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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://archive.org/details/talesofwonder01lewi 
 
TALES OF WONDER; 
 
 WRITTEN AND COLLECTED 
 
 BY 
 
 M. G. LEWIS, Esq. M. P. 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE MONK, CASTLE SPECTRE, 
 LOVE OF GAIN, &C. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 Black spirits and white, 
 
 Blue spirits and grey, 
 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 
 Ye that mingle may ! macbeth. 
 
 vol ir. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY W. BULMER AND CO. CLEVELAND-ROW, 
 
 FOR THE AUTHOR ,* 
 
 AND SOLD BY J. BELL, NO. 14S, OXFORD-STREET, 
 
 OPPOSITE NEW BOND-STREET. 
 
 1801. 
 
491610 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 
 
 L&lb \ 
 
 /■■■ 
 
 No. P a g e - 
 
 XXXIII. Tarn O'Shanter - - -237 
 
 XXXIV. The Witches' Song - - -250 
 XXXV. Admiral Hosier's Ghost - - - 254 
 
 XXXVI. Margaret's Ghost - - - 259 
 
 XXXVII. The Hermit - - - 263 
 
 XXXVIII. Edwin of the Green - - .- 275 
 
 XXXIX. Theodore and Honoria - - 284 
 
 XL. Dreams - 302 
 
 XLI. History of Porsenna, King of Russia - 309 
 
 XLII. The Fatal Sisters - - - 347 
 
 XLIII. The Descent of Odin - - - 352 
 
 XLIV. The Witch of Wokey - - - 358 
 
 XLV. The Marriage of Sir Gawaine - - 362 
 
 XLVI. King Arthur's Death - 379 
 
 XLVII. Fair Margaret, and Sweet William - - 389 
 
 XLVIII. Sweet William's Ghost - - - 394 
 
 XLIX. The Boy and the Mantle - - - 398 
 
 L. St. Patrick's Purgatory - - - 409 
 
 LI. The Cinder King - - - - 416 
 
 LII. The Bleeding Nun ... 419 
 
 LIII. The Maid of the Moor, or the Water Fiends 426 
 
 LIV. The Laidley Worm of Spindlestone Heughs 434 
 
 LV. Mary's Dream - - - 443 
 
 LVI. Clerk Colvin - - - 445 
 
 LVII. Willy's Lady - - - - 449 
 
 LVIII. Courteous King Jamie - - - 451 
 
 LIX. Tam Lin - - ... 457 
 
 LX. Lenora - ... 469 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 257, line 8, for meet, read met, 
 
 — 296, — 20, for launched read launced. 
 
 — 323, — 22, for high read hie. 
 
237 
 
 No- XXXIII. 
 
 TAM O'SHANTEK. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 When chapman billies * leave the street, 
 And drouthy* neebors, 3 neebors meet, 
 As market-days are wearing late, 
 An' * folk begin to tak the gate ; ! 
 While we sit bousing 6 at the nappy, 
 An' getting fou 7 and unco 8 happy, 
 We think na 9 on the lang 10 Scots miles, 
 The mosses, waters, slaps," and styles, 
 That lie between us and our hame," 
 Whare ,3 sits our sulky sullen dame, 
 
 ' Billies, brothers. * Drovthy, thirsty. * Neebors, neighbours. 
 
 ♦ An', and. s Tak the gate, return home. 6 Bousing, drinking. 
 
 7 Fou, drunk. * Unco, very. * Na, not. 
 
 10 Lang, long. " Slaps, gates, or breaches in fences. 
 
 '* Hame, home. ,J Whare, where. 
 
23$ 
 
 Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
 Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
 
 This truth fand ' honest Tarn O'Shanter, 
 As he frae x Ayr ae 3 night did canter, 
 (Auld 4 Ayr wham 5 ne'er a town surpasses, 
 For honest men and bonny 6 lasses.) 
 
 O Tam ! had'st thou but been sae 7 wise, 
 As ta'en thy ain 8 wife Kate's advice ! 
 She tauld 9 thee weel *° thou was a skellum," 
 A blethering, 11 blustering, drunken blellum ; 
 That frae November till October, 
 Ae market-day thou was nae n sober ; 
 That ilka ,4 melder, wi' " the miller, 
 Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; l6 
 That every naig I7 was cad IS a shoe on, 
 The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; 
 
 That at the L d's house, even on Sunday, 
 
 Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 
 
 1 Fand, found. 
 
 * Frae, from. 3 Ae, one. 
 
 * Auld, old. 
 
 s Wham, whom. 
 
 6 Bunny, or bonnie, handsome. 
 
 7 Sae, so. 
 
 8 Ain, own. 
 
 9 Tauld, told. 
 
 10 Weel, well. 
 
 11 Skellum, a rogue. 
 
 ** Blethering, talking idly. 
 
 13 Nae, never 
 
 '* Ilka, each. 
 
 •5 Wi', with. 
 
 16 Siller, money 
 
 IT Naig, a horse. 
 
 '* Cad, nailed 
 
 
239 
 
 She prophesy'd that, late or soon, 
 
 Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon : 
 
 Or catch'd wi' Avarlocks * in the mirk, 1 
 
 By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 3 
 
 Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 4 
 To think how mony 5 counsels sweet, 
 How mony lengthen'd sage advices, 
 The husband frae the wife despises ! 
 
 But to our tale : Ae market niwht. 
 Tam had got planted unco right ; 
 Fast by an ingle, 6 bleezing 7 finely, 
 Wi' reaming swats, 8 that drank divinely; 
 And at his elbow, Souter 9 Johnny, 
 His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; I0 
 Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; " 
 They had been fou for weeks thegither. ™ 
 The night drave I3 on wi' sangs and clatter ; ** 
 And ay the ale was growing better : 
 
 * Warlock, a wizzard. z Mirk, dark. 3 Kirk, churcli. 
 
 * Gars me greet, makes me weep. 5 Mony, many. 6 Ingle, fire. 
 7 Bleezing, burning. s Reaming swats, a sort of liquor. 
 
 9 Souter, a shoemaker. IO Crony, or cronie, an old acquaintance. 
 
 11 Vera brither, very brother. " Thegither, together. 
 
 13 Drave, passed. ' l * Sangs and clatter, songs and discourse. 
 
240 
 
 The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
 Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
 The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
 The storm without might rair ' and rustle, 
 Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 
 
 Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
 E'en drown'd himself amang 2, the nappy, 
 As bees flee hame wi' lades 3 o' * treasure, 
 The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
 Kings may be bless'd, but Tam was glorious, 
 O'er a' 5 the hills o' life victorious ! 
 
 But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; 
 Or like the snow falls in the river, 
 
 A moment white then melts for ever ; 
 
 Or like the borealis race, 
 
 That flit ere you can point their place ; 
 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
 
 Evanishing; amid the storm. — 
 
 Nae man can tether 6 time or tide ; 
 
 The hour approaches Tam maun 7 ride ; 
 
 1 Rair, roar. * Among, among. 3 Lades, loads. 
 
 ♦ 0', of. s A', all. 6 Tether, tie. \Maun, must. 
 
241 
 
 That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
 That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
 And sic ' a night he tacks * the road in, 
 As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 
 
 The wind blew as 'twad blawn* its last; 
 The rattling showers rose on the blast; 
 The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
 Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd ; 
 That night, a child might understand, 
 The deil * had business on his hand. 
 
 Weel 5 mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
 A better never lifted leg, 
 Tam skelpit 6 on through dub and mire/ 
 Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
 Whiles 8 holding fast his gude 9 blue bonnet ; 
 Whiles crooning 10 o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 
 Whiles glow'ring " round wi' prudent cares, 
 Lest bogles ™ catch him unawares : 
 Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
 Whare ghaists' 1 and houlets' 4 nightly cry. — 
 
 1 Sic, such. a Tacks, takes. 3 As 'twad blawn, as if it would have blown. 
 * Deil, the devil. * Weel, well. 6 Skelpit, galloped. 
 
 7 Dub, a pool. * Whiles, sometimes. 9 Gude, good. 
 
 10 Crooning, humming. " Glow'ring, staring. ,x Bogles, bad spirits. 
 f 3 Ghaists, ghosts. ,4 Houlets, owls. 
 
 S 
 
242 
 
 By this time he was cross the ford, 
 Whare in the snaw 1 the chapman smoor'd;* 
 And past the birks* and meikle stane,* 
 Whare drunken Charlie brakV neck-bane ; 8 
 And thro' the whins, and by the cairn/ 
 Whare hunters fand 8 the murder'd bairn; 9 
 And near the thorn, aboon I0 the well, 
 
 Whare Mungo's mither " hang'd hersel 
 
 Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
 The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 
 The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
 Near and more near the thunders roll : 
 When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
 Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; " 
 Thro' ilka bore* 3 the beams were glancing; 
 And loud resounded mirth and dancing.— 
 
 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!** 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
 Wi' tippeny, '- we fear nae evil ; 
 Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil !■ — 
 
 * Snaiv, snow. * Smoor'd, smothered. 3 Birks, birch trees. 
 
 4 Meikle stane, a large stone. 5 Brak's, broke his. 6 Neck-bane, neck bone. 
 
 7 Cairn, a heap of stones. 8 Fand, found. 9 Bairn, a child. 
 
 10 Aboon, above. " Mither, mother. "■ Bleeze, blaze. 
 
 13 Bore, crevice. ** and ** John Barleycorn, and Tippeny, terms 
 
 for malt liquor. 
 
243 
 
 The swats* sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,* 
 Fair play, he car'd na 3 deils a boddle 4 
 But Maggie stood right sair 5 astonish'd, 
 Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
 She ventured forward on the light ; 
 And, vow ! Tam saw an unco 6 sight ! 
 Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
 Nae cotillion brent 7 new frae France, 
 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
 Put life and mettle in their heels. 
 A winnock-bunker 8 in the east, 
 There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 
 A towzie-tyke, 9 black, grim, and large, 
 To gie ,0 them music was his charge : 
 He screw'd the pipes and gart " them skirl, " 
 Till roof and rafters a' did dirl." — 
 Coffins stood round, like open presses,'* 
 That shaw'd " the dead in their last dresses ; 
 And by some devilish cantrip ,<s slight, 
 Each in its cauld I7 hand held a light. — 
 
 1 Swats, fumes. * Noddle, head. 3 Car'd na, minded not. 
 
 4 Boddle, a farthing. s Sair, sore. 6 Unco, strange. 7 Brent, brought. 
 8 Winnock-bunker, a window. 9 Towzie-tyke, a shaggy dog. 
 
 10 To gie, give. » Gart, made. " Skirl, to cry out. 
 
 13 Dirl, rattle, shake. ,+ Presses, closets for linen, a sort of cupboards. 
 15 Shaw'd, shewed. l6 Cantrip, a charm, or spell. 
 
 1 Cauld, cold. 
 
 R S 
 
244 
 
 By which heroic Tarn was able 
 To note upon the haly* table, 
 A murderer's banes* in gibbet aims ; 3 
 Twa span-lang, 4 wee, 5 unchristen'd bairns ; 
 A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 6 
 Wi' his last gasp his gab ' did gape ; 
 Five tomahawks, wi blude* red-rusted, 
 Five scymitars, wi" murder crusted; 
 A garter, which a babe had strangled, 
 A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
 Whom his ain 9 son o' life bereft, 
 The grey hairs yet stack IO to the heft;" 
 Wi' mair" o' horrible and awefu', 
 Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 
 
 As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, 
 The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
 The piper loud and louder blew ; 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew; 
 They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
 Till ilka carlin " swat I4 and reekit, IS 
 
 * Haly table, holy table. a Banes, bones. 3 Aims, irons. 
 
 * Twa span-lang, two spans in length. 5 Wee, little. 
 
 6 New-cutted frae a rape, new cut from a rope. 7 Gab, mouth. 
 
 * Blude, blood. 9 Ain, own. ,0 Stack, stuck. " Heft, haft. 
 11 Mair, more. 13 Carlin, a stout old woman. 
 
 14 Swat, sweated. ,s Reekit, smoked. 
 
245 
 
 And coost her duddies " to the wark,* 
 And linket 5 at it in her sark ! 4 
 
 Now Tam, Tam ! had thae s been queans, 6 
 A' plump and strapping in their teens, 
 Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 7 
 Been snaw-white s seventeen hunder linnen ! 
 Thir breeks 9 o' mine, my only pair, • 
 That ance IO were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
 I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, 
 For ae blink * o' the bonnie burdies I " 
 
 But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
 Rigwoodie hags wad spean 13 a foal, 
 Lowping 14 an* flinging on a crummock, 15 
 I wonder didna ' turn thy stomach. 
 
 But Tam kend 17 what was what fu' brawlie," 
 . There was ae winsome ' 9 wench and wawlie, 10 
 
 * Coost her duddies, cast off her clothes. * Wark, work, 
 
 3 Linkit, danced. 4 Sark, a shift. 5 Thae, these. 
 
 6 Queans, lasses. 7 Chreeshieflannen, greasy flannel. 
 
 8 Snare-white, snow-white. 9 Thir breeks, these breeches. 
 
 10 Ance, once. " Ae blink, one look. 
 
 11 Bonnie burdies, pretty creatures. ,3 Wad spean, would wean. 
 ,+ Lowping, jumping. * 5 Crummock, a crutch. 
 
 10 Didna, did not. "7 Kend, knew. ,s Braiolie, very well. 
 
 " Winsome, buxom. *° Waiolie, comely. 
 
246 
 
 That night enlisted in the core,' 
 
 (Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
 
 For mony a beast to dead 1 she shot, 
 
 And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, 
 
 And shook baith* meikle corn and bear, 4 
 
 And kept the country-side in fear) , ' 
 
 Her cutty sark, 5 o' Paisley harn, 6 
 
 That while a lassie 7 she had worn, 
 
 In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
 
 It was her best, and she was vauntie. 8 — 
 
 Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie," 
 
 That sark she coft ,0 for her wee Nannie, 
 
 Wi' twa pund Scots," ('twas a' her riches), 
 
 Wad ever grace a dance of witches ! 
 
 But here my Muse her wing maun cour;" 
 Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
 To sing how Nannie lap and flang, " 
 (A souple'*jade she was and Strang"), 
 And how Tam stood, like ane ,6 bewitch'd, 
 And thought his very een " enrich'd ; 
 
 * Core, corps. z Dead, death. 3 Baith, both. 4 Bear, barley. 
 
 5 Cutty sark, short shift. 6 Harn, a sort of cloth. 7 Lassie, a little girl. 
 
 8 Vauntie, proud. 9 Grannie, grandmother, IO Coft, spun. 
 
 " Twa pund Scots, two pound Scottish. 
 
 12 Maun cour, must lower. " Lap and flang, jumped and flung. 
 
 14 Souple, supple. '* Strang, strong. ,6 Ane, one. * 7 Een, eyes. 
 
247 
 
 Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 1 
 And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : 
 Till first ae caper, syne anither, 1 
 Tam tint 3 his reason a' thegither, 4 
 And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark ! " 
 And in an instant all was dark : 
 And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
 When out the hellish legion sallied. 
 
 As bees bizz 5 out wi' angry fyke, 6 
 When plundering herds' assail their byke ;' 
 As open pussie's 9 mortal foes, 
 When pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
 As eager runs the market-crowd, 
 When " Catch the thief! " resounds aloud ; 
 So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
 Wi' mony an eldritch ,0 skreech and hollow. 
 
 Ah, Tam ! Ah, Tam ! thou'll get thy fairin !" 
 In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
 
 1 Fidg'd fu' fain, became very restless. 
 
 * Syne anither, then another. 3 Tint, lost. 
 
 * A' thegither, entirely. ! Bizz, buzz. 
 
 6 Fyke, mood. 7 Herds, shepherds. 
 
 8 Byke, a bee-hive. 9 Pussie's, a hare. 
 
 * ° Eldritch, skreech, frightful scream. " Fairin, a fairing, a present. 
 
 
248 
 
 In Vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! * 
 Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
 And win the key-stane* of the brig;* 
 There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
 A running stream they dare na cross. 
 But ere the key-stane she could make, 
 The fient a tail ' she had to shake ! 
 For Nannie, far before the rest, 
 Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
 And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;* 
 
 But little wist she Maggie's mettle 
 
 Ae spring* brought off her master hale," 
 But left behind her ain T gray tail : 
 The carlin claught * her by the rump, 
 And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 
 
 Now, wha ' this tale o' truth shall read, 
 Ilk ™ man and mother's son, take heed : 
 
 * It is a well known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to 
 follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. 
 It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when 
 he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is 
 much more hazard in turning back. 
 
 1 Comin, coming. * Brig, bridge. 
 
 3 Thejient a tail, fient is a petty oath, as, " the devil a tail." 
 
 * Ettle , zeal. 5 Ae spring, one jump. 6 Hale, whole. ' Ain, own. 
 8 Claught, seized hold on. 9 Wha, who. '° Ilk, each. 
 
249 
 
 Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
 Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
 Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,' 
 Remember Tarn o' Shanter's mare. 
 
 1 O'er dear, too dear, 
 
250 
 
 No. XXXIV. 
 
 THE WITCHES' SONG. 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 " From the Masque of Queens, presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2d, 1609.' 
 
 I WITCH. 
 
 I have been all day looking after 
 
 A raven feeding upon a quarter ; 
 
 And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south, 
 
 I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth. 
 
 2 WITCH. 
 
 1 have beene gathering wolves haires, 
 The madd dogges foames, and adders eares ; 
 The spurging of a deadman's eyes : 
 And all since the evening starre did rise. 
 
 3 WITCH. 
 
 I last night lay all alone 
 
 On the ground, to heare the mandrake .grone; 
 
251 
 
 And pluck'd him up, though he grew full low 
 And, as I had done, the cocke did crow. 
 
 4 WITCH. 
 
 And I ha' beene chusing out this scull 
 From charnell houses that were full ; 
 From private grots, and publike pits ; 
 And frighted a sexton out of his wits. 
 
 5 WITCH. 
 
 Under a cradle I did crepe 
 By day ; and, when the childe was a-sleepe 
 At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose. 
 And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 
 
 6 WITCH. 
 
 I had a dagger : what did I with that ? 
 
 Killed an infant to have his fat. 
 
 A piper it got at a church-ale, 
 
 I bade him again blow the wind i' the taile. 
 
 7 WITCH. 
 
 A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines ; 
 The sunne and the wind had shrunke his veines ; 
 I bit off a sinew ; 1 clipp'd his haire ; 
 I brought off his ragges, that danced i' the ayre. 
 
252 
 
 8 WITCH. 
 
 The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke, 
 The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe 
 I have been getting; and made of his skin 
 A purset, to keep Sir Cranion in. 
 
 9 WITCH. 
 
 And I ha' beene plucking (plants among) 
 Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue, 
 Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane ; 
 And twise by the dogges was like to be tane, 
 
 I o WITCH. 
 
 I from the jawes of a gardeners bitch 
 
 Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch: 
 
 Yet went I back to the house againe, 
 
 Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine, 
 
 I I WITCH, 
 
 I went to the toad, breedes under the wall, 
 
 I charmed him out, and he came at my call ; 
 
 I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before ; 
 
 I tore the batt's wing : what would you have more ? 
 
253 
 
 DAME. 
 
 Yes : I have brought, to helpe your vows, 
 Horned poppie, cypresse boughes, 
 The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes, 
 And juice that from the larch-tree comes, 
 The basiliske s bloud, and the viper's skin 
 And now our orgies let's begin. 
 
254 
 
 No. XXXV. 
 
 ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 
 
 GLOVER. 
 
 " This was a Party Song, written by the ingenious Author of Leonidas, on the 
 taking of Porto-Bello from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22, 
 1739. — The case of Hosier, which is here so pathetically represented, was 
 briefly this: In April, VJ26, that commander was sent with a strong 
 fleet into the Spanish West Indies, to block up the galleons in the ports of 
 that country, or should they presume to come out, to seize and carry them 
 intoEngland: he accordingly arrived at the Bastimentos near Porto-Bello; 
 but being employed rather to overawe than to attack the Spaniards, with 
 whom it was probably not our interest to go to war, he continued long inac- 
 tive on that station, to his own great regret. He afterwards removed to 
 Carthagena, and remained cruizing in these seas, till far the greater part 
 of his men perished deplorably by tlie diseases of that unhealthy climate. 
 This brave man, seeing his best officers and men thus daily swept away, his 
 ships exposed to inevitable destruction, and himself made the sport of the 
 enemy, is said to have died of a broken heart. Such is the account of 
 Smollet, compared with that of other less partial writers. " 
 
 As near Porto-Bello lying, 
 On the gently swelling flood, 
 
 At midnight, with streamers flying, 
 Our triumphant navy rode ; 
 
255 
 
 There, while Vernon sate all glorious 
 From the Spaniards' late defeat, 
 
 And his crews, with shout victorious, 
 Drank success to England's fleet, 
 
 On a sudden, shrilly sounding, 
 
 Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; 
 Then, each heart with fear confounding, 
 
 A sad troop of ghosts appear'd, 
 All in dreary hammocks shrouded, 
 
 Which for winding sheets they wore, 
 And with looks, by sorrow clouded, 
 
 Frowning on that hostile shore. 
 
 On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 
 
 When the shade of Hosier brave 
 His pale bands was seen to muster, 
 
 Rising from their watery grave. 
 O'er the glimmering wave he hied him, 
 
 Where the Burford * rear'd her sail, 
 With three thousand ghosts beside him, 
 
 And in groans did Vernon hail. 
 
 — " Heed, oh heed our fatal story, 
 " I am Hosier's injured ghost; 
 
 " You, who now have purchased glory, 
 " At this place where I was lost! 
 
 * Admiral Vernon's ship. 
 
256 
 
 ft Though in Porto-Bello's ruin, 
 
 " You now triumph, free from fears, 
 
 ,c When you think on our undoing, 
 " You will mix your joy with tears. 
 
 " See these mournful spectres sweeping 
 
 " Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
 " Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping ; 
 
 " These were English captains brave. 
 " Mark those numbers, pale and horrid, 
 
 *' Those were once my sailors bold : 
 " Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, 
 
 •* While his dismal tale is told ! 
 
 " I, by twenty sail attended, 
 
 " Did this Spanish town aflFright ; 
 " Nothing then its wealth defended, 
 
 "But my orders not to fight. 
 '• Oh ! that in this rolling ocean 
 
 '• I had cast them with disdain, 
 •' And obey'd my heart's warm motion 
 
 • ' To have quell'd the pride of Spain 1 
 
 1 • For resistance I could fear none, 
 '•' But with twenty ships had done 
 
 " What thou, brave and happy Vernon, 
 " Hast achiev'd with six alone. 
 
257 
 
 ** Then the bastimentos never 
 " Had our foul dishonour seen, 
 
 •« Nor the sea the sad receiver 
 
 •' Of" this gallant train had been, 
 
 *• Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 
 
 " And her galleons leading home, 
 '• Though condemn'd for disobeying, 
 
 " I had meet a traitor's doom ; 
 " To have fallen, my country crying 
 
 " He has play'd an English part, 
 •* Had been better far than dying 
 
 ' ' Of a grieved and broken heart. 
 
 " Unrepining at thy glory, 
 
 " Thy successful arms we hail; 
 " But remember our sad story, 
 
 " And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 
 " Sent in this foul clime to languish, 
 
 " Think what thousands fell in vain, 
 " Wasted with disease and anguish, 
 
 " Not in glorious battle slain. 
 
 " Hence with all my train attending 
 " From their oozy tombs below; 
 
 M Through the hoary foam ascending, 
 " Here I feed my constant woe : 
 
258 
 
 " Here, the bastimentos viewing, 
 
 1 • We recal our shameful doom , 
 " And, our plaintive cries renewing, 
 " Wander through the midnight gloom. 
 
 '* O'er these waves for ever mourning 
 
 " Shall we roam, deprived of rest, 
 " If, to Britain's shores returning, 
 
 " You neglect my just request; 
 ** After this proud foe subduing, 
 
 *• When your patriot friends you see, 
 •' Think on vengeance for my ruin, 
 
 " And for England shamed in me." — 
 
259 
 
 No. XXXVI. 
 
 MARGARET'S GHOST. 
 
 MALLET. 
 
 'Twas at the silent solemn hour, 
 When night and morning meet, 
 
 In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
 And stood at William's feet. 
 
 Her face was like an April morn, 
 
 Clad in a wintry cloud ; 
 And clay-cold was her lily hand, 
 
 That held her sable shroud. 
 
 So shall the fairest face appear, 
 
 When youth and years are flown : 
 Such is the robe that kings must wear, 
 When death has reft their crown. 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 Her bloom was like the springing flower, 
 
 That sips the silver dew ; 
 The rose was budded in her cheek, 
 
 Just opening to the view. 
 
 But love had, like the canker-worm, 
 
 Consumed her early prime : 
 The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; — 
 
 She died before her time. 
 
 — " Awake !" she cried, " thy true love calls, 
 " Come from her midnight grave ; 
 
 " Now let thy pity hear the maid 
 " Thy love refused to save. 
 
 " This is the dark and dreary hour, 
 • • When injured ghosts complain ; 
 
 " Now yawning graves give up their dead, 
 " To haunt the faithless swain. 
 
 " Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 
 " Thy pledge, and broken oath ; 
 
 " And give me back my maiden vow, 
 " And give me back my troth. 
 
261 
 
 " Why did you promise love to me, 
 
 " And not that promise keep ? 
 *' Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 
 
 " Yet leave those eyes to weep ? 
 
 «' How could you say my face was fair, 
 
 " And yet that face forsake ? 
 " How could you win my virgin heart, 
 
 ' ' Yet leave that heart to break ? 
 
 ff Why did you say my lip was sweet, 
 
 " And made the scarlet pale? 
 " And why did I, young witless maid, 
 
 " Believe the flattering tale? 
 
 o 
 
 " That face, alas ! no more is fair; 
 
 " These lips no longer red : 
 " Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, 
 
 " And every charm is fled. 
 
 " The hungry worm my sister is ; 
 
 • ' This winding sheet I wear : 
 41 And cold and weary lasts our night, 
 
 " Till that last morn appear. 
 
262 
 
 " But hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence ! 
 
 " A long and last adieu ! 
 *' Come see, false man, how low she lies 
 
 " Who died for love of you.'' — 
 
 The lark sung loud, the morning smiled 
 
 With beams of rosy red ; 
 Pale William shook in every limb, 
 
 And raving left his bed- 
 He hied him to the fatal place, 
 
 Where Margaret's body lay ; 
 And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf, 
 
 That wrapt her breathless clay. 
 
 And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 
 
 And thrice he wept full sore ; 
 Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, 
 
 And word spake never more. 
 
263 
 
 No. XXXVII. 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 PARNELL. 
 
 Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 
 From youth to age a reverend Hermit grew. 
 The moss Lis bed, the cave his humble cell, 
 His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well : 
 Remote from men, with God he pass'd the days, 
 Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 
 
 A life so sacred, such serene repose, 
 Seem'd heav'n itself, till one suggestion rose ; 
 That Vice should triumph, Virtue Vice obey, 
 This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway: 
 His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, 
 And all the tenour of his soul is lost : 
 So, when a smooth expanse receives impress'd 
 Calm nature's image on its watery breast, 
 
264 
 
 Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, 
 And skies beneath with answering colours glow : 
 But if a stone the gentle sea divide, 
 Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, 
 And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, 
 Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. 
 
 tci&D 
 
 To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, 
 To find if books, or swains, report it right, 
 (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, 
 Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew,) 
 He quits his cell ; the pilgrim -staff he bore, 
 And fix'd the scallop in his hat before ; 
 Then with the sun a rising journey went, 
 Sedate to think, and watching each event. 
 
 ?dr 
 
 The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, 
 And long and lonesome was the wild to pass ; 
 But when the southern sun had warm'd the day, 
 A Youth came posting o'er a crossing way ; 
 His rayment decent, his complexion fair, 
 And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. 
 Then near approaching, — " Father, hail ! " he cried ; 
 And — " Hail, my Son," — the reverend sire replied; 
 Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, 
 And talk of various kind deceived the road; 
 
265 
 
 Till each with other pleased, and loath to part, 
 While in their age they differ, join in heart : 
 Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, 
 Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. 
 
 Now sunk the sun ; the closing hour of day 
 Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray ; 
 Nature in silence bid the world repose ; 
 When near the road a stately palace rose : 
 There, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, 
 Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. 
 It chanced, the noble master of the dome 
 Still made his house the wandering stranger's home : 
 Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, 
 Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. 
 The pair arrive : the liveried servants wait ; 
 Their lord receives them at the pompous gate. 
 The table groans with costly piles of food, 
 And all is more than hospitably good. 
 Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, 
 Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. 
 
