Marmion - Introduction to Canto Fifth

TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.

Edinburgh.

When dark December glooms the day,
And takes our autumn joys away;
When short and scant the sunbeam throws,
Upon the weary waste of snows,
A cold and profitless regard, 5
Like patron on a needy bard;
When silvan occupation’s done,
And o’er the chimney rests the gun,
And hang, in idle trophy, near,
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; 10
When wiry terrier, rough and grim,
And greyhound, with his length of limb,
And pointer, now employ’d no more,
Cumber our parlour’s narrow floor;
When in his stall the impatient steed 15
Is long condemn’d to rest and feed;
When from our snow-encircled home,
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam
Since path is none, save that to bring
The needful water from the spring; 20
When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn’d o’er,
Beguiles the dreary hour no more,
And darkling politician, cross’d,
Inveighs against the lingering post,
And answering housewife sore complains 25
Of carriers’ snow-impeded wains;
When such the country cheer, I come,
Well pleased, to seek our city home;
For converse, and for books, to change
The Forest’s melancholy range, 30
And welcome, with renew’d delight,
The busy day and social night.

Not here need my desponding rhyme
Lament the ravages of time,
As erst by Newark’s riven towers, 35
And Ettrick stripp’d of forest bowers.
True,-Caledonia’s Queen is changed,
Since on her dusky summit ranged,
Within its steepy limits pent,
By bulwark, line, and battlement, 40
And flanking towers, and laky flood,
Guarded and garrison’d she stood,
Denying entrance or resort,
Save at each tall embattled port;
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 45
Portcullis spiked with iron prong.
That long is gone,-but not so long,
Since, early closed, and opening late,
Jealous revolved the studded gate,
Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 50
A wicket churlishly supplied.
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow,
Dun-Edin! O, how altered now,
When safe amid thy mountain court
Thou sitt’st, like Empress at her sport, 55
And liberal, unconfined, and free,
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,
For thy dark cloud, with umber’d lower,
That hung o’er cliff, and lake, and tower,
Thou gleam’st against the western ray 60
Ten thousand lines of brighter day.

Not she, the Championess of old,
In Spenser’s magic tale enroll’d,
She for the charmed spear renown’d,
Which forced each knight to kiss the ground,-
Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, 66
What time she was Malbecco’s guest,
She gave to flow her maiden vest;
When from the corselet’s grasp relieved,
Free to the sight her bosom heaved; 70
Sweet was her blue eye’s modest smile,
Erst hidden by the aventayle;
And down her shoulders graceful roll’d
Her locks profuse, of paly gold.
They who whilom, in midnight fight, 75
Had marvell’d at her matchless might,
No less her maiden charms approved,
But looking liked, and liking loved.
The sight could jealous pangs beguile,
And charm Malbecco’s cares a while; 80
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames,
Forgot his Columbella’s claims,
And passion, erst unknown, could gain
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane;
Nor durst light Paridel advance, 85
Bold as he was, a looser glance.
She charm’d, at once, and tamed the heart,
Incomparable Britomane!

So thou, fair City! disarray’d
Of battled wall, and rampart’s aid, 90
As stately seem’st, but lovelier far
Than in that panoply of war.
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne
Strength and security are flown;
Still as of yore, Queen of the North! 95
Still canst thou send thy children forth.
Ne’er readier at alarm-bell’s call
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall,
Than now, in danger, shall be thine,
Thy dauntless voluntary line; 100
For fosse and turret proud to stand,
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land.
Thy thousands, train’d to martial toil,
Full red would stain their native soil,
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 105
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle.
And if it come,-as come it may,
Dun-Edin! that eventful day,-
Renown’d for hospitable deed,
That virtue much with Heaven may plead, 110
In patriarchal times whose care
Descending angels deign’d to share;
That claim may wrestle blessings down
On those who fight for The Good Town,
Destined in every age to be 115
Refuge of injured royalty;
Since first, when conquering York arose,
To Henry meek she gave repose,
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe,
Great Bourbon’s relics, sad she saw. 120

Truce to these thoughts!-for, as they rise,
How gladly I avert mine eyes,
Bodings, or true or false, to change,
For Fiction’s fair romantic range,
Or for Tradition’s dubious light, 125
That hovers ‘twixt the day and night:
Dazzling alternately and dim
Her wavering lamp I’d rather trim,
Knights, squires, and lovely dames, to see,
Creation of my fantasy, 130
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,
And make of mists invading men.-
Who loves not more the night of June
Than dull December’s gloomy noon?
The moonlight than the fog of frost? 135
But can we say, which cheats the most?

But who shall teach my harp to gain
A sound of the romantic strain,
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere
Could win the royal Henry’s ear, 140
Famed Beauclerk call’d, for that he loved
The minstrel, and his lay approved?
Who shall these lingering notes redeem,
Decaying on Oblivion’s stream;
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 145
Marie translated, Blondel sung?-
O! born, Time’s ravage to repair,
And make the dying Muse thy care;
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe
Was poising for the final blow, 150
The weapon from his hand could wring,
And break his glass, and shear his wing,
And bid, reviving in his strain,
The gentle poet live again;
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 155
An unpedantic moral gay,
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit
On wings of unexpected wit;
In letters as in life approved,
Example honour’d, and beloved,- 160
Dear ELLIS! to the bard impart
A lesson of thy magic art,
To win at once the head and heart,-
At once to charm, instruct, and mend,
My guide, my pattern, and my friend! 165

Such minstrel lesson to bestow
Be long thy pleasing task,-but, O!
No more by thy example teach,-
What few can practise, all can preach,-
With even patience to endure 170
Lingering disease, and painful cure,
And boast affliction’s pangs subdued
By mild and manly fortitude.
Enough, the lesson has been given:
Forbid the repetition, Heaven! 175

Come listen, then! for thou hast known,
And loved the Minstrel’s varying tone,
Who, like his Border sires of old,
Waked a wild measure rude and bold,
Till Windsor’s oaks, and Ascot plain, 180
With wonder heard the northern strain.
Come listen! bold in thy applause,
The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws;
And, as the ancient art could stain
Achievements on the storied pane, 185
Irregularly traced and plann’d,
But yet so glowing and so grand,-
So shall he strive, in changeful hue,
Field, feast, and combat, to renew,
And loves, and arms, and harpers’ glee, 191
And all the pomp of chivalry.