 
 The world — a froward pupil, slow to learn — 
 May stumble on in its old ways ; but we. 
 Doing what good we can, serving mankind 
 With or against their will, and ever bent 
 To please our Master, not exalt ourselves, 
 May safely leave the great results to Him, 
 Who ordereth all things well. To Him alone 
 Be praise eternal ! and, throughout the earth. 
 Whatever triumphs man may yet achieve, 
 Whatever progress nations yet may boast. 
 All knowledge, wisdom, glory, freedom, power. 
 Are but His instruments, and their best use 
 cc 
 
194 Health Restored. 
 
 Lies in the culture of immortal souls 
 For the celestial harvest. This being so. 
 Let us in patience work, in patience wait, 
 And fix our hopes upon that higher life. 
 In which all races, languages, and creeds. 
 And all the accidents of place and time, 
 Having fulfilled, in many different modes, 
 Designs, for which they had their several being. 
 Shall pass away — -and spirits of the just, 
 From every people, and from every land. 
 United in a common heaven of love. 
 Shall own one Father, and obey one King. 
 'Tis in this faith, that I join hands with thee. 
 And link my lot with thine for evermore." 
 
 " And to this faith," said Teuton, " I hold fast. 
 Happen what may. Henceforth, no envious clouds 
 Trouble my vision, or impede my course. 
 I shall work bravely, knowing what I do. 
 And whither all these human efforts tend ; 
 And, should I falter, I will turn to thee. 
 And those mild eyes shall give me strength to bear, 
 And that sweet voice new courage to aspire. 
 
Health Restored. 
 
 Oh, be through life my help and comforter ! 
 And when, at length, my earthly task is done, 
 And I resign the sceptre and the crown 
 To younger, and perchance to alien blood, 
 Heaven grant, that on thy dear and loyal breast 
 I may breathe out my latest sigh, and take 
 Thy image with me to that happier world. 
 Where all true labour, though unfinished here. 
 Shall have its meed, and all the lost be found ! " 
 
196 
 
 XVI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 I HE vision fades, the airy phantoms fly. 
 The prince and lady cease their lofty 
 theme ; 
 
 In fancy's ear the murmuring voices die. 
 And all the past was but a pleasant dream. 
 
 A dream, with meanings haply understood 
 By those, for whom these runic lines were 
 strung — 
 
 The men, who boast the old Teutonic blood. 
 And speak, in divers tones, the Gothic tongue. 
 
 O brave descendants of the mighty race. 
 
 That spurned the axes and the rods of Rome ! 
 
 Sons of the North ! whate'er the special place. 
 Which time and fortune may have made your home ! 
 
Conclusion. 197 
 
 Whether ye linger 'mid the Arctic gloom, 
 
 Beside the Geyser's fount, the .Mahlstrom's roar, 
 
 Where through the mist Norwegian mountains loom, 
 And stately pine-woods clothe the Swedish shore — 
 
 Or reach from Denmark's biUow-beaten strand 
 To where the Alpine snows eternal shine, 
 
 Nursed in the bosom of that noble land. 
 
 Which spreads between the Danube and the Rhine — 
 
 Whether ye dwell, where through rich meadows creep 
 The Dutch canals, by cities quaint and old, 
 
 Or plant and buUd beyond the Atlantic deep. 
 Or dig Australia's virgin soil for gold — 
 
 We hail you — from this isle of ancient fame. 
 Where Saxon laws have kept a people free. 
 
 And stm the Viking's children proudly claim 
 The chief dominion o'er the conquered sea — 
 
 We hail you brothers ! not by blood alone, 
 But word and deed ; for, let what will befaU, 
 
 We Northmen have a story of our own. 
 
 And thoughts, and feelings, common to us all ! 
 
198 Conclusion. 
 
 That story have I sketched in colours faint. 
 Pale emblems of our struggles, hopes, and fears. 
 
 And in a single life essayed to paint 
 The moral changes of a thousand years. 
 
 Weak is the hand, which dared a task so high, 
 And oft, perchance, the effort has been vain ; 
 
 But let your sympathies each want supply. 
 And bind the broken links in memory's chain ! 
 
 Then may you trace, through legend, tale, and song, 
 The Northern Mind from its poetic youth. 
 
 Awakening early to the sense of wrong. 
 
 The love of freedom, and the quest for truth — 
 
 May see it bravely battling for the right 
 With ignorance, superstition, bigot rage. 
 
 Till crowned a victor in the glorious fight. 
 And monarch of the new and wondrous age ! 
 
 But, with the gain, you there will find the loss. 
 Presumptuous errors, wanderings far astray. 
 
 Clouds of despondency and doubt, that cross 
 The brightness of the full meridian day — 
 
Conclusion. 199 
 
 The restless search, the cold and barren lore. 
 Which science, culture, intellect impart, 
 
 Till suffering cleanse the soul, and faith restore 
 The simpler, holier wisdom of the heart ! 
 
 Such was my theme. Accept the imperfect strain ! 
 
 If aught be imaged there of good or true, 
 The shadows pass, the substance will remain. 
 
 And both, O friends, I dedicate to you ! 
 
 Now doubly dear have grown our kindred ties. 
 When many a state is tottering to its base. 
 
 And in our union, courage, virtue, lies 
 The future hope of half the human race. 
 
 It is a thought for trembling, not for pride — 
 A thought, to wean us from each idle boast. 
 
 And bring the reverence, which alone can guide 
 Our footsteps in the path we need the most 
 
 Oh, may we cling, amid the storms of fate. 
 The wrecks of empire, anarchy's increase. 
 
 To all, that makes the nations really great — 
 Justice and mercy, freedom, order, peace ! 
 
200 Conclusion. 
 
 Still cherisli duties even more than rights, 
 Defend with life truth's high and sacred cause. 
 
 And trust in Him, whose promised blessing lights 
 On those, who serve Him, and obey His laws ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : — WHITUNGHAM ANU WILKINS, 
 TOOKS CODKT, CHANOEEY LANE. 
 
A.ioTllt 
 
 I |ii|Hol