 At length 'tis morn ; and at the dawn of day, 
 Along the wide canals the Zephyrs play; 
 Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, 
 And shake the neighbouring wood, to banish sleep. 
 
266 
 
 Up rise the guests, obedient to the call : 
 An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall ; 
 Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced, 
 Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. 
 Then pleased, and thankful, from the porch they go ; 
 And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe ; 
 His cup was vanish'd ; for, in secret guise, 
 The younger guest purloin'd the glitt'ring prize. 
 
 As one who spies a serpent in his way, 
 Glistning and basking in the summer ray, 
 Disorder'd stops, to shun the danger near, 
 Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; 
 So seem'd the sire ; when, far upon the road, 
 The shining spoil his wily partner show'd, 
 He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, 
 And much he wish'd, but durst not ask, to part : 
 Murmuring, he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, 
 That generous actions meet a base leward. 
 
 While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, 
 The changing skies hang out their sable clouds : 
 A sound in air presaged approaching rain, 
 And beasts to covert, scud across the plain. 
 Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, 
 To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat : 
 
267 
 
 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, 
 And strong, and large, and unimproved around ; 
 Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, 
 Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. 
 
 As near the Miser's heavy doors they drew, . 
 Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; 
 The nimble light'ning, mix'd with show'rs, began, 
 And o'er their heads, loud-rolling thunder ran. 
 Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, 
 Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. 
 At length some pity warm d the master's breast, 
 ('Twas then his threshold first received a guest,) 
 Slow creeking turns the door, with jealous care, 
 And half he welcomes in, the shivering pair; 
 One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, 
 And nature's fervour, through their limbs recalls : 
 Bread of the coarsest sort, with meager wine, 
 Each hardly granted, served them both to dine ; 
 And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, 
 A ready warning bid them part in peace. 
 
 With still remark, the pond'ring Hermit view'd. 
 In one so rich, a life so poor and rude ; 
 And why should such, within himself he cried, 
 Lock the lost wealth, a thousand want beside? 
 
268 
 
 But what new marks of wonder soon took place, 
 In every settling feature of his face, 
 When from his vest, the young companion bore 
 That cup, the generous landlord own'd before, 
 And paid profusely with the precious bowl, 
 The stinted kindness of this churlish soul ! 
 
 But now the clouds in airy tumult fly, 
 The sun emerging opes an azure sky ; 
 A fresher green the smelling leaves display, 
 And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day; 
 The weather courts them from the poor retreat, 
 And the glad master bolts the wary gate. 
 
 While hence they walk, the Pilgrim's bosom wrought 
 With all the travail of uncertain diought ; 
 His partner's acts, without their cause, appear, 
 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here : 
 Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, 
 Lost and confounded with the various shows. 
 
 Now night's dim shades again involve the sky, 
 Again the wanderers want a place to lie, 
 Again they search, and find a lodging nigh. 
 The soil improved around, the mansion neat, 
 And neither poorly low, nor idly great : 
 
269 
 
 It seem'd to speak its masters turn of mind, 
 Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind. 
 
 Hither the walkers turn, with weary feet, 
 Then bless the mansion, and the master greet : 
 Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise, 
 The courteous master hears, and thus replies : 
 
 Without a vain, without a grudging heart, 
 To Him who gives us all, I yield a part ; 
 From Him you come, for Him accept it here, 
 A frank and sober, more than costly cheer. 
 He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, 
 Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, 
 When the grave household round his hall repair, 
 Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. 
 
 At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, 
 Was strong for toil; the dappled morn arose; 
 Before the Pilgrims part, the younger crept 
 Near the closed cradle where an infant slept, 
 And writhed his neck : the landlord's little pride, 
 O strange return ! grew black, and gasp'd, and died. 
 Horrour of horrours! what, his only son! 
 How look'd our Hermit when die fact was done ! 
 
 • 
 
270 
 
 Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, 
 And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. 
 
 Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, 
 He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. 
 His steps the Youth pursues : the country lay 
 Perplex'd with roads ; a servant shew'd the way : 
 A river cross'd the path ; the passage o'er 
 Was nice to find ; the servant trod before ; 
 Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, 
 And deep the waves, beneath the bending, glide. 
 The Youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, 
 Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in ; 
 Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, 
 Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. 
 
 Wild sparkling rage inflames the Father's eyes, 
 He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries : 
 — " Detested wretch!" — But scarce his speech began, 
 When the strange partner seem'd no longer man : 
 His youthful face grew more serenely sweet ; 
 His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet ; 
 Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair ; 
 Celestial odours breathe through purpled air ; 
 And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, 
 Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. 
 
271 
 
 The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 
 And moves in all the majesty of light. 
 
 Though loud at first the Pilgrim's passion grew, 
 Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do ; 
 Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, 
 And in a calm his settling temper ends. 
 But silence here the beauteous angel broke, 
 The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke : 
 
 — " Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life, to vice unknown, 
 "In sweet memorial rise before the throne : 
 " These charms, success in our bright region find, 
 " And force an Angel down, to calm thy mind ; 
 *' For this, commission'd, I forsook the sky, 
 " Nay, cease to kneel — thy fellow-servant I. 
 
 " Then know the truth of government divine, 
 " And let these scruples be no longer thine : 
 
 " The Maker justly claims that world he made, 
 " In this the right of Providence is laid ; 
 " Its sacred majesty through all depends, 
 " On using second means to work his ends : 
 " 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, 
 " The Power exerts his attributes on high ; 
 
272 
 
 " Your actions uses, nor controls your will, 
 " And bids the doubting sons of men be still. 
 
 " What strange events can strike with more surprise, 
 " Than those which lately struck thy wandering eyes? 
 " Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just, 
 " And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust. 
 
 " The great, vain man, who fared on costly food, 
 " Whose life was too luxurious to be good; 
 " Who made his ivory stands, with goblets shine, 
 " And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine, 
 " Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, 
 " And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. 
 
 " The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door 
 ' ' Ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor ; 
 " With him I left the cup, to teach his mind 
 " That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. 
 " Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, 
 " And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. 
 " Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, 
 " With heaping coals of fire upon its head ; 
 " In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, 
 " And, loose from dross, the silver runs below. 
 
 ,!» I 
 
273 
 
 " Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, 
 
 * But now the child half wean'd his heart from God ; 
 
 * Child of his age, for him he lived in pain, 
 
 ' And measured hack his steps to earth again. 
 ' To what excesses had his dotage run ! 
 1 But God, to save the father, took the son. 
 
 * To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, 
 
 * And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow : 
 
 ' The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, 
 
 * Now owns, in tears, the punishment was just. 
 
 " But how had all his fortune felt a wrack, 
 '• Had that false servant sped in safety back ; 
 ** This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal, 
 " And what a fund of charity would fail ! 
 
 • 
 
 " Thus Heaven instructs thy mind : this trial o'er, 
 " Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more." — 
 
 On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, 
 The Sage stood wondering as the Seraph flew. 
 Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high, 
 His master took the chariot of the sky ; 
 The fiery pomp ascending left the view ; 
 The Prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too. 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 The bending Hermit here a prayer begun, 
 — ' ' Lord ! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done."- 
 Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, 
 And pass'd a life of piety and peace. 
 
275 
 
 No. XXXVIII. 
 
 EDWIN OF THE GREEN. 
 
 PARNELL. 
 
 In Britain's isle, and Arthur's days, 
 When midnight faeries daunced the maze, 
 
 Lived Edwin of the Green ; 
 Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, 
 Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, 
 
 Though badly shaped he'd been. 
 
 His mountain back mote well be said 
 To measure heighth against his head, 
 
 And lift itself above : 
 Yet spite of all that nature did 
 To make his uncouth form forbid, 
 
 This creature dared to love. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 
 
 He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, 
 Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, 
 
 Gould ladies look within ; 
 But one Sir Topaz dress'd widi art, 
 And, if a shape could win a heart, 
 
 He had a shape to win. 
 
 Edwin (if right I read my song,) 
 With slighted passion paced along 
 
 All in the moony light : 
 'Twas near an old enchaunted court, 
 Where sportive faeries made resort, 
 
 To revel out the night. 
 
 His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, 
 'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost 
 
 That reach'd the neighbour-town ; 
 With weary steps he quits the shades, 
 Resolved, the darkling dome he treads, 
 
 And drops his limbs adown. 
 
 But scant he lays him on the floor, 
 When hollow winds remove the door, 
 
 And trembling rocks the ground : 
 And (well 1 ween, to count aright,) 
 At once an hundred tapers light 
 
 On all the walls around. 
 
277 
 
 Now sounding tongues assail his ear, 
 Now sounding feet approachen near, 
 
 And now the sounds increase; 
 And, from the corner where he lay, 
 He sees a train profusely gay 
 
 Come prankling o'er the place. 
 
 But (trust me, Gentles!) never yet 
 Was dight a masking half so neat, 
 
 Or half so rich before ; 
 fhe country lent the sweet perfumes, 
 The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, 
 
 The town its silken store. 
 
 Now, whilst he gazed, a gallant dress'd 
 In flaunting robes above the rest, 
 
 With awful accent cried : 
 — " What mortal of a wretched mind, 
 M Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, 
 
 " Has here presumed to hide?" — 
 
 At this the swain, whose vent'rous soul 
 No fears of magic art control, 
 
 Advanced in open sight : 
 — *' Nor have I cause of dread," he said, 
 " Who view (by no presumption led,) 
 
 " Your revels of the night. 
 
278 
 
 •* 'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, 
 
 1 ' Which made my steps unweeting rove 
 
 " Amid the nightly dew." — 
 — " Tis well," the gallant cries again, 
 " We faeries never injure men 
 
 " Who dare to tell us true. 
 
 " Exalt thy love-dejected heart, 
 " Be mine the task, or ere we part, 
 
 " To make thee grief resign; 
 " Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce; 
 8 ' Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce, 
 
 " Be Little Mable thine." — 
 
 He spoke, and all a sudden there 
 Light music floats in wanton air ; 
 
 The Monarch leads the Queen : 
 The rest their faerie partners found , 
 And Mable trimly tript the ground 
 
 With Edwin of the Green. 
 
 The dauncing past, the board was laid, 
 And siker such a feast was made 
 
 As heart and lip desire ; 
 Withouten hands the dishes fly, 
 The glasses with a wish come nigh, 
 
 And with a wish retire. 
 
279 
 
 But now to please the Faerie King, v 
 
 Full every deal they laugh and sing, 
 
 And antick feats devise ; 
 Some wind and tumble like an ape, 
 And other some transmute their shape 
 
 In Edwin's wondering eyes. 
 
 Till one at last, that Robin hight, 
 (Renown'd for pinching maids by night,) 
 
 Has bent him up aloof; 
 And full against the beam he flung, 
 Where by the back the youth he hung, 
 
 To spraul unneath the roof. 
 
 From thence, — " Reverse my charm," he cries, 
 ' ' And let it fairly now suffice, 
 
 " The gambol has been shown." — 
 But Oberon answers with a smile, 
 — " Content thee, Edwin, for a while, 
 
 " The vantage is thine own." — 
 
 Here ended all the phantome play ; 
 They smelt the fresh approach of day, 
 
 And heard a cock to crow ; 
 The whirling wind that bore the crowd 
 Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud, 
 
 To warn them all to go. 
 
280 
 
 Then screaming all at once, they fly, 
 And all at once the tapers die ; 
 
 Poor Edwin falls to floor ; 
 Forlorn his state, and dark the place, 
 Was never wight in sike a case, 
 
 Through all the land before. 
 
 But soon as Dan Apollo rose, 
 Ful] jolly creature, home he goes, 
 
 He feels his back the less ; 
 His honest tongue and steady mind, 
 Had rid him of the lump behind, 
 
 Which made him want success. 
 
 With lusty livelyhed he talks, 
 He seems a dauncing as he walks ; 
 
 His story soon took wind ; 
 And beauteous Edith sees the youth, 
 Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, 
 
 Without a bunch behind. 
 
 The story told, Sir Topaz moved, 
 (The youth of Edith erst approved,) 
 
 To see the revel scene. 
 At close of eve he leaves his home, 
 And wends to find the ruin'd dome 
 
 All on the gloomy plain. 
 
281 
 
 As there he bides, it so befell, 
 
 The wind came rustling down a dell, 
 
 A shaking seized the wall : 
 Up spring the tapers as before, 
 The faeries bragly foot the floor, 
 
 And music fills the hall. 
 
 
 But certes sorely sunk with woe 
 Sir Topaz sees the Elfin show, — 
 
 His spirits in him die : 
 When Oberon cries, — " a man is near, 
 " A mortal passion, cleeped fear, 
 
 " Hangs flagging in the sky." — 
 
 With that Sir Topaz, (hapless youth!) 
 In accents faultering, ay for ruth, 
 
 Intreats them pity graunt ; 
 For als he been a mister wight, 
 Betray'd by wandering in the night, 
 
 To tread the circled haunt ; 
 
 — " Ah, Losell vile !" at once they roar, 
 " And little skill'd of faerie lore, 
 
 " Thy cause to come, we know : 
 " Now has thy kestrell courage fell; 
 " And Faeries, since a lie you tell, 
 
 " Are free to work thee woe." — 
 
282 
 
 Then Will, who bears the wispy fire 
 To trail the swains among the mire, 
 
 The caitive upward flung ; 
 There, like a tortoise in a shop, 
 He dangled from the chamber-top, 
 
 Where whilome Edwin hung. 
 
 The revel now proceeds apace, 
 Deffly they frisk it o'er the place, 
 
 They sit, they drink, and eat : 
 The time with frolic mirth beguile, 
 And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while, 
 
 Till all the rout retreat. 
 
 By this the stars began to wink, 
 They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, 
 
 And down ydrops the Knight : 
 For never spell by faerie laid 
 With strong enchantment bound a glade, 
 
 Beyond the length of night. 
 
 Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, 
 Till up the welkin rose the day, 
 
 Then deem'd the dole was o'er : 
 But wot ye well his harder lot ? 
 His seely back the bunch had got 
 
 Which Edwin lost afore. 
 
285 
 
 This tale a Sybil-nurse ared ; 
 
 She softly stroked ray youngling head, 
 
 And when the tale was done, 
 — " Thus some are born, my son," she cries, 
 " With base impediments to rise, 
 
 " And some are born with none. 
 
 " But virtue can itself advance 
 
 " To what the favourite fools of chance 
 
 " By fortune seem'd design'd; 
 " Virtue can gain the odds of fate, 
 •* And from itself shake off the weight 
 
 " Upon th' unworthy mind.'' — - 
 
284 
 
 sir 
 
 No. XXXIX. 
 
 THEODORE AND HONORIA. 
 
 DEYDEN. 
 
 Of all the cities in Romanian lands, 
 
 W 
 
 The chief, and most renown'd, Ravenna stands, 
 
 Adorn'd in ancient times with arms and arts, 
 
 q iufl 
 
 And rich inhabitants, with generous hearts. 
 But Theodore the Brave, above the rest, 
 With gifts of fortune and of nature bless'd, 
 The foremost place for wealth and honour held, 
 And all in feats of chivalry excell'd. 
 
 This noble youth to madness loved a dame 
 Of high degree, Honoria was her name ; 
 Fair as the fairest, but of haughty mind, 
 And fiercer than became so soft a kind. 
 Proud of her birth (for equal she had none) ; 
 The rest she scorn'd, but hated him alone, 
 
285 
 
 His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing gain'd ; 
 
 For she, the more he loved, the more disdain'd. 
 
 He lived with all the pomp he could devise, 
 
 At tilts and tournaments obtain'd the prize ; 
 
 But found no favour in his lady's eyes : 
 
 Relentless as a rock, the lofty maid 
 
 Turn'd all to poison that he did, or said ; 
 
 Nor prayers, nor tears, nor offer'd vows, could move ; 
 
 The work went backward ; and the more he strove 
 
 T" advance his suit, the farther from her love. 
 
 Wearied at length, and wanting remedy, 
 He doubted oft, and oft resolved to die. 
 But pride stood ready to prevent the blow, 
 For who would die, to gratify a foe? 
 His generous mind disdain'd so mean a fate ; 
 That pass'd, his next endeavour was to hate. 
 But vainer that relief than all the rest, 
 The less he hoped, with more desire possess'd ; 
 Love stood the siege, and would not yield his breast. 
 Change was the next, but change deceived his care ; 
 He sought a fairer, but found none so fair. 
 He would have worn her out by slow degrees, 
 As men by fasting starve th'untamed disease : 
 But present love required a present ease. 
 
286 
 
 Looking, he feeds alone his famish'd eyes, 
 Feeds lingering death, but looking not he dies. 
 Yet still he chose the longest way to fate, 
 Wasting at once his life and his estate. 
 
 His friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain, 
 For what advice can ease a lover's pain ! 
 Absence, the best expedient they could find, 
 Might save the fortune, if not cure the mind : 
 This means they long proposed, but little gain'd, 
 Yet, after much pursuit, at length obtain'd. 
 
 Hard, you may think it was to give consent, 
 But, struggling with his own desires, he went, 
 With large expence, and with a pompous train, 
 Provided as to visit France and Spain, 
 Or for some distant voyage o'er the main. 
 But love had clipp'd his wings, and cut him short, 
 Confind within the purlieus of the court, 
 Three miles he went, no farther could retreat ; 
 His travels ended at his country seat: 
 To Chassi's pleasing plains he took his way, 
 There pitch'd his tents, and there resolved to stay. 
 
 The spring was in the prime ; the neighbouring grove 
 Supplied with birds, the choristers of love : 
 
287 
 
 Music unbought, that minister' d delight 
 To morning walks, and lull'd his cares by night : 
 There he discharged his friends ; but not th' expence 
 Of frequent treats, and proud magnificence. 
 He lived as kings retire, though more at large 
 From public business, yet with equal charge ; 
 With house and heart still open to receive ; 
 As well content as love would give him leave : 
 He would have lived more free ; but many a guest 
 Who could forsake the friend, pursued the feast. 
 
 It hapt one morning, as his fancy led, 
 Before his usual hour he left his bed ; 
 To walk within a lonely lawn that stood 
 On every side surrounded with a wood ; 
 Alone he walk'd, to please his pensive mind, 
 And sought the deepest solitude to find ; 
 'Twas in a grove of spreading pines he stray 'd ; 
 The winds within the quivering branches play'd, 
 And dancing trees a mournful music made. 
 The place itself was suiting to his care, 
 Uncouth and savage as the cruel fair. 
 He wander'd on, unknowing where he went, 
 Lost in the wood, and all on love intent : 
 The day already half his race had run, 
 And summon'd him to due repast at noon, 
 But love could feel no hunger but his own. 
 
288 
 
 Whilst listening to the murmuring leaves he stood, 
 More than a mile immersed within the wood, 
 At once the wind was laid ; the whispering sound 
 Was dumb ; a rising earthquake rock d the ground ; 
 With deeper brown the grove was overspread \ 
 A sudden horror seized his giddy head, 
 And his ears tinkled, and his colour fled. 
 Nature was in alarm ; some danger nigh 
 Seem'd threaten'd, though unseen to mortal eye. 
 Unused to fear, he summon'd all his soul, 
 And stood collected in himself, and whole ; 
 Not long : for soon a whirlwind rose around, 
 And from afar he heard a screaming sound 
 As of a dame distress'd, who cried for aid, 
 And fill'd with loud laments the secret shade. 
 
 A thicket close beside the grove there stood, 
 With briers and brambles choked, and dwarfish wood ; 
 From thence the noise, which now approaching near, 
 With more distinguish d notes invades his ear ; 
 He raised his head, and saw a beauteous maid, 
 With hair dishevel'd, issuino through the shade; 
 Stripp'd of her clothes, and e'en those parts reveal'd, 
 Which modest nature keeps from sight conceal'd. 
 Her face, her hands, her naked limbs, were torn, 
 With passing through the brakes, and prickly thorn; 
 
289 
 
 Two mastiffs gaunt and grim her flight pursued, 
 And oft their fasten'd fangs in blood imbrued : 
 )ft they came up, and pinch'd her tender side, 
 — " Mercy, O mercy, Heaven !" — she ran and cried; 
 When heaven was named, they loosed their hold ao-ain, 
 Then sprang she forth, they follow'd her amain. 
 
 Not far behind, a Knight of swarthy face, 
 High on a coal-black steed pursued the chase ; 
 With flashing flames his ardent eyes were fill'd, 
 And in his hand a naked sword he held ; 
 He cheer'd the dogs to follow her who fled, 
 And vow'd revenge on her devoted head. 
 
 As Theodore was born of noble kind, 
 The brutal action roused his manly mind ; 
 Moved with unworthy usage of the maid, 
 He, though unarm'd, resolved to give her aid. 
 A sapling pine he wrench'd from out the ground, 
 The readiest weapon that his fury found. 
 Thus furnish'd for offence, he cross'd the way 
 Betwixt the graceless villain and his prey. 
 
 The Knight came thundering on, but, from afar, 
 Thus in imperious tone forbad the war : 
 
 u 
 
290 
 
 — " Cease, Theodore, to proffer vain relief, 
 
 " Nor stop the vengeance of so just a grief; 
 
 " But give me leave to seize my destined prey, 
 
 ,e And let eternal justice take the way : 
 
 '• I but revenge my fate, disdain'd, betray 'd, 
 
 " And suffering death for this ungrateful maid." — 
 
 He said, at once dismounting from the steed; 
 For now the hell-hounds with superior speed 
 Had reach'd the Dame, and, fastening on her side, 
 The ground with issuing streams of purple died ; 
 Stood Theodore surprised, in deadly fright, 
 With chattering teeth, and bristling hair upright; 
 Yet arm'd with inborn worth, — " Whate'er," said he, 
 " Thou art, who know'st me better than I thee ; 
 " Or prove thy rightful cause, or be defied ;" — 
 The Spectre fiercely staring, thus replied : 
 
 — " Know, Theodore, thy ancestry I claim, 
 " And Guido Cavalcanti was my name. 
 " One common sire our fathers did beget, 
 " My name and story some remember yet : 
 " Thee, then a boy, within mine arms I laid, 
 " When, for my sins, I loved this haughty maid; 
 " Not less adored in life, nor served by me, 
 " Than proud Honoria now is loved by thee. 
 
291 
 
 " What did I not, her stubborn heart to gain ? 
 " But all my vows were answer'd with disdain ; 
 " She scorn'd my sorrows, and despised my pain. 
 " Long time I dragg'd my days in fruitless care : 
 *• Then, loathing life, and plunged in deep despair, 
 " To finish my unhappy life, I fell 
 " On this sharp sword, and now am damn'd in hell. 
 
 " Short was her joy ; for soon th' insulting maid 
 " By Heaven's decree in this cold grave was laid. 
 " And as in unrepented sin she died, 
 " Doom'd to the same bad place, is punish'd for her pride 
 " Because she deem'd I well deserved to die, 
 " And made a merit of her cruelty. 
 " There, then, we met; both tried, and both were cast, 
 " And this irrevocable sentence pass'd : — 
 " That she, whom I so long pursued in vain, 
 " Should suffer from my hands a lingering pain : 
 " Renew'd to life that she might daily die, 
 " I daily doom'd to follow, she to fly; 
 " No more a lover, but a mortal foe, 
 " I seek her life (for love is none below) : 
 " As often as my dogs with better speed 
 " Arrest her flight, is she to death decreed : 
 •* Then with this fatal sword, on which I died, 
 " I pierce her open back, or tender side, 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 •■ And tear that harden'd heart from out her breast, 
 
 " Which, with her entrails, makes my hungry hounds a feast. 
 
 " Nor lies she long, but, as her fates ordain, 
 
 " Springs up to life, and fresh to second pain, 
 
 " Is saved to day, to-morrow to be slain." — 
 
 This, versed in death, th' infernal Knight relates, 
 And then for proof fulfill'd the common fates ; 
 Her heart and bowels through her back he drew, 
 And fed the hounds that help'd him to pursue ; 
 Stern look'd the Fiend, as frustrate of his will, 
 Not half sufficed, and greedy yet to kill. 
 And now the soul expiring through the wound, 
 Had left the body breathless on the ground, 
 When thus the grisly Spectre spoke again : 
 — " Behold the fruit of ill-rewarded pain : 
 " As many months as I sustain'd her hate, 
 " So many years is she condemn'd by fate 
 " To daily death ; and every several place, 
 " Conscious of her disdain, and my disgrace, 
 " Must witness her just punishment, and be 
 •' A scene of triumph and revenge to me ! 
 " As in this grove I took my last farewell, 
 " As on this very spot of earth I fell, 
 ' ' As Friday saw me die, so she my prey 
 " Becomes e'en here on this revolving day."—*- 
 
293 
 
 Thus while he spoke, the Virgin from the ground 
 Upstarted fresh, already closed tbe wound, 
 And, unconcern'd for all she felt before, 
 Precipitates her flight along the shore : 
 The hell-hounds, as ungorged with flesh and blood, 
 Pursue their prey, and seek their wonted food : 
 The Fiend remounts his courser, mends his pace, 
 And all the vision vanish'd from the place. 
 
 Long stood the noble youth, oppress'd with awe, 
 And stupid at the wondrous things he saw, 
 Surpassing common faith, transgressing nature's law. 
 He would have been asleep, and wish'd to wake, 
 But dreams, he knew, no long impression make, 
 Though strong at first; if vision, to what end, 
 But such as must his future state portend? 
 His love the damsel, and himself the fiend. 
 But yet reflecting, that it could not be 
 From heaven, which cannot impious acts decree, 
 Resolved within himself to shun the snare, 
 Which hell for his destruction did prepare ; 
 And, as his better genius should direct, 
 From an ill cause to draw a good effect. 
 
 Inspired from heaven, he homeward took his way, 
 Nor pall'd his new design with long delay : 
 
294 
 
 But of his train a trusty servant sent 
 
 To call his friends together at his tent. 
 
 They came ; and usual salutations paid, 
 
 With words premeditated thus he said : 
 
 — " What you have often counsel'd, to remove 
 
 " My vain pursuit of unregarded love ; 
 
 " By thrift my sinking fortune to repair, 
 
 '* Though late, yet is at last become my care : 
 
 " My heart shall be my own ; my vast expence 
 
 " Reduced to bounds by timely providence ; 
 
 " This only I require ; invite for me 
 
 " Honoria, with her father's family, 
 
 " Her friends, and mine ; the cause I shall display, 
 
 " On Friday next, for that's th' appointed day." — 
 
 Well pleased were all his friends, the task was light, 
 
 The father, mother, daughter, they invite ; 
 
 Hardly the Dame was drawn to this repast ; 
 
 But yet resolved, because it was the last. 
 
 The day was come, the guests invited came, 
 
 And, with the rest, th' inexorable Dame : 
 
 A feast prepared with riotous expence, 
 
 Much cost, more care, and most magnificence. 
 
 The place ordain'd was in that haunted grove, 
 
 Where the revenging ghost pursued his love : 
 
 The tables in a proud pavilion spread, 
 
 With flowers below, and tissue overhead : 
 
295 
 
 The rest in rank, Honoria, chief in place, 
 
 Was artfully contrived to set her face 
 
 To front the thicket, and behold the chase. 
 
 The feast was served, the time so well forecast, 
 
 That just when the desert and fruits were placed, 
 
 The Fiend's alarm began ; the hollow sound 
 
 Sung in the leaves, the forest shook around, 
 
 Air blacken'd, roll'd the thunder, groan'd the ground. 
 
 Nor long before the loud laments arise, 
 Of one distress'd, and mastiffs' mingled cries ; 
 And first the Dame came rushing through the wood, 
 
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 And next the famished hounds that sought their food, 
 
 And grip'd her flanks, and oft essay'd their jaws in blood. 
 
 Last came the Felon on his sable steed, 
 
 Arm'd with his naked sword, and urged his dogs to speed. 
 
 She ran, and cried, her flight directly bent, 
 
 (A guest unbidden,) to the fatal tent, 
 
 The scene of death, and place ordain'd for punishment. 
 
