BOOK III.

ARGUMENT.

Arthur still sleeps--The sounds that break his rest--The war between the beast and the man--How ended--The Christian foe and the heathen--The narrative returns to the Saxons in pursuit of Arthur--Their chase is stayed by the caverns described in the preceding book, the tides having now advanced up the gorge through which Arthur passed, and blocked that pathway--The hunt is resumed at dawn--The tides have receded from the gorge--One of the hounds finds scent--The riders are on the track-- Harold heads the pursuit--The beech-tree--The man by the water spring-- The wood is left--The knight on the brow of the hill--Parley between the earl and the knight--The encounter--Harold's address to his men, and his foe--His foe's reply--The dove and the falcon--The unexpected succour-- And conclusion of the fray--The narrative passes on to the description of the Happy Valley--in which the dwellers await the coming of a stranger--History of the Happy Valley--a colony founded by Etrurians from Fiesole, forewarned of the destined growth of the Roman dominion-- Its strange seclusion and safety from the changes of the ancient world-- The law that forbade the daughters of the Lartian or ruling family to marry into other clans--Only one daughter (the queen) is left now, and the male line in the whole Lartian clan is extinct--The contrivance of the Augur for the continuance of the royal house, sanctioned by two former precedents--A stranger is to be lured into the valley--The simple dwellers therein to be deceived into believing him a god--He is to be married to the queen, and then, on the birth of a son, to vanish again amongst the gods (_i.e._ to be secretly made away with)--Two temples at the opposite ends of the valley give the only gates to the place--By the first, dedicated to Tina (the Etrurian Jove), the stranger is to be admitted--In the second, dedicated to Mantu (the god of the shades), he is destined to vanish--Such a stranger is now expected in the Happy Valley--He emerges, led by the Augur, from the temple of Tina--AEgle, the queen, described--Her stranger-bridegroom is led to her bower.

We raise the curtain where the unconscious king 1 Beneath the beech his fearless couch had made; Here, the fierce fangs prepared their deadly spring; There, in the hand of Murder gleam'd the blade; And not a sound to warn him from above; Where, still unsleeping, watch'd the guardian dove!

Hark, a dull crash!--a howling, ravenous yell! 2 Opening fell symphony of ghastly sound, Jarring, yet blent, as if the dismal hell Sent its strange anguish from the rent Profound: Through all its scale the horrible discord ran, Now mock'd the beast, now took the groan of man;

Wrath, and the grind of gnashing teeth; the growl 3 Of famine routed from its red repast; Sharp shrilling pain; and fury from some soul That fronts despair, and wrestles to the last. Up sprang the King--the moon's uncertain ray Through the still leaves just wins its glimmering way.

And lo, before him, close, yet wanly faint, 4 Forms that seem shadows, strife that seems the sport Of things that oft some holy hermit saint Lone in Egyptian plains (the dread resort Of Nile's dethroned demon gods) hath view'd; The grisly tempters, born of Solitude:--

Coil'd in the strong death-grapple, through the dim 5 And haggard air, before the Cymrian lay Writhing and interlaced with fang and limb, As if one shape, what seem'd a beast of prey And the grand form of Man!--The bird of Heaven Wisely no note to warn the sleep had given;

The sleep protected;--as the Savage sprang, 6 Sprang the wild beast;--before the dreamer's breast Defeated Murder found the hungry fang, The wolf the steel:--so, starting from his rest, The saved man woke to save! Nor time was here For pause or caution; for the sword or spear;

Clasp'd round the wolf, swift arms of iron draw 7 From their fierce hold the buried fangs;--on high Up-borne, the baffled terrors of its jaw Gnash vain;--one yell howls, hollow, through the sky; And dies abruptly, stifled to a gasp, As the grim heart pants crushing in the grasp.

Fit for a nation's bulwark, that strong breast 8 To which the strong arms lock'd the powerless foe!-- Nor oped the vice till breath's last anguish ceast; 'Tis done; and dumb the dull weight drops below. The kindred form, which now the King surveys, Those arms, all gentle as a woman's, raise.

Leaning the pale cheek on his pitying heart, 9 He wipes the blood from face, and breast, and limb, And joyful sees (for no humaner art Which Christian knighthood knows, unknown to him) That the fell fangs the nobler parts forbore, And, thanks, sweet Virgin! life returns once more.

The savage stared around: from dizzy eyes 10 Toss'd the loose shaggy hair; and to his knee,-- His reeling feet--up stagger'd--Lo, where lies The dead wild beast!--lo, in his saviour, see The fellow-man, whom--with a feeble bound He leapt, and snatch'd the dagger from the ground;

And, faithful to his gods, he sprang to slay; 11 The weak limb fail'd him; gleam'd and dropp'd the blade; The arm hung nerveless;--by the beast of prey Murder, still baffled, fell:--Then, soothing, said The gentle King--"Behold no foe in me!" And knelt by Hate like pitying Charity.

In suffering man he could not find a foe, 12 And the mild hand clasp'd that which yearn'd to kill! "Ha," gasp'd the gazing savage, "dost thou know That I had doom'd thee in thy sleep?--that still My soul would doom thee, could my hand obey?-- Wake thou, stern goddess--seize thyself the prey!"

"Serv'st thou a goddess," said the wondering King, 13 "Whose rites ask innocent blood?--O brother, learn In heaven, in earth, in each created thing, One God, whom all call 'FATHER' to discern!" "Can thy God suffer thy God's foe to live?"-- "God once had foes, and said to man, 'Forgive!'"

The Christian answer'd. Dream-like the mild words 14 Fell on the ear, as sense again gave way To swooning sleep; which woke but with the birds In the cold clearness of the dawning day.-- Strung by that sleep, the savage scowl'd around; Why droops his head? Kind hands his wounds have bound.

Lonely he stood, and miss'd that tender foe 15 The wolf's glazed eye-ball mutely met his own; Beyond, the pine-brand sent its sullen glow, Circling blood-red the awful altar-stone; Blood-red, as sinks the sun, from land afar, Ere tempests wreck the Amalfian mariner;

Or as, when Mars sits in the House of Death 16 For doom'd Aleppo, on the hopeless Moor Glares the fierce orb from skies without a breath, While the chalk'd signal on the abhorred door Tells that the Pestilence is come!--the pine Unheeded wastes upon the hideous shrine;

The priest returns not;--from its giant throne, 17 The idol calls in vain:--its realm is o'er; The Dire Religion flies the altar-stone, For love has breathed on what was hate before. Lured by man's heart, by man's kind deeds subdued, Him who had pardon'd, he who wrong'd pursued.

Meanwhile speeds on the Saxon chase, behind;-- 18 Baffled at first, and doubling to and fro, At last, the war-dogs, snorting, seize the wind, Burst on the scent, which gathers as they go; Day wanes, night comes; the star succeeds the sun, To light the hunt until the quarry's won.

At the first grey of dawn, they halt before 19 The fretted arches of the giant caves; For here the tides rush full upon the shore. The failing scent is snatch'd amidst the waves,-- Waves block the entrance of the gorge unseen; And roar, hoarse-surging, up the pent ravine.

And worn, and spent, and panting, flag the steeds, 20 With mail and man bow'd down; nor meet to breast The hell of waters, whence no pathway leads, And which no plummet sounds;--Reluctant rest Checks the pursuit, till sullenly and slow Back, threatening still, the hosts of Ocean go,--

And the bright clouds that circled the fair sun 21 Melt in the azure of the mellowing sky; Then hark again the human hunt begun, The ringing hoof, the hunter's cheering cry; Round and around by sand, and cave, and steep, The doubtful ban-dogs, undulating, sweep:

At length, one windeth where the wave hath left 22 The unguarded portals of the gorge, and there Far-wandering halts; and from a rocky cleft Spreads his keen nostril to the whispering air; Then, with trail'd ears, moves cowering o'er the ground, The deep bay booming breaks:--the scent is found.

Hound answers hound--along the dank ravine 23 Pours the fresh wave of spears and tossing plumes; On--on; and now the idol-shrine obscene The dying pine-brand flickeringly illumes; The dogs go glancing through the the shafts of stone, Trample the altar, hurtle round the throne:

Where the lone priest had watch'd, they pause awhile; 24 Then forth, hard breathing, down the gorge they swoop; Soon the swart woods that close the far defile Gleam with the shimmer of the steel-clad troop: Glinting through leaves--now bright'ning through the glade, Now lost, dispersed amidst the matted shade.

Foremost rode Harold, on a matchless steed, 25 Whose sire from Afric's coast a sea-king bore, And gave the Mercian, as his noblest meed, When (beardless yet) to Norway's Runic shore, Against a common foe, the Saxon Thane Led three tall ships, and loosed them on the Dane:

Foremost he rode, and on his mailed breast 26 Cranch'd the strong branches of the groaning oak. Hark, with full peal, as suddenly supprest, Behind, the ban-dog's choral joy-cry broke! Led by the note, he turns him back, to reach, Near the wood's marge, a solitary beech.

Clear space spreads round it for a rood or more; 27 Where o'er the space the feathering branches bend, The dogs, wedg'd close, with jaws that drip with gore, Growl o'er the carcass of the wolf they rend. Shamed at their lord's rebuke, they leave the feast-- Scent the fresh foot-track of the idol-priest;

And, track by track, deep, deeper through the maze, 28 Slowly they go--the watchful earl behind. Here the soft earth a recent hoof betrays; And still a footstep near the hoof they find;-- So on, so on--the pathway spreads more large, And daylight rushes on the forest marge.

The dogs bound emulous; but, snarling, shrink 29 Back at the anger of the earl's quick cry;-- Near a small water spring, had paused to drink A man half clad, who now, with kindling eye And lifted knife, roused by the hostile sounds, Plants his firm foot, and fronts the glaring hounds.

"Fear not, rude stranger," quoth the earl in scorn; 30 "Not thee I seek; my dogs chase nobler prey. Speak, thou hast seen (if wandering here since morn) A lonely horseman;--whither wends his way?" "Track'st thou his step in love or hate?"--"Why, so As hawk his quarry, or as man his foe."

"Thou dost not serve his God," the heathen said; 31 And sullen turn'd to quench his thirst again, The fierce earl chafed, but longer not delay'd; For what he sought the earth itself made plain In the clear hoof-prints; to the hounds he show'd The clue, and, cheering as they track'd, he rode.

But thrice, to guide his comrades from the maze, 32 Rings through the echoing wood his lusty horn. Now, o'er waste pastures where the wild bulls graze, Now labouring up slow-lengthening headlands borne, The steadfast hounds outstrip the horseman's flight, And on the hill's dim summit fade from sight.

But scarcely fade, before, though faint and far, 33 Fierce wrathful yells the foe at bay reveal. On spurs the Saxon, till, like some pale star, Gleams on the hill a lance--a helm of steel. The brow is gain'd; a space of level land, Bare to the sun--a grove at either hand;

And in the middle of the space a mound; 34 And on the mound a knight upon his barb. No need for herald there his tromp to sound!-- No need for diadem and ermine garb! Nature herself has crown'd that lion mien; And in the man the king of men is seen.

Upon his helmet sits a snow-white dove, 35 Its plumage blending with the plumed crest. Below the mount, recoiling, circling, move The ban-dogs, awed by the majestic rest Of the great foe; and, yet with fangs that grin, And eyes that redden, raves the madding din.

Still stands the steed; still, shining in the sun, 36 Sits on the steed the rider, statue-like: One stately hand upon his haunch, while one Lifts the tall lance, disdainful ev'n to strike; Calm from the roar obscene looks forth his gaze, Calm as the moon at which the watch-dog bays.

The Saxon rein'd his war-horse on the brow 37 Of the broad hill; and if his inmost heart Ever confest to fear, fear touch'd it now;-- Not that chill pang which strife and death impart To meaner men, but such religious awe As from brave souls a foe admired can draw:

Behind a quick and anxious glance he threw, 38 And pleased beheld spur midway up the hill His knights and squires: again his horn he blew, Then hush'd the hounds, and near'd the slope where still The might of Arthur rested, as in cloud Rests thunder; there his haughty crest he bow'd,

And lower'd his lance, and said--"Dread foe and lord, 39 Pardon the Saxon Harold, nor disdain To yield to warrior hand a kingly sword. Behold my numbers! to resist were vain, And flight----" Said Arthur, "Saxon, is a word Warrior should speak not, nor a King have heard.

"And, sooth to say, when Cymri's knights shall ride 40 To chase a Saxon monarch from the plain, More knightly sport shall Cymri's king provide, And Cymrian tromps shall ring a nobler strain. Warrior, forsooth! when first went warrior, say, With hound and horn--God's image for the prey?"

Gall'd to the quick, the fiery earl erect 41 Rose in his stirrups, shook his iron hand, And cried--"ALFADER! but for the respect Arm'd numbers owe to one, my Saxon brand Should--but why words? Ho, Mercia to the field! Lance to the rest!--yield, scornful Cymrian, yield!"

For answer, Arthur closed his bassinet. 42 Then down it broke, the thunder from that cloud! And, ev'n as thunder by the thunder met, O'er his spurr'd steed broad-breasted Harold bow'd; Swift through the air the rushing armour flash'd, And tempests in the shock commingling clash'd!

The Cymrian's lance smote on the Mercian's breast, 43 Through the pierced shield,--there, shivering in the hand, The dove had stirr'd not on the Prince's crest, And on his destrier bore him to the band, Which, moving not, but in a steadfast ring, With levell'd lances front the coming King.

His shiver'd lance thrown by, high o'er his head, 44 Pluck'd from the selle, his battle-axe he shook-- Paused for an instant--breathed his foaming steed, And chose his pathway with one lightning look: On either side, behind the Saxon foes, Cimmerian woods with welcome gloom arose;

These gain'd, to conflict numbers less avail. 45 He paused, and every voice cried--"Yield, brave King!" Scarce died the word ere through the wall of steel Flashes the breach, and backward reels the ring, Plumes shorn, shields cloven, man and horse o'erthrown, As the arm'd meteor flames and rushes on.

Till then, the danger shared, upon his crest, 46 Unmoved and calm, had sate the faithful dove, Serene as, braved for some beloved breast, All peril finds the gentle hero,--Love; But rising now, towards the dexter side Where darkest droop the woods, the pinions guide.

Near the green marge the Cymrian checks the rein, 47 And, ev'n forgetful of the dove, wheels round, To front the foe that follows up the plain: So when the lion, with a single bound, Breaks through Numidian spears,--he halts before His den,--and roots dread feet that fly no more.

Their riven ranks reform'd, the Saxons move 48 In curving crescent, close, compact, and slow Behind the earl; who feels a hero's love Fill his large heart for that great hero foe: Murmuring, "May Harold, thus confronting all, Pass from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!"[1]

Then to his band--"If prophecy and sign 49 Paling men's cheeks, and read by wizard seers, Had not declared that Odin's threatened line, And the large birthright of the Saxon spears, Were cross'd by SKULDA,[2] in the baleful skein Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'[3]

"If not forbid against his single arm 50 Singly to try the even-sworded strife, Since his new gods, or Merlin's mighty charm, Hath made a host, the were-geld of his life-- Not ours this shame!--here one, and there a field, But men are waxen when the Fates are steel'd.

"Seize we our captive, so the gods command-- 51 But ye are men, let manhood guide the blow; Spare life, or but with life-defending hand Strike--and Walhalla take that noble foe! Sound trump, speed truce."--Sedately from the rest Rode out the earl, and Cymri thus address'd:--

"Our steels have cross'd: hate shivers on the shield; 52 If the speech gall'd, the lance atones the word; Yield, for thy valour wins the right to yield; Unstain'd the scutcheon, though resign'd the sword. Grant us the grace, which chance (not arms) hath won Why strike the many who would save the one?"

"Fair foe, and courteous," answered Arthur, moved 53 By that chivalric speech, "too well the might Of Mercia's famous Harold have I proved, To deem it shame to yield as knight to knight; But a king's sword is by a nation given; Who guards a people holds his post from heaven.

"This freedom which thou ask'st me to resign 54 Than life is dearer; were it but to show That with my people thinks their King!--divine Through me all Cymri!--Streams shall cease to flow, Yon sun to shine, before to Saxon strife One Cymrian yields his freedom save with life.

"And so the saints assoil ye of my blood; 55 Return;--the rest we leave unto our cause And the just Heavens!" All silent, Harold stood And his heart smote him. Now, amidst that pause, Arthur look'd up, and in the calm above Behold a falcon wheeling round the dove!

For thus it chanced; the bird which Harold bore 56 (As was the Saxon wont), whate'er his way, Had, in the woodland, slipp'd the hood it wore, Unmark'd; and, when the bloodhounds bark'd at bay, Lured by the sound, had risen on the wing, Over the conflict vaguely hovering--

Till when the dove had left, to guide, her lord, 57 It caught the white plumes glancing where they went; High in large circles to its height it soar'd, Swoop'd;--the light pinion foil'd the fierce descent; The falcon rose rebounding to the prey; And closed escape--confronting still the way.

In vain the dove to Arthur seeks to flee; 58 Round her and round, with every sweep more near, The swift destroyer circles rapidly, Fixing keen eyes that fascinate with fear, A moment--and a shaft, than wing more fleet, Hurls the pierced falcon at the Saxon's feet.

Down heavily it fell;--a moment stirr'd 59 Its fluttering plumes, and roll'd its glazing eye; But ev'n before the breath forsook the bird, Ev'n while the arrow whistled through the sky, Rush'd from the grove which screen'd the marksman's hand, With yell and whoop, a wild barbarian band--

Half clad, with hides of beast, and shields of horn, 60 And huge clubs cloven from the knotted pine; And spears like those by Thor's great children borne, When Caesar bridged with marching[4] steel the Rhine, Countless they start, as if from every tree Had sprung the uncouth defending deity;

They pass the King, low bending as they pass; 61 Bear back the startled Harold on their way; And roaring onward, mass succeeding mass, Snatch the hemm'd Saxons from the King's survey. On Arthur's crest the dove refolds its wing; On Arthur's ear a voice comes murmuring,--

"Man, have I served thy God?" and Arthur saw 62 The priest beside him, leaning on his bow; "Not till, in all, thou hast fulfill'd the law-- Thou hast saved the friend--now aid to shield the foe;" And as a ship, cleaving the sever'd tides, Right through the sea of spears the hero rides.

The wild troop part submissive as he goes; 63 Where, like an islet in that stormy main, Gleam'd Mercia's steel; and like a rock arose, Breasting the breakers, the undaunted Thane; He doff'd his helmet, look'd majestic round; And dropp'd the murderous weapon on the ground;

And with a meek and brotherly embrace 64 Twined round the Saxon's neck the peaceful arm. Strife stood arrested--the mild kingly face, The loving gesture, like a holy charm, Thrill'd through the ranks: you might have heard a breath! So did soft Silence seem to bury Death.

On the fair locks, and on the noble brow, 65 Fell the full splendour of the heavenly ray; The dove, dislodged, flew up--and rested now, Poised in the tranquil and translucent day. The calm wings seem'd to canopy the head; And from each plume a parting glory spread.

So leave we that still picture on the eye; 66 And turn, reluctant, where the wand of Song Points to the walls of Time's long gallery: And the dim Beautiful of Eld--too long Mouldering unheeded in these later days, Starts from the canvass, bright'ning as we gaze.

O lovely scene which smiles upon my view, 67 As sure it smiled on sweet Albano's dreams; He to whom Amor gave the roseate hue And that harmonious colour-wand which seems Pluck'd from the god's own wing!--Arcades and bowers, Mellifluous waters, lapsing amidst flowers,

Or springing up, in multiform disport, 68 From murmurous founts, delightedly at play; As if the Naiad held her joyous court To greet the goddess whom the flowers obey; And all her nymphs took varying shapes in glee, Bell'd like the blossom--branching like the tree.

Adown the cedarn alleys glanced the wings 69 Of all the painted populace of air, Whatever lulls the noonday while it sings Or mocks the iris with its plumes,--is there-- Music and air so interfused and blent, That music seems life's breathing element.

And every alley's stately vista closed 70 With some fair statue, on whose gleaming base Beauty, not earth's, benignantly reposed, As if the gods were native to the place; And fair indeed the mortal forms, I ween, Whose presence brings no discord to the scene!

Oh, fair they are, if mortal forms they be! 71 Mine eye the lovely error must beguile; So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea[5] Came Aphrodite to the rosy isle. What time they left Olympian halls above, To greet on earth their best beguiler--Love?

Are they the Oreads from the Delphian steep 72 Waiting their goddess of the silver bow? Or shy Napaeae,[6] startled from their sleep, Where blue Cithaeron guards sweet vales below, Watching as home, from vanquished Ind afar, Comes their loved Evian in the panther-car?

Why stream ye thus from yonder arching bowers? 73 Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band, With spears that, thyrsus-like, glance, wreath'd with flowers, And garland-fetters, linking hand to hand, And locks, from which drop blossoms on your way, Like starry buds from the loose crown of May?

Behold how Alp on Alp shuts out the scene 74 From all the ruder world that lies afar; Deep, fathom-deep, the valley which they screen; Deep, as in chasms of cloud a happy star! What pass admits the stranger to your land? Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band?

Ages ago, what time the barbarous horde, 75 From whose rough bosoms sprang Imperial Rome, Drew the slow-widening circle of the sword Till kingdoms vanish'd in a robber's home, A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said) By his dark Caere,[7] from the danger fled:

He left the vines of fruitful Fiesole, 76 Left, with his household gods and chosen clan, Intent beyond the Ausonian bounds to flee, And Rome's dark shadow on the world of man. So came the exiles to the rocky wall Which, centuries after, frown'd on Hannibal

Here, it so chanced, that down the deep profound 77 Of some huge Alp--a stray'd Etrurian fell; The pious rites ordain'd to explore the ground, And give the ashes to the funeral cell; Slowly they gain'd the gulf, to scare away A vulture ravening on the mangled clay;

Smit by a javelin from the leader's hand, 78 The bird crept fluttering down a deep defile, Through whose far end faint glimpses of a land, Sunn'd by a softer daylight, sent a smile; The Augur hail'd an omen in the sight, And led the wanderers towards the glimmering light.

What seem'd a gorge was but a vista'd cave, 79 Long-drawn and hollow'd through primaeval stone; Rude was the path, but as, beyond the grave Elysium shines, the glorious landscape shone, Broadening and brightening--till their wonder sees Bloom through the Alps the lost Hesperides.

There, the sweet sunlight, from the heights debarr'd, 80 Gather'd its pomp to lavish on the vale; A wealth of wild sweets glitter'd on the sward, Screen'd by the very snow-rocks from the gale; Murmur'd clear waters, murmur'd joyous birds, And o'er soft pastures roved the fearless herds.

His rod the Augur waves above the ground, 81 And cries, "In Tina's name I bless the soil."[8] With veiled brows the exiles circle round; Along the rod propitious lightnings coil; The gods approve; rejoicing hands combine, Swift springs a sylvan city from the pine.

What charm yet fails them in the lovely place? 82 Childhood's gay laugh--and woman's tender smile. A chosen few the venturous steps retrace; Love lightens toil for those who rest the while; And, ere the winter stills the sadden'd bird, The sweeter music of glad homes is heard;

And with the objects of the dearer care, 83 The parting gifts of the old soil are home; Soon Tusca's grape hangs flushing in the air, And the glebe ripples with the golden corn; Gleams on grey slopes the olive's silvery tree, In her lone Alpine child,--far Fiesole

Revives--reblooms, but under happier stars! 84 Age rolls on age,--upon the antique world Full many a storm hath graved its thunder scars; Tombs only speak the Etrurian's language;[9]--hurl'd To dust the shrines of Naith;[10]--the serpents hiss On Asia's throne in lorn Persepolis;

The seaweed rots upon the ports of Tyre: 85 On Delphi's steep the Pythian's voice is dumb; Sad Athens leans upon her broken lyre; From the doom'd East the Bethlem Star hath come; But Rome an empire from an empire's loss Gains in the god Rome yielded to the Cross!

And here, as in a crypt, the miser Time, 86 Hoards, from all else, embedded in the stone, One eldest treasure--fresh as when, sublime O'er gods and men, Jove thunder'd from his throne-- The garb, the arts, the creed, the tongue, the same As when to Tarquin Cuma's sibyl came.

The soil's first fathers, with elaborate hands, 87 Had closed the rocky portals of the place; No egress opens to unhappier lands: As tree on tree, so race succeeds to race, From sleep the passions no temptations draw, And strife bows childlike to the patriarch's law;

Lull'd was ambition; each soft lot was cast; 88 Gold had no use; with war expired renown; From priest to priest mysterious reverence past; From king to king the mild Saturnian crown: Like dews, the rest came harmless into birth; Like dews exhaling--after gladd'ning earth.

Not wholly dead, indeed, the love of praise-- 89 When can that warmth from heaven forsake the heart? The Hister's[11] lyre still thrill'd with Camsee's lays, Still urn and statue caught the Arretian art, And hands, least skill'd, found leisure still to cull Some flowers, in offering to the Beautiful.

Hence the whole vale one garden of delight; 90 Hence every home a temple for the Grace: Who worships Nature finds in Art the rite; And Beauty grows the Genius of the Place. Enough this record of the happy land: Whom watch, whom wait ye for, O lovely band?

Listen awhile!--The strength of that soft state, 91 The arch's key-stones, are the priest and king; To guard all power inviolate from debate, To curb all impulse, or direct its wing, In antique forms to mould from childhood all;-- _This_ guards more strongly than the Alpine wall.

The regal chief might wed as choice inclined, 92 Not so the daughters sprung from his embrace, Law, strong as caste, their nuptial rite confined To the pure circle of the Lartian race; Hence with more awe the kingly house was view'd, Hence nipp'd ambition bore no rival feud.

But now, as on some eldest oak, decay 93 In the proud topmost boughs is serely shown; While life yet shoots from every humbler spray-- So, of the royal tribe one branch alone Remains; and all the honours of the race Lend their last bloom to smile in AEgle's face.[12]

The great arch-priest (to whom the laws assign 94 The charge of this sweet blossom from the bud), Consults the annals archived in the shrine, And, twice before, when fail'd the Lartian blood, And no male heir was found, the guiding page Records the expedient of the elder age.

Rather than yield to rival tribes the hope 95 That wakes aspiring thought and tempts to strife; And (lowering awful reverence) rashly ope The pales that mark the set degrees of life, The priest (to whom the secret only known) Unlock'd the artful portals of the stone;

And watch'd and lured some wanderer, o'er the steep, 96 Into the vale, return for ever o'er; The gate, like Death's, reclosed upon the keep-- Earth left its ghost as on the Funeral shore. And what more envied lot could earth provide Than calm Elysium--with a living bride?

A priestly tale the simple flock deceived: 97 The gods had care of their Tagetian child![13] The nuptial garlands for a god they weaved; A god himself upon the maid had smiled, A god himself renew'd the race divine, And gave new monarchs to the Lartian line.

Yet short, alas! the incense of delight 98 That lull'd the new-found Ammon of the Hour; Like love's own star, upon the verge of night, Trembled the torch that lit the bridal bower; Soon as a son was born--his mission o'er-- The stranger vanish'd to his gods once more.

Two temples closed the boundaries of the place, 99 One (vow'd to Tina) in its walls conceal'd The granite portals, by the former race So deftly fashion'd,--not a chink reveal'd Where (twice unbarr'd in all the ages flown) The stony donjon mask'd the door of stone.

The fane of Mantu[14] form'd the opposing bound 100 Of the long valley; where the surplus wave Of the main stream a gloomy outlet found, Split on sharp rocks beneath a night of cave, And there, in torrents, down some lost ravine Where Alps took root--fell heard, but never seen.

Right o'er this cave the Death-Power's temple rose; 101 The cave's dark vault was curtain'd by the shrine; Here by the priest (the sacred scrolls depose) Was led the bridegroom when renew'd the line; At night, that shrine his steps unprescient trod-- And morning came, and earth had lost the god!

Nine days had now the Augur to the flock 102 Announced the coming of the heavenly spouse; Nine days his steps had wander'd through the rock, And his eye watch'd through unfamiliar boughs, And not a foot-fall in those rugged ways! The lone Alps wearied on his lonely gaze--

But now this day (the tenth) the signal torch 103 Streams from the temple; the mysterious swell Of long-drawn music peals from aisle to porch:-- He leaves the bright hall where the AEsars[15] dwell, He comes, o'er flowers and fountains to preside, He comes, the god-spouse to the mortal bride--

He comes, for whom ye watch'd, O lovely band, 104 Scatter your flowers before his welcome feet! Lo, where the temple's holy gates expand, Haste, O ye nymphs, the bright'ning steps to meet Why start ye back?--What though the blaze of steel The form of Mars, the expanding gates reveal--

The face, no helmet crowns with war, displays 105 Not that fierce god from whom Etruria fled; Cull from far softer legends while ye gaze, Not there the aspect mortal maid should dread! Have ye no songs from kindred Castaly Of that bright Wanderer from the Olympian[16] sky,

Who, in Arcadian dells, with silver lute 106 Hush'd in delight the nymph and breathless faun? Or are your cold Etrurian minstrels mute Of him whom Syria worshipp'd as the Dawn And Greece as fair Adonis? Hail, O hail! Scatter your flowers, and welcome to the vale!

Wondering the stranger moves! That fairy land, 107 Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness,[17] That solemn seer who leads him by the hand; The tongue unknown, the joy he cannot guess, Blend in one marvel every sound and sight; And in the strangeness doubles the delight.

Young AEgle sits within her palace bower, 108 She hears the cymbals clashing from afar-- So Ormuzd's music welcomed in the hour When the sun hasten'd to his morning-star. Smile, Star of Morn--he cometh from above! And twilight melts around the steps of Love.

Save the grey Augur (since the unconscious child 109 Sprang to the last kiss of her dying sire) Those eyes by man's rude presence undefiled, Had deepen'd into woman's. As a lyre Hung on unwitness'd boughs, amidst the shade, And but to air her soul its music made.

Fair was her prison, wall'd with woven flowers, 110 In a soft isle embraced by softest waters, Linnet and lark the sentries to the towers, And for the guard Etruria's infant daughters; But stronger far than walls, the antique law, And more than hosts, religion's shadowy awe.

Thus lone, thus reverenced, the young virgin grew 111 Into the age, when on the heart's calm wave The light winds tremble, and emotions new Steal to the peace departing childhood gave; When for the vague Beyond the captive pines, And the soul misses--what it scarce divines.

Lo where she sits--(and blossoms arch the dome) 112 Girt by young handmaids!--Near and nearer swelling The cymbals sound before the steps that come O'er rose and hyacinth to the bridal dwelling; And clear and loud the summer air along From virgin voices floats the choral song.

Lo where the sacred talismans diffuse 113 Their fragrant charms against the Evil Powers; Lo where young hands the consecrated dews From cusped vervain sprinkle round the flowers, And o'er the robe, with broider'd palm-leaves sown, That decks the daughter of the peaceful throne!

Lo, on those locks of night the myrtle crown, 114 Lo, where the heart beats quick beneath the veil; Lo, where the lids, cast tremulously down, Cloud stars which Eros as his own might hail; Oh, lovelier than Endymion's loveliest dream, Joy to the heart on which those eyes shall beam!

The bark comes bounding to the islet shore, 115 The trellised gates fly back: the footsteps fall Through jasmined galleries on the threshold floor; And, in the Heart-Enchainer's golden thrall, There, spell-bound halt;--So, first since youth began Her eyes meet youth in the charm'd eyes of man!

And there Art's two opposed Ideals rest; 116 There the twin flowers of the old world bloom forth; The classic symbol of the gentle West, And the bold type of the chivalric North. What trial waits thee, Cymrian, sharper here Than the wolf's death-fang or the Saxon's spear?

But would ye learn how he we left afar, 117 Girt by the stormy people of the wild, Came to the confines of the Hesperus Star, And the soft gardens of the Etrurian child; Would ye, yet lingering in the wondrous vale, Learn what time spares if sorrow can assail;

What there, forgetful of the vanish'd dove, 118 (Lost at these portals) did the king befall; Pause till the hand has tuned the harp to love, And notes that bring young listeners to the hall; And he, whose sires in Cymri reign'd, shall sing How Tusca's daughter loved the Cymrian King.

NOTES TO BOOK III.

1.--Page 243, stanza xlviii.

_Pass from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!_

Walhalla.

2.--Page 243, stanza xlix.

_Were cross'd by SKULDA, in the baleful skein._

Skulda, the Norna, or Destiny, of the Future.

3.--Page 243, stanza xlix.

_Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'_

The Valkyrs, the Choosers of the Slain, who ride before the battle, and select its victims; to whom, afterwards (softening their character), they administer in Walhalla.

4.--Page 245, stanza lx.

_When Caesar bridged with marching steel the Rhine._

Plut. _in vit. Caes._--CAES. _Comment._ lib. iv.

5.--Page 246, stanza lxxi.

_So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea._

Hom. _Hymn_.

6.--Page 246, stanza lxxii.

_Or shy Napaeae, startled from their sleep._

Napaeae, the most bashful of all the rural nymphs; their rare apparition was supposed to produce delirium in the beholder.

7.--Page 247, stanza lxxv.

_A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said) By his dark Caere, from the danger fled._

Caere of the twelve cities in the Etrurian league (though not originally an Etrurian population), imparted to the Romans their sacred mysteries: hence the word Caeremonia. This holy city was in close connection with Delphi. An interesting account of it under its earlier name "Agylla," will be found in Sir W. Gell's "Topography of Rome and its vicinity." The obscure passage in Plutarch's life of Sylla, which intimates that the Etrurian soothsayers had a forewarning of the declining fates of their country, is well known to scholars; who have made more of it than it deserves.

