Walter Scott - The Complete Poems of Sir Walter Scott

Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein:

By nature fierce, and warm with wine,

And now in humor highly cross’d

About some steeds his band had lost,

High words to words succeeding still,

Smote with his gauntlet stout Hunthill,

A hot and hardy Rutherford,

Whom men called Dickon Draw-the-sword.

He took it on the page’s say

Hunthill had driven these steeds away.

Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose

The kindling discord to compose:

Stern Rutherford right little said,

But bit his glove, and shook his head.

A fortnight thence, in Inglewood,

Stout Conrad, cold, and drench’d in blood,

His bosom gor’d with many a wound,

Was by a woodman’s lyme-dog found;

Unknown the manner of his death,

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath;

But ever from that time, ‘twas said,

That Dickon wore a Cologne blade.

VIII

The dwarf, who fear’d his master’s eye

Might his foul treachery espie,

Now sought the castle buttery,

Where many a yeoman, bold and free,

Revell’d as merrily and well

As those that sat in lordly selle.

Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise

The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes

And he, as by his breeding bound,

To Howard’s merrymen sent it round.

To quit them, on the English side,

Red Roland Forster loudly cried,

“A deep carouse to yon fair bride!”

At every pledge, from vat and pail,

Foam’d forth in floods the nut-brown ale

While shout the riders every one;

Such day of mirth ne’er cheer’d their clan,

Since old Buccleuch the name did gain

When in the cleuch the buck was ta’en.

IX

The wily page, with vengeful thought

Remember d him of Tinlinn’s yew,

And swore it should be dearly bought

That ever he the arrow drew.

First, he the yeoman did molest

With bitter gibe and taunting jest;

Told how he fled at Solway strife,

And how Hob Armstrong cheer’d his wife;

Then, shunning still his powerful arm,

At unawares he wrought him harm;

From trencher stole his choicest cheer,

Dash’d from his lips his can of beer;

Then, to his knee sly creeping on,

With bodkin pierced him to the bone:

The venom’d wound, and festering joint,

Long after rued that bodkin’s point.

The startled yeoman swore and spurn’d,

And board and flagons overturn’d.

Riot and clamor wild began

Back to the hall the Urchin ran;

Took in a darkling nook his post,

And grinn’d, and mutter’d, “Lost! lost! lost!”

X

By this, the Dame, lest farther fray

Should mar the concord of the day.

Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay.

And first stept forth old Albert Graeme,

The Minstrel of that ancient name:

Was none who struck the harp so well

Within the Land Debateable;

Well friended, too his hardy kin,

Whoever lost, were sure to win;

They sought the beeves that made their broth,

In Scotland and in England both.

In homely guise, as nature bade

His simple song the Borderer said.

XI

Albert Graeme.

It was an English ladye bright,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)

And she would marry a Scottish knight,

For Love will still be lord of all.

Blithely they saw the rising sun

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall;

But they were sad ere day was done,

Though Love was still the lord of all.

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall

Her brother gave but a flask of wine,

For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands, both meadow and lea,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;

And he swore her death ere he would see

A Scottish knight the lord of all!

That wine she had not tasted well,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)

When dead in her true love’s arms she fell,

For Love was still the lord of all!

XII

He pierc’d her brother to the heart,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall:

So perish all would true love part

That Love may still be lord of all!

And then he took the cross divine

(Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)

And died for her sake in Palestine

So Love was still the lord of all!

Now all ye lovers that faithful prove,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)

Pray for their souls who died for love,

For Love shall still be lord of all!

XIII

As ended Albert’s simple lay,

Arose a bard of loftier port;

For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay,

Renown’d in haughty Henry’s court:

There rung thy harp, unrivall’d long,

Fitztraver of the silver song!

The gentle Surrey lov’ed his lyre,

Who has not heard of Surrey’s fame?

His was the hero’s soul of fire,

And his the bard’s immortal name,

And his was love, exalted high

By all the glow of chivalry.

XIV

They sought, together, climes afar,

And oft, within some olive grove,

When even came with twinkling star,

They sung of Surrey’s absent love

His step the Italian peasant stay’d,

And deem’d that spirits from on high,

Round where some hermit saint was laid,

Were breathing heavenly melody;

So sweet did harp and voice combine

To praise the name of Geraldine.

XV

Fitztraver! O what tongue may say

The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,

When Surrey, of the deathless lay

Ungrateful Tudor’s sentence slew?

Regardless of the tyrant’s frown,

His harp call’d wrath and vengeance down.

He left, for Naworth’s iron towers,

Windsor’s green glades, and courtly bowers

And faithful to his patron’s name,

With Howard still Fitztraver came

Lord William’s foremost favorite he,

And chief of all his minstrelsy.

XVI

Fitztraver

‘Twas All-soul’s eve, and Surrey’s heart beat high;

He heard the midnight bell with anxious start,

Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh,

When wise Cornelius promis’d, by his art,

To show to him the ladye of his heart

Albeit betwixt them roar’d the ocean grim

Yet so the sage had hight to play his part

That he should see her form in life and limb

And mark, if still she lov’d,

And still she thought of him.

XVII

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye,

To which the wizard led the gallant Knight,

Save that before a mirror, huge and high,

A hallow’d taper shed a glimmering light

On mystic implements of magic might;

On cross, and character, and talisman,

And almagest, and altar, nothing bright:

For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan

As watchlight by the bed

Of some departing man.

XVIII

But soon, within that mirror huge and high,

Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam;

And forms upon its breast the Earl ‘gan spy

Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream;

Till, slow arranging, and defin’d, they seem

To form a lordly and a lofty room,

Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam,

Plac’d by a couch of Agra’s silken loom,

And part by moonshine pale,

And part was hid in gloom.

XIX

Fair all the pageant: but how passing fair

The slender form which lay on couch of Ind!

O’er her white bosom stray’d her hazel hair;

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pin’d;