The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 62

All cried aloud in Arthur, and he sprang 92 And sudden from the slaughter s.n.a.t.c.h'd the prey; "What!" said the Image, "can a moment's pang To the poor worthless favourite of a day Appal the soul that yearns for ends sublime, Aid sighs for empire o'er the world's of Time?

"Wilt thou resign the guerdon of the Sword? 93 Wilt thou forego the freedom of thy land?

Not one slight offering will thy heart accord?

The hero's prize is for the martyr's hand."

Safe on his breast the King replaced the guide, Raised his majestic front, and thus replied:

"For Fame and Cymri, what is mine I give. 94 Life;--and brave death prefer to ease and power; But not for Fame or Cymri would I live Soil'd by the stain of one dishonour'd hour; And man's great cause was ne'er triumphant made, By man's worst meanness--Trust for gain betray'd.

"Let then the rock the Sword for ever sheathe, 95 All blades are charmed in the Patriot's grasp!

He spoke, and lo! the Statue's th.o.r.n.y wreath Bloom'd into roses--and each baffled asp Fell down and died of its own poison-sting, Back to the crag dull-sail'd the death-bird's wing.

And from the Statue's smile, as when the morn 96 Unlocks the Eastern gates of Paradise, Ineffable joy, in light and beauty borne, Flow'd; and the azure of the distant skies Stole through the crimson hues the ruby gave, And slept, like Happiness, on Glory's wave.

"Go," said the Image, "thou hast won the Sword; 97 He who thus values Honour more than Fame Makes Fame itself his servant, not his lord; And the man's heart achieves the hero's claim.

But by Ambition is Ambition tried, None gain the guerdon who betray the guide!"

Wondering the Monarch heard, and hearing laid 98 On the bright hilt-gem the obedient hand; Swift at the touch, leapt forth the diamond blade, And each long vista lighten'd with the brand; The speaking marble bow'd its reverent head, Rose the three Kings--the Dreamer and the Dead;

Voices far off, as in the heart of heaven, 99 Hymn'd, "Hail, Fame-Conqueror in the Halls of Time;"

Deep as to h.e.l.l the flaming vaults were riven; High as to angels, s.p.a.ce on s.p.a.ce sublime Open'd, and flash'd upon the mortal's eye The Morning Land of Immortality.

Bow'd down before the intolerable light, 100 Sank on his knees the King; and humbly veil'd The Home of Seraphs from the human sight; Then the freed soul forsook him, as it hail'd Through Flesh, its prison-house,--the spirit-choir; And fled as flies the music from the lyre.

And all was blank, and meaningless, and void; 101 For the dull form, abandon'd thus below, Scarcely it felt the closing waves that buoy'd Its limbs, light-drifting down the gentle flow-- And when the conscious life return'd again, Lo, noon lay tranquil on the ocean main.

As from a dream he woke, and look'd around, 102 For the lost Lake and aegle's distant grave; But dark, behind, the silent headlands frown'd; And bright, before him, smiled the murmuring wave; His right hand rested on the falchion won; And the Dove pruned her pinions in the sun.

NOTES TO BOOK VII.

1.--Page 314, stanza iii.

_Or the Nymph-mother of the silver feet._

'The silver-footed Thetis.'--HOMER.

2.--Page 322, stanza lvii.

_An armed King--three lions on his shield_--

Richard Coeur de Lion;--poetically speaking, the mythic Arthur was the Father of the age of adventure and knighthood--and the legends respecting him reigned with full influence in the period which Richard Coeur de Lion here (generally and without strict prosaic regard to chronology) represents; from the lay of the Troubadour and the song of the Saracen--to the final concentration or chivalric romance in the muse of Ariosto.

BOOK VIII.

ARGUMENT.

Lancelot continues to watch for Arthur till the eve of the following day, when a Damsel approaches the Lake--Lancelot's discreet behaviour thereon, and how the Knight and the Damsel converse--The Damsel tells her tale--Upon her leaving Lancelot, the fairy ring commands the Knight to desert his watch, and follow the Maiden--The story returns to Arthur, who, wandering by the sea-sh.o.r.e, perceives a bark with the Raven flag of the sea-kings--The Dove enjoins him to enter it--The Ship is deserted, and he waits the return of the Crew--Sleep falls upon him--The consoling Vision of aegle--What befalls Arthur on waking--Meanwhile Sir Gawaine pursues his voyage to the shrine of Freya, at which he is to be sacrificed--How the Hound came to bear him company--Sir Gawaine argues with the Viking on the inutility of roasting him--The Viking defends that measure upon philosophical and liberal principles, and silences Gawaine--The Ship arrives at its destination--Gawaine is conducted to the shrine of Freya--The Statue of the G.o.ddess described--Gawaine's remarks thereon, and how he is refuted and enlightened by the Chief Priest--Sir Gawaine is bound, and in reply to his natural curiosity the Priest explains how he and the Dog are to be roasted and devoured--The sagacious proceedings of the Dog--Sir Gawaine fails in teaching the Dog the duty of Fraternization--The Priest re-enters, and Sir Gawaine, with much satisfaction, gets the best of the Argument--Concluding Stanzas to Nature.

