Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott
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Sir Walter Scott >> Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott
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SOME POEMS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
Contents:
Introduction by Henry Morley.
The Vision of Don Roderick
The Field of Waterloo
The Dance of Death
Romance of Dunois
The Troubadour
Pibroch of Donald Dhu
INTRODUCTION.
Since there is room in this volume for more verses than Colonel
Hay's {1}, I have added to them a few poems by Sir Walter Scott; the
first written in 1811 at the time of the struggle with Napoleon in
the Peninsula, the second in 1815, after Waterloo. Thus there is
over all this volume a thin haze of battle through which we see only
the finer feelings and the nobler hopes of man. The day is to come
when war shall be no more, but wars have been and may again be
necessary to bring on that day; and it is of such war, not untinged
with the light of heaven, that we have passing shadows in this
little book.
"The Vision of Don Roderick; a Poem, by Walter Scott, Esq.," was
printed at Edinburgh by James Ballantyne & Co. in 1811. They are
the present representatives of that firm by whom it is here
reprinted. It was originally inscribed "to John Whitmore, Esq., and
to the Committee of Subscribers for relief of the Portuguese
Sufferers, in which he presides," as a "poem composed for the
benefit of the Fund under their management."
The Legend of Don Roderick will be given in the next volume of our
"Companion Poets," for Robert Southey founded upon it a Romantic
Tale in Verse, which is one of the best tales of the kind in the
English language. Southey's tale of Roderick himself was written at
the same time when Walter Savage Landor was writing a play upon the
subject, and Scott was, in the piece here reprinted, making it the
starting-point of a vision of the war in the Peninsula. The fatal
palace of Don Roderick may have been a fable connected with the
ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. The fable, as translated by Scott
from a Spanish History of King Roderick, was this:-
"One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among some rocks,
was situated an ancient Tower of magnificent structure, though much
dilapidated by time, which consumes all: four estadoes (i.e., four
times a man's height) below it, there was a Cave with a very narrow
entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a strong
covering of iron, and fastened with many locks; above the gate some
Greek letters are engraved, which, although abbreviated, and of
doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition
of learned men:- The King who opens this cave and discovers the
wonders will discover both good and evil things. Many kings desired
to know the mystery of this Tower, and sought to find out the manner
with much care; but when they opened the gate, such a tremendous
noise arose in the Cave that it appeared as if the earth was
bursting; many of those present sickened with fear, and others lost
their lives. In order to prevent such great perils (as they
supposed a dangerous enchantment was contained within), they secured
the gate with new locks, concluding, that though a king was destined
to open it, the fated time was not yet arrived. At last King Don
Rodrigo, led on by his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the
Tower; and some bold attendants whom he had brought with him
entered, although agitated with fear. Having proceeded a good way,
they fled back to the entrance, terrified with a frightful vision
which they had beheld. The King was greatly moved, and ordered many
torches, so contrived that the tempest in the cave could not
extinguish them, to be lighted. Then the King entered, not without
fear, before all the others. He discovered, by degrees, a splendid
hall, apparently built in a very sumptuous manner; in the middle
stood a Bronze Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held a
battle-axe in its hands. With this he struck the floor violently,
giving it such heavy blows that the noise in the Cave was occasioned
by the motion of the air. The King, greatly affrighted and
astonished, began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that he
would return without doing any injury in the Cave, after he had
obtained sight of what was contained in it. The Statue ceased to
strike the floor, and the King, with his followers, somewhat
assured, and recovering their courage, proceeded into the hall; and
on the left of the Statue they found this inscription on the wall:
Unfortunate King, thou hast entered here in an evil hour. On the
right side of the wall the words were inscribed: By strange Nations
thou shalt be dispossessed, and thy subjects foully degraded. On
the shoulders of the Statue other words were written, which said, I
call upon the Arabs. And upon his heart was written, I do my
office. At the entrance of the hall there was placed a round bowl,
from which a great noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. They
found no other thing in the hall,--and when the King, sorrowful and
greatly affected, had scarcely turned about to leave the Cavern, the
Statue again commenced its accustomed blows upon the floor. After
they had mutually promised to conceal what they had seen, they again
closed the Tower, and blocked up the gate of the Cavern with earth,
that no memory might remain in the world of such a portentous and
evil-boding prodigy. The ensuing midnight, they heard great cries
and clamour from the Cave, resounding like the noise of Battle, and
the ground shaking with a tremendous roar; the whole edifice of the
old Tower fell to the ground, by which they were greatly affrighted,
the Vision which they had beheld appearing to them as a dream."
Scott's poem on the Field of Waterloo was written to assist the
Waterloo subscription.
H. M.
"Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris,
Vox humana valet!"--CLAUDIAN.
THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.
PREFACE
The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, bearing, in
general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the
invasion of the Moors was depending, had the temerity to descend
into an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been
denounced as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that
his rash curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation
of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and
reduced Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the
Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the present eventful
crisis of the Peninsula, and to divide it, by a supposed change of
scene, into, THREE PERIODS. The FIRST of these represents the
Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and closes
with the peaceful occupation of the country by the victors. The
SECOND PERIOD embraces the state of the Peninsula when the conquests
of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West Indies had
raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms; sullied,
however, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the
inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this picture. The LAST
PART of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous to the
unparalleled treachery of BUONAPARTE, gives a sketch of the
usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom,
and terminates with the arrival of the British succours. It may be
further proper to mention, that the object of the Poem is less to
commemorate or detail particular incidents, than to exhibit a
general and impressive picture of the several periods brought upon
the stage.
