For Stoic look, And meet rebuke, He lack'd the heart or time; And round the band of sirens trip, He kiss'd one damsel's laughing lip, And press'd another's proffer'd hand, Spoke to them all in accents bland, But broke their magic circle through; "Kind Maids," he said, "adieu, adieu!

My fate, my fortune, forward lies."

He said, and vanish'd from their eyes; But, as he dared that darksome way, Still heard behind their lovely lay: "Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart!

Go, where the feelings of the heart With the warm pulse in concord move; Go, where Virtue sanctions Love!"

Downward De Vaux through darksome ways And ruin'd vaults has gone, Till issue from their wilder'd maze, Or safe retreat, seem'd none, And e'en the dismal path he strays Grew worse as he went on.

For cheerful sun, for living air, Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare, Whose fearful light the dangers show'd That dogg'd him on that dreadful road.

Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun, They show'd, but show'd not how to shun, These scenes of desolate despair, These smothering clouds of poison'd air, How gladly had De Vaux exchanged, Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged!

Nay, soothful bards have said, So perilous his state seem'd now, He wish'd him under arbour bough With Asia's willing maid.

When, joyful sound! at distance near A trumpet flourish'd loud and clear, And as it ceased, a lofty lay Seem'd thus to chide his lagging way:--

"Son of Honour, theme of story, Think on the reward before ye!

Danger, darkness, toil despise; 'Tis ambition bids thee rise.

"He that would her heights ascend, Many a weary step must wend; Hand and foot and knee he tries, Thus ambition's minions rise.

"Lag not now, though rough the way, Fortune's mood brooks no delay; Grasp the boon that's spread before ye, Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory!"

It ceased. Advancing on the sound, A steep ascent the Wanderer found, And then a turret stair: Nor climb'd he far its steepy round Till fresher blew the air, And next a welcome glimpse was given, That cheer'd him with the light of heaven.

At length his toil had won A lofty hall with trophies dress'd, Where, as to greet imperial guest, Four maidens stood, whose crimson vest Was bound with golden zone.

Of Europe seem'd the damsels all; The first a nymph of lively Gaul, Whose easy step and laughing eye Her borrow'd air of awe belie; The next a maid of Spain, Dark-eyed, dark-hair'd, sedate, yet bold; White ivory skin and tress of gold, Her shy and bashful comrade told For daughter of Almaine, These maidens bore a royal robe, With crown, with sceptre, and with globe, Emblems of empery; The fourth a s.p.a.ce behind them stood, And leant upon a harp, in mood Of minstrel ecstacy.

Of merry England she, in dress Like ancient British Druidess: Her hair an azure fillet bound, Her graceful vesture swept the ground, And, in her hand displayed, A crown did that fourth Maiden hold, But unadorned with gems and gold, Of glossy laurel made.

At once to brave De Vaux knelt down These foremost maidens three, And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown, Liegedom and seignorie, O'er many a region wide and fair, Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir; But homage would he none:-- "Rather," he said, "De Vaux would ride, A Warden of the Border-side, In plate and mail, than, robed in pride, A monarch's empire own; Rather, far rather, would he be, A free-born knight of England free, Than sit on Despot's throne."

So pa.s.s'd he on, when that fourth Maid, As starting from a trance, Upon the harp her finger laid; Her magic touch the chords obey'd, Their soul awaked at once!

SONG OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN.

"Quake to your foundations deep, Stately towers and banner'd keep, Bid your vaulted echoes moan, As the dreaded step they own.

"Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell, Hear the footfall! mark it well!

Spread your dusky wings abroad, Bound ye for your homeward road!

"It is HIS, the first who e'er Dared the dismal Hall of Fear; His, who hath the snares defied Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Pride.

"Quake to your foundations deep, Bastion huge, and turret steep!

Tremble, keep! and totter, tower!

This is Gyneth's waking hour."

Thus while she sung, the venturous Knight Has reach'd a bower, where milder light Through crimson curtains fell; Such softened shade the hill receives, Her purple veil when twilight leaves Upon its western swell.

That bower, the gazer to bewitch, Had wondrous store of rare and rich As e'er was seen with eye; For there, by magic skill, I wis, Form of each thing that living is Was limn'd in proper dye.

All seemed to sleep--the timid hare On form, the stag upon his lair, The eagle in her eyrie fair Between the earth and sky.

But what of pictured rich and rare Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where, Deep slumbering in the fatal chair, He saw King Arthur's child!

Doubt, and anger, and dismay From her brow had pa.s.sed away, Forgot was that fell tourney-day, For, as she slept, she smiled: It seem'd that the repentant Seer Her sleep of many a hundred year With gentle dreams beguiled.

That form of maiden loveliness, 'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, That ivory chair, that sylvan dress, The arms and ankles bare, express Of Lyulph's tale the truth.

Still upon her garment's hem Vanoc's blood made purple gem, And the warder of command c.u.mber'd still her sleeping hand; Still her dark locks dishevelled low From net of pearl o'er breast of snow; And so fair the slumberer seems, That De Vaux impeached his dreams, Vapid all and void of might, Hiding half her charms from sight.

Motionless a while he stands, Folds his arm and clasps his hands, Trembling in his fitful joy, Doubtful how he should destroy The long-enduring spell; Doubtful, too, when slowly rise Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes, What these eyes shall tell,-- "St. George! St. Mary! can it be, That they will kindly look on me!"

Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels, Soft that lovely hand he steals, Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp-- But the warder leaves her grasp; Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder!

Gyneth startles from her sleep, Totters tower, and trembles keep, Burst the castle-walls asunder!

Fierce and frequent were the shocks,-- Melt the magic halls away; ----But beneath their mystic rocks, In the arms of bold De Vaux Safe the princess lay; Safe and free from magic power, Blushing like the rose's flower Opening to the day; And round the Champion's brows were bound The crown that Druidess had wound, Of the green laurel-bay.

And this was what remain'd of all The wealth of each enchanted hall, Garland and the Dame: But where should Warrior seek the meed, Due to high worth for daring deed, Except from LOVE and FAME.

Our lovers, briefly be it said, Wedded as lovers wont to wed, When tale or play is o'er; Lived long and blest, loved fond and true, And saw a numerous race renew The honours that they bore.

Know, too, that when a pilgrim strays, In morning mist or evening maze, Along the mountain lone, That fairy fortress often mocks His gaze upon the castled rocks Of the Valley of St. John: But never man since brave De Vaux The charmed portal won.

'Tis now a vain illusive show, That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow, Or the fresh breeze hath blown.

THE END.