And near that lurid light, full well
The ASTROLOGER, sage Sidrophel,
Where at his desk and book he sits,
Puzzling aloft his curious wits;
He whose domain is held in common
With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN,
Cowering beside her rifted cell,
As if intent on magic spell ;·
Dread pair, that, spite of wind and weather,
Still sit upon Helm-crag together.
The ASTROLOGER was not unseen
By solitary Benjamin ;
But total darkness came anon,
And he and everything was gone:
And suddenly a ruffling breeze
(That would have rocked the sounding trees
Had aught of sylvan growth been there)
Swept through the Hollow long and bare:
The rain rushed down, -the road was battered,
As with the force of billows shattered;
The horses are dismayed, nor know
Whether they should stand or go;
And Benjamin is groping near them,
Sees nothing, and can scarcely hear them.
He is astounded-wonder not -
With such a charge in such a spot;
Astounded in the mountain gap
With thunder-peals, clap after clap,
Close-treading on the silent flashes, —
And somewhere, as he thinks, by crashes
Among the rocks; with weight of rain,
And sullen motions long and slow,
That to a dreary distance go,
Till, breaking in upon the dying strain,
A rending o'er his head begins the fray again.
Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, And oftentimes compelled to halt, The horses cautiously pursue
Their way, without mishap or fault;
And now have reached that pile of stones,
Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones,
He who had once supreme command,
Last king of rocky Cumberland;
His bones, and those of all his power,
Slain here in a disastrous hour!
When, passing through this narrow strait, Stony, and dark, and desolate,
Benjamin can faintly hear
A voice that comes from some one near,
A female voice: "Whoe'er you be,
Stop," it exclaimed, "and pity me!"
And, less in pity than in wonder,
Amid the darkness and the thunder,
The Wagoner, with prompt command,
Summons his horses to a stand.
While, with increasing agitation, The Woman urged her supplication,
In rueful words, with sobs between, -
The voice of tears that fell unseen;
There came a flash, a startling glare,
And all Seat-Sandal was laid bare!
"T is not a time for nice suggestion,
And Benjamin, without a question,
Taking her for some way-worn rover,
Said, "Mount, and get you under cover!"
Another voice, in tone as hoarse
As a swollen brook with rugged course,
Cried out, "Good brother, why so fast?
I've had a glimpse of you, - avast!
Or, since it suits you to be civil,
"It is my Husband," softly said The Woman, as if half afraid : By this time she was snug within, Through help of honest Benjamin ; She and her Babe, which to her breast With thankfulness the Mother pressed; And now the same strong voice more near Said cordially, "My Friend, what cheer? Rough doings these! as God's my judge, The sky owes somebody a grudge! We 've had in half an hour or less A twelvemonth's terror and distress!"
Then Benjamin entreats the Man Would mount, too, quickly as he can:
To courteous Benjamin replied,
"Go you your way, and mind not me;
For I must have, whate'er betide,
My Ass and fifty things beside,
Go, and I'll follow speedily!"
The Wagon moves, and with its load
Descends along the sloping road;
And the rough Sailor instantly
Turns to a little tent hard by:
For when, at closing-in of day,
The family had come that way,
Green pasture and the soft warm air
Tempted them to settle there.-
Green is the grass for beast to graze,
Around the stones of Dunmail-raise!
The Sailor gathers up his bed,
Takes down the canvas overhead,
And, after farewell to the place,
A parting word, though not of grace,
Pursues, with Ass and all his store,
The way the Wagon went before.
IF Wytheburn's modest House of
As lowly as the lowliest dwelling,
Had, with its belfry's humble stock,
A little pair that hang in air,
Been mistress also of a clock,
(And one, too, not in crazy plight,)
Twelve strokes that clock would have been telling Under the brow of old Helvellyn
Its bead-roll of midnight
Then, when the Hero of my tale
Was passing by, and down the vale
(The vale now silent, hushed I ween
As if a storm had never been)
Proceeding with a mind at ease;
While the old Familiar of the seas,
Intent to use his utmost haste,
Gained ground upon the Wagon fast,
And gives another lusty cheer;
For spite of rumbling of the wheels,
A welcome greeting he can hear ;·
It is a fiddle in its glee
Dinning from the CHERRY-TREE!
As Benjamin is now aware,
Who, to his inward thoughts confined,
Had almost reached the festive door,
When, startled by the Sailor's roar,
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