The Lady of the Lake | Page 8

blade?Dropped from the sheath, that careless flung?Upon a stag's huge antlers swung;?For all around, the walls to grace,?Hung trophies of the fight or chase:?A target there, a bugle here,?A battle-axe, a hunting-spear,?And broadswords, bows, and arrows store,?With the tusked trophies of the boar.?Here grins the wolf as when he died,?And there the wild-cat's brindled hide?The frontlet of the elk adorns,?Or mantles o'er the bison's horns;?Pennons and flags defaced and stained,?That blackening streaks of blood retained,?And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white,?With otter's fur and seal's unite,?In rude and uncouth tapestry all,?To garnish forth the sylvan hall.
XXVIII.
The wondering stranger round him gazed,?And next the fallen weapon raised:--?Few were the arms whose sinewy strength?Sufficed to stretch it forth at length.?And as the brand he poised and swayed,?'I never knew but one,' he said,?'Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield?A blade like this in battle-field.'?She sighed, then smiled and took the word:?'You see the guardian champion's sword;?As light it trembles in his hand?As in my grasp a hazel wand:?My sire's tall form might grace the part?Of Ferragus or Ascabart,?But in the absent giant's hold?Are women now, and menials old.'
XXIX.
The mistress of the mansion came,?Mature of age, a graceful dame,?Whose easy step and stately port?Had well become a princely court,?To whom, though more than kindred knew,?Young Ellen gave a mother's due.?Meet welcome to her guest she made,?And every courteous rite was paid?That hospitality could claim,?Though all unasked his birth and name.?Such then the reverence to a guest,?That fellest foe might join the feast,?And from his deadliest foeman's door?Unquestioned turn the banquet o'er?At length his rank the stranger names,?'The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James;?Lord of a barren heritage,?Which his brave sires, from age to age,?By their good swords had held with toil;?His sire had fallen in such turmoil,?And he, God wot, was forced to stand?Oft for his right with blade in hand.?This morning with Lord Moray's train?He chased a stalwart stag in vain,?Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer,?Lost his good steed, and wandered here.'
XXX.
Fain would the Knight in turn require?The name and state of Ellen's sire.?Well showed the elder lady's mien?That courts and cities she had seen;?Ellen, though more her looks displayed?The simple grace of sylvan maid,?In speech and gesture, form and face,?Showed she was come of gentle race.?'T were strange in ruder rank to find?Such looks, such manners, and such mind.?Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave,?Dame Margaret heard with silence grave;?Or Ellen, innocently gay,?Turned all inquiry light away:--?'Weird women we! by dale and down?We dwell, afar from tower and town.?We stem the flood, we ride the blast,?On wandering knights our spells we cast;?While viewless minstrels touch the string,?'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing.'?She sung, and still a harp unseen?Filled up the symphony between.
XXXI.
Song.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;?Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.?In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,?Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.?Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,?Dream of fighting fields no more;?Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,?Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
'No rude sound shall reach shine ear,
Armor's clang or war-steed champing?Trump nor pibroch summon here
Mustering clan or squadron tramping.?Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
At the daybreak from the fallow,?And the bittern sound his drum
Booming from the sedgy shallow.?Ruder sounds shall none be near,?Guards nor warders challenge here,?Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,?Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.'
XXXII.
She paused,--then, blushing, led the lay,?To grace the stranger of the day.?Her mellow notes awhile prolong?The cadence of the flowing song,?Till to her lips in measured frame?The minstrel verse spontaneous came.
Song Continued.
'Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
While our slumbrous spells assail ye,?Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveille.?Sleep! the deer is in his den;
Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;?Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen?How thy gallant steed lay dying.?Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;?Think not of the rising sun,?For at dawning to assail ye?Here no bugles sound reveille.'
XXXIII.
The hall was cleared,--- the stranger's bed,?Was there of mountain heather spread,?Where oft a hundred guests had lain,?And dreamed their forest sports again.?But vainly did the heath-flower shed?Its moorland fragrance round his head;?Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest?The fever of his troubled breast.?In broken dreams the image rose?Of varied perils, pains, and woes:?His steed now flounders in the brake,?Now sinks his barge upon the lake;?Now leader of a broken host,?His standard falls, his honor's lost.?Then,--from my couch may heavenly might?Chase that worst phantom of the night!--?Again returned the scenes of youth,?Of confident, undoubting truth;?Again his soul he interchanged?With friends whose hearts were long estranged.?They come, in dim procession led,?The cold, the faithless, and the dead;?As warm each hand, each brow as gay,?As if they parted yesterday.?And doubt distracts him at the view,--?O were his senses false or true??Dreamed he of death or broken vow,?Or is