Part I.
O nostra Vita, ch'e si bella in vista!
Come perde agevolmente in un momento,
Quel, che'n molt' anni a grand pena s'acquista!
Petrarca.
There was a young, and valiant Knight,
SIR ELDRED was his name,
And never did a worthier wight
The rank of knighthood claim.
Where gliding
Tay her stream sends forth,
To crown the neighbouring wood,
The antient glory of the North,
SIR ELDRED's castle stood.
The youth was rich as youth might be
In patrimonial dower;
And many a noble feat had he
Atchiev'd, in hall, and bower.
He did not think, as some have thought,
Whom honour never crown'd,
The fame a father dearly bought,
Cou'd make the son renown'd.
He better thought, a noble sire,
Who gallant deeds had done,
To deeds of hardihood shou'd fire
A brave and gallant son.
The fairest ancestry on earth
Without desert is poor;
And every deed of lofty worth
Is but a tax for more.
SIR ELDRED's heart was good and kind,
Alive to Pity's call;
A croud of virtues grac'd his mind,
He lov'd, and felt for all.
When
merit rais'd the sufrerer's name,
He
doubly serv'd him
then;
And those who cou'd not prove that claim,
He thought they still were
men.
But sacred truth the Muse compels
His errors to impart;
And yet the Muse, reluctant, tells
The fault of ELDRED's heart.
Tho' kind and gentle as the dove,
As free from guile and art,
And mild, and soft as infant love
The feelings of his heart;
Yet if distrust his thoughts engage,
Or jealousy inspires,
His bosom wild and boundless rage
Inflames with all its fires:
Not Thule's waves so wildly break
To drown the northern shore;
Not Etna's entrails fiercer shake,
Or Scythia's tempests roar.
As when in summer's sweetest day,
To fan the fragrant morn,
The sighing breezes softly stray
O'er fields of ripen'd corn;
Sudden the lightning's blast descends,
Deforms the ravag'd fields;
At once the various ruin blends,
And all resistless yields.
But when, to clear his stormy breast,
The sun of reason shone,
And ebbing passions sunk to rest,
And shew'd what rage had done:
O then what anguish he betray'd!
His shame how deep, how true!
He view'd the waste his rage had made,
And shudder'd at the view.
The meek-ey'd dawn, in saffron robe,
Proclaimed the opening day;
Up rose the sun to gild the globe,
And hail the new-born May;
The birds their amorous notes repeat,
And glad the vernal grove,
Their feather'd partners fondly greet
With many a song of love;
When pious ELDRED walk'd abroad
His morning vows to pay,
And hail the universal Lord
Who gave the goodly day.
That done—he left his woodland glade,
And journey'd far away;
He lov'd to court the stranger shade,
And thro' the lone vale stray.
Within the bosom of a wood,
By circling hills embrac'd,
A little, modest mansion stood,
Built by the hand of Taste.
While many a prouder castle fell,
This safely did endure;
The house where guardian virtues dwell
Is sacred, and secure.
Of Eglantine an humble fence
Around the mansion stood,
Which charm'd at once the ravish'd sense,
And screen'd an infant wood.
The wood receiv'd an added grace,
As pleas'd it bent to look,
And view'd its ever verdant face
Reflected in a brook.
The smallness of the stream did well
The master's fortunes shew;
But little streams may serve to tell
From what a source they flow.
This mansion own'd an aged Knight,
And such a man was he,
As Heaven just shews to human sight,
To tell what man shou'd be.
His youth in many a well-fought field
Was train'd betimes to war;
His bosom, like a well-worn shield,
Was grac'd with many a scar.
The vigour of a green old age
His reverend form did bear;
And yet, alas! the warrior-sage
Had drain'd the dregs of care.
And sorrow more than age can break,
And wound its hapless prey;
'Twas sorrow surrow'd his firm cheek,
And turn'd his bright locks grey.
One darling daughter sooth'd his cares,
A young and beauteous dame;
Sole comfort of his failing years,
And BIRTHA was her name.
Her heart a little sacred shrine,
Where all the Virtues meet;
And holy Hope, and Faith divine,
Had claim'd it for their seat.
She rear'd a fair and fragrant bower
Of wild and rustic taste,
And there she screen'd each fav'rite flower
From every ruder blast.
And not a shrub or plant was there
But did some moral yield;
For wisdom, with a father's care,
Was found in every field.
The trees, whose foliage fell away,
And with the summer died,
He thought an image of decay
Might lecture human pride.
While fair, perennial greens that stood,
And brav'd the wintry blast,
As types of the fair mind he view'd
Which shall for ever last.
He taught her that the gaudiest: flowers
Were seldom fragrant found,
But wasted soon their little powers,
Lay useless on the ground.
While the sweet pink, and scented rose,
In precious odours last;
And when no more the colour glows,
The sweetness is not past.
And here the Virgin lov'd to lead
Her inoffensive day,
And here she oft retir'd to read,
And oft retir'd to pray.
Embower'd she grac'd the woodland shades,
From courts and cities far,
The pride of Caledonian maids,
The peerless northern star.
As shines that bright and blazing star,
The glory of the night,
When sailing thro' the liquid air,
It pours its lambent light:
Such BIRTHA shone!—But when she spoke
The Muse herself was heard,
As on the ravish'd air she broke,
And thus her prayer preferr'd:
"O bless thy BIRTHA, Power Supreme,
"In whom I live and move,
"And bless me most by blessing him
"Whom more than life I love."—
She starts to hear a stranger voice,
And with a modest grace
She lifts her meek eye in surprize,
And sees a stranger face.
The stranger lost in transport stood,
Bereft of voice and power,
While she with equal wonder view'd
SIR ELDRED OF THE BOWER.
The mountain breeze which paints her cheek
With Nature's purest dye,
And all the dazzling fires which break
Illustrious from her eye:—
He view'd them all, and as he view'd
Drank deeply of delight;
And still his ravish'd eye pursued,
And feasted on the sight.
With silent wonder long they gaz'd,
And neither silence broke;
At length the smother'd passion blaz'd,
Enamour'd ELDRED spoke:
"O sacred Virtue, heav'nly power!
Thy wondrous force I feel;
"I gaze, I tremble, I adore,
Yet die my love to tell.
Beauty with coldness I've beheld,
"And 'scap'd the shaft divine;
But what my guardless heart can shield
From
piety like thine?"
She cast her mild eyes on the ground,
And rais'd their beams as fast;
And close her Father dear she found,
Who haply that way past.
Good ARDOLPH's eye his BIRTHA meets
With glances of delight;
And thus with courteous speech he greets
The young and graceful Knight:
O gallant Youth, whoe'er thou art,
Thou art welcome to this place;
"There's something rises at my heart
Which says I've seen that face.
"Thou generous Knight!" the Youth rejoin'd,
Tho' little known to same,
"I trust I bear a grateful mind—
SIR ELDRED is my name.
SIR ELDRED?"—ARDOLPH loud exclaim'd,
"Renown'd for worth and power?
For valour and for virtue fam'd,
"SIR ELDRED OF THE BOWER?
"Now make me grateful, righteous Heaven,
As thou art good to me,
Since to my aged eyes 'tis given
SIR ELDRED's son to see!"
Then ARDOLPH caught him by the hand,
And gaz'd upon his face,
And to his aged bosom strain'd,
With many a kind embrace.
Again he view'd him o'er and o'er,
And doubted still the truth,
And ask'd what he had ask'd before,
Then thus addrest the Youth:
"Come now beneath my roof, I pray,
Some needful rest to take,
"And with us many a cheerful day
Thy friendly sojourn make."
He enter'd at the gate straightway
Some needful rest to take;
And with them many a cheerful day
Did friendly sojourn make.
END OF THE FIRST PART.
PART II.
ONCE—'twas upon a summer's walk,
The gaudy day was fled;
They cheated Time with cheerful talk,
When thus Sir ARDOLPH said:
"Thy father was the firmest friend
"That e'er my being blest;
"And every virtue Heaven could send,
"Fast bound him to my breast.
"Together did we learn to bear
"The targe and ample shield;
"Together learn'd in many a war,
"The deathful spear to wield.
"To make our union still more dear,
"We both were doom'd to prove
"What is most sweet and most severe
"In heart-dissolving love.
"The daughter of a neighbouring Knight
"Did
my fond heart engage;
"And ne'er did Heav'n the virtues write
"Upon a fairer page.
"
His bosom felt an equal wound,
"Nor sigh'd we long in vain;
"One summer's sun beheld us bound
"In Hymen's holy chain.
"Thou wast SIR ELDRED's only child,
"Thy father's darling joy;
"On me a lovely daughter smil'd,
"On me a blooming boy.
"But man has woes, has clouds of care,
"That dim his star of life—
"My arms receiv'd the little pair,
"The earth's cold breast, my wife.
