H́nh ảnh trang
PDF
ePub

XI.

The moon on the east oriel shone,
Through slender shafts of shapely stone,

By foliaged tracery combined;

Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand
'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand,

In many a freakish knot, had twined;
Then framed a spell, when the work was done,
And changed the willow wreaths to stone.
The silver light so pale and faint,

Shewed many a prophet, and many a saint,
Whose image on the glass was dyed;
Full in the midst, his cross of red
Triumphant Michael brandished,

And trampled the apostate's pride.

The moon-beam kissed the holy pane,
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.

XII.

They sate them down on a marble stone,
A Scottish monarch slept below;
Thus spoke the monk, in solemn tone :-
"I was not always a man of woe;

For Paynim countries I have trod,
And fought beneath the Cross of God;
Now, strange to mine eyes thine arms appear,
And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear.

XIII.

"In these far climes, it was my lot
To meet the wond'rous Michael Scott;
A wizard of such dreaded fame,
That when, in Salamanca's cave,
Him listed his magic wand to wave,

The bells would ring in Notre Dame!
Some of his skill he taught to me;
And, warrior, I could say to thee

The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,

And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone:

But to speak them were a deadly sin;

And for having but thought them my heart within,
A treble penance must be done.

XIV.

"When Michael lay on his dying bed,

His conscience was awakened;

He

He bethought him of his sinful deed,

And he gave me a sign to come with speed:
I was in Spain when the morning rose,
But I stood by his bed ere evening close.
The words may not again be said,

That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ;
They would rend this abbaye's massy nave,
And pile it in heaps above his grave.

XV.

I swore to bury his Mighty Book,
That never mortal might therein look ;
And never to tell where it was hid,
Save at his chief of Branksome's need;
And when that need was past and o'er,
Again the volume to restore.

I buried him on St. Michael's night,

When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright;

And I dug his chamber among the dead,

When the floor of the chancel was stained red,

That his patron's cross might over him wave,

And scare the fiends from the wizard's grave.

XVI.

"It was a night of woe and dread,

When Michael in the tomb I laid!

Strange sounds along the chancel past,

The banners waved without a blast,"

-Still spoke the monk, when the bell tolled One!

I tell you, that a braver man

Than William of Deloraine, good at need,

Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed;

Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread,
And his hair did bristle upon his head.

XVII.

"Lo, warrior! now, the Cross of Red
Points to the grave of the mighty dead;
Within it burns a wonderous light,
To chase the spirits that love the night:
That lamp shall burn unquenchably,

Until the eternal doom shall be."

Slow mov'd the monk to the broad flag-stone,
Which the bloody Cross was traced upon:

He pointed to a secret nook;

An iron bar the warrior took;

And the monk made a sign with his withered hand, The grave's huge portal to expand.

XVIII.

With beating heart to the task he went ;
His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent;
With bar of iron heaved amain,

Till the toil drops fell from his brows, like rain.
It was by dint of passing strength,

That he moved the massy stone at length.
I would you had been there, to see
How the light broke forth so gloriously,
Streamed upward to the chancel roof,
And through the galleries far aloof!
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright;
It shone like heaven's own blessed light,
And issuing from the tomb,

Shewed the monk's cowl, and visage pale,
Danced on the dark-brow'd warrior's mail,
And kissed his waving plume.

XIX.

Before their eyes the wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day.
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapped him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,

Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
His left hand held his Book of Might;
A silver cross was in his right;

The lamp was placed beside his knee :
High and majestic was his look,
At which the fellest fiends had shook,
And all unruffled was his face:--
They trusted his soul had gotten grace.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

XXI.

And when the priest his death-prayer had prayed, Thus unto Deloraine he said :

"Now, speed thee what thou hast to do,
Or, warrior, we may dearly rue;
For those thou may'st not look upon,

Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!"-
Then Deloraine, in terror, took

From the cold hand the Mighty Book,
With iron clasped, and with iron bound:
He thought as he took it the dead man frowned;
But the glare of the sepulchral light,
Perchance had dazzled the warrior's sight.

XXII.

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb,
The night returned, in double gloom ;

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few
And, as the knight and the priest withdrew,

With wavering steps and dizzy brain,

They hardly might the postern gain.

'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed,

They heard strange noises on the blast;
And through the cloister-galleries small,
Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall,
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran,
And voices unlike the voice of man;
As if the fiends kept holiday,

Because these spells were brought to day.
I cannot tell how the truth may be ;

1 say the tale as 'twas said to me.

FORCE OF LOVE.

(From the Same.)

I.

AND said I that my limbs were co

And said I that my blood was cold,

And that my kindly fire was filed,
And my poor withered heart was dead,
And that I might not sing of love?-
How could I to the dearest theme,
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream,
So foul, so false, a recreant prove!
How could I name love's very name,
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame!

[blocks in formation]
« TrướcTiếp tục »