Imágenes de páginas

Still in thy garden let me watch their

pranks, And see in Dian's vest between the

ranks Of the trim vines, some maid that half

believes The vestal fires, of which her lover

grieves, With that sly satyr peeping through the leaves !

1828. 1829.



Fair cities, gallant mansions, castles old, And forests, where beside his leafy hold The sullen boar hath heard the distant

horn, And whets his tusks against the gnarled

thorn ; Palladian palace with its storied halls ; Fountains, where Love lies listening to

their falls ; Gardens, where flings the bridge its airy

span, And Nature makes her happy home

with man: Where many a gorgeous flower is duly

fed With its own rill, on its own spangled

bed, And wreathes the marble urn, or leans

its head, i mimic mourner, that with veil with

drawn Weeps liquid gems, the presents of the

dawn ;Thine all delights, and every muse is

thine ; And more than all, the embrace and

intertwine Of all with all in gay and twinkling

dance !



A LOVELY form there sate beside my

bed, And such a feeling calm its presence A tenderlore so pure from earthly

leaven, That I unnethe the fancy might con

trol, 'Twas my own spirit newly come from

heaven, Wooing its gentle way into my soul ! But ah! the change-It had not stirr'd,

and yetAlas ! that change how fain would I

forget! That shrinking back, like one that had

mistook ! That weary, wandering, disavowing

look ! 'Twas all another, feature, look, and

frame, And still, methought, I knew, it was

the same !


Mid gods of Greece and warriors of

romance, See! Boccace sits, unfolding on his

knees The new found roll of old Mæonides ; But from his mantle's fold, and near the

heart, Peers Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet

smart!1 O all-en jeying and all-blending sage, Long be it mine to con thy mazy page, Where half conceald, the eye of fancy

views Fauns, nymphs, and winged saints, all

This riddling tale, to what does it be

long? Is’t history ? vision? or an idle song? Or rather say at once, within what

space Of time this wild disastrous change took



Call it a moment's work (and such it

seems) This tale's a fragment from the life of

dreams ; But say, that years matur'd the silent

gracious to thy muse! 1 I know few more striking or more interesting proofs of the overwhelming influence which the study of the Greek and Roman classics exercised on the judgments, feelings, and imaginations of the literati of Europe at the commencement of the restoration of literature, than the passage in the Filocopo of Boccaccio, where the sage instructor, Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the beautiful girl Biancofiore had learned their letters, sets them to study the Holy Book, Osid's Art of Love. ** Incominciò Racheo a mettere il suo officio in esecuzione con intera sollecitudine. E loro, in breve tempo, insegnato a conoscer le lettere, fece leggere il santo libro d'Orvidio, nel quale il sommo poeta mostra, come i santi fuochi di Venere si debbano ne' freddi cuori accendere."

strife, And 'tis a record from the dream of life.

1830, 1834.




is edited by William Minto, 2 volumes, Edinburgh,

Works, edited, with revision of text, by W.J. Rolfe, Poetical Works, edited by Andrew Lang, 2 volumes, The mpany. Poetical Works (Globe Edition), edited by F. T.

Macmillan Company (not complete). * Complete Works Bron). edited by H. E. Scudder, Houghton & Mifflin. Poems Live Pets), 5 volumes, The Macmillan Company. Complete ini Dramatie Works (Riverside Edition), 5 volumes, Hough

r. Varmion (Students' Edition), edited by W. J. Rolfe, disa alla Vitlin. * Marmion (Longmans' English Classics), edited by ここで

BIOGRAPHY AIRT (J. G.), Life of Sir Walter Scott (The standard biography). Lord R. II.), Scott, English Men of Letters Series (containing two Sie habet pellent criticism on Scott's poetry). YONGE (C. D.) Scott, BM Series. See also Scott's Journal and Letters.

