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List to the valorous deeds that were done
By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son!
Count Witikind came of a regal strain,
And rov'd with his Norsemen the laud and the
main.

Wo to the realms which he coasted! for there
Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair,
Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest,
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast:
When he hoisted his standard black,
Before him was battle, behind him wrack,
And he burn'd the churches, that heathen Dane,
To light his band to their barks again.

II.

On Erin's shores was his outrage known,
The winds of France had his banners blown;
Little was there to plunder, yet still,
His pirates had foray'd on Scottish hill;
But upon merry England's coast

More frequent he sailed, for he won the most.
So wide and so far his ravage they knew,

If a sail but gleam'd white 'gainst the welkin
blue,

Trumpet and bugle to arms did call,
Burghers hasten'd to man the wall,
Peasants fled inland his fury to 'scape,
Beacons were lighted on headland and cape,
Bells were toll'd out, and aye as they rung,
Fearful and faintly the gray brothers sung,
"Bless us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire,
From famine and pest, and Count Witikind's
ire!"

The Count, however, got weary, at last, of this piratical life, and having made a peace with the Saxon King, who was glad enough to buy off such an enemy, he

took upon him the peaceful style, Of a vassal and liegeman of Britain's broad isle.' But Count Witikind soon began to wax old, and as he grew old, he naturally grew feeble, and—

As he grew feebler his wildness ceased,
He made himself peace with prelate and priest,
Made his peace, and stooping his head,
Patiently listed the counsel they said:
Saint Cuthbert's bishop was holy and grave,
Wise and good was the counsel he gave.

V.

"Thou hast murder'd, robb'd, and spoil'd,
Time it is thy poor soul were assoil'd';
Priest didst thou slay, and churches buru,
Time it is now to repentance to turn;
Fiends hast thou worshipp'd, with fiendish rite,
Leave now the darkness, and wend into light:
O while life and space are given,
Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven!"

That stern old heathen his head he raised,
Aud on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed:

'Give me broad lands on the Wear and the
Tyne,

My faith I will leave, and I'll cleave unto thine.'

The bargain being struck, old Witikind submitted to the rites of baptism, and became the feudatory of the church.

VII.

Up then arose that grim convertite,
Homeward be bied him when ended the rite;
The prelate in honour will with him ride,
And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side.
Banners and banderols danced in the wind,
Monks rode before them, and spearmen behind;,
Onward they pass'd, till fairly did shine
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne;
And full in front did that fortress lower,
In darksome strength with its buttress and tower
At the castle-gate was young Harold there,
Count Witikind's only offspring and heir.
VIII.

Young Harold was fear'd for his hardihood,
His strength of frame, and his fury of mood;
Rude he was, and wild to behold,
Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold,
Cap of vair nor rich array,

Such as should grace that festal day;

His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced,
Uncovered his head, and his sandal unlaced;
His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low,
And his eyes glanced through them a swarthy

glow;

A Danish club in his hand he bore,
The spikes were clotted with recent gore;
At his back a she-wolf, and her wolf-cubs twain,
In the dangerous chase that morning slain.
Rude was the greeting his father he made,
None to the Bishop-while thus he said :

IX.

"What priest-led hypocrite art thou,
With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow,
Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow?
&c. &c.

Witikind returned this dutiful ad

dress in kind; when—

XI.

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The face of his father will Harold review,

singing a love song, from which it ap

Till then, aged Heathen, young Christian, pears, that she had plighted her faith

adieu!"

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on the

with Lord William,

The heir of Wilton's lofty tower.'
In the midst of her ditty, however,

VII.

Sudden she stops-and starts to feel
A weighty hand, a glove of steel,
Upon her shrinking shoulder laid;
Fearful she turn'd, and saw, dismay'd,
A Knight in plate and mail array'd,
His crest and bearing worn and fray'd,
His surcoat soil'd and riven,
Form'd like that giant race of yore,
Whose long-continued crimes outwore
The sufferance of heaven.

Stern accents made his pleasure known,
Though then he used his gentlest tone:
Maiden,' he said, 'sing forth thy glee,
Start not-sing on-it pleases me.'