 Loud was the noise, aghast was every guest, 
 
 The women shriek'd, the men forsook the feast ; 
 
 The hounds at nearer distance hoarsely bay'd ; 
 
 The hunter close pursued the visionary maid, 
 
 She rent the heaven with loud laments, imploring aidt 
 
296 
 
 The gallants, to protect the Lady's right, 
 Their faulchions brandish'd at the grisly Sprite ; 
 High on his stirrups he provoked the fight ; 
 Then on the crowd he cast a furious look, 
 And wither'd all their strength before he spoke ; 
 — " Back on your lives ; let be," said he, *' my prey, 
 " And let my vengeance take the destined way : 
 " Vain are your arms, and vainer your defence, 
 " Against th' eternal doom of Providence : 
 " Mine is th' ungrateful maid by Heaven design'd : 
 " Mercy she would not give, nor mercy shall she find.' 
 At this the former tale again he told : 
 With thundering tone, and dreadful to behold : 
 Sunk were their hearts with horror of the crime, 
 Nor needed to be warn'd a second time, 
 But bore each other back ; some knew the face, 
 And all had heard the much lamented case 
 Of him who fell for love, and this the fatal place. 
 
 And now th' infernal minister advanced, 
 Seized the due victim, and with fury launch'd 
 Her back, and, piercing through her inmost heart, 
 Drew backward, as before, th' offending part. 
 The reeking entrails next he tore away, 
 And to his meagre mastiffs made a prey. 
 The pale assistants on each other stared 
 With gaping mouths, for issuing words prepared ; 
 
297 
 
 The still-born sounds upon the palate hung, 
 
 And died imperfect on the faltering tongue. 
 
 The fright was general; but the female band 
 
 (A helpless train) in more confusion stand : - 
 
 With horror shuddering, in a heap they run, 
 
 Sick at the sight of hateful justice done ; 
 
 For conscience rung th' alarm, and made the case their own. 
 
 So, spread upon a lake with upward eye, 
 A plump of fowl behold their foe on high ; 
 They close their trembling troop ; and all attend 
 On whom the sousing eagle will descend. 
 
 But most the proud Honoria fear'd th' event, 
 And thought to her alone the vision sent. 
 Her guilt presents to her distracted mind 
 Heaven's justice, Theodore's revengeful kind, 
 And the same fate to the same sin assign'd. 
 Already sees herself the monster's prey, 
 And feels her heart and entrails torn away. 
 Twas a mute scene of sorrow, mix'd with fear : 
 Still on the table lay th' unfinish'd cheer : 
 The Knight and hungry mastiffs stood around, 
 The mangled Dame lay breathless on the ground ; 
 When, on a sudden, re-inspired with breath, 
 Again she rose, again to suffer death ; 
 
298 
 
 Nor staid the hell-hounds, nor the hunter staid, 
 
 But follow'd, as before, the flying maid : 
 
 Th' avenger took from earth th' avenging sword, 
 
 And mounting light as air, his sable steed he spurr'd : 
 
 The clouds dispell'd, the sky resumed her light, 
 
 And nature stood recover'd of her fright. 
 
 But fear, the last of ills, remain'd behind, 
 
 And horror heavy sat on every mind. 
 
 Nor Theodore encouraged more the feast, 
 
 But sternly look'd, as hatching in his breast 
 
 Some deep designs, which, when Honoria view'd, 
 
 The fresh impulse her former fright renew'd : 
 
 She thought herself the trembling dame who fled, 
 
 And him the grisly ghost that spurr'd th' infernal steed : 
 
 The more dismay'd, for when the guests withdrew, 
 
 Their courteous host, saluting all the crew, 
 
 Regardless pass'd her o'er; nor graced with kind adieu ; 
 
 That sting infix'd within her haughty mind, 
 
 The downfall of her empire she divined ; 
 
 And her proud heart with secret sorrow pined. 
 
 Home as they went the sad discourse renew'd 
 
 Of the relentless dame to death pursued, 
 
 And of the sight obscene so lately view'd. 
 
 None durst arraign the righteous doom she bore, 
 
 E'en they who pitied most, yet blamed her more •. 
 
299 
 
 The parallel they needed not to name, 
 
 But in the dead they damn'd the living dame. 
 
 At every little noise she look'd behind, 
 For still the knight was present to her mind ; 
 And anxious oft she started on the way, 
 And thought the horseman ghost came thundering for his prey. 
 Return'd, she took her bed with little rest, 
 But in short slumbers dreamt the funeral feast : 
 Awak'd, she turn'd her side, and slept again; 
 The same black vapours mounted in her brain, 
 And the same dreams return'd with double pain. 
 
 Now forc'd to wake, because afraid to sleep, 
 Her blood all fever'd, with a furious leap 
 She sprang from bed, distracted in her mind, 
 And fear'd, at every step, a twiching sprite behind. 
 Darkling and desperate, with a staggering pace, 
 Of death afraid, and conscious of disgrace ; 
 Fear, pride, remorse, at once her heart assail'd, 
 Pride put remorse to flight, but fear prevail'd. 
 Friday, the fatal day, when next it came, 
 Her soul forethought the Fiend would change his game, 
 And her pursue, or Theodore be slain, 
 And two ghosts join their packs to hunt her o'er the plain. 
 
300 
 
 This dreadful image so possess'd her mind, 
 
 That desperate any succour else to find, 
 
 She ceas'd all farther hope ; and now began 
 
 To make reflection on the unhappy roan. 
 
 Rich, brave, and young, who past expression lov'd, 
 
 Proof to disdain, and not to be remov'd : 
 
 Of all the men respected and admir'd, 
 
 Of all the dames, except herself, desir'd : 
 
 Why not of her? preierr'd above the rest 
 
 By him with knightly deeds, and open love profess'd ? 
 
 So had another been, where he his vows address'd. 
 
 This quell'd her pride, yet other doubts remain'd. 
 
 That, once disdaining, she might be disdain'd. 
 
 The fear was just, but greater fear prevail'd, 
 
 Fear of her life by hellish hounds assail'd : 
 
 He took a lowering leave ; but who can tell, 
 
 What outward hate might inward love conceal? 
 
 Her sex's art she knew ; and why not, then, 
 
 Might deep dissembling have a place in men ? 
 
 Here hope began to dawn ; resolvd to try, 
 
 She fix'd on this her utmost remedy; 
 
 Death was behind, but hard it was to die. 
 
 ■"Twas time enough at last on death to call, 
 
 The precipice in sight : a shrub was all, 
 
 That kindly stood betwixt to break the fatal fall. 
 
301 
 
 One maid she had, beloved above the rest; 
 Secure of her, the secret she confess'd; 
 And now the cheerful licrht her fears dispell'd, 
 She with no winding turns the truth conceal'd, 
 But put the woman off, and stood reveal'd ; 
 With faults confess'd, commission'd her to go, 
 If pity yet had place, and reconcile her foe; 
 The welcome message made, was soon received; 
 'Twas to be wish'd and hoped, but scarce believed ; 
 Fate seem'd a fair occasion to present ; 
 He knew the sex, and fear'd she might repent, 
 Should he delay the moment of consent. 
 There yet remain'd to gain her friends (a care 
 The modesty of maidens well might spare) ; 
 But she with such a zeal the cause embraced 
 (As women, where they will, are all in haste) ; 
 The father, mother, and the kin beside, 
 Were overborn by fury of the tide ; 
 With full consent of all, she changed her state ; 
 Resistless in her love, as in her hate. 
 By her example warnd, the rest beware; 
 More easy, less imperious, were the fair; 
 And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd 
 For one fair female, lost him half the kind. 
 
302 
 
 No- XL. 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 DKYDEN. 
 
 From the Tale of" The Cock and the Fox.' 
 
 Two friends or brothers, with devout intent, 
 On some far pilgrimage together went. 
 It happend so that, when the sun was down^ 
 They just arrived by twilight at a town : 
 That day had been the baiting of a bull, 
 'Twas at a feast, and every inn so full, 
 That no void room in chamber, or on ground, 
 And but one sorry bed was to be found : 
 And that so little it would hold but one, 
 Though till this hour they never lay alone. 
 
 So were they forced to part ; one stayed behind, 
 His fellow sought what lodging he could find : 
 
303 
 
 At last he found a -stall where oxen stood, 
 And that he rather chose than lie abroad. 
 'Twas in a farther yard without a door ; 
 But, for his ease, well litter'd was the floor. 
 
 His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept, 
 Was weary, and without a rocker slept : 
 Supine he snored ; but in the dead of night, 
 He dreamt his friend appear'd before his sight, 
 Who, with his ghastly look, and doleful cry, 
 Said, — " Help me, brother, or this night I die : 
 " Arise and help, before all help be vain, 
 " Or in an ox's stall I shall be slain." — 
 Roused from his rest, he waken'd in a start, 
 Shivering with honour, and with aking heart ; 
 At length to cure himself by reason tries ; 
 — " 'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies ?"— 
 So thinking, changed his side, and closed his eyes. 
 His dream returns ; his friend appears again : 
 — " The murderers come ; now help, or I am slain :" — 
 'Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain. 
 He dreamt the third : but now his friend appear'd 
 Pale, naked, pierced with wounds, with blood besmear'd : 
 Thrice warn'd, — " Awake," said he, " relief is late, 
 " The deed is done ; but thou revenge my fate ; 
 
304 
 
 " Tardy of aid, unseal thy heavy eyes, 
 
 " Awake, and with the dawning day arise ; 
 
 " Take to the western gate thy ready way, 
 
 " For by that passage they my corpse convey : 
 
 " My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among 
 
 '* The filth and ordure, and inclosed with dung : 
 
 " That cart arrest, and raise a common cry ; 
 
 " For sacred hunger of my gold, I die :" — 
 
 Then shew'd his grisly wound ; and last he drew 
 
 A piteous sigh, and took a long adieu. 
 
 The frighted friend arose by break of day, 
 
 And found the stall where late his fellow lay. 
 
 Then of his impious host inquiring more, 
 
 Was answer'd that his guest was gone before : 
 
 — " Muttering, he went," said he, " by morning light, 
 
 " And much complain'd of his ill rest by night." — 
 
 This raised suspicion in the pilgrim's mind ; 
 
 Because all hosts are of an evil kind ; 
 
 And oft, to share the spoils, with robbers join'd. 
 
 His dream confirm'd his thought ; with troubled look, 
 Straight to the western gate his way he took ; 
 There, as his dream foretold, a cart he found, 
 That carried compost forth to dung the ground. 
 This, when the pilgrim saw, he stretch'd his throat, 
 And cried out — " murder!" — with a yelling note. 
 
305 
 
 My murder'd fellow in this cart lies dead, 
 Vengeance and justice on the villain's headt 
 Ye magistrates, who sacred laws dispense, 
 On you I call, to punish this offence. 
 
 The word thus given, within a little space, . 
 The mob came roaring out, and throng'd the place ; 
 All in a trice they cast the cart to ground, 
 And in the dung the murder'd body found ; 
 Though breathless, warm, and reeking, from the wound. 
 Good heaven, whose darling attribute, we find, 
 Is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, 
 Abhors the cruel : and the deeds of night 
 By wondrous ways reveals in open light : 
 Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time, 
 But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime. 
 And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels : 
 The hue and cry of heaven pursues him at the heels. 
 Fresh from the fact, as in the present case, 
 The criminals are seized upon the place : 
 Carter and host confronted face to face. 
 Stiff in denial, as the law appoints, 
 On engines they distend their tortured joints : 
 So was confession forced, th' offence was known, 
 And public justice on th' offenders done. 
 
 x 
 
306 
 
 — " Here may you see, that visions are to dread; 
 " And, in the page that follows this, I read," — 
 
 — Of two young merchants, whom the hope of gain 
 Induced in partnership to cross the main : 
 Waiting till willing winds their sails supplied, 
 Within a trading town they long abide, 
 Full fairly situate on a haven's side ; 
 One evening it befel, that, looking out, 
 The wind they long had wish'd was come about : 
 Well pleased they went to rest ; and if the gale 
 Till morn continued, both resolved to sail. 
 But, as together in a bed they lay, 
 The younger had a dream at break of day. 
 A man, he thought, stood frowning at his side ; 
 Who warn'd him for his safety to provide, 
 Nor put to sea, but safe on shore abide. 
 — " I come, thy genius, to command thy stay ; 
 " Trust not the winds, for fatal is the day, 
 " And death, unhoped, attends the watery way." — 
 
 The vision said : and vanish'd from his sight : 
 The dreamer waken'd in a mortal fright : 
 Then pull'd his drowsy neighbour, and declared 
 What, in his slumber, he had seen and heard ; 
 
307 
 
 His friend smiled scornful, and with proud contempt 
 
 Rejects, as idle, what his fellow dreamt. 
 
 — " Stay, who will stay ; for me no fears restrain, 
 
 " Who follow Mercury, the god of gain ; 
 
 " Let each man do as to his fancy seems, 
 
 " I wait not, I, till you have better dreams. 
 
 ** Dreams are but interludes which fancy makes; 
 
 " When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes : 
 
 " Compounds a medley of disjointed things, 
 
 •' A mob of coblers, and a court of kings : 
 
 " Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad : 
 
 " Both are the reasonable soul run mad ; 
 
 " And many monstrous forms in sleep we see, 
 
 " That neither were, nor are, nor e'er can be. 
 
 " Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind, 
 
 44 Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind. 
 
 •• The nurse's legends are for truths received, 
 
 " And the man dreams but what the boy believed. 
 
 " Sometimes we but rehearse a former play, 
 " The night restores our actions done by day; 
 " As hounds in sleep will open for their prey. 
 " In short, the farce of dreams is of a piece, 
 " Chimeras all, and more absurd or less : 
 " You, who believe in tales, abide alone ; 
 " Whate'er I get this voyage is my own." — 
 
 X 2 
 
308 
 
 Thus while he spoke, he heard the shouting crew 
 That call'd aboard, and took his last adieu. 
 The vessel went before a merry gale, 
 And, for quick passage, put on every sail : 
 But when least fear'd, and e'en in open day, 
 The mischief overtook her in the way : 
 Whether she sprung a leak, I cannot find, 
 Or whether she was overset with wind, 
 Or that some rock below her bottom rent ; 
 But down at once, with all her crew, she went : 
 Her fellow ships from far, her loss descried ; 
 But only she was sunk, and all were safe beside. 
 
309 
 
 No. XLI. 
 
 HISTORY OF PORSENNA, KING OF RUSSIA. 
 
 -" AUV 
 
 ARVA, BEATA 
 
 FETAMUS ARMA. DIVITES ET INSULAS. HOR. EPOD. l6. 
 
 LISLE. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 In Russia's frozen clime, some ages since, 
 There dwelt, historians say, a worthy prince, 
 Who to his people's good confined his care, 
 And fix'd the basis of his empire there ; 
 Enlarged their trade, the liberal arts improved, 
 Made nations happy, and himself beloved ; 
 To all the neighbouring states a terror grown, 
 The dear delight and glory of his own. 
 Not like those kings, who vainly seek renown 
 From countries ruined, and from battles won; 
 
310 
 
 Those mighty Nimrods, who mean laws despise, 
 Call murder but a princely exercise, 
 And, if one bloodless sun should steal away, 
 Cry out, with Titus, they have lost a day ; 
 Who, to be more than men, themselves debase 
 Beneath the brute, their Maker's form deface, 
 Raising their titles by their Gods disgrace. 
 Like fame to bold Erostratus we give, 
 Who scorn'd by less than sacrilege to live ; 
 On holy ruins raised a lasting name, 
 And in the temple's fire difFused his shame. 
 Far different praises, and a brighter fame, 
 The virtues of the young Porsenna claim ; 
 For by that name the Russian king was known, 
 And sure a nobler ne'er adorn'd the throne. 
 In war he knew the deathful sword to wield, 
 And sought the thickest dangers of the field, 
 A bold commander; but, the storm o'erblown, 
 He seem'd as he were made for peace alone ; 
 Then was the golden age again restored, 
 Nor less his justice honour'd, than his sword. 
 All needless pomp, and outward grandeur spared, 
 The deeds that graced him were his only guard ; 
 No private views beneath a borrow'd name ; 
 His and the public interest were the same. 
 
311 
 
 In wealth and pleasure let the subject live ; 
 
 But virtue is the king's prerogative : 
 
 Porsenna there without a rival stood, 
 
 And would maintain his right of doing good. 
 
 Nor did his person less attraction wear, 
 
 Such majesty and sweetness mingled there ; 
 
 Heaven, with uncommon art, the clay refined, 
 
 A proper mansion for so fair a mind ; 
 
 Each look, each action, bore peculiar grace, 
 
 And love itself was painted on his face. 
 
 In peaceful time he suffer'd not his mind 
 
 To rust in sloth, though much to peace inclined ; 
 
 Nor wanton in the lap of pleasure lay, 
 
 And, lost to glory, loiter'd life away : 
 
 But active rising ere the prime of day, 
 
 Through woods and lonely deserts loved to stray ; 
 
 With hounds and horns to wake the furious bear, 
 
 Or rouze the tawny lion from his lair ; 
 
 To rid the forest of the savage brood, 
 
 And whet his courage for his country's good. 
 
 One day, as he pursued the dangerous sport, 
 Attended by the nobles of his court, 
 It chanced, a beast of more than common speed, 
 Sprang from the brake, and through the desert fled. 
 
312 
 
 The ardent Prince, impetuous as the wind, 
 Rush'd on, and left his lagging train behind. 
 Fired with the chase, and full of youthful blood, 
 O'er plains, and vales, and woodland wilds, he rode, 
 Urging his courser's speed, nor thought the day, 
 How wasted, nor how intricate the way : 
 Nor, till the night in dusky clouds came on, 
 Restrain'd his pace, or found himself alone. 
 Missincr his train, he strove to measure back 
 The road he came, but could not find the track ; 
 Still turning to the place he left before, 
 And only lab'ring to be lost the more. 
 The bugle horn, which o'er his shoulders hung, 
 So loud he winded, that the forest rung; 
 In vain, no voice but Echo from the ground, 
 And vocal woods make mockery of the sound. 
 
 And now the gathering clouds began to spread 
 O'er the dun face of night a deeper shade; 
 And the hoarse thunder, growling from afar, 
 With herald voice proclaim'd th' approaching war ; 
 Silence awhile ensued, — then by degrees 
 A hollow wind came muttering through the trees. 
 Sudden the full-fraught sky discharged its store, 
 Of rain and rattling hail a mingled shower; 
 
S13 
 
 The active lightning ran along the ground ; 
 
 The fiery bolts by fits were hurl'd around, 
 
 And the wide forests trembled at the sound. 
 
 Amazement seized the Prince ; — where could he fly ? 
 
 No guide to lead, no friendly cottage nigh. 
 
 Pensive and unresolved awhile he stood 
 
 Beneath the scanty covert of the wood ; 
 
 But, drove from thence, soon sallied forth again, 
 
 As chance directed, on the dreary plain ; 
 
 Constrain'd his melancholy way to take 
 
 Through many a loathsome bog, and thorny brake, 
 
 Caught in the thicket, flound'ring in the lake. 
 
 Wet with the storm, and wearied with the way, 
 
 By hunger pinch'd, himself to beasts a prey; 
 
 Nor wine to cheer his heart, nor fire to burn, 
 
 Nor place to rest, nor prospect to return. 
 
 Drooping and spiritless, at life's despair, 
 
 He bade it pass, not worth his farther care ; 
 
 When suddenly he spied a distant light, 
 
 That faintly twinkled through the gloom of night, 
 
 And his heart leap'd for joy, and bless'd the welcome siaht. 
 
 Oft times he doubted, it appear'd so far, 
 
 And hung so high, 'twas nothing but a star, 
 
 Or kindled vapour wandering through the sky, 
 
 But still press'd on his steed, still kept it in his eye ; 
 
314 
 
 Till, much fatigue, and many dangers past, 
 
 At a huge mountain he arrived at last. 
 
 There, lighting from his horse, on hands and knees 
 
 Groped out the darksome road by slow degrees, 
 
 Crawling or clamb'ring o'er the rugged way ; 
 
 The thunder rolls above, the flames around him play. 
 
 Joyful at length he gain'd the steepy height, 
 
 And found the rift whence sprang the friendly light. 
 
 And here he stopp'd to rest his wearied feet, 
 
 And weigh the perils he had still to meet ; 
 
 Unsheath'd his trusty sword, and dealt his eyes 
 
 With caution round him to prevent surprise ; 
 
 Then summon'd all the forces of his mind, 
 
 And, entering boldly, cast his fears behind, 
 
 Resolved to push his way, whate'er withstood, 
 
 Or perish bravely, as a monarch should. 
 
 While he the wonders of the place survey 'd, 
 And through the various cells at random stray 'd ; 
 In a dark corner of the cave he view'd 
 Somewhat, that in the shape of woman stood ; 
 But more deform'd than dreams can represent 
 The midnight hag, or poet's fancy paint 
 The Lapland witch, when she her broom bestrides, 
 And scatters storms and tempests as she rides. 
 
315 
 
 She look'd as nature made her to disgrace 
 Her kind, and cast a blot on all the race ; 
 Her shrivel'd skin, with yellow spots besmear'd, 
 Like mouldy records seem'd ; her eyes were blear'd ; 
 Her feeble limbs with age and palsy shook ; 
 Bent was her body, haggard was her look. 
 From the dark nook outcrept the filthy crone, 
 And, propp'd upon her crutch, came tottering on. 
 
 The Prince in civil guise approach'd the Dame, 
 Told her his piteous case, and whence he came, 
 And till Aurora should the shades expel, 
 Implored a lodging in her friendly cell. 
 — " Mortal, whoe'er thou art," the Fiend began, 
 And, as she spake, a deadly horror ran 
 Through all his frame : his cheeks the blood forsook, 
 Chatter'd his teeth, his knees together struck. 
 — " Whoe'er thou art, that with presumption rude 
 " Darest on our sacred privacy intrude, 
 " And without licence in our court appear, 
 " Know, thou'rt the first that ever enter'd here. 
 " But since thou plead'st excuse, thou'rt hither brought 
 11 More by thy fortune than thy own default, 
 " Thy crime, though great, an easy pardon finds, 
 " For mercy ever dwells in royal minds ; 
 " And would you learn from whose indulgent hand 
 " You live, and in whose awful presence stand, 
 
316 
 
 " Know farther, through yon wide extended plains 
 
 " Great Eolus the King of Tempests reigns, 
 
 " And in this lofty palace makes abode, 
 
 " Well suited to his state, and worthy of the God. 
 
 " The various elements his empire own, 
 
 '* And pay their humble homage at his throne ; 
 
 " And hither all the storms and clouds resort, 
 
 " Proud to increase the splendour of his court. 
 
 " His Queen am I, from whom the beauteous race 
 
 " Of winds arose, sweet fruit of our embrace !" — - 
 
 She scarce had ended, when, with wild uproar 
 
 And horrid din, her sons impetuous pour 
 
 Around the cave ; came rushing in amain 
 
 Lybs, Eurus, Boreas, all the boist'rous train; 
 
 And, close behind them, on a whirlwind rode 
 
 In clouded majesty, the BlustVing God. 
 
 Their locks a thousand ways were blown about ; 
 
 Their cheeks like full blown bladders strutted out ; 
 
 Their boasting talk was of the feats they'd done, 
 
 Of trees uprooted, and of towns o'erthrown ; 
 
 And, when they kindly turn'd them to accost 
 
 The Prince, they almost pierced him with their frost. 
 
 The gaping hag in fix'd attention stood, 
 And at the close of every tale, cried—" Good !" — » 
 Blessing with outstretch'd arms each darling son, 
 In due proportion to the mischief done. 
 
317 
 
 — " And where," said she, " does little Zephyr stray? 
 " Know ye, my sons, your brother's route to-day ? 
 " In what bold deeds does he his hours employ ? 
 " Grant heaven no evil has befall'n my boy ! 
 " Ne'er was he known to linger thus before." — • 
 Scarce had she spoke, when at the cavern door 
 Came lightly tripping in a form more fair 
 Than the young poet's fond ideas are, 
 When, fired with love, he tries his utmost art 
 To paint the beauteous tyrant of his heart. 
 
 A satin vest his slender shape confined, 
 Embroider'd o'er with flowers of every kind, 
 Flora's own work, when first the goddess strove 
 To win the little wanderer to her love. 
 Of burnish'd silver were his sandals made, 
 Silver his buskins, and with gems o'erlaid ; 
 A safFron-colour'd robe behind him flow'd, 
 And added grace and grandeur as he trod. 
 His wings, than lillies whiter to behold, 
 Sprinkled with azure spots, and streak'd with gold; 
 So thin their form, and of so light a kind, 
 That they for ever danced, and flutter'd in the wind. 
 Around his temples, with becoming air, 
 Jn wanton ringlets curl'd his auburn hair, 
 
318 
 
 And o'er his shoulders negligently spread ; 
 A wreath of fragrant roses crown'd his head. 
 
 Such his attire ; but O ! no pen can trace, 
 No words can shew the beauties of his face ; 
 So kind ! so winning ! so divinely fair ! 
 Eternal youth and pleasure flourish there ; 
 There all the little Loves and Graces meet, 
 And every thing that's soft, and every thing that's sweet. 
 
 — " Thou vagrant," cried the Dame in angry tone, 
 " Where could'st thou loiter thus so long alone? 
 " Little thou carest what anxious thoughts molest, 
 • • What pangs are labouring in a mother's breast. 
 ' ' Well do you shew your duty by your haste, 
 " For thou, of all my sons, art always last; 
 " A child less fondled would have fled more fast. 
 " Sure 'tis a curse on mothers, doom'd to mourn, 
 " Where best they love, the least and worst return." — 
 
 — " My dear mama 1" the gentle youth replied, 
 And made a low obeisance, " cease to chide, 
 " Nor wound me with your words, for well you know 
 " Your Zephyr bears a part in all your woe ; 
 *' How great must be his sorrow then to learn, 
 " That he himself s the cause of your concern ! 
 
319 
 
 " Nor had I loiter'd thus, had I been free, 
 
 " But the fair Princess of Felicity 
 
 " Intreated me to make some short delay ; 
 
 " And, ask'd by her, who could refuse to stay ? 
 
 " Surrounded by the damsels of her court, 
 " She sought the shady grove, her loved resort ; 
 •' Fresh rose the grass, the flowers were mix'd between, 
 '* Like rich embroidery on a ground of green, 
 •• And in the midst, protected by the shade, 
 " A crystal stream in wild meanders play'd ; 
 " While in its banks, the trembling leaves among, 
 " A thousand little birds in concert sung. 
 " Close by a mount, with fragrant shrubs o'ergrown, 
 " On a cool mossy couch she laid her down ; 
 " Her air, her posture, all conspired to please; 
 " Her head, upon her snowy arm at ease 
 " Reclined, a studied carelessness express'd ; 
 " Loose lay her robe, and naked heaved her breast. 
 " Eager I flew to that delightful place, 
 " And pour'd a shower of kisses on her face; ■ 
 " Now hover'd o'er her neck, her breast, her arms, 
 " Like bees o'er flowers, and tasted all her charms ; 
 " And then her lips, and then her cheeks I tried, 
 *' And fann'd, and wanton'd round on every side. 
 " — ' O Zephyr,' cried the fair, ' thou charming boy, 
 " ' Thy presence only can create me joy ; 
 
320 
 
 " ' To me thou art beyond expression dear, 
 " « Nor can I quit the place while thou art here.' — 
 " Excuse my weakness, madam, when I swear 
 " Such gentle words, join'd with so soft an air, 
 " Pronounced so sweetly from a mouth so fair, 
 " Quite ravish'd all my sense ; nor did I know 
 " How long I staid, or when or where to go. 
 
 " Meanwhile the damsels, debonnair and gay, 
 " Prattled around, and laugh'd the time away : 
 " These in soft notes address'd the ravish'd ear, 
 " And warbled out so sweet, 'twas heaven to hear ; 
 " And those in rings, beneath the greenwood shade, 
 " Danced to the melody their fellows made. 
 " Some, studious of themselves, employ 'd their care 
 " In weaving flowery wreaths to deck their hair ; 
 " While others to some favourite plant convey'd 
 " Refreshing showers, and cheer'd its drooping head. 
 " A joy so general spread through all the place, 
 " Such satisfaction dwelt on every face, 
 " The nymphs so kind, so lovely look'd the queen, 
 " That never eye beheld a sweeter scene." — 
 
 Porsenna like a statue fix'd appear'd, 
 And, wrapp'd in silent wonder, gazed and heard; 
 Much he admired the speech, the speaker more, 
 And dwelt on every word, and grieved to find it o'er. 
 