EDINBURGH, June 24, 1811.
INTRODUCTION.
I.
Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire
May rise distinguished o'er the din of war;
Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre
Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star?
Such, WELLINGTON, might reach thee from afar,
Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range;
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar,
All, as it swelled 'twixt each loud trumpet-change,
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge!
II.
Yes! such a strain, with all o'er-pouring measure,
Might melodise with each tumultuous sound
Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure,
That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around;
The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crowned,
The female shriek, the ruined peasant's moan,
The shout of captives from their chains unbound,
The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen groan,
A Nation's choral hymn, for tyranny o'erthrown.
III.
But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day
Skilled but to imitate an elder page,
Timid and raptureless, can we repay
The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age?
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage
Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land,
While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage
A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty hand -
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band!
IV.
Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast
The friends of Scottish freedom found repose;
Ye torrents! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest,
Returning from the field of vanquished foes;
Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close
That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung,
What time their hymn of victory arose,
And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung,
And mystic Merlin harped, and grey-haired Llywarch sung?
V.
Oh! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain,
As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say,
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again,
Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway;
If ye can echo such triumphant lay,
Then lend the note to him has loved you long!
Who pious gathered each tradition grey
That floats your solitary wastes along,
And with affection vain gave them new voice in song.
VI.
For not till now, how oft soe'er the task
Of truant verse hath lightened graver care,
From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask,
In phrase poetic, inspiration fair;
Careless he gave his numbers to the air,
They came unsought for, if applauses came:
Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer;
Let but his verse befit a hero's fame,
Immortal be the verse!--forgot the poet's name!
VII.
Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost:
"Minstrel! the fame of whose romantic lyre,
Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost,
Like the light flickering of a cottage fire;
If to such task presumptuous thou aspire,
Seek not from us the meed to warrior due:
Age after age has gathered son to sire
Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew,
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew.
VIII.
"Decayed our old traditionary lore,
Save where the lingering fays renew their ring,
By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar,
Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring;
Save where their legends grey-haired shepherds sing,
That now scarce win a listening ear but thine,
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging,
And rugged deeds recount in rugged line,
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne.
IX.
"No! search romantic lands, where the near Sun
Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame,
Where the rude villager, his labour done,
In verse spontaneous chants some favoured name,
Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim,
Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet;
Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme,
He sing, to wild Morisco measure set,
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet!
X.
"Explore those regions, where the flinty crest
Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows,
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruined breast
Barbaric monuments of pomp repose;
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes
Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane,
From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws
An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain.
XI.
"There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark
Still lightens in the sunburnt native's eye;
The stately port, slow step, and visage dark,
Still mark enduring pride and constancy.
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry
Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride,
Iberia! oft thy crestless peasantry
Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side,
Have seen, yet dauntless stood--'gainst fortune fought and died.
XII.
"And cherished still by that unchanging race,
Are themes for minstrelsy more high than thine;
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace,
Legend and vision, prophecy and sign;
Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine
With Gothic imagery of darker shade,
Forming a model meet for minstrel line.
Go, seek such theme!"--the Mountain Spirit said.
With filial awe I heard--I heard, and I obeyed.
THE VISION OF DON RODERICK.
I.
Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies,
And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight,
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise,
As from a trembling lake of silver white.
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight
Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below,
And nought disturbs the silence of the night;
All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow,
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow.
II.
All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide,
Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp;
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride,
To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp.
For through the river's night-fog rolling damp
Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen,
Which glimmered back, against the moon's fair lamp,
Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen,
And standards proudly pitched, and warders armed between.
III.
But of their Monarch's person keeping ward,
Since last the deep-mouthed bell of vespers tolled,
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard
The post beneath the proud Cathedral hold:
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old,
Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace,
Bear slender darts, and casques bedecked with gold,
While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace,
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's place.
IV.
In the light language of an idle court,
They murmured at their master's long delay,
And held his lengthened orisons in sport:-
"What! will Don Roderick here till morning stay,
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away?
And are his hours in such dull penance past,
For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay?"
Then to the east their weary eyes they cast,
And wished the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last.
V.
But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent
An ear of fearful wonder to the King;
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent,
So long that sad confession witnessing:
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing,
Such as are lothly uttered to the air,
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom wring,
And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear,
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair.
VI.
Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair,
The stream of failing light was feebly rolled:
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare,
Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's fold.
While of his hidden soul the sins he told,
Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook,
That mortal man his bearing should behold,
Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook,
Fear tame a monarch's brow, Remorse a warrior's look.
VII.
The old man's faded cheek waxed yet more pale,
As many a secret sad the King bewrayed;
As sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale,
When in the midst his faltering whisper stayed.
"Thus royal Witiza was slain,"--he said;
"Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I."