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But there was one who had not partaken of the revel; this was 'flaxen hair'd Gunnar,' the page of Lord Harold, and his foster-mother's child. This tender- This, as the reader may well suppose, hearted youth cannot bear to think is no other than the gentle Harold; of his amiable master's being exposed but he will not, probably, be better preto the darkness and cold,' pared than the trembling Metelill' was, shelterless wold;' he therefore, loyally, for what follows; which is neither more taking advantage of the general ebriety, nor less than a blunt intimation, that he robs one of the priests of his purse, is so well satisfied with her, that he another of his cloak, steals the Senes- intends to do her the honour of tachal's keys, and mounting the Bi- king her to wife, of which magnanishop's palfry gay,' sets out in search of mous determination he directs her to the self-exiled Harold.' After some inform her parents. Poor Metelill, not hesitation, Harold agrees to accept exactly relishing the high destiny' alhim as a follower of his fortunes,lotted her, keeps this dreadful denunciation to herself. But Harold does not allow her much respite. In a few days he makes his appearance again, and bolts into the cottage to demand his 'Wulfstane,' Metelill's father, with bride. who is a poacher by profession, would at first fain make fight with him, but gathering more presence of mind, on a second survey of his enormous stature, thinks it wiser to turn him over to the management of Jutta,' his wife, who is a famous 'witch.' Jutta begins to mutter over all her incantations, but finding, at last, that what she had mistaken for a spectre, is, bonâ fide, flesh and blood, she abandons her witchcraft, and has recourse to her wit. She succeeds in prevailing on Harold to defer his purpose for that night, and the moment she gets rid of him, and finishes a conjugal skirmish with her

"Twere boothless to tell what climes they sought,
Ventures achieved and battles fought;
How oft with few, how oft alone,
Fierce Harold's arm the field had won.
Men swore his eye that flash'd so red,
When each other glance was quench'd

dread,

Bore oft a light of deadly flame

That ne'er from mortal courage came.
Those limbs so strong, that mood so stern,
That loved the couch of heath and fern,
Afar from hamlet, tower, and town,
More than to rest on driven down;
That stubborn frame, that sullen mood,
Men deem'd must come of aught but good,
And they whisper'd, the great master fiend was
With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's

at one

son.

In the mean time, Count Witikind dies, and, his graceless son not appearing, the church resumes its lands. This closes the first Canto.

The next Canto introduces, 'Fair Metelill, a woodland máid,'

Harold calls upon their reverences without periphrasis or ceremony, for restitution of his lands. Aldingar, when he recovers his powers of speech, tells him that it cannot be, for two reasons, first, because he is an unchristened Dane,' and next, because the lands have 'been granted anew

spouse, she starts off, whether on foot or on a broomstick is not stated, and setting every priest she passes, in her hasty journey, to muttering and crossing himself, and every cur to barking, and the foxes to yelling, and the cocks to crowing, and the curlews to screeching, and the ravens to croaking, and the cat-o-mountains to screaming, she To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere.' proceeds cheered by such music,' to Harold soon does away the force of a deep dell and rocky stone,' where this last objection, by tossing on the alshe raises the very devil himself,-or, tar the head of Conyers and the hand as the poet couches it, in more courtly of Vere, new severed from their car. terms, a god of heathen days.' The second Canto closes with a spirited tête-a-tête, between the witch and the demon, in which it seems to be concluded between this worthy couple, that the best way to cure Lord Harold's love fit, will be to set him by the ears with the church, about his towers and lands, on the Wear and the Tyne.'

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In the third Canto, Gunnar sings to his Lord, several monitory songs, tending to warn him against the charms of Metelill, and the arts of Jutta, who, it seems, had set him forward on his errand to St. Cuthbert's' Chapter.

The fourth Canto assembles the priests and prelate of St. Cuthbert in solemn conclave. The haughty Aldingar is seated in the episcopal chair, whilst

Canons and deacons were placed below,
In due degree and lengthen'd row.
Unmoved and silent cach sate there,
Like image in his oaken chair;
Nor head, nor hand, nor foot, they stirr'd,
Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard,
And of their eyes severe alone
The twinkle show'd they were not stone.
III.