321 
 
 — " Oh gentle youth," he cried, " proceed to tell, 
 ' ' In what fair country does this princess dwell ; 
 *,* What regions unxplored, what hidden coast 
 " Can so much goodness, so much beauty boast ?" — 
 
 To whom the winged god, with gracious look, 
 Numberless sweets diffusing while he spoke, 
 Thus answer'd kind, — " These happy gardens lie 
 " Far hence removed, beneath a milder sky; 
 " Their name — the Kingdom of Felicity. 
 " Sweet scenes of endless bliss, enchanted ground, 
 " A soil for ever sought, but seldom found ; 
 " Though in the search all human kind in vain 
 '* Weary their wits, and waste their lives in pain. 
 " In different parties different paths they tread, 
 " As reason guides them, or as follies lead ; 
 " These wrangling for the place they neer shall see, 
 " Debating those, if such a place there be ; 
 " But not the wisest, nor the best, can say 
 " Where lies the point, or mark the certain way. 
 " Some few, by Fortune favour'd for her sport, 
 " Have sail'd in sight of this delightful port ; 
 " In thought already seized the bless" d abodes, 
 " And in their fond delirium rank'd with gods. 
 " Fruitless attempt! all avenues are kept 
 " By dreadful foes, sentry that never slept. 
 
 v 
 
322 
 
 " Here fell Detraction darts her pois'nous breath 
 
 " Fraught with a thousand stings, and scatters death; 
 
 " Sharp-sighted Envy there maintains her post, 
 
 " And shakes her flaming brand, and stalks around the 
 
 coast. 
 " These on the helpless bark their fury pour, 
 " Plunge in the waves, or dash against the shore; 
 " Teach wretched mortals they were doom'd to mourn, 
 " And ne'er must rest but in the silent urn. 
 
 " But say, young Monarch, for what name you bear 
 •• Your mien, your dress, your person, all declare; 
 " And though I seldom fan the frozen north, 
 " Yet have I heard of brave Porsenna's worth. 
 " My brother Boreas through the world has flown, 
 " Swelling his breath to spread forth your renown; 
 " Say, would you choose to visit this retreat, 
 ' ' And view the world where all these wonders meet ? 
 " Wish you some friend o'er that tempestuous sea 
 *' To bear you safe, behold that friend in me. 
 " My active wings shall all their force employ, 
 " And nimbly waft you to the realms of joy ; 
 " As once, to gratify the God of Love, 
 " I bore fair Psyche to the Cyprian grove; 
 " Or as Jove's bird, descending from on high, 
 " Snatch'd the young Trojan trembling to the sky. 
 
323 
 
 " There perfect bliss thou may'st for ever share, 
 
 " 'Scaped from the busy world, and all its care; 
 
 " There in the lovely princess thou shalt find 
 
 " A mistress ever blooming, ever kind."— 
 
 All ecstasy on air Porsenna trod, 
 
 And to his bosom strain'd the little God : 
 
 With grateful sentiments his heart o'erflow'd, 
 
 And in the warmest words millions of thanks bestow'd. 
 
 When Eolus in surly humour broke 
 Their strict embrace, and thus abruptly spoke : 
 — " Enough of compliment ; I hate the sport 
 " Of meanless words : this is no human court, 
 " Where plain and honest are discarded quite, 
 " For the more modish title of polite; 
 ' ' Where in soft speeches hypocrites impart 
 " The venom'd ills that lurk beneath the heart ; 
 ** In friendship's holy guise their guilt improve, 
 " And kindly kill with specious shew of love. 
 " For us, — my subjects are not used to wait, 
 " And waste their hours to hear a mortal prate ; 
 " They must abroad before the rising sun, 
 " And high 'em to the' seas : there's mischief to be done. 
 " Excuse my plainness, Sir, but business stands, 
 " And we have storms and shipwrecks on our hands."— 
 
 V 2 
 
324 
 
 He ended frowning, and the noisy rout 
 Each to his several cell went puffing out. 
 But Zephyr, far more courteous than the rest, 
 To his own bower convey'd the royal guest ; 
 There, on a bed of roses neatly laid, 
 Beneath the fragrance of a myrtle shade, 
 His limbs to needful rest the Prince applied, 
 His sweet companion slumbering by his side. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 No sooner in her silver chariot rose 
 The ruddy Morn, than, sated with repose, 
 The Prince address'd his host ; the God awoke, 
 And leaping from his couch, thus kindly spoke : 
 — " This early call, my lord, that chides my stay, 
 " Requires my thanks, and I with joy obey. 
 " Like you, I long to reach the blissful coast, 
 ** Hate the slow night, and mourn the moments lost. 
 " The bright Rosinda, loveliest of the fair 
 " That crowd the Princess' court, demands my care; 
 •• E'en now with fears and jealousies o'erborn 
 " Upbraids, and calls me cruel and forsworn. 
 *' What sweet rewards on all my toils attend, 
 " Serving at once my mistress and my friend! 
 
325 
 
 "Just to my love and to my duty too, 
 
 •" Well paid in her, well pleased in pleasing you." — 
 
 This said, he led him to the cavern gate, 
 
 And clasp'd him in his arms, and poised his weight; 
 
 Then, balancing his body here and there, 
 
 Stretch'd forth his agile wings, and launch'd in air ; 
 
 Swift as the fiery meteor from on high 
 
 Shoots to its goal, and gleams athwart the sky. 
 
 Here with quick fan his lab'ring pinions play ; 
 
 There glide at ease along the liquid way : 
 
 Now lightly skim the plain with even flight; 
 
 Now proudly soar above the mountain's height. 
 
 Spiteful Detraction, whose envenom'd hate 
 Sports with the sufferings of the good and great, 
 Spares not our Prince, but with opprobrious sneer 
 Arraigns him of the heinous sin of fear; 
 That he, so tried in arms, whose very name 
 Infused a secret panic where it came, 
 E'en he, as high above the clouds he flew, 
 And spied the mountains less'ning to the view, 
 Nought round him but the wide expanded air, 
 Helpless, abandon'd to a stripling's care, 
 Struck with the rapid whirl, and dreadful height, 
 Confess'd some faint alarm, some little fright. 
 
326 
 
 The friendly God, who instantly divined 
 The terrors that possess'd his fellow's mind, 
 To calm his troubled thoughts, and cheat the way, 
 Described the nations that beneath them lay, 
 The name, the climate, and the soil's increase, 
 Their arms in war, their government in peace; 
 Shew'd their domestic arts, their foreign trade, 
 What interest they pursued, what leagues they made, 
 The sweet discourse so charm'd Porsenna's ear, 
 That, lost in joy, he had no time for fear. 
 
 From Scandinavia's cold inclement waste 
 O'er wide Germania's various realms they pass'd, 
 And now on Albion's fields suspend their toil, 
 And hover for awhile, and bless the soil. 
 O'er the gay scene the Prince delighted hung, 
 And gazed in rapture, and forgot his tongue ; 
 Till bursting forth at length : — " Behold," cried he, 
 " The promised isle, the land I long'd to see; 
 " Those plains, those vales, and fruitful hills, declare 
 " My queen, my charmer must inhabit there." — 
 Thus raved the Monarch, and the gentle Guide, 
 Pleased with his error, thus in smiles replied. 
 
 — " I must applaud, my lord, the lucky thought; 
 " E'en I, who know th J original, am caught, 
 " And doubt my senses, when I view the draught. 
 
327 
 
 ■"' The slow-ascending hill, the lofty wood 
 
 " That mantles o'er its brow, the silver flood 
 
 " Wand'ring in mazes through the flow'ry mead, 
 
 " The herd that in the plenteous pastures feed, 
 
 " And every object, every scene, excites 
 
 " Fresh wonder in my soul, and fills with new delights : 
 
 '• Dwells cheerful Plenty there, and learned Ease, 
 
 " And Art with Nature seems at strife to please. 
 
 " There Liberty, delightful goddess, reigns, 
 
 " Gladdens each heart, and gilds the fertile plains; 
 
 " There, firmly seated, may she ever smile, 
 
 " And shower her blessings o'er her favourite isle ! 
 
 " But see, the rising sun reproves our stay." — 
 
 He said, and to the ocean wing'd his way, 
 
 Stretching his course to climates then unknown, 
 
 Nations that swelter in the burning zone. 
 
 There, in Peruvian vales, a moment staid, 
 
 And smooth'd his wings beneath the citron shade : 
 
 Then swift his oary pinions plied again, 
 
 Cross'd the new world, and sought the Southern main ; 
 
 Where, many a wet and weary league oerpast, 
 
 The wish'd-for Paradise appear'd at last. 
 
 With force abated, now they gently sweep 
 O'er the smooth surface of the shining deep ; 
 The Dryads hail'd them from the distant shore, 
 The Nereids play'd around, the Tritons swam before, 
 
328 
 
 While soft Favonius their arrival greets, 
 
 And breathes his welcome in a thousand sweets. 
 
 Nor pale disease, nor health-consuming care, 
 Nor wrath, nor foul revenge, can enter there; 
 No vapour'd foggy gloom imbrowns the sky; 
 No tempests rage, no angry lightnings fly ; 
 But dews, and soft refreshing airs are found, 
 And pure ethereal azure shines around. 
 Whate'er the sweet Sabaean soil can boast, 
 Or Mecca's plains, or India's spicy coast ; 
 What Hybla's hills, or rich (Ebalia's fields, 
 Or flowery vale of famed Hymettus yields ; 
 Or what of old th' Hesperian orchard graced; 
 All that was e'er delicious to the taste, 
 Sweet to the smell, or lovely to the view, 
 Collected there with added beauty grew. 
 High tow'ring to the Heavens the trees are seen, 
 Their bulk immense, their leaf for ever green; 
 So closely interwove, the tell-tale sun 
 Can ne'er descry the deeds beneath them done, 
 But where by fits the sportive gales divide 
 Their tender tops, and fan the leaves aside. 
 Like a smooth carpet, at their feet lies spread 
 The matted grass, by bubbling fountains fed ; 
 

 329 
 
 And on each bough the feathered choir employ 
 Their melting notes, and nought is heard but joy. 
 The painted flowers exhale a rich perfume, 
 The fruits are mingled with eternal bloom, 
 And Spring and Autumn hand in hand appear, 
 Lead on the merry months, and join to clothe the year. 
 Here, o'er the mountain's shaggy summit pour'd, 
 From rock to rock the tumbling torrent roar'd, 
 While beauteous Iris in the vale below 
 Paints on the rising fumes her radiant bow. 
 Now through the meads the mazy current stray 'd, 
 Now hid its wand'rings in the myrtle shade ; 
 Or in a thousand veins divides its store, 
 Visits each plant, refreshes ev'ry flow'r ; 
 O'er gems and golden sands in murmurs flows, 
 And sweetly soothes the soul, and lulls to soft repose. 
 
 If hunger call, no sooner can the mind 
 Express her will to needful food inclin'd, 
 But in some cool recess, or op'ning glade, 
 The seats are placed, the tables neatly laid, 
 And instantly convey'd by magic hand 
 In comely rows the costly dishes stand ; 
 Meats of all kinds that nature can impart, 
 Prepared in all the nicest forms of art, 
 
330 
 
 A troop of sprightly nymphs array 'd in green, 
 With flow'ry chaplets crown'd, come scudding in; 
 With fragrant blossoms these adorn the feast, 
 Those with officious zeal attend the guest ; 
 Beneath his feet the silken carpet spread, 
 Or sprinkle liquid odours o'er his head. 
 Others in ruby cups with roses bound, 
 Delightful ! deal the sparkling nectar round; 
 Or weave the dance, or tune the vocal lay ; 
 The lyres resound, the merry minstrels play ; 
 Gay health, and youthful joys o'erspread the place, 
 And swell each heart, and triumph in each face. 
 So, when embolden'd by the vernal air, 
 The busy bees to blooming fields repair; 
 For various use employ their chymic power ; 
 One culls the snowy pounce, one sucks the flower ; 
 Again to different works returning home, 
 Some * steeve the honey, some erect the comb ; 
 All for the general good in concert strive, 
 And every soul's in motion, every limb's alive. 
 
 And now descending from his flight, the God 
 On the green turf released his precious load ; 
 There, after mutual salutations past, 
 And endless friendship vow'd, they part in haste ; 
 
 * Or stive, stipant. 
 
3.31 
 
 Zephyr impatient to behold his love, 
 
 The Prince in raptures wand'ring through the grove ; 
 
 Now skipping on, and singing as he went, 
 
 Now stopping short to give his transports vent ; 
 
 With sudden gusts of happiness oppress'd, 
 
 Or stands entranced, or raves like one possess'd ; 
 
 His mind afloat, his wand'ring senses quite 
 
 O'ercome with charms, and frantic with delight; 
 
 From scene to scene by random steps convey'd, 
 
 Admires the distant views, explores the secret shade, 
 
 Dwells on each spot, with eager eye devours 
 
 The woods, the lawns, the buildings, and the bowers ; 
 
 New sweets, new joys at every glance arise, 
 
 And every turn creates a fresh surprise. 
 
 Close by the borders of a rising wood, 
 In a green vale a crystal grotto stood ; 
 And o'er its side, beneath a beechen shade, 
 In broken falls a silver fountain play'd. 
 Hither, attracted by the murmuring stream, 
 And cool recess, the pleased Porsenna came, 
 And on the tender grass reclining chose 
 To wave his joys awhile, and take a short repose. 
 The scene invites him, and the wanton breeze 
 That whispers through the vale, the dancing trees, 
 
332 
 
 The warbling birds, and rills that gently creep, 
 All join their music to prolong his sleep. 
 
 The Princess for her morning walk prepared ; 
 The female troops attend, a beauteous guard. 
 Array'd in all her charms appear 'd the fair; 
 Tall was her stature, unconfined her air ; 
 Proportion deck'd her limbs, and in her face 
 Lay love inshrined, lay sweet attractive grace 
 Temp'ring the aweful beams her eyes convey 'd, 
 And like a lambent flame around her play'd. 
 No foreign aids, by mortal ladies worn, 
 From shells and rocks her artless charms adorn ; 
 For grant that beauty were by gems increased, 
 'Tis rendered more suspected at the least ; 
 And foul defects, that would escape the sight, 
 Start from the piece, and take a stronger light. 
 Her chesnut hair in careless rings around 
 Her temples waved, with pinks and jess'mine crown 'd, 
 And, gather'd in a silken cord behind, 
 Curl'd to the waist, and floated in the wind ; 
 O'er these a veil of yellow gauze she wore, 
 With amaranths and gold embroider'd o'er. 
 Her snowy neck half naked to the view 
 Gracefully fell ; a robe of purple hue 
 
333 
 
 Hung loosely o'er her slender shape, and tried 
 To shade those beauties, that it could not hide. 
 
 The damsels of her train with mirth and soncr 
 Frolic behind, and laugh and sport along. 
 The birds proclaim their Queen from ev'ry tree ; 
 The beasts run frisking through the groves to see ; 
 The Loves, the Pleasures, and the Graces meet 
 In antic rounds, and dance before her feet. 
 But whate'er fancy led, it chanced that day 
 They through the secret valley took their way, 
 And to the crystal grott advancing spied 
 The Prince, extended by the fountain's side. 
 
 He look'd as, by some skilful hand express'd, 
 Apollo's youthful form retired to rest; 
 When with the chase fatigued he quits the wood 
 For Pindus' vale, and Aganippe's flood ; 
 There sleeps secure, his careless limbs display 'd 
 At ease, encircled bv the laurel shade ; 
 Beneath his head his sheaf of arrows lie, 
 His bow unbent hangs negligently by. 
 The slumb'ring Prince might boast an equal grace, 
 So turn'd his limbs, so beautiful his face. 
 
 Waking, he started from the ground in haste, 
 And saw the beauteous choir around him placed ; 
 
334 
 
 Then, summoning his senses, ran to meet 
 
 The Queen, and laid him humbly at her feet. 
 
 — " Deign, lovely Princess, to behold," said he, 
 
 " One, who has traversed all the world to see 
 
 " Those charms, and worship thy divinity : 
 
 " Accept thy slave, and with a gracious smile 
 
 " Excuse his rashness, and reward his toil." — 
 
 Stood motionless the fair, with mute surprise, 
 
 And read him over with admiring eyes-; 
 
 And while she stedfast gazed, a pleasing smart 
 
 Ran thrilling through her veins, and reach'd her heart. 
 
 Each limb she scann'd, consider'd every grace, 
 
 And sagely judged him of the phoenix race. 
 
 An animal like this she ne'er had known, 
 
 And thence concluded there could be but one; 
 
 The creature too had all the phoenix' air ; 
 
 None but the phoenix could appear so fair. 
 
 The more she look'd, the more she thought it true, 
 
 And call'd him by that name, to shew she knew. 
 
 — " O handsome Phoenix, for that such you are 
 " We know; your beauty does your breed declare ; 
 " And I with sorrow own through all my coast 
 " No other bird can such perfection boast ; 
 " For Nature form'd you single and alone, 
 " Alas ! what pity 'tis there is but one ! 
 
a 
 
 35 
 
 " Were there a queen so fortunate to shew 
 " An aviary of charming birds like you, 
 " What envy would her happiness create 
 " In all, who saw the glories of her state !" — 
 
 The Prince laugh'd inwardly, surprised to find 
 So strange a speech, so innocent a mind. 
 The compliment indeed did some offence 
 To reason, and a little wrong'd her sense ; 
 He could not let it pass, but told his name, 
 And what he was, and whence, and why he came ; 
 And hinted other things of high concern 
 For him to mention, and for her to learn ; 
 And she 'ad a piercing wit, of wondrous reach 
 To comprehend whatever he could teach. 
 Thus hand in hand they to the palace walk, 
 Pleased and instructed with each others talk. 
 
 Here should I tell the furniture's expence, 
 And all the structure's vast maomificence, 
 Describe the Avails of shining sapphire made, 
 With emerald and pearl the floors inlaid, 
 And how the vaulted canopies unfold 
 A mimic heaven, and flame with gems and gold ; 
 Or how Felicity regales her guest, 
 The wit, the mirth, the music, and the feast ; 
 
336 
 
 And on each part bestow the praises due, 
 
 'Twould tire the writer, and the reader too. 
 
 My amorous tale a softer path pursues : 
 
 Love and the happy pair demand my Muse. 
 
 O could her art in equal terms express 
 
 The lives they lead, the pleasures they possess! 
 
 Fortune had ne'er so plenteously before 
 
 Bestow' d her gifts, nor can she lavish more. 
 
 'Tis heaven itself, 'tis ecstacy of bliss, 
 
 Uninterrupted joy, untired excess; 
 
 Mirth following mirth the moments dance away ; 
 
 Love claims the night, and friendship rules the day. 
 
 Their tender care no cold indifference knows ; 
 No jealousies disturb their sweet repose ; 
 No sickness, no decay ; but youthful grace, 
 And constant beauty shines in either face. 
 Benumbing age may mortal charms invade, 
 Flowers of a day, that do but bloom and fade ; 
 Far different here — on them it only blows 
 The lily's white, and spreads the blushing rose ; 
 No conquest o'er those radiant eyes can boast; 
 They, like the stars, shine brighter in its frost; 
 Nor fear its rigour, nor its rule obey ; 
 All seasons are the same, and every month is May. 
 
337 
 
 Alas ! how vain is happiness below ! 
 Man, soon or late, must have his share of woe ; 
 Slight are his joys, and fleeting as the wind ; 
 His griefs wound home, and leave a sting behind. 
 His lot distinguish'd from the brute appears 
 Less certain by his laughter than his tears ; 
 For ignorance too oft our pleasure breeds, 
 But sorrow from the reasoning soul proceeds. 
 
 If man on earth in endless bliss could be, 
 The boon, young Prince, had been bestow'd on thee. 
 Bright shone thy stars, thy fortune flourish'd fair, 
 And seem'd secure beyond the reach of care, 
 And so might still have been, but anxious thought 
 Has dash'd thy cup, and thou must taste the draught. 
 
 It so befel : as on a certain day 
 This happy couple toy'd their time away, 
 He ask'cl how many charming hours were flown, 
 Since on her slave her heaven of beauty shone. 
 — " Should I consult my heart," cried he, " the rate 
 " Were small, a week would be the utmost date : 
 " But when my mind reflects on actions past, 
 " And counts its joys, time must have fled more fast; 
 " Perhaps I might have said, three months are gone/' — 
 — " Three months!" replied the fair, " three months alone ! 
 
 x 
 
338 
 
 " Know that three hundred years have roll'd away, 
 
 *' Since at my feet the lovely Phoenix lay." — 
 
 — " Three hundred years!" re-echo'd back the Prince, 
 
 ' ' A whole three hundred years completed since 
 
 " I landed here 1 ! whither then are flown 
 
 " My dearest friends, my subjects, and my throne? 
 
 " How strange, alas ! how alter'd shall I find 
 
 " Each earthly thing, each scene 1 left behind! 
 
 " Who knows me now? on whom shall I depend 
 
 " To gain my rights? where shall I find a friend? 
 
 11 My crown, perhaps, may grace a foreign line, 
 
 " A race of kings, that know not me nor mine ; 
 
 " Who reigns may wish my death, his subjects treat 
 
 " My claim with scorn, and call their Prince a cheat. 
 
 ' • Oh had my life been ended as begun ! 
 
 " My destined stage, my race of glory run, 
 
 " I should have died well pleased; my honoured name 
 
 " Had lived, had flourish'd in the list of fame; 
 
 " Reflecting now, my mind with horror sees 
 
 " The sad survey, a scene of shameful ease, 
 
 " The odious blot, the scandal of my race, 
 
 " Scarce known, and only mention'd with disgrace."— 
 
 The Fair beheld him with impatient eye, 
 And red with anger made this warm reply. 
 

 339 
 
 — .*• Ungrateful man ! is this the kind return 
 
 " My love deserves? and can you thus with scorn 
 
 " Reject what once you prized, what once you swore 
 
 " Surpass'd all charms, and made e'en glory poor? 
 
 '* What gifts have I bestow'd, what favours shewn ! 
 
 " Made you partaker of my bed and throne ; 
 
 " Three centuries preserved in youthful prime, 
 
 " Safe from the rage of death, and injuries of time. 
 
 " Weak arguments ! for glory reigns above 
 
 " The feeble ties of gratitude and love. 
 
 " I urge them not, nor would request your stay; 
 
 " The phantom glory calls, and 1 obey; 
 
 ' ' All other virtues are regardless quite, 
 
 " Sunk and absorb'd in that superior light. 
 
 *• Go then, barbarian, to thy realms return, 
 
 ** And shew thyself unworthy my concern ; 
 
 11 Go tell the world, your tender heart could give 
 
 11 Death to the Princess, by whose care you live." — 
 
 At this a deadly pale her cheeks o'erspread, 
 Cold trembling seized her limbs, her spirits fled ; 
 She sunk into his arras : the Prince was moved, 
 Felt all her griefs, for still he greatly loved. 
 He sigh'd, he wish'd he could forget his throne, 
 Confine his thoughts, and live for her alone ; 
 But glory shot him deep, the venom'd dart 
 Was fix'd within, and rankled at his heart; 
 
 Z 2 
 
340 
 
 He could not hide its wounds, but pined away 
 Like a sick flower, and languished in decay. 
 An age no longer like a month appears, 
 But every month becomes a hundred years. 
 
 Felicity was grieved, and could not bear 
 A scene so changed, a sight of so much care. 
 She told him with a look of cold disdain, 
 And seeming ease, as women well can feign, 
 He might depart at will ; a milder air 
 Would mend his health ; he was no prisoner there ; 
 She kept him not, and wish'd he ne'er might find 
 Cause to regret the place he left behind ; 
 Which once he loved, and where he still must own 
 He had at least some little pleasure known. 
 
 If these prophetic words awhile destroy 
 His peace, the former balance it in joy. 
 He thank'd her for her kind concern, but chose 
 To quit the place, the rest let heaven dispose. 
 For Fate, on mischiefs bent, perverts the will, 
 And first infatuates whom it means to kill. 
 
 Aurora now, not, as she wont to rise, 
 In gay attire tinged with a thousand dies, 
 But sober-sad in solemn state appears, 
 Clad in a dusky veil bedew'd with tears. 
 
341 
 
 Thick mantling clouds beneath her chariot spread, 
 
 A faded wreath hangs drooping from her head. 
 
 The sick'ning sun emits a feeble ray, 
 
 Half drown'd in fogs, and struggling into day. 
 
 Some black event the threat'ning skies foretell ; 
 
 Porsenna rose to take his last farewell. 
 
 A curious vest the mournful Princess brought, 
 
 And armour by the Lemnian artist wrought ; 
 
 A shining lance with secret virtue stored, 
 
 And of resistless force a magic sword; 
 
 Caparisons and gems of wondrous price, 
 
 And loaded him with gifts and good advice ; 
 
 But chief she gave, and what he most would need, 
 
 The fleetest of her stud, a flying steed. 
 
 — " The swift Grisippo," said th' afflicted fair, 
 
 (Such was the courser's name) *• with speed shall bear, 
 
 " And place you safely in your native air; 
 
 " Assist against the foe, with matchless might 
 
 " Ravage the field, and turn the doubtful fight; 
 
 " With care protect you till the danger cease, 
 
 *' Your trust in war, your ornament in peace. 
 
 " But this, I warn, beware ; whate'er shall lay 
 
 " To intercept your course, or tempt your stay, 
 
 *' Quit not your saddle, nor your speed abate, 
 
 " 'Till safely landed at your palace gate. 
 
342 
 
 11 On this alone depends your weal or woe ; 
 
 •■' Such is the will of Fate, and so the Gods foreshew."— 
 
 He in the softest terms repaid her love, 
 
 And vow'd, nor age, nor absence, should remove 
 
 His constant faith, and sure she could not blame 
 
 A short divorce due to his injured fame. 
 
 The debt discharged, then should her soldier come 
 
 Gay from the field, and flush'd with conquest, home ; 
 
 With equal ardour her affection meet, 
 
 And lay his laurels at his mistiess' feet. 
 
 He ceased, and sighing took a kind adieu ; 
 
 Then urged his steed ; the fierce Grisippo flew ; 
 
 With rapid force outstripp'd the lagging wind, 
 
 And left the blissful shores, and weeping fair behind; 
 
 Now o'er the seas pursued his airy flight, 
 
 Now scower'd the plains, and climb'd the mountain's height. 
 
 Thus driving on at speed the Prince had run 
 Near half his course, when, with the setting sun, 
 As through a lonely lane he chanced to ride, 
 With rocks and bushes fenced on either side, 
 He spied a waggon full of wings, that lay 
 Broke and o'erturn'd across the narrow way. 
 The helpless driver on the dirty road 
 Lay struggling, crush'd beneath the incumbent load. 
 
343 
 
 Never in human shape was seen before , 
 
 A wight so pale, so feeble, and so poor. 
 
 Comparisons of age would do him wrong, 
 
 For Nestor's self, if placed by him, were young. 
 
 His limbs were naked all, and worn so thin, 
 
 The bones seem'd starting through the parchment skin, 
 
 His eyes half drown'd in rheum, his accents weak, 
 
 Bald was his head, and furrow'd was his cheek. 
 
 The conscious steed stopp'd short in deadly fright, 
 And back recoiling stretch'd his wings for flight. 
 When thus the wretch with supplicating tone, 
 And rueful face, began his piteous moan, 
 And, as he spake, the tears ran trickling down. 
 — " O gentle youth, if pity e'er inclin'd 
 *' Thy soul to generous deeds, if e'er thy mind 
 " Was touch'd with soft distress, extend thy care 
 " To save an old man's life, and ease the load I bear. 
 " So may propitious heaven your journey speed, 
 " Prolong your days, and all your vows succeed." — 
 
 Moved with the prayer the kind Porsenna staid, 
 Too nobly-minded to refuse his aid, 
 And, prudence yielding to superior grief, 
 Leap'd from his steed, and ran to his relief; 
 
344 
 
 Removed the weight, and gave the prisoner breath, 
 Just choak'd, and gasping on the verge of death. 
 Then reach'd his hand, when lightly with a bound 
 The grizly Spectre, vaulting from the ground, 
 Seized him with sudden gripe, th' astonish'd Prince 
 Stood horror-struck, and thoughtless of defence. 
 
 — " O King of Russia," with a thundering sound 
 iSellow'd the ghastly Fiend, " at length thou'rt found. 
 " Receive the ruler of mankind, and know, 
 " My name is Time, thy ever-dreaded foe. 
 " These feet are founder'd, and the wings you see 
 " Worn to the pinions in pursuit of thee ; 
 6 ' Through all the world in vain for ages sought, 
 " But Fate has doom'd thee now, and thou art caught."- 
 Then round his neck his arms he nimbly cast, 
 And seized him by the throat, and grasp'd him fast ; 
 'Till forced at length the soul forsook its seat, 
 And the pale breathless corse fell bleeding at his feet. 
 
 Scarce had the cursed spoiler left his prey, 
 When, so it chanced, young Zephyr pass'd that way ; 
 Too late his presence to assist his friend, 
 A sad, but helpless witness of his end. 
 He chafes, and fans, and strives in vain to cure 
 His streaming wounds ; the work was done too sure. 
 
345 
 
 Now lightly with a soft embrace uprears 
 
 The lifeless load, and bathes it in his tears ; 
 
 Then to the blissful seats with speed conveys, 
 
 And graceful on the mossy carpet lays 
 
 With decent care, close by the fountain's side, 
 
 Where first the Princess had her Phcenix spied. 
 
 There with sweet flowers his lovely limbs he strew'd, 
 
 And gave a parting kiss, and sighs and tears bestow'd. 
 
 To that sad solitude the weeping Dame, 
 Wild with her loss, and swoln with sorrow, came. 
 There was she wont to vent her griefs, and mourn 
 Those dear delights that must no more return. 
 Thither that morn with more than usual care 
 She sped, but oh what joy to find him there ! 
 As just arrived, and weary with the way, 
 Retired to soft repose her Hero lay. 
 Now near approaching she began to creep 
 With careful steps, loth to disturb his sleep ; 
 'Till quite o'ercome with tenderness she flew, 
 And round his neck her arms in transport threw. 
 But, when she found him dead, no tongue can tell 
 The pangs she felt ; she shriek'd, and swooning fell. 
 Waking, with loud laments she pierced the skies, 
 And fill'd th' affrighted forest with her cries. 
 
346 
 
 That fatal hour the palace gates she barr'd, 
 And fix'd around the coast a stronger guard : 
 Now rare appearing, and at distance seen, 
 With crowds of black misfortunes placed between ; 
 Mischiefs of every kind, corroding care, 
 And fears, and jealousies, and dark despair. 
 And since that day (the wretched world must own 
 These mournful truths by sad experience known) 
 No mortal e'er enjoy'd that happy clime, 
 And every thing on earth submits to Time. 
 
347 
 
 No- XLII. 
 
 THE FATAL SISTERS. 
 
 FROM THE NORSE TONGUE. GRAY. 
 
 
 To be found in the Orcades of Thormodus Torfceus ; Hafnioe, l697» folio ; 
 and also in Bartholinus : 
 
 Vitt er orpit fyrir valfalli, &c. 
 
 In the eleventh century Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney Islands, went with a fleet 
 of ships and a considerable body of troops into Ireland, to the assistance of 
 Sictryg with the silken beard, who was then making war on his father-in- 
 law, Brian, King of Dublin : the Earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, 
 and Sictryg was in danger of a total defeat ; but the enemy had a greater 
 loss in the death of Brian their king, who fell in the action. On Christ- 
 mas-day (the day of the battle), a native of Scotland saw, at a distance, 
 a number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and 
 seeming to enter it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till looking through 
 an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic figures resembling women : 
 they were all employed about a loom ; and as they wove, they sung the fol- 
 lowing dreadful Song ; which, when they hadfinished, they tore the web into 
 twelve pieces, and (each taking her portion) galloped six to the north, and 
 as many to the south. These were the Valkyriur,/ema/e divinities, servants 
 of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Tlieir name signifies 
 Choosers of the Slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn 
 swords in their hands ; and in the throng of battle selected such as were 
 destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or 
 Paradise of the Brave, where they attended the banquet, and served the 
 departed heroes with horns of mead and ale. 
 
348 
 
 Now the storm begins to lower, 
 (Haste, the loom of hell prepare,) 
 
 Iron-sleet of arrowy shower 
 Hurtles in the darken'd air. 
 
 Glittering lances are the loom, 
 
 Where the dusky warp we strain, 
 Weaving many a soldier's doom, 
 
 Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. 
 
 See the grisly texture grow ! 
 
 ('Tis of human entrails made) 
 And the weights, that play below, 
 
 Each a gasping warrior's head. 
 
 Shafts for shuttles, dipp'd in gore, 
 Shoot the trembling cords along. 
 
 Sword, that once a monarch bore, 
 Keep the tissue close and strong. 
 
 Mista, black terrific Maid, 
 
 Sangrida, and Hilda, see ! 
 Join the wayward work to aid ; 
 
 'Tis the woof of victory, 
 
349 
 
 Ere the ruddy sun be set, 
 
 Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, 
 Blade with clatterino- buckler meet, 
 . Hauberk crash, and helmet rin»> 
 
 (Weave the crimson web of war) 
 
 Let us go, and let us fly, 
 Where our friends the conflict share, 
 
 Where they triumph, where they die. 
 
 As the paths of Fate we tread, 
 
 Wading through th' ensanguined field, 
 Gondula, and Geira, spread 
 
 O'er the youthful King your shield. 
 
 We the reins to slaughter give, 
 Ours to kill, and ours to spare : 
 
 Spite of danger he shall live. 
 
 (Weave the crimson web of war.) 
 
 They, whom once the desert beach 
 Pent within its bleak domain, 
 
 Soon their ample sway shall stretch 
 O'er the plenty of the plain. 
 
o 
 
 50 
 
 Low the dauntless Earl is laid, 
 
 Gored with many a gaping wound : 
 
 Fate demands a nobler head ; 
 
 Soon a King shall bite the ground. 
 
 Long his loss shall Eirin* weep, 
 Ne'er again his likeness see ; 
 
 Long her strains in sorrow steep : 
 Strains of immortality ! 
 
 Horror covers all the heath, 
 
 Clouds of carnage blot the sun. 
 
 Sisters, weave the web of death. — 
 Sisters, cease : the work is done. 
 
 Hail the task, and hail the hands ! 
 
 Songs of joy and triumph sing ! 
 Joy to the victorious bands ; 
 
 Triumph to the younger King ! 
 
 Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, 
 Learn the tenour of our song. 
 
 Scotland, through each winding vale 
 Far and wide the notes prolong. 
 
 * Ireland. 
 
351 
 
 Sisters, hence with spurs of speed : 
 Each her thundering faulchion wield 
 
 Each bestride her sable steed. 
 Hurry, hurry to the field. 
 
352 
 
 No. XLIII. 
 
 THE DESCENT OF ODIN. 
 
 FROM THE NORSE TONGUE. GRAY. 
 
 The original is to be found in Bartholinus, de causis contemnendx mortis ; 
 Hafnice, l6SQ, quarto. 
 
 Upreis Odinn allda gautr, &c. 
 
 Uprose the King of Men with speed, 
 And saddled straight his coal-black steed : 
 Down the yawning steep he rode, 
 That leads to Hela's drear abode.* 
 Him the Dog of Darkness spied ; 
 His shaggy throat he open'd wide, 
 While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, 
 Foam and human gore distill'd : 
 
 * Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, consisted of nine worlds, to 
 which were devoted all such as died of sickness, old age, or by any other 
 means than in battle. Orer it presided Hela, the Goddess of Death. 
 
353 
 
 Hoarse he bays with hideous din, 
 Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ; 
 And long pursues, with fruitless yell, 
 The Father of the powerful spell. 
 Onward still bis way he takes, 
 (The groaning earth beneath him shakes,) 
 Till full before his fearless eyes 
 The portals nine of Hell arise. 
 
 Right against the eastern gate, 
 By the moss-grown pile, he sate ; 
 Where long of yore to sleep was laid 
 The dust of the prophetic Maid. 
 Facing to the northern clime, 
 Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme ; 
 Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, 
 The thrilling verse that wakes the dead ; 
 Till from out the hollow ground 
 Slowly breathed a sullen sound. 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 What call unknown, what charms, presume 
 To break the quiet of the tomb? 
 Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, 
 And drags me from the realms of night? 
 a a 
 
354 
 
 Long on these mouldering bones have beat 
 The winter's snow, the summer's heat, 
 The drenching dews, and driving rain ! 
 Let me, let me sleep again. 
 Who is he, with voice unbless'd, 
 Calls me from the bed of rest ? 
 
 ODIN. 
 
 A traveller, to thee unknown, 
 
 Is he that calls, a warrior's son. 
 
 Thou the deeds of light shalt know ; 
 
 Tell me what is done below, 
 
 For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, 
 
 Dress'd for whom yon golden bed ? 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 Mantling in the goblet see 
 The pure bev'rage of the bee ; 
 O'er it hangs the shield of gold ; 
 'Tis the drink of Balder bold: 
 Balder' s head to death is given. 
 Pain can reach the Sons of Heaven ! 
 Unwilling I my lips unclose : 
 Leave me, leave me to repose. 
 
355 
 
 ODIN. 
 
 Once again my call obey. 
 Prophetess, arise, and say, 
 What dangers Odin's child await, 
 Who the author of his fate? 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 In Hoder's hand the Hero's doom ; 
 His brother sends him to the tomb. 
 Now my weary lips I close : 
 Leave me, leave me to repose. 
 
 ODIN. 
 
 Prophetess, my spell obey, 
 
 Once again arise, and say, 
 
 Who th' Avenger of his guilt, 
 
 By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt ? 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 In the caverns of the west, 
 By Odin's fierce embrace compress'd, 
 A wond'rous boy shall Rinda bear, 
 Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair, 
 Nor wash his visage in the stream, 
 Nor see the sun's departing beam, 
 a a 2 
 
356 
 
 Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile, 
 Flaming on the funeral pile. 
 Now my weary lips I close, 
 Leave me, leave me to repose. 
 
 ODIN. 
 
 Yet awhile my call obey ; 
 Prophetess, awake, and say, 
 What Virgins these, in speechless woe, 
 That bend to earth their solemn brow, 
 That their flaxen tresses tear, 
 And snowy veils, that float in air. 
 Tell me whence their sorrows rose : 
 Then I leave thee to repose. 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 Ha ! no Traveller art thou, 
 King of Men, I know thee now ; 
 Mightiest of a mighty line 
 
 ODIN. 
 
 No boding Maid of skill divine 
 Art thou, nor Prophetess of good; 
 But mother of the giant-brood ! 
 

 357 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 Hie thee hence, and boast at home, 
 That never shall enquirer come 
 To break my iron sleep again : 
 Till Lok * has burst his ten-fold chain ; 
 Never, till substantial Night 
 Has reassumed her ancient right ; 
 Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd, 
 Sinks the fabric of the world. 
 
 * Lok is the Evil Being, who continues in chains till the Twilight of the 
 Gods approaches ; when he shall break his bonds ; the human race, the stars, 
 and sun, shall disappear ; the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the 
 skies : even Odin himself, and his kindred deities, shall perish. For a fur- 
 ther explanation of this mythology, see " Introduction a l'Histoire de Danne- 
 marc, par M. Mallet," 1755, quarto ; or rather a translation of it published 
 in 1770, and entitled, " Northern Antiquities ;" in which some mistakes in 
 the original are judiciously corrected. 
 
S58 
 
 No. XLIV. 
 
 THE WITCH OF WOKEY. 
 
 DR. HARRINGTONt 
 
 Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somersetshire, which has given birth 
 to as many -wild fanciful stories as the Sybils' Cave, in Italy. 
 Through a very narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, 
 the roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the thickness 
 of the gloom, cannot be discovered by the light of torches. It goes 
 winding a great way under ground, is crost by a stream of very 
 cold water, and is all horrid with broken pieces of rock : many of 
 these are evident petrifactions ; which, on account of their singular 
 forms, have given rise to the fables alluded to in this poem. 
 
 In aunciente days tradition showes 
 A base and wicked elfe arose, 
 
 The Witch of Wokey hight : 
 Oft have I heard the fearful tale 
 From Sue and Roger of the vale, 
 
 On some long winter's night. 
 
359 
 
 Deep in the dreary dismal cell, 
 Which seem'd and was ycleped hell, 
 
 Tins blear-eyed Hag did hide : 
 Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne, 
 She chose to form her guardian trayne, 
 
 And kennel near her side. 
 
 Here screeching owls oft made their nest, 
 While wolves its craggy sides possest, 
 
 Night-howling thro' the rock : 
 No wholesome herb could here be found ; 
 She blasted every plant around, 
 
 And blister'd every flock. 
 
 Her haggard face was foul to see ; 
 Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee ; 
 
 Her eyne of deadly leer, 
 She nought devised, but neighbour's ill ; 
 She wreak'd on all her wayward will, 
 ' And marr'd all goodly chear. 
 
 All in her prime, have poets sung, 
 No gaudy youth, gallant and young, 
 
 E'er blest her longing armes ; 
 And hence arose her spight to vex, 
 And blast the youth of either sex, 
 
 By dint of hellish charms. 
 
360 
 
 From Glaston came a lerned wight, 
 Full bent to marr her fell despight, 
 
 And well he did, I ween: 
 Sich mischief never had been known, 
 And, since his mickle lerninge shown, 
 
 Sich mischief ne'er has been, 
 
 He chauntede out his godlie booke, 
 He crost the water, blest the brooke, 
 
 Then — pater noster done, — 
 The ghastly Hag he sprinkled o'er ; 
 When lo ! where stood a hag before, 
 Now stood a ghastly stone. 
 
 Full well 'tis known adown the dale ; 
 Tho' passing strange indeed the tale, 
 
 And doubtfull may appear, 
 I'm bold to say, there's never a one, 
 That has not seen the witch in stone, 
 
 With all her household gear. 
 
 But tho' this lernede Clerke did well ; 
 With grieved heart, alas ! I tell, 
 
 She left this curse behind : 
 That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite, 
 Tho' sense and beauty both unite, 
 
 Should find no leman kind. 
 
361 
 
 For lo ! even, as the Fiend did say, 
 The sex have found it to this day, 
 
 That men are wondrous scant : 
 Here's beauty, wit, and sense combined, 
 With all that's good and virtuous join'd, 
 
 Yet hardly one gallant. 
 
 Shall then sich maids unpitied moane ? 
 They might as well, like her, be stone, 
 
 As thus forsaken dwell. 
 Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ; 
 Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks, 
 
 And, oh! revoke the spell. 
 
 Yet stay — nor thus despond, ye fair; 
 Virtue's the gods' peculiar care ; 
 
 I hear the gracious voice : 
 Your sex shall soon be blest agen, 
 We only wait to find sich men, 
 
 As best deserve your choice. 
 
362 
 
 No. XLV. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 From " Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry." 
 
 PART I. 
 
 King Arthur lives in merry Carleile, 
 
 And seemely is to see ; 
 And there with him Queene Guenever, 
 
 That bride soe bright of blee. 
 
 And there with him Queene Guenever, 
 That bride so bright in bowre : 
 
 And all his barons about him stoode, 
 That were both stifle and stowre. 
 
 The King a royale Christmasse kept, 
 With mirth and princelye cheare ; 
 
 To him repaired many a knighte, 
 That came both fane and neare. 
 
363 
 
 And when they were to dinner sette, 
 And cups went freely round ; 
 
 Before them came a faire damselle, 
 And knelt upon the ground. 
 
 — " A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthure, 
 
 " I beg a boone of thee ; 
 " Avenge me of a carlish knighte, 
 
 *• Who hath shent my love and mee. 
 
 " At Tearne-Wadling * his castle stands, 
 
 * ' Near to that lake so fair, 
 " And proudlye rise the battlements, 
 
 • ' And streamers deck the air. 
 
 " Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 
 *■* May pass that castle-walle : 
 
 " But from that foule discurteous knighte, 
 " Mishappe will them befalle. 
 
 * Tearne-Wadling is the name of a small lake near Hasketh in Cumber- 
 land, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. There is a tradition, that an old 
 castle once stood near the lake, the remains of which were not long since 
 visible. Team, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake, and is 
 still in use. 
 
364 
 
 " Hee's twyce the size of common men, 
 " Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 
 
 '* And on his backe he bears a clubbe, 
 " That is both thicke and longe. 
 
 *• This grimme Barone 'twas our harde happe, 
 
 *' But y ester morne to see ; 
 *• When to his bowre he bare my love, 
 
 " And sore misused mee. 
 
 "And when I told him, King Arthure 
 
 " As lyttle shold him spare ; 
 " Goe tell, say'd hee, that cuckold kinge, 
 
 " To meete mee if he dare." — 
 
 Upp then sterted King Arthure, 
 
 And sware by hille and dale, 
 He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme Barone, 
 
 Till he had made him quail. 
 
 " Goe fetch my sword Excalibar : 
 
 *' Goe saddle mee my steede; 
 " Nowe, by my faye, that grimme Barone 
 
 " Shall rue this ruthfulle deede. 
 
365 
 
 And when he came to Tearne-Wadlinge 
 
 Benethe the castle walle ; 
 " Come forth; come forth ; thou proude Barone, 
 
 f' Or yielde thyself my thralle." 
 
 On magicke grounde that castle stoode, 
 
 And fenced with many a spelle : 
 Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 
 
 But straite his courage felle. 
 
 Forth then rush'd that carlish Knight, 
 
 King Arthure felte the charme : 
 His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe, 
 
 Downe sunke his feeble arme. 
 
 — " Nowe yield thee, yield thee, Kinge Arthure, 
 
 " Now yield thee unto mee ; 
 " Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 
 
 " Noe better termes maye bee. 
 
 " Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 
 
 " And promise on thy faye, 
 " Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling, 
 
 '* Upon the new-yeare's daye ; 
 
366 
 
 " And bringe me worde what thing it is 
 
 • ' All women moste desy re ; 
 '.' This is thy ransome, Arthur," he sayes, 
 
 " He have noe other hyre."— 
 
 King Arthur then helde up his hande, 
 
 And sware upon his faye, 
 Then took his leave of the grimme Barone 
 
 And faste hee rode awaye. 
 
 And he rode east, and he rode west, 
 
 And did of all inquyre, 
 What thing it is all women crave, 
 
 And what they most desyre. 
 
 Some told him riches, pompe, or state; 
 
 Some rayment fine and brighte ; 
 Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye ; 
 
 And some a jollye knighte. 
 
 In letters all King Arthur wrote, 
 And seal'd them with his ringe : 
 
 But still his minde was helde in doubte, 
 Each tolde a different thinge. 
 
367 
 
 As ruthfulle he rode over a more, 
 
 He saw a Ladye sette 
 Betweene an oke, and a greene holleye, 
 
 All clad in red scarlette. 
 
 Her nose was crookt and turnd outwarde, 
 
 Her chin stoode all awrye ; 
 And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 
 
 Lo ! there was set her eye : 
 
 Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute 
 
 Her cheekes of deadlye hewe : 
 A worse-foi m'd ladye than she was , 
 
 No man mote ever viewe. 
 
 To hail the King in seemelye sorte 
 
 This ladye was fulle faine ; 
 But King Arthure all sore amaz'd, 
 
 No aunswere made againe. 
 
 — " What wight art thou," the Ladye say'd, 
 '• That wilt not speake to mee ; 
 *' Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine, 
 " Though 1 bee foule to see. 
 
368 
 
 — " If thou wilt ease my paine," he sayd, 
 • ' And helpe me in my neede ; 
 
 " Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme Ladye, 
 " And it shall bee thy meede." — 
 
 — " O sweare mee this upon the roode, 
 
 " And promise on thy faye ; 
 11 And here the secrette I will telle, 
 
 " That shall thy ransome paye." — 
 
 King Arthur promised on his faye, 
 
 And sware upon the roode : 
 The secrette then the Ladye told, 
 
 As lightlye well she cou'de. 
 
 — •• Now this shall be my paye," sir King, 
 
 " And this my guerdon bee, 
 " That some yong fair and courtlye knight, 
 
 «' Thou bringe to marrye mee." — 
 
 Fast then pricked King Arthure 
 Ore hille, and dale, and downe : 
 
 And soone he founde the Barone's bowre, 
 And soone the grimme Baroune. 
 
369 
 
 He bare his clubbe upon his backe, 
 Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge ; 
 
 And, when he had the letters reade, 
 Awaye the letters flunge. 
 
 — " Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands, 
 
 " All forfeit unto mee ; 
 " For this is not thy paye, sir King, 
 
 " Nor may thy ransome bee." — 
 
 — " Yet hold thy hand, thou proud Barone, 
 
 " I praye thee hold thy hand ; 
 ' ' And give mee leave to speake once more 
 
 "In reskewe of my land. 
 
 " This morne, as I came over a more, 
 
 " I saw a Ladye sette 
 " Betwene an oke, and a greene holleye, 
 
 " All clad in red scarlette; 
 
 " She sayes, all women will have their wille, 
 
 " This is their chief desy re ; 
 " Now yield, as thou art a Barone true, 
 
 " That I have payd mine hyre." 
 £ b 
 
370 
 
 — " An ear lye vengeaunce light on her!" 
 
 The carlish Baron swore : 
 *' Shee was my sister tolde thee this, 
 
 " And shee's a misshapen whore. 
 
 " But here I will make mine avowe, 
 
 " To do her as ill a turne : 
 " For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 
 
 " In a fyre I will her burne/'— 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Homewarde pricked King Arthure, 
 
 And a wearye man was hee ; 
 And soone he mette Queene Guenever, 
 
 That bride so bright of blee. 
 
 — " What newes ! what newes ! thou noble King» 
 
 " Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped? 
 " Where hast thou hung the carlish Knighte? 
 
 " And where bestow'd his head ?" — 
 
371 
 
 — " The carlish Knight is safe for mee, 
 
 " And free fro mortal harme : 
 " On magicke grounde his castle stands, 
 
 " And fenced with many a charrae. 
 
 " To bowe to him I was fulle faine, 
 
 " And yielde mee to his hand ; 
 *' And but for a lothly Ladye, there 
 
 " I sholde have lost my land. 
 
 " And nowe this fills my hearte with woe, 
 
 u And sorrowe of my life ; 
 " I swore a yonge and courtlye knight, 
 
 " Sholde marry her to his wife." — 
 
 Then bespake him Sir Gawaine, 
 
 That was ever a gentle knighte : 
 — * ' That lothly Ladye I will wed ; 
 
 " Therefore be merry e and lighte/'— 
 
 — " Nowe naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawaine; 
 
 " My sister's sonne yee bee ; 
 " This lothlye Ladye's all too grimme, 
 
 ' ■ And all too foule for yee. 
 B b 2 
 
372 
 
 " Her nose is crookt, and turn'd outwarde: 
 
 " Her chin stands all awrye ; 
 1 ' A worse form'd ladye than shee is 
 
 " Was never seen with eye." — , 
 
 — " What though her chin stand all awrye, 
 
 " And shee be foule to see : 
 " I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 
 
 " And I'll thy ransome bee." — 
 
 — " Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine; 
 
 " And a blessing thee betyde ! 
 " To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires, 
 
 " And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 
 
 " And wee'll have hawkes, and wee'll have houndes, 
 
 " To cover our intent ; 
 " And wee'll away to the greene forest, 
 
 " As wee a hunting went.— 
 
 Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 
 
 They rode with them that daye ; 
 And foremoste of the companye 
 
 There rode the stewarde Kaye : 
 
373 
 
 Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 
 
 And eke Sir Garratte keene ; 
 Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight, 
 
 To the forest freshe and greene. 
 
 And when they came to the greene forrest, 
 
 Beneathe a faire holley tree, 
 There sate that Ladye in red scarlette 
 
 That unseemelye was to see. 
 
 Sir Kay beheld that Lady's face, 
 
 And looked upon her sweere ; 
 — M Whoever kisses that Ladye," he sayes, 
 
 " Of his kisse he stands in feare." — 
 
 Sir Kay beheld that Ladye againe, 
 And looked upon her snout ; 
 — •'« Whoever kisses that Ladye," he sayes, 
 " Of his kisse he stands in doubt/' — 
 
 — " Peace, brother Kay," sayde Sir Gawaine, 
 
 " And amend thee of thy life; 
 " For there is a Knight amongst us all, 
 *' Must marry her to his wife," — 
 
374 
 
 — " What, marry this foule queane," quoth Kay, 
 
 " I' the devil's name anone ; 
 " Gett mee a wife wherever I maye, 
 
 " In sooth shee shall be none."— 
 
 Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste, 
 
 And some tooke up their houndes ; 
 And sayd they wolde not marry her, 
 
 For cities, nor for townes. 
 
 Then bespake him King Arthure, 
 
 And sware there by this daye ; 
 — ' ' For a little foule sighte and mislikinge, 
 
 " Yee shall not say her naye." — r 
 
 - — " Peace, Lordings, peace;" Sir Gawaine sayd ; 
 
 " Nor make debate and strife ; 
 " This lothlye Ladye I will take, 
 
 " And marry her to my wife/' — . 
 
 — " Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine, 
 
 " And a blessinge be thy meede ! 
 " For as I am thine owne ladye, 
 
 " Thou never shalt rue this deede." — 
 
375 
 
 Then up they took that lothly Dame, 
 
 And home anone they bringe : 
 And there Sir Gawaine he her wed, 
 
 And married her with a ringe. 
 
 And when they were in wed-bed laid, 
 
 And all were done awaye : 
 — " Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord, 
 
 " Come turne to. mee I praye." — 
 
 Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, 
 
 For sorrowe and for care ; 
 When, lo ! instead of that lothelye Dame, 
 
 Hee sawe a young Ladye faire. 
 
 Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, 
 
 Her eyen were blacke as sloe : 
 The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe, 
 
 And all her necke was snowe. 
 
 4 
 
 Sir Gawaine kiss'd that Lady faire, 
 
 Lying upon the sheete : 
 And swore, as he was a true Knighte, 
 
 The spice was never soe sweete. 
 
376 
 
 Sir Gawaine kiss'd that Lady brighte, 
 
 Lying there by his side : 
 — ' * The fairest flower is not soe faire * 
 
 " Thou never can'st bee my bride."-^- 
 
 i — " I am thy bride, mine owne deare Lorde, 
 " The same whiche thou didst knowe, 
 
 ff That was soe lothlye, and was wont 
 " Upon the wild more to goe. 
 
 " Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse," quoth shee, 
 
 ' ' And make thy choice with care ; 
 " Whether by night, or else by daye, 
 
 " Shall I be foule or faire ?" — 
 
 -— ' ' To have thee foule still in the night, 
 
 " When I with thee should playe ! 
 ft I had rather farre, my lady deare, 
 
 '• To have thee foule by daye." — 
 
 t— " What, when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 
 
 " To drinke the ale and wine ; 
 ff Alas ! then I must hide myself, 
 
 '* I must not goe wijh mine?"-w 
 
377 
 
 — " My faire ladye," Sir Gawaine sayd, 
 
 " I yield me to thy skille ; 
 " Because thou art mine owne ladye 
 
 " Thou shalt have all thy wille." — 
 
 — " Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine, 
 
 ' • And the daye that I thee see ; 
 " For as thou seest mee at this time, 
 
 " Soe shall I ever bee. 
 
 " My father was an aged knighte, 
 
 " And yet it chanced soe, 
 * • He tooke to wife a false ladye, 
 
 * ' Whiche broughte me to this woe. 
 
 ** Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide, 
 
 • • In the greene forest to dwelle ; 
 " And there to abyde in lothlye shape, 
 
 " Most like a fiend of helle. 
 
 " Midst mores and mosses ; woods, and wilds; 
 
 " To lead a lonesome life : 
 " Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte 
 
 " Wolde marrye me to his wife : 
 
378 
 
 " Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape, 
 
 " Such was her devilish skille ; 
 '* Until he wolde yielde to be ruled by mee, 
 
 " And let mee have all my wille. 
 
 1 * She witchd my brother to a carlish boore, 
 *.' And made him stiffe and stronge : 
 
 " And built him a bowre on majricke grounde, 
 " To live by rapine and wronge. 
 
 •' But now the spelle is broken throughe, 
 " And wronge is tumde to righte ; 
 
 " Henceforth 1 shall be a faire ladye, 
 " And hee be a gentle knighte."— » 
 
379 
 
 No. XLVI. 
 
 KING ARTHURS DEATH. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 From " Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry." 
 
 On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, 
 This sore battayle was doom'd to bee ; 
 
 Where manye a lcnighte cried — " Well-awaye !"- 
 Alacke, it was the more pittie. 
 
 Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 
 When, as the Kinge in his bed laye, 
 
 He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,* 
 And there to him these wordes did saye. 
 
 * Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing, on his return from 
 abroad. 
 
380 
 
 — " Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare, 
 " And as you prize your life, this daye 
 
 " O meet not with your foe in fighte : 
 " Putt ofFthe battayle, if yee maye; 
 
 " For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, 
 "And with him many an hardye knighte : 
 
 " Who will within this moneth be backe, 
 " And will assiste yee in the fighte."— 
 
 The Kinge then call'd his nobles all, 
 
 Before the breakinge of the daye ; 
 And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came, 
 
 And there to him these wordes did saye. 
 
 His nobles all this counsayle gave, 
 
 That earlye in the morning, hee 
 Shold send awaye an herauld at armes, 
 
 To aske a parley faire and free. 
 
 Then twelve good knightes King Arthure chose, 
 The best of all that with him were : 
 
 To parley with the foe in fielde, 
 
 And make with him agreement faire. 
 
381 
 
 The King he charged all his hoste, 
 
 In readinesse there for to bee : 
 But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 
 
 Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see. 
 
 And Mordred on the other parte, 
 
 Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe ; 
 The beste of all his companye, 
 
 To hold the parley with the Kinge. 
 
 Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste, 
 
 In readinesse there for to bee ; 
 But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre, 
 
 But if a sworde drawne they shold see: 
 
 For he durste not his unkle truste, 
 Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell: 
 
 Alacke ! it was a woefulle case, 
 As ere in Christentye befelle. 
 
 But when they were together mette, 
 
 And both to faire accordance broughte ; 
 
 And a month's league betweene them sette, 
 Before the battayle sholde be foughte ; 
 
382 
 
 An addere crept forth of a bushe, 
 
 Stunge one o' th' King's knightes on the knee 
 Alacke! it was a woefulle chance, 
 
 As ever was in Christentie. 
 
 When the Knighte found him wounded sore, 
 And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there ; 
 
 His sworde he from his scabberde drewe : 
 A piteous case as ye shall heare. 
 
 For when the two hostes sawe the sworde 
 
 They joyned battayle instantlye; 
 Till of soe manye noble knightes, 
 
 On one side there were left but three. 
 
 For all were slain that durst abide, 
 And but some fewe that fled awaye : 
 
 Ay mee ! it was a bloodye fielde, 
 
 As ere was foughte on summer's daye. 
 
 Upon King Arthur' s own partye, 
 
 Onlye himselfe escaped there, 
 And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free, 
 
 And the King's butler Bedevere. 
 
383 
 
 And when the King beheld his knightes, 
 All dead and scattered on the molde; 
 
 The teares fast trickled downe his face ; 
 That manlye face in fight so bolde. 
 
 — " Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said, 
 " Soe true and faithful to your trust : 
 
 " And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 
 " Be lefte to moulder into dust! 
 
 " Most loyal have yee been to mee, 
 " Most true and faithful unto deathe : 
 
 *'■ And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe, 
 
 •* How freelye could I yield my breathe ! 
 
 " But see the traitor's yet alive, 
 
 " Lo where hee stalkes among the deade ! 
 " Nowe bitterlye he shall abye : 
 
 ■ ' And vengeance fall upon his head. 
 
 " O staye, my liege," then sayd the Duke; 
 
 1 • O staye for love and charitie ; 
 •' Remember what the vision spake, 
 
 •' Nor meete your foe, if it may bee 
 
384 
 
 " O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight, 
 " This debt my loyal knights I owe : 
 
 •' Betide me life, betide me death, 
 '• I will avenge them of their foe." — 
 
 Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare, 
 And on his horse then mounted hee : 
 
 As his butler holpe him to his horse, 
 His bowels gushed to his knee. 
 
 — " Alas! then sayd the noble King, 
 '• That I should live this sight to see ! 
 
 '* To see this good knight here be slaine, 
 " All for his love in helping mee!" — 
 
 He put his speare into his reste, 
 
 And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye ; 
 
 — " Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde, 
 " For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye." — 
 
 Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 
 And fierce to meet the King ran hee : 
 
 The King his speare he through him thrust ; 
 A fathom thorow his bodie. 
 
385 
 
 When Mordered felt the stroke of death, 
 And found that he was wounded soe ; 
 
 He thruste himselfe upon the speare, 
 And strucke the King a deadlye blowe. 
 
 Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 
 
 Presentlye upon that tree : 
 And bloody streames ranne from the Kinge 
 
 Ere to the Duke returned hee. 
 
 Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, 
 
 — " Sir Knighte, thou hast beene faithfulle tryde, 
 " Nowe take my sword Excalibar,* 
 
 " That hangs so freelye by my syde : 
 
 " O take my sword Excalibar, 
 
 " And there into the river throwe : 
 " For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 
 
 " All use of weapons I foregoe. 
 
 " And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 
 
 " A better neer had valiant knighte, 
 " With thee full ofte, and manye a daye, 
 
 " Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 
 
 * More commonly called, Caliburn. 
 
 c c 
 
386 
 
 '* With this good fauchion in my hande, 
 " Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde : 
 
 " But nowe the fatalle houre is come, 
 
 ** That never more I may thee weelde." — 
 
 The Duke to the river side he went, 
 
 And there his owne sword in threwe he : 
 
 But he kept back Excalibar, 
 He kept it back in privitie. 
 
 For all of coleyne was the blade ; 
 
 And all the hilte of precious stone : 
 — " And ever alacke I " then sayd the Knighte, 
 
 " Must such a sword awaye be throwne ?" — 
 
 Then backe he came unto the Kinge, 
 
 Who sayd, — " Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?"- 
 — «' Nothing, my liege, save that the winde 
 
 " Blewe o'er the waters faire and free. — 
 
 — " O goe againe, " then said the Kinge, 
 
 •' O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
 " Into the rivere throwe my sword, 
 
 " Nor keepe me lingering here in paine." — 
 
387 
 
 The Duke then to the river went, 
 
 And the Kind's scabberd in threwe hee ; 
 
 But hee kept backe Excalibar, 
 And hid it undernethe a tree. 
 
 Then backe he came to tell the Kinge, 
 
 Who sayde, — " Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte?"- 
 
 — •* Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 
 " Nowe with the an pry e waters fought." — 
 
 — " O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the Kinge, 
 " Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye : 
 
 " Alacke, whom may wee ever truste, 
 
 " When suche a Knight soe false can bee? 
 
 " Saye, would'st thou have thy master dead ; 
 
 " All for a sword, that wins thine eye . 
 " Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in, 
 
 " Or here the one of us shall dye." — 
 
 The Duke, all shent with this rebuke, 
 No aunswere made unto the Kinge : 
 
 But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 
 And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 
 
 O 
 
 C C 2 
 
388 
 
 A hande and an arme did meete the svvorde, 
 And flourishd three times in the air ; 
 
 Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
 And of the Duke was seene noe mair. 
 
 AH sore astonied stood the Duke ; 
 
 He stood as still, as still mote bee : 
 Then hastend backe to telle the Kinge ; 
 
 But he was gone from under the tree. 
 
 But to what place he cold not tell, 
 For never after hee did him spye : 
 
 But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, 
 And hee heard ladyes howle and crye. 
 
 And whether the Kinge were there, or not, 
 Hee never knewe, nor ever colde : 
 
 For from that sad and direfulle daye, 
 Hee never more was seene on molde. 
 
389 
 
 No- XLVII. 
 
 FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 
 
 From " Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. 
 
 As it fell out on a long summer's day- 
 Two lovers they sat on a hill ; 
 
 They sat together that long summer's day, 
 And could not talk their fill. 
 
 — " 1 see no harm by you, Margaret, 
 
 ' ' And you see none by mee ; 
 4 ' Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock 
 
 " A rich wedding you shall see." — 
 
 Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window, 
 
 Combing her yellow hair ; 
 There she spyed Sweet William and his bride, 
 
 As they were a riding near. 
 
390 
 
 Then down she layd her ivory combe, 
 
 And braided her hair in twain : 
 She went alive out of her bower, 
 
 But ne'er came alive in't again. 
 
 When day was gone, and night was come, 
 
 And all men fast asleep, 
 Then came the spirit of Fair Marg'ret, 
 
 And stood at William's feet. 
 
 i — " Are you awake, Sweet William? shee said ; 
 
 " Or, Sweet William, are you asleep ? 
 " God give you joy of your gay bride bed, 
 
 " And me of my winding sheet." — <■ 
 
 When day was come, and night was gone, 
 
 And all men wak'd from sleep, 
 Sweet William to his lady sayd, 
 
 — " My dear, I have cause to weep: 
 
 *• I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye, 
 
 " Such dreames are never good : 
 " I dreamt my bower was full of red wine, 
 
 *' And my bride-bed full of blood*"— 
 
391 
 
 — •• Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir, 
 
 ' ' They never do prove good ; 
 " To dream thy bower was full of red wine, 
 
 " And thy bride-bed full of blood." — 
 
 He called up his merry men all, 
 
 By one, by two, and by three ; 
 Saying, — " I'll away to Fair Marg'ret's bower, 
 
 " By the leave of my ladie." — 
 
 And when he came to Fair Marg'ret's bower, 
 
 He knocked at the ring ; 
 And who so ready as her seven brethren 
 
 To let Sweet William in. 
 
 Then he turned up the covering-sheet, 
 
 — " Pray let me see the dead ; 
 " Methinks she looks all pale and wan, 
 
 " She hath lost her cherry red. 
 
 " I'll do more for thee, Margaret, 
 
 " Than any of thy kin ; 
 " For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, 
 
 " Though a smile I cannot win."— 
 
392 
 
 With that bespake the seven brethren, 
 
 Making most piteous mone : 
 — " You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 
 
 " And Jet our sister alone." — 
 
 " If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, 
 
 " I do but what is right ; 
 *• I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse 
 
 " By day, nor yet by night. 
 
 " Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, 
 *' Deal on your cake and your wine :* 
 
 " For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day, 
 " Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."— 
 
 Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 
 
 S-.veet William dyed the morrow : 
 Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love, 
 Sweet William dyed for sorrow. 
 
 Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel, 
 
 And William in the higher: 
 Out of her brest there sprang a rose, 
 
 And out of his a briar. 
 
 * Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. 
 
393 
 
 They grew till they grew unto the church-top, 
 And then they could grow no higher ; 
 
 And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 
 Which made all the people admire. 
 
 Then came the clerk of trie parish, 
 
 As you the truth shall hear, 
 And by misfortune cut them down, 
 
 Or they had now been there. 
 
394 
 
 No. XLVI1I. 
 
 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 
 
 From Allan Ramsay's " Tea-table Miscellany.' 
 
 There came a Ghost to Margaret's door, 
 With many a grievous grone, 
 
 And ay he dried at the pin ; 
 But answer made she none. 
 
 — " Is this my father Philip? 
 
 " Or is't my brother John? 
 " Or is't my true love Willie, 
 
 " From Scotland new come home?" — 
 
 — " 'Tis not thy father Philip ; 
 
 " Nor yet thy brother John : 
 " But 'tis thy true love Willie 
 
 •• From Scotland new come home. 
 
395 
 
 " O sweet Margret ! O dear Margret ! 
 
 " I pray thee speak to mee : 
 " Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 
 
 " As I gave it to thee." — 
 
 — " Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 
 
 " Of me shalt nevir win, 
 " Till that thou come within my bower, 
 
 " And kiss my cheek and chin." — 
 
 — ff If I should come within thy bower, 
 
 • ' I am no earthly man : 
 ". And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, 
 
 " Thy days will not be lang. 
 
 " O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, 
 
 ' ' I pray thee speak to mee : 
 " Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 
 
 " As I gave it to thee." — 
 
 " Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 
 
 '• Of me shalt nevir win, 
 '• Till thou take me to yon kirk yard, 
 
 " And wed me with a ring."— 
 
396 
 
 " My bones are buried in a kirk yard 
 
 " Afar beyond tbe sea, 
 " And it is but my sprite, Margret, 
 
 " That's speaking now to thee." — 
 
 She stretched out her lilly-white hand, 
 
 As for to do her best : 
 — *' Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, 
 
 " God send your soul good rest." — 
 
 Now she has kilted her robes of green, 
 
 A piece below her knee : 
 And a' the live-lang winter night 
 
 The dead corpse followed shee. 
 
 -^-" Is there any room at your head, Willie? 
 
 " Or any room at your feet ? 
 \* Or any room at your side, Willie, 
 Wherein that I may creep ? "-— 
 
 (C 
 
 — " There's nae room at my head, Margret, 
 " There's nae room at my feet, 
 
 " There's no room at my side, Margret, 
 " My coffin is made so meet." — 
 
397 
 
 Then up and crew the red red cock, 
 
 And up then crew the gray : 
 — " Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margret, 
 
 " That I were gane away." — 
 
 No more the Ghost to Margret said. 
 
 But, with a grievous grone, 
 Evanish'd in a cloud of mist, 
 
 And left her all alone. 
 
 — " O stay, my only true love, stay," — 
 The constant Margret cried : 
 
 Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, 
 Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died. 
 
398 
 
 No. XLIX. 
 
 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 
 
 From " Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.' 
 
 In Carleile dwelt King Arthur, 
 
 A prince of passing might ; 
 And there maintain'd his table round, 
 
 Beset with many a knight. 
 
 And there he kept his Christmas 
 With mirth and princely cheare, 
 
 When, lo ! a straunge and cunning boy 
 Before him did appeare. 
 
 A kirtle, and a mantle, 
 
 This boy had him upon, 
 With brooches, rings, and owches, 
 
 Full daintily bedone. 
 
399 
 
 He had a sarke of silk 
 
 About his middle meet ; 
 And thus, with seemely curtesy, 
 
 He did King Arthur greett 
 
 — " God speed thee, brave King Arthur, 
 " Thus feasting in thy bowre ; 
 
 " And Guenever thy goodly Queen, 
 " That fair and peerlesse flovvre. 
 
 " Ye gallant Lords, and Lordings, 
 
 V I wish you all take heed, 
 •• Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose 
 
 •' Should prove a cankred weed." — 
 
 Then straitway from his bosome 
 
 A little wand he drew ; 
 And with it eke a mantle 
 
 Of wondrous shape, and hew. 
 
 — " Now have thou here, King Arthur, 
 
 ' • Have this here of mee, 
 " And give unto thy comely Queen, 
 
 " All-shapen as you see. 
 
400 
 
 " No wife it shall become, 
 
 " That once hath been to blame." — 
 Then every Knight in Arthur's court 
 
 Slye glaunced at his dame. 
 
 And first came lady Guenever, 
 
 The mantle she must trye. 
 This dame, she was new-fangled, 
 
 And of a roving eye. 
 
 When she had tane the mantle, 
 
 And all was with it cladde, 
 From top to toe it shiver'd down, 
 
 As tho' with sheers beshradde. 
 
 One while it was too long, 
 
 Another while too short, 
 And wrinkled on her shoulders 
 
 In most unseemly sort. 
 
 Now green, now red it seemed, 
 
 Then all of sable hue. 
 — " Beshrew me," quoth King Arthur, 
 
 " I think thou beest not true." — 
 
401 
 
 Down she threw the mantle, 
 
 Ne longer would not stay ; 
 But storming like a fury, 
 
 To her. chamber flung away. 
 
 She curst the whoreson weaver, 
 
 That had the mantle wrought : 
 And doubly curst the froward impe, 
 
 Who thither it had brought. 
 
 — " I had rather live in desarts 
 
 " Beneath the green-wood tree, 
 *• Than here, base King, among thy groomes, 
 
 " The sport of them and thee." — 
 
 Sir Kay call'd forth his Lady, 
 
 And bade her to come near • 
 — " Yet dame, if thou be guilty, 
 
 " I pray thee now forbear." — • 
 
 This lady pertly gigling* 
 
 With forward step came on, 
 And boldly to the little boy 
 
 With fearless face is gone. 
 d d 
 
402 
 
 When she had tane the mantle, 
 With purpose for to wear : 
 
 It shrunk up to her shoulder, 
 And left her b — side bare. 
 
 Then every merry knight, 
 That was in Arthur's court, 
 
 Gibed, and laught, and flouted, 
 To see that pleasant sport. 
 
 Downe she threw the mantle, 
 
 No longer bold or gay, 
 But with a face all pale and wan, 
 
 To her chamber slunk away. 
 
 Then forth came an old knight, 
 A pattering o'er his creed ; 
 
 And proffer'd to the little boy 
 Five nobles to his meed ; 
 
 — " And all the time of Christmass 
 " Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 
 
 " If thou wilt let my lady fair 
 " Within the mantle shine." — 
 
403 
 
 A saint his lady seemed, 
 
 With step demure, and slow, 
 
 And gravely to the mantle 
 With mincing pace doth goe. 
 
 When she the same had taken, 
 That was so fine and thin, 
 
 It shrivell'd all about her, 
 And show'd her dainty skin. 
 
 Ah ! little did her mincing, 
 Or his long prayers bestead ; 
 
 She had no more hung on her . 
 Than a tassel and a thread. 
 
 Down she threwe the mantle, 
 With terror and dismay, 
 
 And, with a face of scarlet, 
 To her chamber hyed away. 
 
 Sir Cradock call'd his lady, 
 And bade her to come neare : 
 
 — " Come win this mantle, lady, 
 " And do me credit here. 
 
 D d2 
 
404 
 
 " Come win this mantle, lady, 
 " For now it shall be thine, 
 
 " If thou hast never done amiss, 
 " Sith first I made thee mine." — 
 
 The lady gently blushing, 
 With modest grace came on, 
 
 And now to trye the wond'rous charm 
 Courageously is gone. 
 
 When she had tane the mantle, 
 
 And put it on her backe, 
 About the hem it seemed 
 
 To wrinkle and to cracke. 
 
 — " Lye still, she cried, O mantle ! 
 
 " And shame me not for nought, 
 " I'll freely own whate'er amiss, 
 
 " Or blameful 1 have wrought. 
 
 " Once I kist Sir Cradocke 
 
 ' ' Beneath^ the green wood tree : 
 
 " Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 
 " Before he married mee." — 
 
405 
 
 When thus she had her shriven, 
 
 And her worst fault had told, 
 The mantle soon became her 
 
 Right comely as it shold. 
 
 Most rich and fair of colour, 
 
 Like gold it glittering shone : 
 And much the knights in Arthur's court 
 
 Admir'd her every one. 
 
 Then towards King Arthur's table 
 
 The boy he turn'd his eye : 
 Where stood a boar's-head garnished 
 
 With bayes and rosemarye. 
 
 When thrice he o'er the boar's head 
 
 His little wand had drawne, 
 Quoth he, — " There's never a cuckold's knife 
 
 " Can carve this head of brawne." — 
 
 Then some their whittles rubb'd 
 
 On whetstone, and on hone : 
 Some threwe them under the table. 
 
 And swore that they had none. 
 
406 
 
 Sir Cradock had a little knife 
 
 Of steel and iron made ; 
 And in an instant through the skull 
 
 He thrust the shining blade. 
 
 He thrust the shining blade 
 
 Full easily and fast : 
 And every knight in Arthur's court 
 
 A morsel had to taste. 
 
 The boy brought forth a home, 
 
 All golden was the rim : 
 Said he, — " No cuckolde ever can 
 
 " Set mouth unto the brim. 
 
 " No cuckold can this little home 
 " Lift fairly to his head ; 
 
 " But or on this, or that side, 
 " He shall the liquor shed." — 
 
 Some shed it on their shoulder, 
 Some shed it on their thigh ; 
 
 And hee that could not hit his mouth, 
 Was sure to hit his eye. 
 
407 
 
 Thus he that was a cuckold, 
 
 Was known of every man : 
 But Cradock lifted easily, 
 
 And wan the golden can. 
 
 Thus boar's head, horn, and mantle, 
 Were this fair couple's meed : 
 
 And all such constant lovers, 
 God send diem well to speed. 
 
 Then down in rage came Guenever, 
 And thus could spightful say, 
 
 — " Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully 
 " Hath borne the prize away. 
 
 " See yonder shameless woman, 
 " That makes herselfe so clean : 
 
 " Yet from her pillow taken 
 
 " Thrice five gallants have been. 
 
 " Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 
 " Have her lewd pillow prest : 
 
 " Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth 
 " Must beare from all the rest." — 
 
408 
 
 Then bespake the little boy, 
 Who had the same in hold : 
 
 — " Chastize thy wife, King Arthur, 
 " Of speech she is too bold : 
 
 " Of speech she is too bold, 
 " Of carriage all too free; 
 
 " Sir King, she hath within thy hall 
 " A cuckold made of thee. 
 
 " All frolick light and wanton 
 " She hath her carriage borne : 
 
 '* And given thee for a kingly crown 
 " To wear a cuckold's home." — 
 
409 
 
 No. L. 
 
 ST. PATRICK'S PURGATORY. 
 
 In the Reliquesof Ancient Poetry, is the following — " Owaine Myles is 
 a Ballad, giving an account of the wonders of St. Patrick's Purgatory. 
 This is a translation into verse, of the story related in Mat. Paris's Hist, 
 sub Ann. 1152." — The version which is here offered to the Public is 
 eoidently modern: I am ignorant of the Author. I think the lQth 
 stanza, in particular, has a great degree of merit. 
 
 — " Now enter in ! " — the Prior cried, 
 — " And God, Sir Ouvain, be your guide 
 
 " Your name shall live in story : 
 " Many there are who reach this shore, 
 "But few who venture to explore 
 
 " St. Patrick's Purgatory." — 
 
 Adown the deep and dark descent 
 With cautious step Sir Ouvain went, 
 
 And many a pray'r he pour'd ; 
 No helm had he, nor guardian crest, 
 No hauberk mail'd the warrior's breast, 
 
 Nor grasp'd he shield or sword. 
 
410 
 
 The earth was moist beneath his tread, 
 The damps fell heavy on his head, 
 
 The air was piercing chill ; 
 And sudden shudd'rings o'er him came, 
 And he could feel through all his frame 
 
 An icy tremor thrill. 
 
 At length a dim and doubtful light 
 Dawn'd welcome on th' advent'rer's sight ; 
 
 Th' advent'rer hasten'd on. 
 And now the warrior's steps attain 
 To where a high and stately fane 
 
 With gem-born radiance shone. 
 
 — " Come, enter here !" — the Warden cried, 
 " And God, oh Pilgrim, be your guide, 
 
 " Since you have reach'd this bourne! 
 " Enter, and take assistance due — 
 " 'Twill then be time to welcome you, 
 
 " If ever you return."- — 
 
 Sir Ouvain pass'd the open gate, 
 The Warden him conducted straight 
 
 To where a coffin lay : 
 The train around in silence stand, 
 With fun'ral torches in their hands, 
 
 That gave a gloomy day. 
 
411 
 
 — " Few pilgrims ever reach this bourne, 
 " Stranger! but fewer still return : 
 
 " Receive assistance due ! 
 " Stranger, a dreadful hour is near : 
 " Cast off all mortal feelings here, 
 
 '.' This coffin is for you. 
 
 " Lie here, while we with pious breath 
 
 " Shall o'er you chaunt the dirge of death, — 
 
 " Best aid that we can give : 
 " The rites that wait the Christian dead 
 ' ' Shall never o^er your corpse be said — 
 
 " Receive them while you live." — 
 
 Sir Ouvain in a shroud was drestj 
 He held the cross upon his breast, 
 
 And down he laid his head ; 
 The funeral train enclos'd him round, 
 And sung with deep and solemn sound 
 
 The service of the dead. 
 
 — " Now, go your way," — the Warden cried, 
 " And God, oh Pilgrim, be your guide ! 
 
 " Commend you to the Lord 1" — 
 Adown the deep and dark descent, 
 With cautious step, the warrior went, 
 
 And many a pray'r he pour'd. 
 
412 
 
 Now deeper grew the dark descent, 
 With timid step Sir Ouvain went — 
 
 'Twas silence all around ; 
 Save his own echoes through the cell, 
 And the thick damps that frequent fell, 
 
 With dull and heavy sound. 
 
 But colder now he felt the cell, 
 Those heavy damps no longer fell, 
 
 .Thin grew the piercing air : 
 And on the advent'rer's aching sight 
 Far rose a pale and feeble light, — 
 
 Th' advent'rer hasten'd there. 
 
 And now at length emerged to light, 
 A frozen desart met his sight, 
 
 A desart waste and wide ; 
 Where rocks of ice piled mountain high, 
 That towered into the sunless sky, 
 
 Appear'd on every side. 
 
 There many a wretch, with deadly fear, 
 Ribb'd in the ice, he saw appear 
 
 Alive in this their tomb ; 
 Sir Ouvain's blood stood still with dread, 
 And then a voice in thunder said, 
 
 — " Retire, or share their doom !" — 
 
413 
 
 Awhile his heart forgot to beat, 
 Then on he urged his falt'ring feet, 
 
 And sought for strength in pray'r; 
 Sudden, a pow'r, whose unseen hand 
 No might of mortal could withstand, 
 
 Upgrasp'd him by the hair ; 
 
 And through the sky resistless swung, 
 And full against an ice-rock flung ; 
 
 The ice encas'd him in : 
 Thus by the arm of Daemon thrown, 
 He felt the crash of ev'ry bone, 
 
 And still he lived within. 
 
 — " Now, mercy Christ!" — the warrior cried, 
 Instant the rocks of ice divide, 
 
 And ev'ry pain was gone; 
 He felt new life in ev'ry limb, 
 And raised to heav'n the grateful hymn, 
 
 And fearless hasten'd on. 
 
 New fears, new dangers doom'd to meet, 
 For now a close and piercing heat 
 
 Relax'd each loosen'd limb ; 
 The sweat roll'd out from every part, 
 In short quick beatings toil'd his heart, 
 
 His throbbing eyes grew dim. 
 
414 
 
 For through the wide and wasted land 
 A stream of fire, through banks of sand, 
 
 Its burning billows spread ; 
 The vapours, tremulously light, 
 Hung quiv'ring o'er the glowing white, 
 
 The air he breath'd was red. 
 
 Beyond a stately well arose, — 
 He saw its crystal sides disclose 
 
 Green fields and shady trees, 
 And running waters cool and clear, 
 Whose murmurs reach'd his tortured ear, 
 
 Born on the fiery breeze. 
 
 A voice in thunder cried — " Retire !" — 
 He look'd, and lo, a form of fire ! 
 
 — " Return !" — the Daemon said. 
 His soul grew sick with deep alarm, 
 The Fiend reach'd out his burning arm, 
 
 And touch'd Sir Ouvain's head. 
 
 Sir Ouvain shriek'd — for then he felt 
 His eye-balls burn, his marrow melt, 
 
 His brain as liquid lead : 
 And from his heart the boiling blood 
 Roll'd fast an agonizing flood, 
 
 Through limbs like iron red. 
 
415 
 
 The anguish brought a brief despair, 
 Then mindful of the aid of pray'r, 
 
 He calld on Christ again ; 
 Instant the gales of Eden came, 
 At once they quench'd th' infernal flame, 
 
 And heal'd each scorching vein. 
 
 To him, relieved from all his woes, 
 The adamantine gates unclose, 
 
 Free entrance there was giv'n; 
 And songs of triumph met his ear, 
 Enrapt Sir Ouvain seem'd to hear 
 
 The harmonies of heav'n. 
 
 — " Welcome to this, the bless'd retreat, 
 «' Thou who hast pass'd, with fearless feet, 
 
 " St. Patrick's Purgatory; 
 " For after death these seats divine, 
 •' Reward eternal shall be thine, 
 
 " And thine eternal glory." — 
 
 Inebriate with the deep delight, 
 
 Dim grew Sir Ouvaiu's swimming sight, 
 
 His senses died away ; 
 To life again revived, before 
 The entrance of the cave once, more 
 
 He saw the light of day. 
 
416 
 
 No. LI. 
 
 THE CINDER KING. 
 
 The following was sent me anonymously ; the Reader will of course observe, 
 that it is a burlesque imitation of the ballads of " the Erl-King," and 
 " the Cloud-King."— 
 
 " Who is it that sits in the kitchen, and weeps, 
 " While tick goes the clock, and the tabby -cat sleeps; 
 " That watches the grate, without ceasing to spy, 
 " Whether purses or coffins will out of it fly ?" — 
 
 'Tis Betty ; who saw the false tailor, Bob Scott, 
 Lead a bride to the altar ; which bride she was not : 
 'Tis Betty ; determined, love from her to fling, 
 And woo, for his riches, the dark Cinder-King. 
 
 Now spent tallow-candle-grease fatten'd the soil, 
 And the blue-burning lamp had half wasted its oil, 
 And the black-beetle boldly came crawling from far, 
 And the red coals were sinking beneath the third bar ; 
 
417 
 
 When, " one" struck the clock — and instead of the bird 
 Who used to sing cuckoo whene'er the clock stirr'd, 
 Out burst a grim raven, and utter' d " caw ! caw !" 
 While puss, though she 'woke, durst not put forth a claw. 
 
 Then the jack fell a-going as if one should sup, 
 
 Then the hearth rock'd as though it would swallow one up; 
 
 With fuel from hell, a strange coal-skuttle came, 
 
 And a self-handled poker made fearful the flame. 
 
 A cinder shot from it, of size to amaze, 
 (With a bounce, such as Betty ne'er heard in her days,) 
 Thrice, serpent-like, hiss'd, as its heat fled away, 
 And lo ! something dark in a vast coffin lay. 
 
 — " Come Betty !" — quoth croaking that non-descript thing, 
 — " Come bless the fond arms of your true Cinder-king! 
 '* Three more Kings, my brothers, are waiting to greet ye, 
 " Who, — don't take it ill ! — must at four o'clock eat ye. 
 
 " My darling ! it must be, do make up your mind ; 
 " We element brothers, united, and kind, 
 " Have a feast and a wedding, each night of our lives, 
 " So constantly sup on each other's new wives." — 
 
 Ee 
 
418 
 
 In vain squall'd the cook-maid, and pray'd not to wed; 
 Cinder craunch'd in her mouth, cinder rain'd on her head. 
 She sank in the coffin with cinders strewn o'er, 
 And coffin nor Betty saw man any more. 
 
419 
 
 No. LII. 
 
 THE BLEEDING NUN. 
 
 I am not at liberty to publish the name of the author of this Ballad: 
 it is founded on the fourth chapter of the Romance of IK Ambrosio, 
 or the Monk." 
 
 Where yon proud turrets crown the rock, 
 
 Seest thou a warrior stand ? 
 He sighs to hear the castle clock 
 
 Say midnight is at hand. 
 
 It strikes, and now his lady fair 
 Comes tripping from her hall, 
 
 Her heart is rent by deep despair, 
 And tears in torrents fall. 
 
 — " Ah! woe is me," my love, she cried, 
 " What anguish wrings my heart : 
 
 " Ah ! woe is me," she said, and sigh'd, 
 " We must for ever part. 
 Keg 
 
420 
 
 " Know, ere three days are past and flown, 
 " (Tears choak the piteous tale !) 
 
 " A parents vow, till now unknown, 
 " Devotes me to the veil." — 
 
 — " Not so, my Agnes !" Raymond cried, 
 
 ■ ' For leave thee will I never ; 
 " Thou art mine, and I am thine, 
 
 " Body and soul for ever! 
 
 " Then quit thy cruel father's bower, 
 " And fly, my love, with me." — 
 
 — •* Ah ! how can I escape his power, 
 " Or who can set me free. 
 
 " I cannot leap yon wall so high, 
 " Nor swim the fosse with thee ; 
 
 *' I can but wring my hands, and sigh 
 " That none can set me free." — 
 
 — " Now list, my lady, list, my love, 
 
 " I pray thee list to me, 
 ? ' For I can all your fears remove, 
 
 " And I can set you free. 
 
421 
 
 " Oft have you heard old Ellinore, 
 
 " Your nurse, with horror tell, 
 " How, robed in white, and stain'd with gore, 
 
 " Appears a spectre fell, 
 
 " And each fifth year, at dead of night, 
 
 " Stalks through the castle gate, 
 •* Which, by an ancient solemn rite, 
 
 '* For her must open wait. 
 
 " Soon as to some far distant land, 
 
 " Retires to-morrow's sun, 
 " With torch and dagger in her hand, 
 
 " Appears the Bleeding Nun. 
 
 " Now you shall play the bleeding Nun, 
 
 " Array 'd in robes so white, 
 *« And at the solemn hour of one, 
 
 " Stalk forth to meet your knight. 
 
 " Our steeds shall bear us far away, 
 " Beyond your father's power, ■ 
 
 " And Agnes, long ere break of day, 
 " Shall rest in Raymond's bower." — 
 
422 
 
 — " My heart consents, it must be done, 
 — " Father, 'tis your decree, — 
 
 " And I will play the Bleeding Nun, 
 " And fly, my love, with thee. 
 
 " For I am thine," fair Agnes cried, 
 " And leave thee will I never; 
 
 " I am thine, and thou art mine, 
 " Body and soul for ever 1" — 
 
 Fair Agnes sat within her bower, 
 
 Array'd in robes so white, 
 And waited the long wish'd-for hour, 
 
 When she should meet her knight. 
 
 And Raymond, as the clock struck one, 
 
 Before the castle stood ; 
 And soon came forth his lovely Nun, 
 
 Her white robes stain d in blood. 
 
 He bore her in his arms away, 
 And placed her on her steed ; 
 
 And to the maid he thus did say, 
 As on they rode with speed : 
 
423 
 
 — " Oh Agnes ! Agnes ! thou art mine, 
 
 " And leave thee will I never ; 
 " Thou art mine, and I am thine, 
 
 " Body and soul for ever !" — 
 
 — " Oh Raymond ! Raymond, I am thine, 
 
 ' ' And leave thee will I never ; 
 " I am thine, and thou art mine, 
 
 " Body and soul for ever !" — 
 
 At length, — " We're safe !" — the warrior cried ; 
 
 " Sweet love abate thy speed ;"•— 
 But madly still she onwards hied 
 
 Nor seem'd his call to heed. 
 
 Through wood and wild, they speed their way, 
 
 Then sweep along the plain, 
 And almost at the break of day, 
 
 The Danube's banks they gain. 
 
 — " Now stop ye, Raymond, stop ye here, 
 
 " And view the farther side; 
 " Dismount, and say Sir Knight, do'st fear, 
 
 " With me to stem the tide." — 
 
424 
 
 Now on the utmost brink they stand, 
 
 And gaze upon the flood, 
 She seized Don Raymond by the hand, 
 
 Her grasp it froze his blood. 
 
 A whirling blast from off the stream 
 
 Threw back the maiden's veil ; 
 Don Raymond gave a hideous scream, 
 
 And felt his spirits fail. 
 
 Then down his limbs, in strange affright, 
 
 Cold dews to pour begun ; 
 No Agnes met his shudd'ring sight, 
 
 — " God ! 'Tis the Bleeding Nun !"— 
 
 A form of more than mortal size, 
 
 All ghastly, pale, and dead, 
 Fix'd on the Knight her livid eyes, 
 
 And thus the Spectre said. 
 
 — "■ Oh Raymond ! Raymond ! I am thine, 
 
 ' ' And leave thee will I never ; 
 cc I am thine, and thou art mine, 
 
 " Body and soul for ever!" — 
 
425 
 
 Don Raymond shrieks, he faints ; the blood 
 
 Ran cold in every vein, 
 He sank into the roaring flood , 
 
 And 
 
 never rose a 
 
 gain 
 
426 
 
 No. LIII. 
 THE MAID OF THE MOOR, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE WATER FIENDS. 
 
 G. COLMAN, JUN. 
 
 This Tale, which is unavoidably misplaced, should have formed No. XXXVI. 
 
 On a wild moor, all brown and bleak, 
 
 Wbere broods the heath frequenting growse, 
 
 There stood a tenement antique, 
 
 Lord Hoppergollop's country house. 
 
 Here silence reign 1 d with lips of glue, 
 
 And undisturb'd maintain'd her law ; 
 Save when the owl, cried — " whoo ! whoo ! whoo !"— 
 
 Or the hoarse crow, croak'd — " caw ! caw ! caw!"— 
 
 Neglected mansion ! for 'tis said, 
 
 Whene'er the snow came feathering down, 
 
 Four barbed steeds, from the Bull's-head, 
 Carried thy master up to town. 
 
427 
 
 Weak Hoppergollop ! Lords may moan, 
 Who stake in London their estate, 
 
 On two small rattling bits of bone, 
 On little figure, or on great. 
 
 Swift whirl the wheels, — he's gone ; — a Rose 
 Remains behind, whose virgin look, 
 
 Unseen, must blush in wint'ry snows ; 
 
 Sweet beauteous blossom ! 'twas the Cook ! 
 
 A bolder, far, than my weak note, 
 
 Maid of the Moor ! thy charms demand : 
 
 Eels might be proud to lose their coat, 
 If skinn'd by Molly Dumpling's hand. 
 
 Long had the fair one sat alone, 
 
 Had none remain'd, save only she ; 
 
 She by herself had been, if one 
 Had not been left, for company. 
 
 'Twas a tall youth, whose cheek's clear hue 
 Was tinged with health and manly toil ; 
 
 Cabbage he sow'd, and when it grew, 
 He always cut it off to boil. 
 
428 
 
 Oft would he cry, — " Delve, delve the hole I 
 " And prune the tree, and trim the root I 
 
 " And stick the wig upon the pole, 
 
 " To scare the sparrows from the fruit !*' — 
 
 A small mute favourite by day 
 
 Follow'd his steps ; where'er he wheels 
 
 His barrow round the garden gay, 
 A bob-tail cur is at his heels. 
 
 Ah man ! the brute creation see, 
 
 Thy constancy oft need to spur ! 
 While lessons of fidelity, 
 
 Are found in every bob-tail cur. 
 
 Hard toil'd the youth, so fresh and strong, 
 While Bob-tail in his face would look, 
 
 And mark'd his master troll the song, 
 
 — " Sweet Molly Dumpling ! O, thou Cook !'- 
 
 For thus he sung : while Cupid smiled, 
 Pleased that the Gard'ner own'd his dart ; 
 
 Which pruned his passions, running wild, 
 And grafted true-love on his heart. 
 
429 
 
 Maid of the Moor, his love return ! 
 
 True love ne'er tints the cheek with shame; 
 When gard'ners' hearts, like hot-beds burn, 
 
 A cook may surely feed the flame. 
 
 Ah ! not averse from love was she ; 
 
 Though pure as heaven's snowy flake ; 
 Both loved ; and though a Gard'ner he, 
 
 He knew not what it was to rake. 
 
 Cold blows the blast, the night's obscure : 
 The mansion's crazy wainscots crack, 
 
 The sun had sunk, and all the moor, 
 Like ev'ry other moor, was black. 
 
 Alone, pale, trembling, near the fire, 
 The lovely Molly Dumplino- sat; 
 
 Much did she fear, and much admire, 
 What Thomas gard'ner could be at. 
 
 Listening, her hand supports her chin, 
 But ah ! no foot is heard to stir ; 
 
 He comes not from the garden in, 
 Nor he, nor little bob'tail cur. 
 
430 
 
 They cannot come, sweet Maid, to thee; 
 
 Flesh, both of cur and man, is grass : 
 And what's impossible can't be, 
 
 And never, never, comes to pass ! 
 
 She paces through the hall antique, 
 To call her Thomas, from his toil ; 
 
 Opes the huge door : the hinges creak, 
 Because the hinges wanted oil. 
 
 Thrice on the threshold of the hall, 
 
 She — " Thomas" — cried with many a sob; 
 
 And thrice on Bob-tail did she call, 
 
 Exclaiming sweetly — " Bob! Bob ! Bob!" 
 
 Vain Maid ! a gard'ner's corpse, 'tis said, 
 
 In answers can but ill succeed ; 
 And dogs that hear, when they are dead,, 
 
 Are very cunning dogs indeed ! 
 
 Back through the hall she bent her way, 
 
 All, all was solitude around ; 
 The candle shed a feeble ray, 
 
 Though a large mould of four to the pound. 
 

 431 
 
 Full closely to the fire she drew, 
 
 A down her cheek a salt tear stole ; 
 When, lo ! a coffin out there flew, 
 
 And in her apron burnt a hole. 
 
 Spiders their busy death-watch tick'd ; 
 
 A certain sign that fate will frown; 
 The clumsy kitchen clock, too, chick'd, 
 
 A certain sign it was not down. 
 
 More strong, and strong, her terrors rose, 
 
 Her shadow did the maid appall ; 
 She trembled at her lovely nose, 
 
 It look'd so long against the wall. 
 
 Up to her chamber damp and cold, 
 
 She climb'd Lord Hoppergollop's stair, 
 
 Three stories high, long, dull, and old, 
 As great Lords' stories often are. 
 
 All nature now appear 'd to pause ; 
 
 And — " o'er the one half world seem'd dead;"- 
 No — " curtain'd sleep," — had she; because 
 
 She had no curtains to her bed. 
 
432 
 
 Listening she lay ; with iron din, 
 
 The clock struck twelve, the door flew wide, 
 When Thomas grimly glided in, 
 
 With little Bob-tail by his side. 
 
 Tall like the poplar was his size, 
 
 Green, green his waistcoast was, as leeks; 
 Red, red as beet-root, were his eyes, 
 
 And pale as turnips were his cheeks ! 
 
 Soon as the spectre she espied, 
 
 The fear-struck damsel, faintly said, 
 
 — " What would my Thomas?" — he replied, 
 — '* Oh ! Molly Dumpling, I am dead ! 
 
 V All in the flower of youth I fell, 
 
 " Cut off with healthful blossom crown'd; 
 
 *' I was not ill, but in a well, 
 
 ** I tumbled backwards, and was drown'd. 
 
 " Four fathom deep thy love doth lie, 
 " His faithful dog his fate doth share ; 
 
 " We're fiends ; this is not he and I, 
 " We are not here, for we are there. 
 
433 
 
 "Yes ! two foul water-fiends are we; 
 
 " Maid of the Moor, attend us now ! 
 11 Thy hour 's at hand, we come for thee !" — 
 
 The little fiend-cur said, — " bow ! wow!" — 
 
 '• To wind her in her cold, cold grave, 
 " A Holland sheet a maiden likes, 
 
 *• A sheet of water, thou shalt have ; 
 
 " Such sheets there are in Holland dykes." — 
 
 The fiends approach ; the Maid did shrink, 
 Swift through the night's foul air they spin, 
 
 They took her to the green well's brink, 
 And, with a souse, they plumpM her in. 
 
 So true the fair, so true the youth, 
 Maids, to this day, their story tell, 
 
 And hence the proverb rose, that truth 
 Lies in the bottom of a well. 
 
 F f 
 
434 
 
 No. LIV. 
 
 THE 
 
 LAIDLEY * WORM OF SPINDLESTONE HEUGHS. 
 
 I have seen another version of this story, with some variations, under the 
 title of Kempion ; the one, which I here insert, in my opinion, is by far 
 the best of the two. It is taken from the 3d volume of" Evans's Old 
 Ballads." 
 
 The King is gone from Bamborough castle : 
 Long may the Princess mourn, 
 
 Long may she stand on the castle wall, 
 Looking for his return. 
 
 o 
 
 She has knotted the keys upon a string, 
 And with her she has them ta'en ; 
 
 She has cast them o'er her left shoulder, 
 And to the gate she is gane. 
 
 * This is a northern corruption for loathly, i. e. loathsome ; worm 
 means serpent. 
 
435 
 
 She tripped out, she tripped in, 
 
 She tript into the yard ; 
 But it was more for the King's sake, 
 
 Than for the Queen's regard. 
 
 It fell out on a day, the King 
 
 Brought the Queen Avith him home ; 
 
 And all the lords in our country 
 To welcome them did come, 
 
 ; — " Oh ! welcome father," the lady cries, 
 " Unto your halls and bowers ; 
 
 *' And so are you, my step-mother, 
 " For all that is here is yours." — 
 
 A lord said, wond'ring while she spake, 
 — *' This Princess of the north, 
 
 " Surpasses all of female kind, 
 " In beauty and in worth." — 
 
 The envious Queen replied, — \* at least 
 " You might have excepted me ; 
 
 ** In a few hours I will her bring;, 
 " Down to a low degree. 
 
 o 
 Ff 2 
 
436 
 
 " I will liken her to a laidley worm, 
 
 " That warps about the stone, 
 " And not, till Childy Wynd* comes back, 
 
 " Shall she again be won." — 
 
 The Princess stood at her bovver door, 
 Laughing : who could her blame ? 
 
 But e'er the next day's sun went down, 
 A long worm she became. 
 
 For seven miles east, and seven miles west, 
 And seven miles north and south, 
 
 No blade of grass or corn could grow, 
 So venemous was her mouth. 
 
 The milk of seven stately cows, 
 
 (It was costly her to keep,) 
 Was brought her daily, which she drank 
 
 Before she went to sleep. 
 
 At this day may be seen the cave, 
 
 Which held her folded up, 
 And the stone trough, the very same, 
 
 Out of which she did sup. 
 
 * There is now a street called the Wynd, at Bamborough. 
 
437 
 
 Word went east, and word went west, 
 And word is gone over the sea, 
 
 That a laidley worm in Spindleston Heughs 
 Would ruin the north country. 
 
 Word went east, and word went west, 
 
 And over the sea did go ; 
 The Child of Wynd got wit of it, 
 
 Which filled his heart with woe. 
 
 He called straight his merry men all, 
 
 They thirty were and three ; 
 — " I wish I were at Spindleston, 
 
 " This desperate worm to see. 
 
 " We have no time now here to waste, 
 
 ' • Hence quickly let us sail ; 
 ", My only sister Margaret 
 
 " Something I fear doth ail." — 
 
 They built a ship without delay, 
 
 With masts of the rown tree,* 
 With fluttering sails of silk so fine, 
 
 And set her on the sea. 
 
 * Mountain ash. 
 
438 
 
 They went aboard : the wind with speed 
 
 Blew them along the deep ; 
 At length they spied an huge square tower 
 
 On a rock high and steep. 
 
 The sea was smooth, the weather clear ; 
 
 When they approached nigher, 
 King Ida's castle they well knew, 
 
 And the banks of Bamboroughshire. 
 
 The Queen look'd out at bower window, 
 
 To see what she could see ; 
 There she espied a gallant ship 
 
 Sailing upon the sea. 
 
 When she beheld the silken sails 
 
 Full glancing in the sun, 
 To sink the ship she sent away 
 
 Her witch-wives every one. 
 
 Their spells were vain. The hags return'd 
 To the Queen in sorrowful mood, 
 
 Crying, that witches have no power 
 Where there is rown-tree wood. 
 
439 
 
 Her last effort — she sent a boat, 
 
 Which in the haven lay, 
 With armed men to board the ship ; 
 
 But they were driven away. 
 
 The worm leapt up, the worm leapt down, 
 
 She plaited round the stone ; 
 And as the ship came to the land, 
 
 She bang'd it off again. 
 
 The Child then ran out of her reach, 
 
 The ship on Budle sand, 
 And, jumping into the shallow sea, 
 
 Securely got to land. 
 
 And now he drew his bonny brown sword, 
 
 And laid it on her head, 
 And swore if she did hasten to him, 
 
 That he would strike her dead. 
 
 — " ! quit thy sword, and bend thy bow, 
 
 " And give me kisses three ; 
 " For though I am a pois'nous worm, 
 
 ' • No hurt will I do to thee. 
 
440 
 
 " Oh ! quit thy sword and bend thy bow, 
 
 " And give me kisses three ; 
 " If I am not won e'er the sun go down, 
 
 " Won I shall never be." — 
 
 He quitted his sword, he bent his bow, 
 
 He gave her kisses three ; 
 She crept into a hole a worm, 
 
 But stept out a lady. 
 
 No cloathing had this lady fine 
 
 To keep her from the cold ; 
 He took his mantle from him about, 
 
 And round her did it fold. 
 
 He has his mantle from him about 
 
 And it he wrapt her in ; 
 And they are up to Bamborough castle 
 
 As fast as they can win. 
 
 His absence and her serpent shape 
 The King had long deplor'd, 
 
 He now rejoic'd to see them both 
 Again to him restor'd. 
 
441 
 
 The Queen they wanted, whom they found, 
 
 All pale and sore afraid ; 
 Because she knew her power must yield 
 
 To Childy Wynd's; who said, 
 
 — " Woe be to thee, thou wicked witch, 
 *' An ill death may'st thou dee; 
 
 " As thou my sister hast likened, 
 "So likened shalt thou be. 
 
 "I will turn thee into a toad, 
 
 " That on the ground doth wend ; 
 
 " And won and won shalt thou never be, 
 " Till this world hath an end." — 
 
 Now on the sands near Ida's tower, 
 
 She crawls a loathsome toad ; 
 And venom spits on every maid 
 
 She meets upon the road. 
 
 The virgins all of Bamborough town 
 Will swear that they have seen 
 
 This spiteful toad of monstrous size, 
 Whilst walking they have been. 
 
442 
 
 All folks believe, within the shire, 
 
 This story to be true ; 
 And they all run to Spindleston, 
 
 The cave and trough to view. 
 
 This fact now Duncan Frasier 
 
 Of Cheviot sings in rhime ; 
 Lest Bamboroughshire men should forget, 
 
 Some part of it in time. 
 
443 
 
 No. LV. 
 
 MARY'S DREAM. 
 
 The moon had climb'd the highest hill, 
 
 Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
 And from the eastern summit shed, 
 
 Her silver light on tower and tree : 
 When Mary laid her down to sleep, 
 
 Her thoughts on Sandy, far at sea, 
 When soft and low a voice was heard 
 
 Say, — " Mary weep no more for me."- 
 
 She from her pillow gently raised 
 
 Her head, to ask, who there might be ; 
 She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand, 
 
 With visage pale and hollow eye ; 
 — " O ! Mary dear, cold is my clay, 
 
 " It lies beneath a stormy sea; 
 " Far, far from thee, I sleep in death, 
 
 " So Mary weep no more for me. 
 
444 
 
 '• Three stormy nights, and stormy days, 
 
 " We toss'd upon the raging main; 
 " And long we strove our bark to save, 
 
 "But all our striving was in vain : 
 f E'en then when horror chill'd my blood, 
 
 " My heart was fill'd with love for thee; 
 '• The storm is past, and I at rest, 
 
 " So Mary, weep no more for me. 
 
 " O Maiden dear, thyself prepare, 
 
 " We soon shall meet upon that shore, 
 " Where love is free from doubt and care, 
 
 " And thou and 1 shall part no more."— 
 Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled, 
 
 No more of Sandy could she see, 
 But soft the passing spirit said, 
 
 — " Sweet Mary, weep no more for me." 
 
445 
 
 No. LVI. 
 
 CLERK COLVIN. 
 
 Clerk Colvin and his Lady gay, 
 
 They walk'd in yonder garden sheen : 
 
 The girdle round her middle jimp ' 
 Had cost Clerk Colvin crowns fifteen. 
 
 — " Oh hearken well, my wedded Lord, 
 " Oh hearken well to what I say; 
 
 " When ye gae * by the wells of Stane, 
 
 " Beware, ye touch nae well-faced may." 3 — 
 
 — " Oh ! haud 4 your tongue, my Lady gay, 
 " And haud my Lady gay, your din : 
 
 " Did I never yet see a fair Avoman, 
 " But wi' her body I wad sin ?" — 
 
 * Jimp, stays. * Gae, go. 3 May, maiden. * Haud, hold. 
 
446 
 
 Then he's rode on frae his lady fair, 
 Nought reeking what that lady said, 
 
 And he 's rode by the wells of Stane, 
 Where washing was a bonnie maid. 
 
 4 ' Wash on ! Wash on ! my bonnie may ! 
 
 44 Sae clean ye wash your sark * of silk." — 
 " And weel fa you, a fair gentle knight, 
 
 " Whose skin is whiter far than milk !" — 
 
 He has ta'en her by the lilly hand, 
 
 He has ta'en her by the grass-green sleeve, 
 
 And thrice has pried her bonnie mou, ' 
 Nor of his lady speered he leave. * 
 
 Soon as his mouth her lip had press'd, 
 
 His heart was fill'd with doubt and dread ; 
 — " Ohan '. and alas!" Clerk Colvin says, 
 
 •« Ohan, and alas ! What pains my head ?" — 
 
 — " Sir Knight, now take your little penknife, 
 ' ' And frae my sark ye 's cut a gare ; s 
 
 * Sark, shift. * Weel fa you, good luck to you. 
 
 1 Pried ha- mou, kiss'd her mouth. * Speered he leave, asked her leave, 
 5 Gare, a piece. 
 
447 
 
 " Row * that around your face so pale, 
 
 " And o' the pain ye' 11 feel na mair." * — ■ 
 
 Syne 3 out has he ta'en his little penknife, 
 
 And frae her sark he cut a gare, 
 He row'd it around his face so pale, 
 
 But the pain increased still mair and mair. 
 
 Then out, and spake the knight again, 
 
 — " Alas ! more sairly throbs my head !"- 
 
 And merrily did the mermaid laugh, 
 
 — " 'Twill ever be wae, * till ye be dead !" 
 
 He has drawn out his trusty blade, 
 All for to kill her where she stood, 
 
 But she was changed to a monstrous fish, 
 And quickly sprang into the flood. 
 
 He has mounted on his berry-brown steed, 
 And dowie, 5 dowie, on he rides, 
 
 Till he has reach'd Dunallan's towers, 
 And there his mother dear resides. 
 
 * Row, wrap. * Na mair, no more. ? Syne, then. 
 
 4 Be wae, be painful. 3 Dowie, swiftly. 
 
448 
 
 — " Oh ! mother, mother, make my bed, 
 " And lay me down, my fair la-dye ; 
 
 " And brother dear, unbend my bow, 
 "'Twill never more be bent by me !" — 
 
 His mother, she has made his bed, 
 
 She has laid him down, his fair la-dye ; 
 
 His brother has unbent his bow, 
 
 And death has closed Clerk Colvin's ee ! * 
 
 "JSe, eye. 
 
 There is a great resemblance between this old Scotch Ballad, and the 
 Danish tradition, of " the Erl-King's Daughter." 
 
449 
 
 No. LVI. 
 
 WILLY'S LADY 
 
 Willy's gone over the salt sea foam, 
 
 He has married a wife, and brought her home ; 
 
 He wooed her for her yellow hair, 
 
 But his mither wrought her mickle care ; 
 
 And mickle dolour suffers she, 
 
 For lighter* she can never be ; 
 
 But in her bour she sits wi' pain, 
 
 And Willy mourns over her in vain. 
 
 Then to his mither he speaks his mind, 
 
 That vile rank witch of foulest kind : 
 
 He says — " my ladye has a cup, 
 
 '* With gold, and silver all set up, 
 
 '■' The handles are of the ivory bones, 
 
 " And all set round wi' sparkling stones; 
 
 " This gudely gift, she'll give to thee, 
 
 •■ If of her young bairn, she may lighter be." — 
 
 * i. e. Brought to bed. 
 Gg 
 
450 
 
 — *• Of her young bairn shall she never be lighter, 
 
 " Nor in her hour to shine the brighter, 
 
 " But she shall die, and turn to clay, 
 
 " And you shall wed another may.*" — 
 
 — " Another may I'll never wed, 
 
 " Another may, I'll never bed 1" — 
 
 Then sorely did that lady sigh, 
 
 — " 1 wish my hour of death were nigh ! 
 
 " Yet speak ye again to your mither your mind, 
 
 " That foul rank witch of cruel kind, 
 
 " And say your lady has a steed, 
 
 " The like of him 's not in the land of Leed ; 
 
 " Of that horse's main at every tress, 
 
 " There's a silver bell and a golden jess; 
 
 " This gudely gift I'll give her with glee, 
 
 " If of my young bairn I may lighter be."— 
 
 — " Of her young bairn shall she never be lighter, 
 
 '• Nor in her bour to shine the brighter ; 
 
 " But she shall die and turn to clay, 
 
 "And you shall wed another may." — 
 
 — " Another may I'll never wed, 
 
 " Another may I'll never bed !" — 
 
 Then evermore sigh'd that ladye bright, 
 
 — " I wish my day had reach'd its night." — 
 
451 
 
 With that arose the Billy Blynde, * 
 And in good tyme spake he his mind, 
 — " Yet gae ye to the market place, 
 ' And there buy ye a loaf of wace, t 
 ' Shape it bairn ly-like, to view, 
 ' Stick in't twa glassy een of blue, 
 ' Then bid the witch the christening to, 
 ' And notice well what she shall do." — - 
 
 Then Willy has bought a loaf of wace, 
 
 And framed it to a bairn-like face, 
 
 And says to his mither, with seeming joy, 
 
 — " My lady is lighter of a young boy ; 
 
 " And he'll in St. Mary's be christen'd to-night, 
 
 " And you to the christ'ning I come to invite. "— 
 
 Syne has he stopped a little to see, 
 
 When this she heard, what say might she. 
 
