Morduth - Book Ii Poem by Anne MacVicar Grant

THREE times dark hovering in the east the night
Chas'd with black misty wings the lingering light;
And thrice the stars with feebly glimmering ray
Shot through the struggling clouds that barr'd their way;
Low sullen winds that o'er the hillocks rise,
Seem laden with afflicted heroes sighs;
The shades of ancient Chiefs, renown'd for might,
In wrath were moving o'er the mountain's height:
Deep moans of new-made ghosts came on the breeze,
And weak their voices whisper'd through the trees;
Still in our ears their dying sorrows rung,
And anguish every manly bosom wrung.
High on a lofty rock the king appear'd,
Th' indignant glance desponding warriors fear'd;
His mighty purpose lab'ring in his breast,
The monarch thus his high disdain express'd:
'When'er the dark occasion seems to frown,
'With trembling fear the little heart sinks down;
'And quick the feeble to the covert flies,--
'The brave on danger looks with fearless eyes,
'Sees him approach in his most hideous form,
'And lifts his head undaunted in the storm:
'Though through the wood the howling tempest raves,
'The stedfast oak the blast unshaken braves.
'Say, then, ye Chiefs, who warlike honours claim,
'If from the sons of little men we came?
'The spears we lift to quell invading foes,
'Not from weak twigs of bending osier rose:
'From the firm oak our well-try'd weapons came,
'Of ALBIONS'S growth, renown'd for deeds of fame!'
'How oft have foes come blustering from the north,
'How oft our valiant ancestors gone forth,
'And drove them vanquish'd from the bloody field,--
'And will you to the sons of ocean yield?
'Where moans of wounded foes from blast to blast,
'And dying groans in sad succession pass'd:
'The flat grey stones, the monuments of death,
'That frequent rise on yonder dusky heath;
'Preserve the memory of our gallant sires--
'Hark! from their tombs a warning voice inspires,
'And says, 'Ye sons of sires that never fled,
'Your fathers' steps with dauntless ardour tread!' '
Listening to hear the King disclose his wrath,
The heroes stood dejected, still as death:
Then rais'd aloft the buckler, sword, and spear,
While hollow sounds still murmur'd in their ear:
MORCHEAN , the third that rul'd the sable rock,
Thrice shook his locks, thrice struck in wrath the oak:
'Though now my strength bows with the weight of years,
'No coward vein my cheek indignant bears;
'Seldom I struck an unavailing stroke,
'And oft my sword through hostile ranks has broke.
'I thought, and joy'd to think my gallant son
'Would build my tomb when life's short day was done;
'I hop'd when joy and grief alike were fled,
'Low in the narrow house he'd lay my head.
'Alas! nor stone nor shield his hand shall raise,
'But long in deathless songs shall live his praise!
'His step was in the battle foremost found,
'Till every friend or fell or fled around:
'But matchless odds can mortal might oppose?--
'The hero fell before a thousand foes!'
'Blest be the hero's soul,' the king return'd,
'Alone he shall not lie, so justly mourn'd,
'This night shall ALBION'S Chief his footsteps trace,
'And dark our foes shall find the fatal place!'
MACORDUIBH'S blooming spouse now grasp'd the shield:
'Shall men till sun-rise linger in the field?
'Will ye not hunt the foe like tim'rous deer,
'While doubt and darkness aggravate their fear?'
A mighty Chief, for strength and courage fam'd,
With milder words her rash impatience blam'd:
'The sons of ALBION oft, when wars were o'er,
'And strangers chanc'd to tread her woody shore,
'With kindly welcome gave the joyful shell;
'But never yet did ancient story tell,
'Where death in treacherous ambush lay in wait,
'When strangers pass the hospitable gate:
'Manly and generous LOCHLIN'S sons appear,
'When the blest days of peace reverse the spear!'