I may as well observe that the adjective _Lartian_ is derived from _Lars_ (or lord), in contradistinction to the adjective _Larian_ derived from _Lar_ (or household god).

8.--Page 248, stanza lxxxi.

_His rod the Augur waves above the ground, And cries, "In Tina's name I bless the soil._"

Tina was the Jove of the Etrurians. The mode in which this people (whose mysterious civilization so tasks our fancy and so escapes from our researches) appropriated a colony, is briefly described in the text. The Augur made lines in the air due north, south, east, and west, marked where the lines crossed upon the earth; then he and the chiefs associated with him sate down, covered their heads, and waited some approving omen from the gods. The Etrurian Augurs were celebrated for their power over the electric fluid. The vulture was a popular bird of omen in the founding of colonies. See NIEBUHR, MULLER, &c.

9.--Page 248, stanza lxxxiv.

_Tombs only speak the Etrurian's language;--hurl'd._

The Etrurian language perished between the age of Augustus and that of Julian.--LEITCH'S _Muller on Ancient Art_.

10.--Page 248, stanza lxxxiv.

_To dust the shrines of Naith;--the serpents hiss._

Naith, the Egyptian goddess.

11.--Page 249, stanza lxxxix.

_The Hister's lyre still thrill'd with Camsee's lays._

Hister, the Etruscan minstrel.--CAMSEE, CAMESE, or CAMOESE, the mythological sister of Janus (a national deity of the Etrurians), whose art of song is supposed to identify her with the Camoena or muse of the Latin poets.--ARRETIUM, celebrated for the material of the Etruscan vases.

12.--Page 249, stanza xciii.

_and all the honours of the race Lend their last bloom to smile in AEgle's face._

The Etrurians paid more respect to women than most of the classical nations, and admitted females to the throne. The Augur (a purely Etruscan name and office) was the highest power in the state. In the earlier Etruscan history, the Augur and the king were unquestionably united in one person. Latterly, this does not appear to have been necessarily (nor perhaps generally) the case. The king (whether we call him lars or lucumo), as well as the augur, was elected out of a certain tribe, or clan; but in the strange colony described in the poem, it is supposed that the rank has become hereditary in the family of the chief who headed it, as would probably have been the case even in more common-place settlements in another soil. Thus, the first Etrurian colonist, Tarchun, no doubt had his successors in his own lineage.

I cannot assert that AEgle is a purely Etruscan name; it is one common both with the Greeks and Latins. In Apollodorus (ii. 5) it is given to one of the Hesperides, and in Virgil (Eclog. vi. l. 20) to the fairest of the Naiads, the daughter of the sun; but it is not contrary to the conformation of the Etruscan language, as, by the way, many of the most popular Latinized Etruscan words are, such as _Lucumo_, for Lauchme; and even Porsena, or, as Virgil (contrary to other authorities) spells and pronounces it, Pors[~e]nna (a name which has revived to fresh fame in Mr. Macaulay's noble "Lays") is a sad corruption; for, as both Niebuhr and Sir William G. remark, the Etruscans had no _o_ in their language. Pliny informs us that they supplied its place by the _v_. I apprehend that an Etrurian would have spelt Porsena _Pvrsna_.[B]

13.--Page 250, stanza xcvii.

_The Gods had care of their Tagetian child!_

Tages--the tutelary genius of the Etrurians. They had a noble legend that Tages appeared to Tarchun, rising from a furrow beneath his plough, with a man's head and a child's body; sung the laws destined to regulate the Etrurian colonist, then sunk, and expired. In Ovid's Metamorphoses (xvi. 533) Tages is said to have first taught the Etrurians to foretell the future.

14.--Page 250, stanza c.

_The fane of Mantu form'd the opposing bound._

MANTU, or MANDU, the Etrurian God of the Shades.

15.--Page 251, stanza ciii.

_He leaves the bright hall where the AEsars dwell._

AEsars, the name given _collectively_ to the Etrurian deities.--SUET. AUG. 97. DIO. CASS. xxvi. p. 589.

16.--Page 251, stanza cv.

_Of that bright Wanderer from the Olympian sky._

Apollo.

17.--Page 251, stanza cvii.

_Those forms of dark yet lustrous loveliness._

Whatever the original cradle of the mysterious Etrurians, scholars, with one or two illustrious exceptions, are pretty well agreed that it must have been _somewhere_ in the East; and the more familiar we become with the remains of their art, the stronger appears the evidence of their early and intimate connection with the Egyptians, though in themselves a race decidedly not Egyptian. See MICALI, _Stor. deg. Antich. Pop._ But in referring to this delightful and learned writer, to whom I am under many obligations in this part of my poem, I must own, with such frankness as respect for so great an authority will permit, that I think many of his assumptions are to be taken with great qualification and reserve.

[B] Dryden, with an accurate delicacy of erudition for which one might scarcely give him credit, does not in his translation follow Virgil's quantity, _Porsenna_, but makes the word short, _Porsena_.