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. -
"Oh, rather deem 'twas stern necessity!
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die.
VIII.
"And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air,
If she invoked her absent sire in vain,
And on her knees implored that I would spare,
Yet, reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain!
All is not as it seems--the female train
Know by their bearing to disguise their mood:"
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain,
Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood -
He stayed his speech abrupt--and up the Prelate stood.
IX.
"O hardened offspring of an iron race!
What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say?
What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface
Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away!
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray,
Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast?
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay,
Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host,
He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be lost?"
X.
Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood,
And to his brow returned its dauntless gloom;
"And welcome then," he cried, "be blood for blood,
For treason treachery, for dishonour doom!
Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom.
Show, for thou canst--give forth the fated key,
And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room,
Where, if aught true in old tradition be,
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see."
XI.
"Ill-fated Prince! recall the desperate word,
Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey!
Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford
Never to former Monarch entrance-way;
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say,
Save to a King, the last of all his line,
What time his empire totters to decay,
And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine,
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine." -
XII.
"Prelate! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay;
Lead on!"--The ponderous key the old man took,
And held the winking lamp, and led the way,
By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook,
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look;
And, as the key the desperate King essayed,
Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook,
And twice he stopped, and twice new effort made,
Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed.
XIII.
Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted hall;
Roof, walls, and floor were all of marble stone,
Of polished marble, black as funeral pall,
Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown.
A paly light, as of the dawning, shone
Through the sad bounds, but whence they could not spy;
For window to the upper air was none;
Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye.
XIV.
Grim sentinels, against the upper wall,
Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place;
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall,
Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace.
Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race,
That lived and sinned before the avenging flood;
This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace;
This spread his wings for flight, that pondering stood,
Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood.
XV.
Fixed was the right-hand Giant's brazen look
Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand,
As if its ebb he measured by a book,
Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand;
In which was wrote of many a fallen land
Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven:
And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand -
"Lo, DESTINY and TIME! to whom by Heaven
The guidance of the earth is for a season given." -
XVI.
Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes away;
And, as the last and lagging grains did creep,
That right-hand Giant 'gan his club upsway,
As one that startles from a heavy sleep.
Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep
At once descended with the force of thunder,
And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap,
The marble boundary was rent asunder,
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and wonder.
XVII.
For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach,
Realms as of Spain in visioned prospect laid,
Castles and towers, in due proportion each,
As by some skilful artist's hand portrayed:
Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade,
And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye;
There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade,
Or deep-embrowned by forests huge and high,
Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly murmured by.
XVIII.
And here, as erst upon the antique stage
Passed forth the band of masquers trimly led,
In various forms, and various equipage,
While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed;
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread,
Successive pageants filled that mystic scene,
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled,
And issue of events that had not been;
And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between.
XIX.
First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek! -
It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call,
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. -
Then answered kettle-drum and attabal,
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal,
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie's yell,
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall.
Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell -
"The Moor!" he cried, "the Moor!--ring out the Tocsin bell!
XX.
"They come! they come! I see the groaning lands
White with the turbans of each Arab horde;
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands,
Alla and Mahomet their battle-word,
The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword -
See how the Christians rush to arms amain! -
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared,
The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain -
Now, God and Saint Iago strike, for the good cause of Spain!
XXI.
"By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield!
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign!
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field -
Is not yon steed Orelio?--Yes, 'tis mine!
But never was she turned from battle-line:
Lo! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone! -
Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine!
Rivers ingulph him!"--"Hush," in shuddering tone,
The Prelate said; "rash Prince, yon visioned form's thine own."
XXII.
Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course;
The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried;
But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse,
Swept like benighted peasant down the tide;
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide,
As numerous as their native locust band;
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide,
With naked scimitars mete out the land,
And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives brand.
XXIII.
Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose
The loveliest maidens of the Christian line;
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes,
Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine;
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign,
By impious hands was from the altar thrown,
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine
Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone,
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering moan.
XXIV.
How fares Don Roderick?--E'en as one who spies
Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable woof,
And hears around his children's piercing cries,
And sees the pale assistants stand aloof;
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof,
His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief;
And while above him nods the crumbling roof,
He curses earth and Heaven--himself in chief -
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief!
XXV.
That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass
And twilight on the landscape closed her wings;
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,
And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings;
And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs,
Bazars resound as when their marts are met,
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings,
And on the land as evening seemed to set,
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or minaret.
XXVI.
So passed that pageant. Ere another came,
The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were crossed by sheets of flame;
With every flash a bolt explosive broke,
Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their yoke,
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone!
For War a new and dreadful language spoke,
Never by ancient warrior heard or known;
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone.
XXVII.
From the dim landscape rolled the clouds away -
The Christians have regained their heritage;
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray,
And many a monastery decks the stage,
And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage.
The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, -
The Genii those of Spain for many an age;
This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright,
And that was VALOUR named, this BIGOTRY was hight.
XXVIII.
VALOUR was harnessed like a chief of old,
Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest;
His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold,
Morena's eagle plume adorned his crest,
The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast.
Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage;
As if of mortal kind to brave the best.
Him followed his Companion, dark and sage,
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage.