And much of trifling grave and much of buxom game. Then of the books to catch thy drowsy glance What time to Indolence his harp he strung; Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. And the romancer's tale becomes the reader's dream. 'Tis thus my malady I well may bear, Albeit outstretched, like Pope's own Paridel, Upon the rack of a too-easy chair; And find to cheat the time a powerful spell In old romaunts of errantry that tell, Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell, Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-winged Roc, Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock. Oft at such season too will rhymes unsought Court not the critic's smile nor dread his frown; They well may serve to while an hour away, Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops it down. Woe to the realms which he coasted! for there Was shedding of blood and rending of hair, Dane, To light his band to their barks again. Thou hast murdered, robbed, and spoiled, Time it is thy poor soul were assoiled; 60 Priests didst thou slay and churches burn, Time it is now to repentance to turn; Fiends hast thou worshipped with fiendish rite, Leave now the darkness and wend into light; 'Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, Three earls came against him with all their My faith I will leave and I'll cleave unto Priest, monk, and prelate stood aghast, Loud was the shriek and deep the groan When the holy sign on the earth was thrown! The fierce old count unsheathed his brand, But he must own repentance's power, Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone 180 Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home. He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of rain, He saw the red lightning through shot-hole and pane; 'And O!' said the page, 'on the shelterless wold Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold! What though he was stubborn and wayward and wild, He endured me because I was Ermengarde's child, And often from dawn till the set of the sun Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witi- In the chase by his stirrup unbidden I run; I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, kind's son. XIII High was the feasting in Witikind's hall, Revelled priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all; And e'en the good bishop was fain to endure The scandal which time and instruction might cure: It were dangerous, he deemed, at the first to restrain In his wine and his wassail a half-christened Dane. The mead flowed around and the ale was drained dry, 210 250 Thou canst not share my grief or joy: The gods above, the fiends below, Such must thou be with me to roam, XVIII 260 back, and With gentler look Lord Harold eyed Ventures achieved, and battles fought; |