The moon in gloomy silence hid her head,
The stars lay slumbering in their cloudy bed,
The whirling tempest waken'd loud alarms,
And rattling hail rebounded from our arms:
But dusky twilight bade its fury cease,
And every hostile blast was hush'd to peace.
Now morn's fair visage in the east arose,
The sun awak'd, more beauteous from repose,
Shook his bright locks resplendent o'er the field,
Till gladsome beams reflect from every shield.
Rejoicing in the rays of new-born light,
Each Chieftain seiz'd his arms, and wish'd the fight.
Said MORFOLT; 'Let no warrior further come,
'Who trusts that beauty's tears shall deck his tomb,
'For whom a soft white hand shall trembling raise
'The stone that gives his fame to future days.
'For me,--this night, stretch'd on yon dusky heath,
'I'll sleep within the cold embrace of death--
'No stone of fame shall o'er my grave appear,
'For me no cheek be moisten'd with a tear;
'No hoary sire in me lament a son,
'No son bewail a father's life is done;
'Nor gentle maiden cry, alas! my love!
'Still must my heart my erring hand reprove,
'Still cruel memory view the fatal dart
'That pierc'd the snowy breast, the faithful heart
'Of her whose beauty, with excelling grace,
'Outshone a thousand fair of ALBION'S race:
'My alien sword, that draws the purple flood
'From LOCHLIN'S sons, smokes with my kindred's blood!
'My ancestors of old were ALBION'S foes,
'And high in fame round LOCHLIN'S king they rose:
'Twas my bold youth's delight my course to urge,
'With daring prow across the foaming surge:
'Six gallant heroes rais'd my white sail high,
'The northern blast in fury swept the sky,
'The swelling billows rais'd their heads in wrath,
'Or whirl'd us in the dreadful pools of death,
'While blinding drift incessant drove around,
'And angry skies with double darkness frown'd:
'Fair ALBION with the dawning light appear'd,
'And o'er the ridgy waves its white cliffs rear'd;
'Each oak its green locks shook with welcome kind,
'And early music floated on the wind;
'High banks, with melody on every spray,
'Seem'd nodding o'er our bark to bid us stay:
'A courteous Chieftain stretch'd his ready hand,
'And 'Welcome, LOCHLIN'S sons,' he cries, 'to land:
'Now hush'd in soft repose are war's alarms,--
'And peaceful rust has settled on our arms;
'Here many are our deer, and full our shel's,
'High deeds of fame our ancient story tells;
'Honour and valour in our tales appear,--
'Who ever saw a guest a stranger here?'
'With ready haste they spread the joyous feast,
'Weary and faint we shar'd the glad repast:
'On every hand the song of bards arose,
'Well pleas'd we blest our country's ancient foes:--
'Sweet as the sun just breaking forth to view,
'That glittering cheers the foliage bent with dew,
'BOSMINA mov'd amidst the courteous throng,
'Soft as the whisper'd melody of song,
'And as with timid step she glided by,
'Her path was trac'd by many a hero's eye!
'In vain, sweet maid, their looks were cast on thee,
'Whose soft regards alone distinguish'd me.
'For me no hills arose with forests crown'd,
'No warriors to my standard crowded round,
'In early youth my ready weapon rose
'And slaughter dealt amongst my country's foes;
'Yet all the deeds my single arm could claim,
'Nor fill'd the song of bards, nor rais'd my fame.
'Go,' cried the maid, 'and seek some distant land
'Where mighty monarchs adverse hosts command,
'There let the ardent soul of valour flame,
'And deeds of proud renown adorn thy name;
'Then when thy fame returns on ev'ry wind--
'To glad the mourner whom thou leav'st behind,
'Come bright in arms and hear BOSMINA own
'Her love the meed of MORFOLT'S worth alone.'
'To Erin's king my subject arms I bore,
'And many a foe sunk breathless on the shore,
'And many a bard around the nightly flame
'The notes of triumph mingled with my name.