"Forgive, thou gentle Knight, forgive,
"Fond foolish tears will flow;
"One day like mine thy heart may heave,
"And mourn its lot of woe.
"But grant, kind Heaven! thou ne'er may'st know
"The pangs I now impart;
"Nor ever feel the deadly blow
"That rives a husband's heart.
"Beside the blooming banks of
Tay,
"My angel's ashes sleep;
"And wherefore should her ARDOLPH stay,
"Except to watch and weep?
"I bore my beauteous babes away
"With many a gushing tear,
"I left the blooming banks of
Tay,
"And brought my darlings here.
"I watch'd my little household cares,
"And form'd their growing youth;
"And fondly train'd their infant years
"To love and cherish truth."
"Thy blooming BIRTHA here I see,"
Sir. ELDRED straight rejoin'd;
"But why thy son is not with thee,
"Resolve my doubting; mind."
When BIRTHA did the question hear,
She sigh'd, but could not speak;
And many a soft and silent tear
Stray'd down her damask check.
Then pass'd o'er good Sir ARDOLPH's face,
A cast of deadly pale;
But soon compos'd, with manly grace
He thus renew'd his tale:
"For him my heart too much has bled,
"For him, my darling son,
"Has sorrow prest my hoary head;
"But—Heav'n's high will be done!
"Scarce eighteen winters had revolv'd,
"To crown the circling year,
"Before my valiant boy resolv'd
"The warrior's lance to bear,
"Too high I priz'd my native land,
"Too dear his fame I held,
"T' oppose a parent's stern command,
"And keep him from the field.
"He left me—left his sister too,
"Yet tears bedew'd his face—
"What could a feeble old man do?—
"He burst from my embrace.
"O thirst of glory, fatal flame!
"O laurels dearly bought!
"Yet sweet is death when earn'd with fame—
"So virtuous EDWY thought.
"Full manfully the brave boy strove,
"Tho' pressing ranks oppose;
"But weak the strongest arm must prove
"Against an host of foes.
"A deadly wound my son receives,
"A spear assails his side.
"Grief does not kill—for ARDOLPH lives
"To tell that EDWY died.
"His long—lov'd Mother died again
"In EDWY's parting groan;
"I wept for her, yet wept in vain—
"I wept for both in one.
"I would have died—I sought to die;
"But Heaven restrain'd the thought,
"And to my passion-clouded eye
"My helpless BIRTHA brought.
"When lo! array'd in robes of light,
"A nymph celestial came;
"She clear'd the mists that dimm'd my sight—
"RELIGION was her name.
"She prov'd the chastisement divine,
"And bade me kiss the rod;
"She taught this rebel heart of mine
"Submission to its God.
"RELIGION taught me to sustain
"What nature bade me feel;
"And piety reliev'd the pain
"Which time can never heal."
He ceas'd—With sorrow and delight
The tale Sir ELDRED hears,
Then weeping cries—"Thou noble Knight,
For thanks accept my tears.
"O ARDOLPH, might I dare aspire
"To claim so bright a boon!—
"Good old Sir ELDRED was my sire—
"And thou hast lost a son.
"And tho' I want a worthier plea
"To urge so dear a cause,
"Yet, let me to thy bosom be
"What once thy EDWY was.
"My trembling tongue its aid denies;
"For thou may'st disapprove;
"Then read it in my ardent eyes,
"Oh! read the tale of love.
"Thy beauteous BIRTHA '"—"Gracious Power,
"How cou'd I e'er repine,
"Cries ARDOLPH, "since I see this hour?
"Yes—BIRTHA shall be thine."
A little transient gleam of red
Shot faintly o'er her face,
And every trembling feature spread
With sweet disorder'd grace.
The tender father kindly smil'd
With fullness of content,
And fondly eyed his darling child,
Who, bashful, blush'd consent.
O then to paint the vast delight
That fill'd Sir ELDRED's heart,
To tell the transports of the Knight,
Wou'd mock the Muse's art.
But every kind and gracious soul,
Where gentle passions dwell,
Will better far conceive the whole,
Than any Muse can tell.
The more the Knight his BIRTHA knew,
The more he priz'd the Maid;
Some worth each day produc'd to view,
Some grace each hour betray'd.
The virgin too was fond to charm
The dear, accomplish'd Youth;
His single breast she strove to warm,
And crown'd, with love, his truth.
Unlike the dames of modern days,
Who
general homage claim,
Who court the
universal gaze,
And pant for
public fame.
Then Beauty but on merit smil'd,
Nor were her chaste smiles sold;
No venal father gave his child
For grandeur, or for gold.
The ardour of young ELDRED's flame
But ill cou'd brook delay,
And oft he press'd the maid to name
A speedy nuptial day.
The fond impatience of his breast
'Twas all in vain to hide,
But she his eager suit represt.
With modest, maiden pride.
When oft Sir ELDRED press'd the day
Which was to crown his truth,
The thoughtful Sire wou'd sigh, and say,
"O happy state of youth!
"It little recks the woes which wait
"To scare its dreams of joy,
"Nor thinks to-morrow's alter'd fate
"May all those dreams destroy.
"And tho' the flatterer, Hope, deceives,
"And painted prospects shews;
"Yet man, still cheated, still believes,
"Till death the bright scene close.
"So look'd my bride, so sweetly mild,
"On me her beauty's slave;
But whilst she look'd, and whilst she smil'd,
"She sunk into the grave.
"Yet, O forgive an old man's care,
"Forgive a father's zeal;
"Who fondly loves must greatly fear,
"Who fears must greatly feel.
"Once more in soft and sacred bands
"Shall Love and Hymen meet;
"To-morrow shall unite your hands,
"And—be your bliss complete!"
The rising sun inflam'd the sky,
The golden orient blush'd;
But BIRTHA's cheeks a sweeter die,
A brighter crimson flush'd.
The Priest, in milk-white vestments clad,
Perform'd the mystic rite;
Love lit the hallow'd torch that led
To Hymen's chaste delight.
How feeble language were to speak
Th' immeasurable joy
That fir'd Sir ELDRED's ardent cheek,
And triumph'd in his eye!
Sir ARDOLPH's pleasu're stood confest,
A pleasure all his own;
The guarded rapture of a breast
Which many a grief had known.
'Twas such a sober sense of joy
As Angels well might keep;
A joy chastis'd by piety,
A joy prepar'd to weep.
To recollect her scatter'd thought,
And shun the noon-tide hour,
The lovely bride in secret sought
The coolness of her Bower.
Long she remain'd—th' enamour'd Knight,
Impatient at her stay,
And all unfit to taste delight
When BIRTHA was away;
Betakes him to the secret Bower;
His footsteps softly move;
Impell'd by every tender power,
He steals upon his love.
O, horror! horror! blasting sight!
He sees his BIRTHA's charms,
Reclin'd with melting, fond delight,
Within a stranger's arms.
Wild phrenzy fires his frantic hand,
Distracted at the sight,
He flies to where the lovers stand,
And stabs the stranger Knight.
"Die, traitor, die, thy guilty flames
"Demand th' avenging steel"—
"It is my brother, she exclaims,
"Tis EDWY—Oh farewell!"
An aged peasant, EDWY's guide,
The good old ARDOLPH sought;
He told him that his bosom's pride,
His EDWY, he had brought.
O how the father's feelings melt!
How faint, and how revive!
Just so the Hebrew Patriarch felt
To find his son alive.
"Let me behold my darling's face
"And bless him ere I die!
"Then with a swift and vigorous pace
He to the Bower did hie.
O sad reverse !—Sunk on the ground
His slaughter'd son he view'd,
And dying BIRTHA close he found
In brother's blood imbued.
Cold, speechless, senseless, ELDRED near
Gaz'd on the deed he had done;
Like the blank statue of
Despair,
Or
Madness grav'd in stone.
The father saw— so Jephthah stood,
So turn'd his woe-fraught eye,
When the dear, destin'd child he view'd,
His zeal had doom'd to die.
He look'd the woe he could not speak,
And on the pale corse prest
His wan, discolour'd, dying cheek,
And silent, sunk to rest.
Then BIRTHA faintly rais'd her eye,
Which long had ceas'd to stream,
On ELDRED fix'd with many a sigh
Its dim, departing beam.
The cold, cold dews of hastening death
Upon her pale face stand;
And quick and short her failing breath,
And tremulous her hand.
The cold, cold dews of hastening death,
The dim, departing eye,
The quivering hand, the short quick breath
He view'd— and did not die.
He saw her spirit mount in air,
Its kindred skies to seek;
His heart its anguish cou'd not bear,
And yet it wou'd not break.
The mournful Muse forbears to tell
How wretched ELDRED died:
She draws the Grecian
* Painter's veil,
The vast distress to hide.
Yet Heaven's decrees are just, and wise,
And man is born to bear:
Joy is the portion of the skies,
Beneath them, all is care.
THE END.