Much of bloodshed and much of scathe Have been their lot who have waked his wrath.
Leave him these lands and lordships still,
Heaven in its hour may change is will; 330
But if reft of gold and of living vare,
An evil counsellor is despair.'
More had he said, but the prelate frowned, And murmured his brethren who sate around,
And with one consent have they given their doom
That the Church should the lands of Saint Cuthbert resume.
So willed the prelate; and canon and dean Gave to his judgment their loud amen.
And braid with flowers her locks of jet,
As when in infancy;
Yet could that heart so simple prove
The early dawn of stealing love:
Ah! gentle maid, beware!
The power who, now so mild a guest,
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest
To the calm pleasures of thy breast,
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest,
Let none his empire share.
One morn in kirtle green arrayed
Deep in the wood the maiden strayed,
And where a fountain sprung
She sate her down unseen to thread
The scarlet berry's mimic braid,
And while the beads she strung,
Like the blithe lark whose carol gay
Gives a good-morrow to the day,
So lightsomely she sung.
'Lord William was born in gilded bower,
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower;
Yet better loves Lord William now
To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow;
And William has lived where ladies fair
With gawds and jewels deck their hair,
Yet better loves the dew-drops still
That pearl the locks of Metelill.
'The pious palmer loves, iwis,
Saint Cuthbert's hallowed beads to kiss;
But I, though simple girl I be,
Might have such homage paid to me;
For did Lord William see me suit
This necklace of the bramble's fruit,
He fain but must not have his will -
Would kiss the beads of Metelill.
'My nurse has told me many a tale,
How vows of love are weak and frail;
My mother says that courtly youth
By rustic maid means seldom sooth.
What should they mean? it cannot be
That such a warning's meant for me,
For nought - O, nought of fraud or ill
Can William mean to Metelill!'
Sudden she stops and starts to feel A weighty hand, a glove of steel,
Secured within his powerful hold,
To bend her knee, her hands to fold,
Was all the maiden might;
And 'O, forgive,' she faintly said,
The terrors of a simple maid,
If thou art mortal wight!
But if of such strange tales are told
Unearthly warrior of the wold,
Thou comest to chide mine accents bold,
My mother, Jutta, knows the spell
At noon and midnight pleasing well
The disembodied ear;
O, let her powerful charms atone
For aught my rashness may have done,
And cease thy grasp of fear.'
Then laughed the knight
To match in my degree.
Then, since coy maidens say my face
Is harsh, my form devoid of grace,
For a fair lineage to provide
'Tis meet that my selected bride
In lineaments be fair;
I love thine well- till now I ne'er
Looked patient on a face of fear,
But now that tremulous sob and tear
Become thy beauty rare.
One kiss nay, damsel, coy it not !-
And now go seek thy parents' cot,
And say a bridegroom soon I come
To woo my love and bear her home.'
All peace be here- What! none replies?
Dismiss your fears and your surprise.
"T is I that maid hath told my tale,-
Or, trembler, did thy courage fail?
It recks not - it is I demand
Fair Metelill in marriage band;
Harold the Dauntless 1, whose name
Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame.
The parents sought each other's eyes
With awe, resentment, and surprise:
Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began
The stranger's size and thews to scan;
But as he scanned his courage sunk,
And from unequal strife he shrunk,
Then forth to blight and blemish flies
The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes;
Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell
On Harold innocently fell!
And disappointment and amaze
Were in the witch's wildered gaze.
But soon the wit of woman woke,
And to the warrior mild she spoke:
Her child was all too young.'
The refuge of a maiden coy.'
Again, A powerful baron's heir
Claims in her heart an interest fair.'
A trifle whisper in his ear
That Harold is a suitor here!'
Baffled at length she sought delay:
Would not the knight till morning stay?
Late was the hour - he there might rest
Till morn, their lodge's honored guest.'
Such were her words - her craft might
cast
Her honored guest should sleep his last:
'No, not to-night- but soon,' he swore, 230
'He would return, nor leave them more.'
The threshold then his huge stride crost,
And soon he was in darkness lost.
Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire Upon each other bent their ire;
A woodsman thou and hast a spear, And couldst thou such an insult bear?' Sullen he said, 'A man contends With men, a witch with sprites and fiends; Not to mere mortal wight belong Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. But thou is this thy promise fair, That your Lord William, wealthy heir To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-Wear, Should Metelill to altar bear? Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine Serve but to slay some peasant's kine, His grain in autumn's storms to steep, Or thorough fog and fen to sweep
Stern she replied, 'I will not wage
War with thy folly or thy rage;
But ere the morrow's sun be low,
Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know
If I can venge me on a foe.
Believe the while that whatso'er
I spoke in ire of bow and spear,
It is not Harold's destiny
The death of pilfered deer to die.
But he, and thou, and yon pale moon —
That shall be yet more pallid soon,
Before she sink behind the dell
Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell
What Jutta knows of charm or spell.'
Thus muttering, to the door she bent
Her wayward steps and forth she went,
And left alone the moody sire
To cherish or to slake his ire.
Far faster than belonged to age
Has Jutta made her pilgrimage.
A priest has met her as she passed,
And crossed himself and stood aghast:
She traced a hamlet - not a cur
His throat would ope, his foot would stir;
By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, 300
They made her hated presence known!
But when she trode the sable fell,
Were wilder sounds her way to tell,-
For far was heard the fox's yell,
The black-cock waked and faintly crew,
Screamed o'er the moss the scared curlew;
Where o'er the cataract the oak
Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak;
The mountain-cat which sought his prey
Glared, screamed, and started from her
way.
Such music cheered her journey lone
To the deep dell and rocking stone:
There with unhallowed hymn of praise
She called a god of heathen days.
'And is this all,' said Jutta stern,
'That thou canst teach and I can learn?
Hence to the land of fog and waste,
There fittest is thine influence placed,
Thou powerless, sluggish Deity!
But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee
Again before so poor a god.'
She struck the altar with her rod;
Slight was the touch as when at need
A damsel stirs her tardy steed;
But to the blow the stone gave place,
And, starting from its balanced base,
Rolled thundering down the moonlight
dell, -
Re-echoed moorland, rock, and fell;
Into the moonlight tarn it dashed,
Their shores the sounding surges lashed,
And there was ripple, rage, and foam; But on that lake, so dark and lone, Placid and pale the moonbeam shone As Jutta hied her home.
GRAY towers of Durham! there was once a time
I viewed your battlements with such vague hope
As brightens life in its first dawning
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