The Prelate was to speech address'd,
Each head sunk reverend on each breast:
But ere his voice was heard-without
Arose a wild tumultuous shout,
Offspring of wonder mix'd with fear,
Such as in crowded streets we hear
Hailing the flames, that, bursting out,
Attract yet scare the rabble rout.
Ere it had ceas'd, a giant hand
Shook oaken door and iron band,
Till oak and iron both gave way,
Clash'd the long bolts, the hinges bray,
And ere upon angel or saint they can call,

Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the

ball.

casses!!

VI.

Count Harold laugh'd at their looks of fear:
Was that the head should wear the casque
Was this the hand should your banner bear?
In battle at the church's task?
Was it to such you gave the place
Find me between the Wear and Tyne
Of Harold with the heavy mace?
A knight will wield this club of mine→→
Give him my fiefs, and I will say
He raised it, rough with many a stain,
There's wit beneath the cowl of gray.'-
Caught from crush'd scull and spouting brain,
He wheel'd it that it shrilly sung,
And the aisles echoed as it swung,
Then dash'd it down with sheer descent,
And split King Osric's monument.—

How like ye this music? How trow ye the hand That can wield such a mace may be reft of its land?

No answer?—I spare ye a space to agree,
And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if he be.
Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on
your bell,

And again I am with you--grave fathers fare-
well.'

After this unwelcome intruder retires, a jocular debate ensues among the monks, in which it is facetiously proposed either to assassinate or poison him. But the Bishop overrules these motions for the present, and resolves to put Harold on some perilous probation, in which he may perish. When Harold returns to demand their ultimatum, Aldingar receives him very graciously, bids him to dinner, and promises him, that

While the wine sparkles high in the goblet of gold,

And the revel is loudest, [his] task shall be told:

Accordingly a story is sung to him of an enchanted castle, where six monarchs had been simultaneously mur

dered, on their wedding night, by their brides, who were sisters, and daughters of Urien; who had been put to death in turn by a seventh monarch, who had married the seventh sister, and who included his own wife in the massacre, and, having quitted the castle, had

'Died in his cloister an anchorite gray.' He is, moreover, told that,

Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lics stow'd, The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad,

Whoever shall guesten these chambers within, From curfew till matins, that treasure shall win.

To perform this, he is instructed, is the required probation. He exultingly undertakes it; and the curtain drops on the Fourth Canto.

In the Fifth Canto, Harold relaxes into something like tender converse with the timid Gunnar, which is suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a mysterious monitor, in

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In Cephalonia's rocky isle.'

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o'er stone,

The train of a bridal came blithsomely on; There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, and still

The burden was "Joy to the fair Metelill!" On this pageant Harold soon pounces. But first, he rent a fragment from the cliff,' and hurled on the affrighted train below. Its force and magnitude may be calculated from its effects,-it fell upon Wulfstane, and, from the description, mashed him as completely as one's fist would demolish a moscheto. Lord

William, however, prepares to engage Harold, and a combat ensues; but the poor bridegroom would soon have fallen beneath Harold's redoubtable club, had not Gunnar interposed, at the mo ment it was poised to annihilate him, with its descending stroke. To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung, Around his master's knees he clung,

And cried, In mercy spare! O think upon the words of fear Spoke by that visionary seer, The crisis he foretold is hereGrant mercy-or despair!"

This appeal is efficacious. Harold With this apparition Harold holds is struck with conviction, stays his solemn communion, which, on the part uplifted hand,-nay, signs himself with of the disembodied interlocutor, ends with this dreadful denouncement,

If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted soever, The gate of repentance shall ope for thec never.

