The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 79

"_Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons lead!_"

Walloons,--the name given by the Saxons, in contumely, to the Cymrians.

8.--Page 399, stanza cxvi.

'_And what is death?--a name for nothingness._"

The sublime idea of the nonent.i.ty of death, of the instantaneous transit of the soul from one phase and cycle of being to another, is earnestly insisted upon by the early Cymrian bards, in terms which seem borrowed from some spiritual belief anterior to that which does in truth teach that the life of man once begun, has not only no end, but no pause--and, in the triumphal cry of the Christian, "O grave, where is thy victory!"--annihilates death.

BOOK XII.

ARGUMENT.

Preliminary Stanzas--Scene returns to Carduel--a day has pa.s.sed since the retreat of the Saxons into their encampment--The Cymrians take advantage of the enemy's inactivity, to introduce supplies into the famished city--Watch all that day, and far into the following night, is kept round the corpse of Caradoc--Before dawn, the burial takes place--The Prophet by the grave of the Bard--Merlin's address to the Cymrians, whom he dismisses to the walls, in announcing the renewed a.s.sault of the Saxons--Merlin then demands a sacrifice from Lancelot--gives commissions to the two sons of Faul the Aleman, and takes Faul himself (to whom an especial charge is destined) to the city--The scene changes to the Temple Fortress of the Saxons--The superst.i.tious panic of the heathen hosts at their late defeat--The magic divinations of the Runic priests--The magnetic trance of the chosen Soothsayer--The Oracle he utters--He demands the blood of a Christian maid--The pause of the priests and the pagan king--The abrupt entrance of Genevieve--Crida's joy--The priests demand the Victim--Genevieve's Christian faith is evinced by the Cross which the Nun had hung round her neck--Crida's reply to the priests--They dismiss one of their number to inflame the army, and so insure the sacrifice--The priests lead the Victim to the Altar, and begin their hymn, as the Soothsayer wakes from his trance--The interruption and the compact--Crida goes from the Temple to the summit of the tower without--The invading march of the Saxon troops under Harold described--The light from the Dragon Keep--The Saxons scale the walls, and disappear within the town--The irruption of flames from the fleet--The dismay of that part of the army that had remained in the camp--The flames are seen by the rest of the heathen army in the streets of Carduel--The approach of the Northmen under Gawaine--The light on the Dragon Keep changes its hue into blood-red, and the Prophet appears on the height of the tower--The retreat of the Saxons from the city--The joy of the Chief Priest--The time demanded by the compact has expired--He summons Crida to complete the sacrifice--Crida's answer--The Priest rushes back into the Temple--The offering is bound to the Altar--Faul! the gleam of the enchanted glaive--The appearance of Arthur--The War takes its last stand within the heathen temple--Crida and the Teuton kings--Arthur meets Crida hand to hand--Meanwhile Harold saves the Gonfanon, and follows the bands under his lead to the river-side--He addresses them, re-forms their ranks, and leads them to the brow of the hill--His emba.s.sy to Arthur--The various groups in the heathen temple described--Harold's speech--Arthur's reply--Merlin's prophetic address to the chiefs of the two races--The End.

Flow on, flow on, fair Fable's happy stream, 1 Vocal for aye with Eld's first music-chaunt, Where, mirror'd far adown the chrystal, gleam The golden domes of Carduel and Romaunt; Still one last look on knighthood's peerless ring, On mooned Dream-land and the Dragon King!--

Detain me yet amid the lovely throng, 2 Hold yet thy _Sabbat_, thou melodious spell!

Still to the circle of enchanted song Charm the high Mage of Druid parable, The Fairy, bard-led from her Caspian Sea, And Genius, lured from caves in Araby!

Though me, less fair if less familiar ways, 3 Sought in the paths by earlier steps untrod, Allure--yet ever, in the marvel-maze, The flowers afar perfume the virgin sod; The simplest leaf in fairy gardens cull, And round thee opens all the Beautiful!

Alas! the sunsets of our Northern main 4 Soon lose the tints Hesperian Fancy weaves; Soon the sweet river feels the icy chain, And haunted forests shed their murmurous leaves; The bough must wither, and the bird depart, And winter clasp the world--as life the heart!

A day had pa.s.s'd since first the Saxons fled 5 Before the Christian, and their war lay still; From morn to eve the Cymrian riders spread Where flocks yet graze on some remoter hill, Pale, on the walls, fast-sinking Famine waits, When hark, the droves come lowing through the gates!

Yet still, the corpse of Caradoc around, 6 All day, and far into the watch of night, The grateful victors guard the sacred ground; But in that hour when all his race of light Leave Eos lone in heaven,--earth's hollow breast Oped to the dawn-star and the singer's rest.

Now, ere they lower'd the corpse, with noiseless tread 7 Still as a sudden shadow, Merlin came Through the arm'd crowd; and paused before the dead, And, looking on the face, thrice call'd the name.

Then, hush'd through all an awed compa.s.sion ran, And all gave way to the old quiet man.

For Cymri knew that of her children none 8 Had, like the singer, loved the lonely sage; All felt, that there a father call'd a son Out from that dreariest void,--bereaved age; Forgot the dread renown, the mystic art, And saw but sacred there--the human heart!

And thrice the old man kiss'd the lips that smiled, 9 And thrice he call'd the name,--then to the grave, Hush'd as the nurse that bears a sleeping child To its still mother's breast,--the form he gave: With tender hand composed the solemn rest, And laid the harp upon the silent breast.

And then he sate him down, a little s.p.a.ce 10 From the dark couch, and so of none took heed; But lifting to the twilight skies his face, That secret soul which never man could read, Far as the soul it miss'd, from human breath, Rose--where Thought rises when it follows Death!