CRITICAL Essays, ETC. JKPTENT (Lord Francis), Edinburgh Review, No. 32, Art. 1, Lady of Stude: No. 36, Art. 6, Vision of Don Roderick; No. 48, Art. 1, Lord wtfen Isles. Also in his Critical Essays. Hugo (V.), Littérature et Alsophie (1834). CARLYLE, Miscellanies, I. Ruskin, Fors Clavigera. * SHARP (John C.), Aspects of Poetry ; Homeric Spirit of Scott. * PALWN11 (F. T.), Introduction to Globe Edition of Scott's Poetical Works. Sinn SBURY (G.), Essays on English Literature (Second Series). Rossetti (WM.), Lives of Famous Poets. STEPHEN (Leslie), Hours in a Library, Vol. 1. PRESCOTT (W. H.), Biographical and Critical Miscellanies. LANG (.1.), Letters to Dead Authors. LanG (A.), Essays in Little. Howells W71.), My Literary Passions. Hay (John), Speech at the Unveiling of the Bust of Scott in Westminster Abbey. CROCKETT (S. R.), The Scott Country.

Bell (C. D.), Some English Poets. Brooks (S. W.), English Poetry and Poets. Dawson (W. J.), Makers of Modern English. Comparative Estimate of Modern English Poets. Minto (W.), Literature of the Georgian Era. PIERSON (William), Epic Poems of Walter Scott, compared with the like Poetry of Thomas Moore. REED (II.), Lectures on British Poets. Rushton (W.), Afternoon Lectures.

SWANWICK (A.), Poets the Interpreters of their Age. Wilson (J. G.), Poets of Scotland.



[ocr errors][merged small]


0, Mother, what is gone is gone,

What's lost forever lorn : anitated from Bürger's Lenore. See Lock

Death, death alone can comfort me ; t's Life of Scott, Volume I, Chap. 7.

O had I ne'er been born ! com heavy dreams fair Helen rose, And eyed the dawning red ::

“0, break, my heart, O, break at once ! las, my love, thou tarriest long !

Drink my life-blood, Despair ! O art thou false or dead ?”

No joy remains on earth for me,

For me in heaven no ghare." ith gallant Frederick's princely power He sought the bold crusade,

“0, enter not in judgment, Lord!” ut not a word from Judah's wars

The pious mother prays : Told Helen how he sped.

Impute not guilt to thy frail child !

She knows not what she says.
Fith Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,

“O, say thy pater-noster, child !

0, turn to God and grace! nd every knight returned to dry

His will, that turned thy bliss to bale, The tears his love had shed.

Can change thy bale to bliss." ur gallant host was homeward bound

“O mother, mother, what is bliss ? With many a song of joy ;

O mother, what is bale ? Ereen waved the laurel in each plume,

My William's love was heaven on earth, The badge of victory.

Without it earth is hell. and old and young, and sire and son, · Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, To meet them crowd the way,

Since my loved William's slain ? With shouts and mirth and melody, I only prayed for William's sake, The debt of love to pay.

And all my prayers were vain." Full many a maid her true-love met, (), take the sacrament, my child. And sobbed in his embrace,

And check these tears that flow ; And fluttering joy in tears and smiles By resignation's humble praver, Arrayed full many a face.

O, hallowed be thy woe !" Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad,

“ No sacrament can quench this fire,

Or slake this scorching pain ;
She sought the host in vain ;
For none could tell her William's fate,

No sacrament can bid the dead
If faithless or if slain.

Arise and live again.

“0, break, my heart, O, break at once ! The martial band is past and gone ; Be thou my god, Despair ! She rends her raven hair,

Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, And in distraction's bitter mood

And vain each fruitless prayer." She weeps with wild despair.

O, enter not in judgment, Lord, “O, rise, my child,” her mother said, With thy frail child of clay ! "Nor sorrow thus in vain ;

She knows not what her tongue has A perjured lover's fleeting heart

spoke ; No tears recall again.”

Impute it not, I pray !

“ Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,

And turn to God and grace ; Well can devotion's heavenly glow

Convert thy bale to bliss." O mother, mother, what is bliss ?

O mother, what is bale ? Without my William what were heaven,

Or with him what were hell ? " Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,

Upbraids each sacred power, Till, spent, she sought her silent room,

All in the lonely tower. She beat her breast, she wrung her

hands, Till sun and day were o'er, And through the glimmering lattice

shone The twinkling of the star. Then, crash ! the heavy drawbridge fell

That o'er the moat was hung ;
And, clatter ! clatter ! on its boards

The hoof of courser rung.
The clank of echoing steel was heard

As off the rider bounded ;
And slowly on the winding stair

A heavy footstep sounded.
And hark ! and hark! a knock – tap !

A rustling stifled noise :Door-latch and tinkling staples ring;

At length a whispering voice. “Awake, awake, arise, my lore!

Horr, Helen, dost thou fare? Wak'st thou, or sleep'st ! laugh'st thou,

or weep'st? Hast thought on me, my fair?" * Mrlore' my lore!-so late by night!

I wrakend, I wept for thee: Much hare I borne since dairn of morn;

Where, William, couldist thou be? * We seule late from Hungary

I nxde since darkness fell:
And to its bourne we both return

Before the matin-bell."
“O, rut this night within my arms

And warm thee in their fort!
Chill herrls through hawthorn bush the

My love is daily all."

“Let the wind howl through ha than

bush ! This night we must away ; The steed is wight, the spur is bright

I cannot stay till day. “Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mount's

behind Upon my black barb steed : O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles,

We haste to bridal bed." “ To-night-to-night a hundred miles:

O dearest William, stay! The bell strikes twelve-dark, disma

hour ! 0, wait, my love, till day!” “Look here, look here-the moon shina

clearFull fast I ween we ride : Mount and away! for ere the day

We reach our bridal bed. 6 The black barb snorts, the bride

rings; Haste, busk, and boune, and seat the The feast is made, the chamber spread,

The bridal guests await thee." Strong love prevailed : she busks, sbe

bounes, She mounts the barb behind, And round her darling William's waist

Her lily arms she twined.
And, hurry! hurry ! off they rode.

As fast as fast might be ;
Spurned from the courser's thunderin

heels The flashing pebbles flee. And on the right and on the left,

Ere they could snatch a view, Fast, fast each mountain, mead,

plain, And cot and castle flew, "Sit fast-dost fear ?—The moon sh E

clear-Fleet goes mr barb-keep hold! Fearst thou?"-"O no!" she fain said ;

D ** But whr so stern and cold ? What ronder rings ? what yom

Whrsrieks the owlet gray?" • T is death-beil's clang, 't is fune, The hair the clay.


[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

“Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines

clear, And well the dead can ride : Dost, faithful Helen, fear for them ? "

“O leave in peace the dead !"

“ Barb! Barb! methinks I hear the cock,

The sand will soon be run : Barb! Barb! I smell the morning air ;

The race is well-nigh done."

Tramp! tramp! along the land they

rode, Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; The scourge is red, the spur drops blood,

The flashing pebbles flee.

“O William, why this savage haste !

And where thy bridal bed ?" ** Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill,

And narrow, trustless maid.” ** No room for me? "_" Enough for

both ; Speed, speed, my barb, thy course!' O'er thundering bridge, through boiling

suge, He drove the furious horse. Tramp! ramp! along the land they

rode, Splash! splash! along the sea ; Theer urge Is wight, the spur is bright, ne flashing pebbles flee. led past on right and left how fast Fach forest, grove, and bower! n right and left fled past how fast Each city, town, and tower! Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines

clear, Dost fear to ride with me?urrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride!"" O William, let them be !See there, see there! What yonder

swings and creaks, mid whistling rain ?"ribbet and steel, the accursed wheel ;

murderer in his chain.

* Hurrah ! hurrah! well ride the dead ;

The bride, the bride is come; And soon we reach the bridal bed,

For, Helen, here's my home.”

Reluctant on its rusty hinge

Revolved an iron door, And by the pale moon's setting beam

Were seen a church and tower.

With many a shriek and cry whiz round

The birds of midnight scared ; And rustling like autumnal leaves

Unhallowed ghosts were heard. O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale

He spurred the fiery horse, Till suddenly at an open grave

He checked the wondrous course.

« AnteriorContinuar »