A little shocked at this ghostly visitation, Harold bethinks himself of recruiting his courage, with a dram, from a cordial contained in a flasket given him by one of the hospitable monks of St. Cuthbert, and to which the crafty priest had attributed all the virtues which Don Quixote ascribed to his catholicon, though, as it proves in the sequel, this boasted panacea was a distillation of all the noxious plants, that hold dire 'enmity with blood of man.'

the cross! and makes one step towards heaven.' He retires and leaves his antagonist and rival prostrate on the plain, and Meteli stretched insensible beside him. Jutta hastens to revive these exanimate lovers, and espying Harold's famous flasket, which he had left behind him, is about administering its contents to her patients,--when, like a careful nurse, she thinks best to taste it first herself,-and it is well for them that she did,—

For when three drops the hag had tasted,
So dismal was her yell,
Each bird of evil omen woke,
The raven gave his fatal croak,
And shriek'd the night-crow from the oak,
The screech-owl from the thicket broke,
And flutter'd down the dell!

So fearful was the sound and stern, The slumbers of the full-gorged erne Were started, and from furze and fern,

Of forest and of fell,

The fox and famish'd wolf replied,
(For wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side,)
From mountain head to mountain head
The unhallow'd sounds around were sped;
But when their latest echo fled,
The sorceress on the ground lay dead.

And thus winds up the Fifth Canto.
In the Sixth and last Canto, Harold
reaches the Castle of the Seven Shields,
enters its gate, perambulates its courts
and balls, and makes some reflections
on woman's perfidy,' on coming across
the skeletons of the seven witch-
brides.' Gunnar takes on him the de-
fence of the sex, and says, with earnest-
ness and emotion,

I could tell of woman's faith
Defying danger, scorn, and death.

Firm was that faith-as diamond stone
Pure and unflaw'd-her love unknown,
And unrequited; firm and pure,
Her stainless faith could all endure,
From clime to clime-from place to place--
Through want and danger, and disgrace,
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace.--
All this she did, and guerdon none
Required, save that her burial-stone
Should make at length the secret known.
Thus hath a faithful woman done.-
Not in each breast such truth is laid,
But Eivir was a Danish maid.-

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Harold calls him a wild enthusiast,' yet confesses that could such an one be found,

Her's were a faith to rest upon.
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone,
And all resembling her are gone.

They, then, couched them on the floor,

Until the beams of morning glow'd.' Lord Harold, however, rose an alter'd man.' He had had a dismal dream, which, as soon as they had cleared out of the castle, he relates. Among other things, he states that the spirit of his father Witikind had appeared to him, and revealed himself as the one, who, in the guise of a palmer, had watched over his fate, being doomed, as well for his son's sins as his own,

A wanderer upon earth to pine,
Until his son shall turn to grace,
And smooth for him a resting place.'

The old gentleman, he adds, had hinted, too, that Gunnar,

'Must in his lord's repentance aid.' But he appears much perplexed to conjecture how.

Soon marking that he had lost his glove, he sends Gunnar back to the tower to look for it.

with no ordinary interest;
Gunnar had heard his lord's relation,
But when he learn'd the dubious close,
He blushed like any opening rose,
And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek,
When soon a shriek of deadly dread
Hied back that glove of mail to seek;
Summon'd his master to his aid.

Harold hurries to his assistance, and finds him in the grasp of a fiend in the form of Odin, the Danish war god. After a short parley, in which the demon claims Gunnar as Eivir,' for his own,

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'Mark'd in the birth-hour with his sign,' the knight and the sprite join issue in terrible conflict, in which all the elements take part. The knight, however, has the best of the battle, and the goblin wisely evanishes' in the storm he had raised.

Nor paused the champion of the North,
From that wild scene of fiendish strife,
But raised and bore his Eivir forth,
To light, to liberty, and life!

XVII.

He placed her on a bank of moss,
A silver runnel bubbled by,
And new-born thoughts his soul engross,
And tremors yet unknown across

His stubborn sinews fly;
The while with timid hand the dew
Upon her brow and neck he threw,
And mark'd how life with rosy hue
On her pale cheek revived anew,
Inly he said. That silken tress,
And glimmer'd in her eye.
What blindness mine that could not guess,
Or how could page's rugged dress
O, dull of heart, through wild and wave,
That bosom's pride belie?
In search of blood and death to rave,'
With such a partner nigh!'

XVIII.

Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd,
Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard,
The stains of recent conflict clear'd

And thus the champion proved,
That he fears now who never fear'd,
And loves who never loved.

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