Lone by the lake reclined young Lancelot-- 1 Night pa.s.s'd, the noonday slept on wave and plain; Lone by the lake watch'd patient Lancelot; Like Faith a.s.sured that Love returns again.

Noon glided on to eve; when from the brake Brushed a light step, and paused beside the lake.

How lovely to the margin of the wave 2 The shy-eyed Virgin came! and, all unwitting The unseen Knight, to the frank sunbeam gave Her sunny hair--its snooded braids unknitting; And, fearless, as the Naiad by her well, Sleeked the loose tresses, glittering where they fell.

And, playful now, the sandal silks unbound, 3 Oft from the cool fresh wave with coy retreat Shrinking,--and glancing with arch looks around, The crystal gleameth with her ivory feet, Like floating swan-plumes, or the leaves that quiver From water-lilies, under Himera's river.

Ah happy Knight, unscath'd, such charms espying, 4 As brought but death to the profane of yore, When Dian's maids to angry quivers flying Pierced the bold heart presuming to adore!

Alas! the careless archer they disdain, Can slay as surely, though with longer pain.

But worthy of his bliss, the loyal Knight, 5 Pure from all felon thoughts as Knights should be, Revering, anger'd at his own delight, The lone, unconscious, guardless modesty, Rose, yet unseen, and to the copse hard by, Stole with quick footstep and averted eye.

But as one tremour of the summer boughs 6 Scares the shy fawn, so with that faintest sound The Virgin starts, and back from rosy brows Flings wide the showering gold; and all around Casts the swift trouble of her looks, to see The white plume glisten through the rustling tree.

As by some conscious instinct of the fear 7 He caused, the Knight turns back his reverent gaze; And in soft accents, tuned to Lady's ear In gentle courts, her purposed flight delays; So n.o.bly timid in his look and tone As if the power to harm were all her own.

"Lady and liege, O fly not thus thy slave; 8 If he offend, unwilling the offence, For safer not upon the unsullying wave Doth thy pure image rest, than Innocence On the clear thoughts of n.o.ble men!" He said; And low, with downcast lids, replied the maid.

[Oh, from those lips how strangely musical 9 Sounds the loathed language of the Saxon foe!]

"Though on mine ear the Cymrian accents fall, And in my speech, O Cymrian, thou wilt know The Daughter of the Saxon; marvel not, That less I fear thee in this lonely spot

"Than hadst thou spoken in my mother-tongue, 10 Or worn the aspect of my father-race."

Here to her eyes some tearful memory sprung, And youth's glad sunshine vanish'd from her face; Like the changed sky, the gleams of April leave, Or the quick coming of an Indian eve.

Moved, yet embolden'd by that mild distress, 11 Near the fair shape the gentle Cymrian drew, Bent o'er the hand his pity dared to press, And soothed the sorrow ere the cause he knew.

Frank were those times of trustful Chevisaunce,[1]

And hearts when guileless open to a glance.

So see them seated by the haunted lake, 12 She on the gra.s.sy bank, her sylvan throne, He at her feet--and out from every brake The Forest-Angels singing:--All alone With Nature and the Beautiful--and Youth Pure in each soul as, in her fountain, Truth!

And thus her tale the Teuton maid begun: 13 "Daughter of Harold, Mercia's Earl, am I.

Small need to tell to Knighthood's Christian son What creed of wrath the Saxons sanctify.

With songs first chaunted in some thunder-field, Stern nurses rock'd me in my father's shield.

"Motherless both,--my playmate, sole and sweet, 14 Years--s.e.x, the same, was Crida's youngest child, (Crida, the Mercian Ealder-King) our feet Roved the same pastures when the Mead-month[2] smiled; By the same hearth we paled to Saga runes, When wolves descending howl'd to icy moons.

"As side by side, two osiers o'er a stream, 15 When air is still, with separate foliage bend; But let a breezelet blow, and straight they seem With trembling branches into one to blend: So grew our natures,--when in calm, apart; But in each care, commingling, heart to heart.

"Her soul was bright and tranquil as a bird 16 That hangs with silent wing in breathless heaven, The plumes of mine the faintest zephyr stirr'd, Light with each impulse by the moment given; Blithe as the insect of the summer hours, Child of the beam, and playmate of the flowers.

"Thus into youth we grew, when Crida bore 17 Home from fierce wars a British Woman-slave, A lofty captive, who her sorrow wore As Queens a mantle; yet not proud, though grave, And grave as if with pity for the foe, Too high for anger, too resign'd for woe.

"Our hearts grew haunted by that patient face, 18 And much we schemed to soothe the sense of thrall.

She learn'd to love us,--let our love replace That she had lost,--and thank'd her G.o.d for all, Even for chains and bondage:--awed we heard, And found the secret in the Gospel Word.