 — " O who has the nine witch knots unty'd, 
 " That were among the locks of your bride ; 
 " Or who has ta'en out the comb of care, 
 •' Which fasten'd that ladye's yellow hair? 
 " And who has ta'en down the bush of woodbine, 
 " That huncr between her bour and mine? 
 
 o 
 * A familiar spirit, or good genius. t Wax. 
 
 Gg2 
 
452 
 
 " And who has kill'd the master-kid, 
 
 " That ran below that ladye's bed ? 
 
 " And who has her left shoe-string undone, 
 
 " And let that lady be light of her son ?" — - 
 
 Then Willy the nine witch knots unty'd, 
 That were among the locks of his bride ; 
 And he has ta'en out the comb of care, 
 Which fasten'd his ladye's yellow hair, 
 And he has ta'en down the woodbine flowers, 
 Which the witch had hung between the bowers ; 
 And he has slain the master-kid, 
 Which ran below that ladye's bed ; 
 And he has the left shoe-string undone, 
 And letten his ladye be light of her son ; 
 But when she heard that his ladye was light, 
 That foul rank witch, she burst for spite ! 
 
453 
 
 No. LVII. 
 
 COURTEOUS KING JAMIE. 
 
 Courteous King Jamie is gone to the wood, 
 
 The fattest buck to find ; 
 He chased the deer, and he chased the roe, 
 
 Till his friends were left behind. 
 
 He hunted over moss and moor, 
 
 And over hill and down, 
 Till he came to a ruined hunting hall 
 
 Was seven miles from a town. 
 
 He entered up the hunting hall, 
 
 To make him goodly cheer, 
 For of all the herds in the good green wood, 
 
 He had slain the fairest deer. 
 
454 
 
 He sat him down, with food and rest 
 
 His courage to restore ; 
 When a rising wind was heard to sigh, 
 
 And an earthquake rock'd the floor. 
 
 And darkness cover'd the hunting hall, 
 
 Where he sat all at his meat ; 
 The grey dogs howling left their food, 
 
 And crept to Jamie's feet. 
 
 And louder howl'd the rising storm, 
 
 And burst the fasten'd door, 
 And in there came a grisly Ghost, 
 
 Loud stamping on the floor. 
 
 Her head touch'd the roof-tree of the house, 
 
 Her waist a child could span ; 
 I wot, the look of her hollow eye 
 
 Would have scared the bravest man. 
 
 Her locks were like snakes, and her teeth like stakes, 
 And her breath had a brimstone smell : 
 
 I nothing know that she seem'd to be, 
 But the Devil just come from Hell ! 
 
455 
 
 — "Some meat! some meat! King Jamie, 
 " Some meat now give to me ;" — 
 
 — " And to what meat in this house, lady, 
 " Shall ye not welcome be?" — 
 
 — " Oh ! ye must kill your berry -brown steed, 
 " And serve him up to me !"— 
 
 King Jamie has kill'd his berry -brown steed, 
 Though it caused him mickle care ; 
 
 The Ghost eat him up both flesh and bone, 
 And left nothing but hoofs and hair. 
 
 — " More meat ! more meat 1 King Jamie, 
 " More meat now give to me ;" — 
 
 — " And to what meat in this house lady, 
 •' Shall ye not welcome be?" — 
 
 — " Oh ! ye must kill your good grey-hounds, 
 »• They'll taste most daintily." — 
 
 King Jamie has kill'd his good grey -hounds, 
 Though it made his heart to fail ; 
 
 The Ghost eat them all up one by one, 
 And left nothincr but ears and tail. 
 
 b 
 
456 
 
 -" Abed! abed! King Jamie, 
 " Now make a bed for me !"— 
 
 -" And to what bed in this house, lady, 
 •• Shall ye not welcome be?" — 
 
 -" Oh ! ye must pull the heather so green, 
 " And make a soft bed for me." — 
 
 King Jamie has pull'd the heather so green, 
 
 And made for the Ghost a bed, 
 And over the heather, with courtesy rare, 
 
 His plaid hath he daintily spread. 
 
 — " Now swear ! now swear ! King Jamie, 
 •• To take me for your bride ;" — 
 
 — " Now heaven forbid !" — King Jamie said, 
 " That ever the like betide, 
 
 " That the Devil so foul, just come from Hell, 
 " Should stretch him by my side." — 
 
 — "Nowfye! now fye ! King Jamie, 
 
 " I swear by the holy tree, 
 " I am no devil, or evil tiling, 
 
 " However foul I be. 
 
457 
 
 *« Then yield ! then yield ! King Jamie, 
 " And take my bridegroom's place, 
 
 " For shame shall light on the dastard knight, 
 " Who refuses a lady's grace." — 
 
 Then quoth King Jamie, with a groan, 
 
 For his heart was big with care, 
 — " It shall never be said, that King Jamie 
 
 " Denied a lady's prayer." — 
 
 So he laid him by the foul thing's side, 
 
 And piteously he moan'd ; 
 She press'd his hand, and he shudder'd ! 
 
 She kiss'd his lips, and he groan'd ! 
 
 When day was come, and night was gone, 
 And the sun shone through the hall ; 
 
 The fairest lady that ever was seen, 
 Lay between him and the wall. 
 
 — •' Oh ! well is me !" King Jamie cried, 
 " How long will your beauty stay?" — 
 
 Then out and spake that lady fair, 
 — " E'en till my dying day. 
 
458 
 
 " For I was witch'd to a ghastly shape, 
 
 " All by my step-dames skill ; 
 " Till I could light on a courteous knight, 
 
 " Who would let me have all my will." — 
 
 I have altered and added so much to this ballad, that I might almost claim 
 it for my own. — It bears a great resemblance to the Tale of " the Ma- 
 nage of Sir Gawain ;" but the stories are related in a manner so totally dif- 
 ferent, that I did not think the resemblance so strong, as to destroy the 
 interest of " King Jamie's adventure." 
 
459 
 
 No LVIII. 
 
 T A M LIN. 
 
 Perhaps so?ne information may be collected from the following extract from 
 the Records of Justiciary in Scotland, respecting the popular superstition 
 on which this ballad is founded. I have made some considerable alterations 
 in the tale itself. — " Alison Pearson, of Byre-hill, confest, that she had 
 " haunted, and repaired, with the gude neighbours, (i. e. Fairies J and the 
 " Queen of Elfland, divers years by past, and that she had friends in that 
 " court, whilk were of her own blade. Item, that it was the gude neigh- 
 " bows, that cured her of her disease, when she was twelve years old, and 
 " that she saw them making their salves, with pans andfyres ; that they 
 "gathered the herbs before the sun was up ; and that Mr. William 
 " Sympson was with him, who was her cousin. When, he was about eight 
 " years of age, he was taken away to Egypt, by an Egyptian, who was a 
 " giant, and with him he remained twelve years, and then came home. He 
 " was a young man, not six years older than herself; and, it was he, who 
 " taught her what herbs were ft to cure every disease, and particularly 
 " taught her to make aposset, which she gave to the Bishop of St. Andrews, 
 " when sick ; and, Mr. William Sympson told her that he had been carried 
 " away by the gude neighbours, and bade her sign herself, that she might 
 " not be taken away for the tiend of them who tire taken to hell every 
 " year."— 
 
 The sole evidence against this poor creature, was her own confession, on the 
 strength ofwhichshe was burned alive, in 1588. 
 
 — " On ! I forbid you, maidens all, 
 " That wear gold in your hair, 
 
 " To come or go by Kerton-hall, 
 " For young Tam Lin, is there ! 
 
460 
 
 " To the maid who goes by Kerton-hall, 
 
 " Some foul trick still is play'd ; 
 " She loses her ring, or her mantle of green, 
 
 " Or returns not thence a maid." — 
 
 Janet has belted her kirtle of green, 
 
 A little above her knee, 
 And she's away to Kerton-hall, 
 
 As fast as go can she. 
 
 And when she came to Kerton-hall, 
 
 Tam Lin was at the well ; 
 There she found his milk-white steed. 
 
 But he was away himsel. 
 
 And near her was a bonny bush 
 
 Of roses, red and white, 
 And tempting did those roses seem, 
 And no one was in sight. 
 
 She pulfd a white, she pull'd a red, 
 
 And ask'd no owner's leave ; 
 When lo ! from the bush sprang young Tam Lin, 
 
 And caught her by the sleeve. 
 
461 
 
 - — " Now Janet, say, who gave to thee, 
 
 " Yon roses in thy hand, 
 " And why comest thou to Kerton-hall, 
 
 " Against my strict command? 
 
 •" Who, stole a rose from young Tam Lin, 
 
 " Its price hath ever paid ; 
 f And the maid who came to Kerton-hall, 
 
 " Never yet returnd a maid." — 
 
 He fix'd on her his witching eye, 
 
 He muttered elfin charms ; 
 Her head grew light, her heart beat quick, 
 
 And she sank into his arms. 
 
 Janet has kilted her kirtle of green, 
 
 A little above her knee, 
 And she's away to her father's tower, 
 
 As fast as go can she. 
 
 Four and twenty ladies fair, 
 
 Were seen to play at ball, 
 And out then came fair Janet once, 
 
 The flower among them all. 
 
462 
 
 Four and twenty ladies fair, 
 
 To play at chess were seen, 
 And out fair Janet came, her face 
 
 As any grass was green. 
 
 Out then spake an old grey knight, 
 
 As he lay on the castle wall, 
 And says — " Alas ! fair Janet, for thee, 
 
 " Shall we now be blamed all." — 
 
 — " Now hold your tongue, ye old grey knight, 
 
 " An ill death may ye see ! 
 " Father my bairn whoever will, 
 
 " I'll father none on thee !" — 
 
 Out then, spake her father dear, 
 
 And he spake so meek and mild ; 
 — " And ever, alas ! sweet Janet," — he says, 
 
 — «' I think thou art with child I" — 
 
 — " If that I be with child, father, 
 
 " Myself must bear the blame ; 
 " There's never a laird about your hall, 
 
 " Shall bear my leman's name. 
 
463 
 
 " But if my love were an earthly knight, 
 
 " As he's an elfin grey, 
 " For never a laird in the land, would I 
 
 "My true-love give away. 
 
 " The steed my true-love rides upon, 
 
 " Is lighter than the wind ; 
 " With silver he is shod before, 
 
 " With burning gold behind." — 
 
 Janet has kilted her kirtle of green, 
 
 A little above her knee, 
 And she's away to Kerton-hall, 
 
 As fast as go can she. 
 
 And first she pull'd a white rose, 
 
 And next she pull'd a red, 
 And then from the bush sprang young Tarn Lin, 
 
 And thus to her he said. 
 
 — " Now Janet, say, who gave to thee 
 
 44 Yon roses in thy hand? 
 " And why comest thou to Kerton-hall 
 
 " Against my strict command ?" — 
 
464 
 
 . — " Oh ! tell me, tell me, Tam Lin, !" she says, 
 
 •' For his sake who died on tree, 
 't Ifever in holy chapel ye were, 
 
 " Or Christendom did see ?"— 
 
 — " My grandsire he was Roxburgh's earl, 
 
 " And loved me passing well ; 
 " Seven years, alasl are nearly gone, 
 
 " In hunting since I fell. 
 
 *' The Queen of Fairies long had watch'd, 
 
 " To work her wayward will, 
 '• She seized, and bore me straight away, 
 
 " To dwell in yon green hill. 
 
 " And pleasant is the fairy land, 
 " But doleful 'tis to tell, 
 That once in every seven years, 
 " We pay a tiend * to hell ; 
 
 ' And I'm so fair, and full of flesh, 
 " I fear, 'twill be mysel ! 
 
 <t 
 
 But the night is Hallow-een, lady, 
 " The morn is Hallow-day; 
 * Tiend, toll. 
 
465 
 
 *' So win me, win me, if you will, 
 " For if you will, you may. 
 
 " Just at the mirk, and midnight hour, 
 
 " The fairy-folk will ride, 
 *' And they, who would their true-loves know, 
 
 " At Miles-cross must abide." — 
 
 — " But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin, 
 
 " Or how my true-love know, 
 *' Among so many stranger knights, 
 
 11 With that rabble rout who go?" — 
 
 — " Oh ! first let pass the black, lady, 
 " And then let pass the brown ; 
 
 *' But quickly run to the milk-white steed, 
 1 ' And draw its rider down. 
 
 •' For I shall ride on the milk-white steed, 
 
 ' ' And be nearest to the town ; 
 " Because I was an earthly knight, 
 
 " They give me that renown. 
 
 " My right hand will be gloved, lady, 
 " My left hand will be bare ; 
 Hh 
 
466 
 
 '* Cockt up shall be my bonnet blue, 
 " Comb'd down my yellow hair; 
 
 " And by these signs I give to thee, 
 " Thou'lt know, that I am there. 
 
 " They'll turn me into a snake in your arms, 
 
 " But hold me fast the rather ; 
 " Grasp me well, and fear me not, 
 
 *' That snake is your child's father. 
 
 *' They'll turn me into a bear so grim, 
 
 " And into a tyger wild ; 
 " But hold me fast, and fear me not, 
 
 " As you do love your child. 
 
 *• And last, they'll turn me, in your arms, 
 
 ' ■ To a bar of burning steel ; 
 f Then throw me into the stream with speed, 
 
 " And thou no hurt shalt feel. 
 
 " But there, in place of the burning bar, 
 
 " A naked knight thou'lt see, 
 " Then cover me with thy cloak of green, 
 
 " And I'll thy true-love be." — 
 
-167 
 
 Eerie, eerie, was the way, 
 
 The night was dark and dread. 
 
 When Janet in her mantle green, 
 Alone to Miles-cross sped. 
 
 About the dead of night she heard 
 
 The fairy-bridles ring ; 
 The lady was as glad at that, 
 
 As any earthly thing. 
 
 First she let the black pass by, 
 And next she let the brown, 
 
 But quickly ran to the milk-white steed, 
 And drew its rider down. 
 
 So well did she her task perform, 
 
 That she her love did win, 
 And blythe as birds in spring, she cast 
 
 Her mantle round Tarn Lin. 
 
 Out then spake the Queen o' Fairies, 
 
 Out of a bush o' broom, 
 — " She that has gotten young Tam Lin, 
 
 " Has gotten a stately groom." — 
 Hh 2 
 
468 
 
 Out then spake the Queen o J Fairies, 
 And an angry queen was she ; 
 
 — •• Shame betide her ill-fared face, 
 " And an ill death may she see ; 
 
 " For she's ta'en away the bonniest knight, 
 11 In all my companye ! 
 
 •■ But had I guest, Tam Lin," she said, 
 " What to-night is come to pass, 
 
 " I had scratch'd out thy two blue een, 
 " And put in two een of glass !"— — 
 
469 
 
 No. LIX. 
 
 LENOR A. 
 
 GERMAN. 
 
 This version of Burger's well known ballad, was published in the Monthly 
 Magazine, and I consider it as a master-piece of translation ; indeed as far 
 as my opinion goes, the English ballad is, in point of merit , far superior, 
 both in spirit and harmony, to the German, which is written in a stanza, 
 producing an effect very unsatisfactory to the ear ; that my Headers may 
 judge of this for themselves, I shall here add a stanza similar to that 
 in which Burger's " Lenora" is written : I rather imagine, that the 
 effect made by it upon others, is the same with that which it produced upon 
 me, since among the numerous translators of this ballad, not one has adopted 
 the metre of the original. 
 
 [Lenora wakes at dawn of day, 
 
 Tears down her fair cheeks trickle : 
 
 — " Oh ! why, my William, dost thou stay, 
 
 And art thou dead or fickle?'' — 
 
 With Fred'rick's host young William went, 
 
 But since the fight of Prague he sent 
 
 No word to tell his speeding, 
 
 And soothe her bosom bleeding.] 
 J cannot but think, that the above metre will be universally disapproved of, 
 when compared with that adopted in the following ballad. 
 
 At break of day, with frightful dreams 
 
 Lenora struggled sore : 
 — " My William, art thou slaine," say'd she, 
 
 •« Or dost thou love no more ?" — 
 
470 
 
 He went abroade with Richard's host, 
 
 The Paynim foes to quell ; 
 But he no word to her had writt, 
 
 An he were sick or well. 
 
 With sowne of trump and beat of drum , 
 
 His fellow soldyers come ; 
 Their helmes bydeckt with oaken boughs, 
 
 They seeke their long'd-for home. 
 
 And ev'ry roade, and ev'ry lane, 
 
 Was full of old and young, 
 To gaze at the rejoicing band, 
 
 To hail with gladsome toung. 
 
 — " Thank God !" their wives and children saide °i 
 
 " Welcome !" — the brides did say : 
 But greete or kiss Lenora gave 
 
 To none upon that daye. 
 
 She askte of all tbe passing traine, 
 
 For him she wisht to see : 
 But none of all the passing traine 
 
 Could tell if lived he. 
 
471 
 
 And when the soldyers all were bye, 
 
 She tore her raven haire, 
 And cast herself upon the growne 
 
 In furious despaire. 
 
 Her mother ran and lyfte her up, 
 
 And clasped in her arme, 
 — " My child, my child, what dost thou ail? 
 
 " God shield thy life from harm !" — 
 
 — " mother, mother! William's gone! 
 
 " What's all besyde to me ? 
 " There is no mercye, sure, above! 
 
 " All, all were spared but hee !" — 
 
 — " Kneel downe, thy paternoster saye, 
 " 'Twill calm thy troubled spright: 
 
 " The Lord is wyse, the Lord is good ; 
 " What hee hath done is right." — 
 
 — " O mother, mother ! say not so ; 
 
 " Most cruel is my fate : 
 ■• I prayde, and prayde, but watte avayl'd ? 
 
 " 'Tis now, alas ! too late !" — 
 
472 
 
 — " Our Heavenly Father, if we praye, 
 " Will help a suff'ring childe: 
 
 " Go take the holy sacrament, 
 
 " So shall thy grief grow milde." — 
 
 — " O mother, what I feel within, 
 . " No sacrament can staye, 
 ' ' No sacrament can teche the dead 
 " To bear the sight of daye." — 
 
 — " May be, among the heathen folk 
 " Thy William false doth prove, 
 
 " And puts away his faith and troth, 
 " And takes another love." 
 
 " Then wherefore sorrow for his loss? 
 
 " Thy moans are all in vain ; 
 " And when his soul and body parte, 
 
 " His falsehode brings him paine." — - 
 
 — " O mother, mother ! gone is gone, 
 
 " My hope is all forlorn ; 
 " The grave mie onlye safeguard is, 
 
 " O, had I neer been borne 1 
 
473 
 
 •* Go out, go out, my lampe of life, 
 
 " In orislie darkness die : 
 " There is no mercye, sure, above! 
 
 " For ever let me lie." — 
 
 — " Almighty God ! O do not judge 
 
 " My poor unhappy childe ; 
 " She knows not what her lips pronounce, 
 
 •' Her anguish makes her wilde. 
 
 " My girl, forget thine earthly woe, 
 " And think on God and bliss; 
 
 " For so, at least, shall not thy soule 
 "Its heavenly bridegroom miss." — 
 
 " O mother, mother! what is blisse, 
 " And what the infernal celle ? 
 
 " With him 'tis heaven any where, 
 " Without my William, helle. 
 
 " Go out, go out, my lamp of life, 
 
 " In endless darkness die : 
 " Without him 1 must loathe the earth, 
 
 " Without him scorn the skye." — 
 
474 
 
 And so despaire did rave and rage 
 
 Adiwarte her boiling veins ; 
 Against the providence of God 
 
 She hurlde her impious strains. 
 
 She bet her breaste, and wrung her hands, 
 
 And rollde her tearlesse eye, 
 From rise of morne, till the pale stars 
 
 Again did freeke the skye. 
 
 When harke ! abroade she hearde the trampe 
 
 Of nimble-hoofed steed ; 
 She hearde a knighte with clank alighte, 
 
 And climb the staire in speede. 
 
 And soon she herde a tinkling hande, 
 
 That twirled at the pin ; 
 And through her door, that open'd not, 
 
 These words were breathed in. 
 
 — " What ! what ho ! thy dore undoe ; 
 
 " Art watching or asleepe ? 
 " My love, dost yet remember mee, 
 
 " And dost thou laugh, or weep?" — 
 
475 
 
 - — " Ah ! William here so late at night ! 
 
 " Oh ! I have watchte and waked, 
 " Whence dost thou come? for thy return 
 
 " My herte has sorely aked." — 
 
 - — " At midnight only we may ride ; 
 
 " I come o'er land and sea ; 
 " I mounted late, but soone I go, 
 
 " Aryse, and come with me." — 
 
 w — " O William, enter first my bowre, 
 
 ' ' And give me one embrace : 
 * ' The blasts athwarte the hawthorne hiss ; 
 
 " Awayte a little space." — 
 
 ' — " Though blasts athwarte the hawthorne hiss, 
 
 " I may not harboure here ; 
 " My spurre is sharpe, my courser pawes, 
 
 " My houre of flighte is nere. 
 
 " All as thou lyest upon thy couch, 
 
 " Aryse, and mount behinde; 
 " To-niojit we'le ride a thousand miles, 
 
 " The biidal bed to finde." — 
 
476 
 
 — •' How, ride to-night a thousand miles? 
 
 " Thy love thou dost bemocke : 
 " Eleven is the stroke that still 
 
 " Rings on within the clocke." — 
 
 — " Looke up, the moone is bright, and we 
 
 " Outstride the earthlie men : 
 " I'll take thee to the bridal bed, 
 
 " And night shall end but then." — 
 
 — " And where is, then, thy house and home, 
 " And where thy bridal bed?'' — 
 
 — " 'Tis narrow, silent, chilly, dark; 
 " Far hence I rest my head." — 
 
 — " And is there any room for mee, 
 " Wherein that I may creepe?" — 
 
 — " There's room enough for thee and mee, 
 " Wherein that we may sleepe. 
 
 " All as thou lyest upon thy couch, 
 
 " Aryse, no longer stop; 
 •• The wedding guests thy coming waite, 
 
 " The chamber door is ope." — 
 
477 
 
 All in her sarke, as there she lay, 
 
 Upon his horse she sprung, 
 And with her lilly hands so pale 
 
 About her William clung. 
 
 And hurry-skurry forth they goe, 
 
 Unheeding wet or drye ; 
 And horse and rider snort and blow, 
 
 And sparkling pebbles flye. 
 
 How swift the flood, the mead, the wood, 
 
 Aright, aleft, are gone; 
 The bridges thunder as they pass, 
 
 But earthlie sowne is none. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, across the land they speed, 
 
 Splash, splash, across the see: 
 — " Hurrah ! the dead can ride apace; 
 
 " Dost feare to ride with mee ? 
 
 " The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte, 
 
 ' ' Dost quake the blast to stem ? 
 " Dost shudder, mayde, to seeke the dead?" — 
 
 — " No, no, but what of them ? 
 
478 
 
 " How glumlie sownes yon dirgye song, 
 " Night-ravens flappe the wing; 
 
 • ' What knell doth slowlie toll ding dong ? 
 " The psalmes of death who sing ? 
 
 " It creeps, the swarthie funeral traine, 
 
 " The corse is on the beere ; 
 " Like croke of todes from lonely moores, 
 
 '* The chaunt doth meet the eere." — 
 
 — " Go, bear her corse when midnight's past, 
 " With song, and tear, and wayle; 
 
 " I've gott my wife, I take her home, 
 " My howre of wedlocke hayl. 
 
 " Lead forth, O clarke, the chaunting quire, 
 
 " To swell our nuptial song ; 
 " Come, preaste, and read the blessing soone, 
 
 " For bed, for bed we long." — 
 
 They heede his calle, and husht the sowne, 
 
 The biere was seen no more ; 
 And followde him ore feeld and flood 
 
 Yet faster than before. 
 
479 
 
 Halloo ! halloo ! away they goe, 
 
 Unheeding wet or drye ; 
 And horse and rider snort and blowe, 
 
 And sparkling pebbles flye. 
 
 How swifte the hill, how swifte the dale, 
 
 Aright, aleft, are gone ; 
 By hedge and tree, by thorpe and towne, 
 
 They gallop, gallop on. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede, 
 
 Splash, splash, acrosse the see ; 
 — • ' Hurrah ! the dead can ride apace ; 
 
 " Dost fear to ride with me ? 
 
 f Look up, look up, an airy crewe, 
 
 "In roundel daunces reele ; 
 il The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte, 
 
 " May'st dimlie see them wheele, 
 
 " Come to, come to, ye gostlie crew, 
 
 •* Come to, and follow me, 
 " And daunce for us the wedding daunce, 
 
 " When we in bed shall be." — 
 
480 
 
 And brush, brush, brush, the gostlie crew 
 Come wheeling ore their heads, 
 
 All rustling like the wither'd leaves 
 That wyde the whirlwind spreads. 
 
 Halloo 1 halloo ! away they goe, 
 
 Unheeding wet or drye, 
 And horse and rider snort and blowe, 
 
 And sparkling pebbles flye. 
 
 And all that in the moonshyne lay, 
 Behynde them fled afar ; 
 And backward scudded overhead, 
 The skye and every star* 
 
 Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede, 
 Splash, splash, across the see ; 
 
 — ' ' Hurrah ! the dead can ride apace ; 
 " Dost fear to ride with me ? 
 
 " I weene the cock prepares to crowe, 
 " The sand will soone be runne ; 
 
 " I snuff the early e morning aire, 
 
 " Downe, downe ! our work is done. 
 
481 
 
 " The dead, the dead can ryde apace, 
 
 • ' Oure wed bed here is fit ; 
 " Our race is ridde, oure journey ore, 
 
 *■ Our endless union knit." — 
 
 And lo ! an yren-grated grate 
 
 Soon biggens to their viewe ; 
 He crackte his whype, the clangynge boltes, 
 
 The doores asunder flewe. 
 
 They pass, and 'twas on graves they trode, 
 — •* 'Tis hither we are bounde ;" — 
 
 And many a tombstone gostlie white, 
 Lay inn the moonshyne round. 
 
 And when he from his steede alvtte, 
 
 His armour, black as cinder, 
 Did moulder, moulder all awaye, 
 
 As were it made of tinder. 
 
 His head became a naked skull, 
 Nor haire nor eyne had hee ; 
 His body grew a skeleton, 
 . Whilome so blythe of blee. 
 I i 
 
482 
 
 And att his dry and boney heele 
 
 No spur was left to be ; 
 And inn his witherde hand you might 
 
 The scythe and hour-glasse see. 
 
 And lo ! his steede did thin to smoke, 
 
 And charnel fires outbreathe ; 
 And paled, and bleach'd, then vanish'd quite* 
 
 The mayde from underneathe. 
 
 And hollow bowlings hung in aire, 
 
 And shi ekes from vaults arose ; 
 Then knew the mayde she might no more 
 
 Her living eyes unclose. 
 
 Butonwarde to the judgment seat, 
 
 Through myste and moonlight dreare : 
 
 The gostlie crewe, their flyghte persewe, 
 And hollo we inn her eare. 
 
 — • ' Be patient, though thyne herte should breke, 
 
 " Arrayne not heavn's decree ; 
 " Thou nowe art of thie bodie refte, 
 
 " Thie soule forgiven bee !" — 
 
 Printed by W. Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-row, St. James's. 
 
THE FOLLOWING PUBLICATIONS, 
 By Mr. LEWIS, 
 
 Sold by J. BELL, No. 148, Oxford-street. 
 
 I. The MONK, a Romance, in Three Vols. i2mo. Fifth 
 Edition. 
 
 II. The MINISTER, a Tragedy. Translated from the 
 
 German of Scheller. Second Edition. 
 
 III. The CASTLE SPECTRE, a Drama, in Five Acts. 
 
 The Eighth Edition. 
 
 IV. The LOVE OF GAIN, a Poem. Imitated from the 
 
 13th Satire of Juvenal. Second Edition. 
 
 V. ROLLA, or the PERUVIAN HERO, a Tragedy. 
 Translated from Kotzebue. Second Edition. 
 
 VI. The EAST INDIAN, a Comedy, in Five Acts ; as 
 performed at Drury-lane. Second Edition. 
 

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