XV. "Tempter!" said Harold, firm of heart, The kindling frenzy of my breast, Eivir," the shape replied," is mine, Thrill'd this strange speech thro' Harold's brain, I will assail thee, fiend!" Then rose XVI. Smoke roll'd above, fire flash'd around, Nor paused the champion of the north, XVII. He placed her on a bank of moss, And new-born thoughts his soul engross, His stubborn sinews fly; And glimmer'd in her eye. O, dull of heart, through wild and wave XVIII. Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd, And the deep blush, which bids its dye But vainly seems the Dane to seek To morrow is saint Cuthbert's tide, A christian knight and christian bride; And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be said, That on the same morn he was christen'd and wed. CONCLUSION. And now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid? And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow. No need to turn the page, as if 'twere lead, Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. Be cheer'd-'tis ended-and I will not borrow, To try thy patience more, one anecdote From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote A tale six cantos long, yet scorn'd to add a note. PREFACE. OR, THE VALE OF ST. JOHN. A LOVER'S TALE. An elf-quene wol I love ywis, It is in this situation that those epics are found In the Edinburgh Annual Register for the year which have been generally regarded the standards 1809, three fragments were inserted, written in of poetry; and it has happened somewhat strangeimitation of living poets. It must have been ap-ly, that the moderns have pointed out, as the chaparent, that by these prolusions, nothing burlesque racteristics and peculiar excellences of narrative or disrespectful to the authors was intended, but poetry, the very circumstances which the authors that they were offered to the public as serious, themselves adopted, only because their art involvthough certainly very imperfect, imitations of that ed the duties of the historian as well as the poet. style of composition, by which each of the writers It cannot be believed, for example, that Homer is supposed to be distinguished. As these exer- selected the siege of Troy as the most appropriate cises attracted a greater degree of attention than subject for poetry; his purpose was to write the the author auticipated, he has been induced to early history of his country: the event he has complete one of them, and present it as a separate chosen, though not very fruitful in varied incident, nor perfectly well adapted for poetry, was neverpublication. It is not in this place that an examination of the theless combined with traditionary and genealogiworks of the master whom he has here adopted as cal anecdotes extremely interesting to those who his model can, with propriety, be introduced; were to listen to him; and this he has adorned by since his general acquiescence in the favourable the exertions of a genius, which, if it has been suffrage of the public must necessarily be inferred equalled, has certainly never been surpassed. It from the attempt he has now made. He is induced, was not till comparatively a late period that the by the nature of his subject, to offer a few remarks general accuracy of his narrative, or his purpose on what has been called Romantic Poetry,--the in composing it, was brought into question. Acxel popularity of which has been revived in the pre- πρωτος ο Αναξαγόρας (καθά φησι Φαβορινος εν παρω sent day, under the auspices, and by the unparal- τοδαπα Ιστορία) την Ομηρου ποίησιν αποφηνασθαι leled success of one individual. είναν αρετης και δικαισύνης. But whatever theThe original purpose of poetry is either reli-ories might be framed by speculative men, his gious or historical, or, as must frequently happen, work was of an historical, not of an allegorical naa mixture of both. To modern readers, the poems ture. Εναυτίλλετο μετα του Μοντεως, και όπου of Homer have many of the features of pure roέκαστοτε αφίκοιτο, παντα τα επιχωρισ διερωτα mance; but, in the estimation of his contemporaries, they probably derived their chief value from το, και ἱστορεύων επυνθάνετο οικος δε μιν ην και their supposed historical authenticity. The same nova avtor & popsoas. Instead of remay be generally said of the poetry of all early commending the choice of a subject similar to that ages. The marvels and miracles which the poet of Homer, it was to be expected that critics should blends with his song do not exceed in number or have exhorted the poets of these later days to adopt extravagance the figments of the historians of the or invent a narrative in itself more susceptible of same period of society; and, indeed, the difference poetical ornament, and to avail themselves of that betwixt poetry and prose, as the vehicles of his-advantage in order to compensate, in some degree, torical truth, is always of late introduction. Poets, the inferiority of genius. The contrary course has under various denominations of Bards, Scalds, Chroniclers, and so forth, are the first historians of all nations. Their intention is to relate the events they have witnessed, or the traditions that have reached them; and they clothe the relation in rhyme, merely as the means of rendering it more solemn in the narrative, or more easily committed to memory. But as the poetical historian improves in the art of conveying information, the authenticity of his narrative unavoidably declines. He is tempted to dilate and dwell upon the events that are interesting to his imagination, and, conscious how different his audience is to the naked truth of his poem, his hiry gradually becomes a romanes. been inculcated by almost all the writers upon the + Homeri Vita, tire poetry, if strictly confined to the great occurrences of history, would be deprived of the individual interest which it is so well calculated to excite. Modern