And the pauses amidst his speech Were as awful as the sound: And the blade of the bloody Norse And with many a woman's wail. They have lighted the islands with Ruin's torch. And the holy men of Iona's church In the temple of God lay slain; All but Aodh, the last Culdee, But bound with many an iron chain, Bound in that church was he. And where is Aodh's bride? Rocks of the ocean flood! Plunged she not from your heights in pride, In the temple lighted their banquet up, Was left on the altar-cup. 'Twas then that the Norseman to Aodh said, "Tell where thy church's treasure's laid, Or I'll hew thee limb from limb." As he spoke the bell struck three, And every torch grew dim That lighted their revelry. But the torches again burnt bright, And brighter than before, When an aged man of majestic height Hush'd was the revellers' sound, They were struck as mute as the dead, And their hearts were appall'd by the very sound Of his footstep's measured tread, Nor word was spoken by one beholder, While he flung his white robe back on his shoulder, And stretching his arms-as eath Unriveted Aodh's bands, As if the gyves had been a wreath All saw the stranger's similitude To the ancient statue's form; Then uprose the Danes at last to deliver They lifted the spear and sword, And levell'd their spears in rows. But down went axes and spears and bows, When the Saint with his crosier sign'd, The archer's hand on the string was stopt, And down, like reeds laid flat by the wind, Their lifted weapons dropt. The Saint then gave a signal mute, He came and stood at the statue's foot, Till hands invisible shook the wall, On Ulvfagre's helm it crash'd- "Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," he cried, "And tell the nations abroad, How the fiercest of your herd has died And take with you o'er the flood A remnant was call'd together, A doleful remnant of the Gael, And the Saint in the ship that had brought him hither Took the mourners to Innisfail. Unscathed they left Iona's strand, When the opal morn first flush'd the sky, For the Norse dropt spear, and bow, and brand And look'd on them silently; Save from their hiding-places came Orphans and mothers, child and dame: But alas! when the search for Reullura spread, For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head, THE TURKISH LADY. 'Twas the hour when rites unholy Call'd each Paynim voice to prayer, And the star that faded slowly Left to dews the freshen'd air. Day her sultry fires had wasted, Calm and sweet the moonlight rose: Ev'n a captive spirit tasted Half oblivion of his woes. Then 'twas from an Emir's palace Came an eastern lady bright: She, in spite of tyrants jealous, Saw and loved an English knight. "Tell me, captive, why in anguish Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell, Where poor Christians as they languish Hear no sound of sabbath bell?" "'Twas on Transylvania's Bannat, "In that day of desolation, THE BRAVE ROLAND.* THE brave Roland!-the brave Roland!False tidings reached the Rhenish strand That he had fallen in fight; And thy faithful bosom swoon'd with pain O loveliest maiden of Allemayne! For the loss of thy own true knight. But why so rash has she ta'en the veil, Woe! woe! each heart shall bleed-shall break! Yet Roland the brave-Roland the truc- It was dear still 'midst his woes; There's yet one window of that pile, She died-He sought the battle-plain! When he fell and wish'd to fall: THE SPECTRE BOAT. A BALLAD. LIGHT rued false Ferdinand to leave a lovely maid forlorn, Who broke her heart and died to hide her blushing cheek from scorn. One night he dreamt he woo'd her in their wonted bower of love, Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the birds sang sweet above. The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfells, the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands. "Come, traitor, down, for whom my ghost still wanders unforgiven! Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I broke my peace with Heaven!" It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to meet her call, Like the bird that shrieks and flutters in the gazing serpent's thrall. You may guess the boldest mariner shrunk daunted from the sight, For the Spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with hideous light; Like a fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of her hand, And round they went, and down they went, as the cock crew from the land. GILDEROY. THE last, the fatal hour is come, The bell has toll'd: it shakes my heart; And must my Gilderoy depart No bosom trembles for thy doom; Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen, Ah little thought I to deplore Those limbs in fetters bound; Or hear, upon the scaffold floor, The midnight hammer sound. Ye cruel, cruel, that combined A long adieu! but where shall fly Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears, Then will I seek the dreary mound That wraps thy mouldering clay, And weep and linger on the ground, And sigh my heart away. THE RITTER BANN. THE Ritter Bann from Hungary Came back, renown'd in arms, But scorning jousts of chivalry And love and ladies' charms. While other knights held revels, he Slow paced his lonely room. There enter'd one whose face he knew,-Whose voice, he was aware, He oft at mass had listen'd to, In the holy house of prayer. 'Twas the Abbot of St. James's monks, A fresh and fair old man; His reverend air arrested even The gloomy Ritter Bann. But seeing with him an ancient dame Come clad in Scotch attire, The Ritter's colour went and came, And loud he spoke in ire. "Ha! nurse of her that was my bane, Name not her name to me; I wish it blotted from my brain: "Sir Knight," the Abbot interposed, "Remember, each his sentence waits; "You wedded undispensed by Church, "Her house denounced your marriage-band, Betrothed her to De Grey, And the ring you put upon her hand "Then wept your Jane upon my neck, "You were not there; and 'twas their threat, "I had a son, a sea-boy, in "To Scotland from the Devon's Green myrtle shores we fled; And the Hand that sent the ravens To Elijah, gave us bread. "She wrote you by my son, but ho "For they that wrong'd you, to elude Your wrath, defamed my child; "To die but at your feet, she vow'd "For when the snow-storm beat our roof, Nor summer bud perfume the dew Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made; And on my trunk's surviving frame Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, First breathed upon this sacred ground: By all that Love has whisper'd here, Or Beauty heard with ravish'd ear; As Love's own altar honour me, Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree HALLOWED GROUND. WHAT'S hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod To bow the knee? That's hallow'd ground-where, mourn'd and miss'd, The lips repose our love has kiss'd;- A kiss can consecrate the ground Where mated hearts are mutual bound: Is hallow'd down to earth's profound, For time makes all but true love old; What hallows ground where heroes sleep? But strew his ashes to the wind |