And swells and falls in gusts the funeral dirge 11 As hollow falls the mould, or swells the mound; And (Cymri's warlike wont) upon the verge The orbed shields are placed in rows around; Now o'er the dead, gra.s.s waves;--the rite is done; And a new grave shall greet a rising sun.

Then slowly turn'd, and calmly moved the sage, 12 On the Bard's grave his stand the Prophet took.

High o'er the crowd in all his pomp of age August, a glory brighten'd from his look; Hope flash'd in eyes illumined from his own, Bright, as if there some sure redemption shone.

Thus spoke the Seer: "Hosannah to the brave; 13 Lo, the eternal heir-looms of your land!

A realm's great treasure-house! The freeman's grave The hero creed that to the swordless hand Thought, when heroic, gives an army's might;-- And song to nations as to plants the light!

"Cymrians, the sun yon towers will scarcely gild, 14 Ere war will scale them! Here, your task is o'er.

Your walls your camp, your streets your battle-field; Each house a fortress!--One strong effort more For G.o.d, for Freedom--for your shrines and homes!

After the Martyr the Deliverer comes!"

He ceased; and such the reverence of the crowd, 15 No lip presumed to question. Wonder hush'd Its curious guess, and only Hope aloud Spoke in the dauntless shout: each cheek was flush'd: Each eye was bright;--each heart beat high; and all Ranged in due ranks, resought the shatter'd wall:

Save only four, whom to that holy spot 16 The Prophet's whisper stay'd:--of these, the one Of knightly port and arms, was Lancelot; But in the ruder three, with garments won From the wild beast,--long hair'd, large limb'd, again See Rhine's strong sons, the convert Alemen!

When these alone remain'd beside the mound, 17 The Prophet drew apart the Paladin, And said, "What time, feud, worse than famine, found The Cymrian race, like some lost child of sin That courts, yet cowers from death;--serene through all The jarring factions of the maddening hall,

"Thou didst in vain breathe high rebuke to pride, 18 With words sublimely proud. 'No post the man Enn.o.bles;--man the post! did He who died To crown in death the end His birth began, a.s.sume the sceptre when the cross He braved?

Did He wear purple in the world He saved?

"'Ye clamour which is worthiest of command,-- 19 Place me, whose fathers led the hosts of Gaul, Amongst the meanest children of your land; Let me owe nothing to my fathers,--all To such high deeds as raised, ere kings were known, The boldest savage to the earliest throne!'

"But none did heed thee, and in scornful grief 20 Went thy still footsteps from the raging hall, Where, by the altar of the bright Belief That spans this cloud-world when its sun-showers fall, a.s.sured at least thy bride in heaven to be, Genevra pray'd--not life but death with thee.

"There, by the altar, did ye join your hands, 21 And in your vow, scorning malignant Time, Ye plighted two immortals! in those bands Hope still wove flowers,--but earth was not their clime; Then to the breach alone, resign'd, consoled, Went Gaul's young hero.--Art thou now less bold?

"Thy smile replies! Know, while we speak, the King 22 Is on the march; each moment that delays The foeman, speeds the conqueror on its wing; If, till the hour is ripe, the Saxon stays His rush, then idly wastes it on our wall, Not ours the homes that burn, the shrines that fall!

"But that delay vouchsafed not--comes in vain 23 The bright achiever of enchanted powers; He comes a king,--no people but the slain, And round his throne will crash his blazing towers.

This is not all; for him, the morn is rife With one dire curse that threatens more than life;--

"A curse, once launch'd, which withers every leaf 24 In victory's crown, chills youth itself to age!

Here magic fails--for over love and grief There is no glamour in the brazen page Born of the mind, o'er mind extends mine art;-- Beyond its circle beats the human heart!

"Delay the hour--save Carduel for thy king; 25 Avert the curse; from misery save thy brother!"

"Thrice welcome death," cried Lancelot, "could it bring The bliss to bless mine Arthur! As the mother Lives in her child, the planet in the sky, Thought in the soul, in Arthur so live I."

"Prepare," the Seer replied, "be firm!--and yield 26 The maid thou lovest to her Saxon Sire."

Like a man lightning-stricken, Lancelot reel'd, And as if blinded by the intolerant fire, Cover'd his face with his convulsive hand, And groan'd aloud, "What woe dost thou demand?

"Yield her! and wherefore? Cruel as thou art! 27 Can Cymri's king or Carduel's destiny Need the lone offering of a loving heart, Nothing to kings and states, but all to me?"

"Son," said the Prophet, "can the human eye Trace by what wave light quivers from the sky;

"Explore some thought whose utterance shakes the earth 28 Along the airy galleries of the brain; Or say, can human wisdom test the worth Of the least link in Fate's harmonious chain?

All doubt is cowardice--all trust is brave-- Doubt, and desert thy king;--believe and save."

Then Lancelot fix'd his keen eyes on the sage, 29 And said, "Am I the sacrifice or she?

Risks she no danger from the heathen's rage, She, the new Christian?"--"Danger more with thee!

Can blazing roofs and trampled altars yield A shelter surer than her father's shield?

"If mortal schemes may foil the threatening hour, 30 Thy heart's reward shall crown thine honour's test; And the same fates that crush the heathen power Restore the Christian to the conqueror's breast; Yea, the same lights that gild the nuptial shrine Of Arthur, shed a beam as bless'd on thine!"

"I trust and I submit," said Lancelot, 31 With pale firm lip. "Go thou--I dare not--I!

Say, if I yield, that I abandon not!

Her form may leave a desert to my eye, But here--but _here_!"--No more his lips could say, He smote his bleeding heart, and went his way!