The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 78

Meanwhile, along a cavelike corridor 174 The stranger guest the gentle abbess led; Where the voluptuous hypocaust of yore Left cells for vestal dreams saint-hallowed.

Her own, austerely rude, affords the rest To which her parting kiss consigns the guest.

But welcome not for rest that loneliness! 175 The iron lamp the imaged cross displays; And to that guide for souls, what mute distress Lifts the imploring pa.s.sion of its gaze?

Fear like remorse--and sorrow dark as sin?

Enter that mystic heart and look within!

What broken gleams of memory come and go 176 Along the dark!--a silent starry love Lighting young Fancy's virgin waves below, But shed from thoughts that rest ensphered above!

Oh, flowers whose bloom had perfumed Carmel, weave Wreathes for such love as lived in Genevieve!

A May noon resteth on the forest hill; 177 A May noon resteth over ruins h.o.a.r; A maiden muses on the forest hill, A tomb's vast pile o'ershades the ruins h.o.a.r, With doors now open to each prying blast, Where once to rot imperial dust had pa.s.s'd;

Through those dark portals glides the musing maid, 178 And slumber drags her down its airy deep.

O wondrous trance! in Druid robes array'd, What form benignant charms the life-like sleep?

What spells low-chaunted, holy-sweet, like prayer Plume the light soul, and waft it through the air?

Comes a dim sense as of an angel's being, 179 Bathed in ambrosial dews and liquid day; Of floating wings, like heavenward instincts, freeing Through azure solitudes a spirit's way.-- An absence of all earthly thought, desire, Aim--hope, save those which love and which aspire;

Each harder sense of the mere human mind 180 Merged into some protective prescience; Calm gladness, conscious of a charge consign'd To the pure ward of guardian innocence; And the felt presence, in that charge, of one Whose smile to life is as to flowers the sun.

Go on, thou troubled Memory, wander on! 181 Dull, o'er the bounds of the departing trance, Droops the lithe wing the airier life hath known; Yet on the confines of the dream, the glance Sees--where before he stood--the Enchanter stand, Bend the vast brow and stretch the shadowy hand.

And, human sense reviving, on the ear 182 Fall words ambiguous, now with happy hours And plighted love,--and now with threats austere Of demon dangers--of malignant Powers Whose force might yet the counter charm unbind, If loosed the silence to her lips enjoin'd.

Then, as that Image faded from the verge 183 Of life's renew'd horizon--came the day; Yet, ere the last gleams of the vision merge Into earth's common light, their parting ray On Arthur's brow the faithful memories leave, And the Dove's heart still beats in Genevieve!

Still she the presence feels,--resumes the guide, 184 Till slowly, slowly waned the prescient power That gave the guardian to the pilgrim's side;-- And only rested, with her human dower Of gifts sublime to soothe, but weak to save, And blind to warn,--the Daughter of the Grave.

Yet the lost dream bequeathed for evermore 185 Thoughts that did, like a second nature, make Life to that life the Dove had hover'd o'er Cling as an instinct,--and, for that dear sake, Danger and Death had found the woman's love In realms as near the Angels as the Dove.

And now and now is she herself the one 186 To launch the bolt on that beloved life?

Shuddering she starts, again she hears the nun Denounce the curse that arms the awful strife; Again her lips the wild cry stifle,--"See Crida's lost child, thy country's curse, in me!"

Or--if along the world of that despair 187 Fleet other spectres--from the ruin'd steep Points the dread arm, and hisses through the air The avenger's sentence on the father's sleep!

The dead seem rising from the yawning floor, And the shrine steams as with a shamble's gore.

Sudden she springs, and, from her veiling hands, 188 Lifts the pale courage of her calmed brow; With upward eyes, and murmuring lips, she stands, Raising to heaven the new-born hope:--and now Glides from the cell along the galleried caves, Mute as a moonbeam flitting over waves.

Now gain'd the central grot; now won the stair; 189 The lamp she bore gleam'd on the door of stone; Why halt? what hand detains?--she turn'd, and there, On the nun's serge and brow rebuking, shone The tremulous light; then fear her lips unchain'd From that stern silence by the Dream ordain'd,

And at those holy feet the Saxon fell 190 Sobbing, "Oh, stay me not! Oh, rather free These steps that fly to save _his_ Carduel!

Throne, altars, life--his life! In me, in me, To these strange shrines, thy saints in mercy bring Crida's lost Child!--Way, way to save thy king!"

The sister listen'd; gladness, awe, amaze, 191 Fused in that lambent atmosphere of soul, FAITH in the wise All-Good!--so melt the rays Of varying Iris in the lucid whole Of light;--"Thy people still to Thee are dear, O Lord," she murmur'd, "and Thy hand is here!"

"Yes," cried the suppliant, "if my loss deplored, 192 My fate unguess'd--misled and arm'd my sire; When to his heart his child shall be restored, Sure, war itself will in the cause expire!

Ruth come with joy,--and in that happy hour Hate drop the steel, and Love alone have power?"

Then the nun took the Saxon to her breast, 193 Round the bow'd neck she hung her sainted cross, And said, "Go forth--O beautiful and blest!

And if my king rebuke me for thy loss, Be my reply the gain that loss bestow'd,-- Hearths for his people, altars for his G.o.d!"

She ceased;--on secret valves revolv'd the door; 194 On the calm hill-top breath'd the dawning air; One moment paused the steps of Hope, and o'er The war's vast slumber look'd the Soul of Prayer.

So halts the bird that from the cage hath flown;-- A light bough rustled, and the Dove was gone.

NOTES TO BOOK XI.

1.--Page 386, stanza xxviii.

_Hung on the music, nor divined the death?_

See Book ii. pp. 57, 58, from stanza xxvii. to stanza x.x.x.

2.--Page 388, stanza x.x.xix.

_Because that soul refined man's common air!_

Perhaps it is in this sense that Taliessin speaks in his mystical poem called "Taliessin's History," still extant:--

"I have been an instructor To the whole universe.

I shall remain till the day of doom On the face of the earth."

3.--Page 389, stanza xlviii.

_And smote the Heathen with the Angel's sword._

The Bishops Germa.n.u.s and Lupus, having baptized the Britains in the river Alyn, led them against the Picts and Saxons, to the cry of "Alleluia." The cry itself, uttered with all the enthusiasm of the Christian host, struck terror into the enemy, who at once took to flight. Most of those who escaped the sword perished in the river.

This victory, achieved at Maes-Garmon, was called "Victoria Alleluiatica."--BRIT. ECCLES. ANTIQ., 335; BED., lib. i. c. i. 20.

4.--Page 389, stanza xlix.

_Flash'd the glad claymores, lightening line on line._

"The claymore of the Highlanders of Scotland was no other than the cledd mawr (cle'mawr) of the Welch."--CYMRODORION, vol. ii. p. 106.

5.--Page 390, stanza lii.

_No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song._

No Cymrian bard, according to the primitive law, was allowed the use of weapons.

6.--Page 390, stanza lvii.

_And Tudor's standard with the Saxon's head._

The old arms of the Tudors were three Saxons' heads.

7.--Page 393, stanza lxxiii.