poets may therefore be pardoned in seeking simpler subjects of verse, more interesting in proportion to their simplicity. Two or three figures, well grouped, suited the artist better than a crowd, for whatever purpose assembled. For the same reason a scene immediately presented to the imagination, and directly brought home to the feelings, though involving the fate but of one or two persons, is more favourable for poetry than the political struggles and convulsions which influence the fate of kingdoms. The former are within the reach and comprehension of all, and, if depicted with vigour, seldom fail to fix attention: the other, if more sublime, are more vague and distant, less capable of being distinctly understood, and infinitely less capable of exciting those sentiments which it is the very purpose of poetry to inspire. To generalize is always to destroy effect. We would, for example, be more interested in the fate of an individual soldier in combat, than in the grand event of a general action; with the happiness of two lovers raised from misery and anxiety to peace and union, than with the successful exertions of a whole nation. From what causes this may originate, is a separate, and obviously an immaterial consideration. Before ascribing this peculiarity to causes decidedly and odiously selfish, it is proper to recollect, that while men see only a limited space, and while their affections and conduct are regulated, not by aspiring at an universal good, but by exerting their power of making themselves and others happy within the limited scale allotted to each individual, so long will individual history and individual virtue be the readier and more accessible road to general interest and attention; and perhaps we may add, that it is the more useful, as well as the more accessible, inasmuch as it affords an example capable of being easily imitated. According to the author's idea of Romantic Poetry, as distinguished from Epic, the former comprehends a fictitious narrative, framed and combined at the pleasure of the writer; beginning and ending as he may judge best; which neither exacts nor refuses the use of supernatural machinery; which is free from the technical rules of the Epée; and is subject only to those which good sense, good taste, and good morals apply to every species of poetry without exception. The date may be in a remote age, or in the present; the story may deail the adventures of a prince or of a peasant. In a word, the author is absolute master of his country and its inhabitants, and every thing is permitted to him, excepting to be heavy or prosaic, for which, free and unembarrassed as he is, he has no manner of apology. Those, it is probable, will be found the peculiarities of this species of composition: and, before joining the outcry against the vitiated taste that fosters and encourages it, the justice and grounds of it ought to be made perfectly apparent. If the want of sieges and battles and great military evolutions in our poetry is complained of, let us reflect, that the campaigns and heroes of our day are perpetuated in a record that neither requires nor admits of the aid of fiction; and if the complaint refers to the inferiority of our bards, let us pay a Just tribute to their modesty, limiting them, as it does, to subjects, which, however indifferently treated, have still the interest and charm of novelty, and which thus prevents them from adding insipidity to their other more insuperable defects. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. INTRODUCTION. I. COME, Lucy! while 'tis morning hour, Round petty isles the runnels glide, A dry-shod pass from side to side. Nay, why this hesitating pause? Like thine, though timid, light, and slim, That this same stalwart arm of mine, Which could yon oak's prone trunk upreas, Shall sink beneath the burthen dear Of form so slender, light, and fine.So, now, the danger dared at last, Look back and smile at perils past! III. And now we reach the favourite glade, Paled in by copse-wood, cliff, and stone, Where never harsher sounds invade, To break affection's whispering tone, Than the deep breeze that waves the shade, Than the small brooklet's feeble moan. Come! rest thee on thy wonted seat; Moss'd is the stone, the turf is green, A place where lovers best may meet, Who would not that their love be seen. The boughs, that dim the summer sky, Shall hide us from each lurking spy, That fain would spread the invidious tale, How Lucy of the lofty eye, Noble in birth, in fortunes high, IV. How deep that blush!-how deep that sigh! Than the dull glance of common men, And shared with Love the crimson glow, Well pleased that thou art Arthur's choice, For Love, too, has his hours of schooling. V. Too oft my anxious eye has spied To meet a rival on a throne: VI. My sword-its master must be dumb; Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame. Is there to love and honour true, That boasts a pulse so warm as mine? Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. I might have learn'd their choice unwise, My lyre-it is an idle toy, That borrows accents not its own, That sings but in a mimic tone. But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell For Lucy loves,--like Collins, ill-starr'd name!! CANTO I. WHERE is the maiden of mortal strain, When it breaks the clouds of an April day; Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies, IV. "Hearken, my minstrels! Which of ye all Touch'd his harp with that dying fall, So sweet, so soft, so faint, It seem'd an angel's whisper'd call And hearken, my merry men! what time or where Onward he rode, the path-way still Winding betwixt the lake and hill; KING ARTHUR has ridden from merry Carusle, He journeyed like errant knight the while On mountain, moss, and moor. Above his solitary track Rose Glaramara's ridgy back, In whose black mirror you may spy |