'My fatal fame now swelling on the breeze,
'Reach'd every shore, and wafted o'er the seas,
'To fair BOSMINA'S happy home convey'd
'The name so favour'd by the matchless maid:
'Daughters of Erin , vain were all your charms,
'Your softly rolling eyes, and snowy arms;
'For me ye sigh'd, on me ye smil'd in vain,
'When peace brought safety to your plains again:
'On wings of speed I hasted to depart,
'And sought the secret treasure of my heart.
'The sun lay slumb'ring in his wavy bed,
'The moon through clouds a dubious lustre shed;
'I saw her father's mossy tow'rs appear,
'The birchen grove with streaming branches near
'Wav'd its light foliage to the whisp'ring wind,
'Dark horror rose in my presaging mind;
'I stopt, and heard a well known voice repeat,
'Like summer's balmy breath in accents sweet:
'Go, and should fate decree my hero's fall,
'Oft shall my soul this parting hour recal,
'And through the course of sad surviving years
'Thy mem'ry shall be hallow'd by my tears.'
'My soul, that never knew to fear before,
'With doubt and terror now was clouded o'er:
'Within the dusky shelter of the wood
'A stately warrior by BOSMINA stood,--
'I bent my bow, and bid my arrow go
'And seek the false heart thro' the breast of snow--
'Let never other warrior wander wide
'Through fields of fame to win that heart of pride
'Deep in her bosom sunk the shaft of death,
'Wide spread her floating vesture on the heath;
'The sanguine stream distains her tresses bright,
'Her low groans mingle with the sighs of night.'
'Whence came the dart of death?' the warrior cried.
'From no weak arm,' my boastful wrath replied.
'Insidious foe,' th' astonish'd youth returns,
'Though fall'n beneath thy arm the helpless mourns,
'No mighty arms that valour gives to shine
'Are ever rais'd before a heart like thine;
'Amidst the airy forms of ages past
'Thy surly ghost shall mingle with the blast;
'To hollow winds the fatal deed deplore,
'Nor lift thy steel against the lovely more.'
'Long on the heath alternate blows we deal,
'She groan'd unheard amidst the clash of steel.
'His broken spear no more repels the blow;
'Prone at my feet I saw my gallant foe;
'The moon burst forth--my dying Friend I view'd,--
'BOSMINA'S brother! welt'ring in his blood!
'And art thou fall'n, our aged father's pride?'
'Th' expiring maid with falt'ring accents cried:
'Where art thou, MORFOLT ,--on what distant shore
'Do mighty foes thy deadly force deplore?
'Who now shall hail thee with a brother's name,
'And call thee homeward from the fields of fame?
'Yet shall my hero come, and raise my tomb
'Amidst yon peaceful grove, whose hallow'd gloom
'Once heard our faithful vows!'--The steel I drew,
'And when the sanguine torrent burst anew
'My mingling tears her bleeding breast bedew'd
'Once more her closing eyes her lover view'd,
'And saw his guilty hands in blood imbrued!
'In the weak shriek the gen'rous soul was lost,
'From my sad grasp escap'd th' abhorrent ghost,
'Shunn'd the fierce terrors of my jealous love,
'And on a moon-beam sought her friends above.
'Four stones now mark the dwelling of the brave,
'There, too, the lovely finds a peaceful grave:
'The virgins oft with solemn brow draw near,
'And deck the sacred spot with beauty's tear;
'The shrubs wave mournful as the breezes blow,
'Their tuneful inmates pour the notes of woe;
'All night I listen to the howling blast,
'Or gaze on clouds with double gloom o'ercast:
'On me they darkly frown while gliding by,
'And airy forms from me with horror fly.
'Dunairm's sad chief in lonely silence mourns,
'In vain he weeps,--the past no more returns;
At times his hands explore his children's tomb,
'His voice of woe breaks through the midnight gloom,
'No more he lifts the spear;--but I again
'Shall bid his weapons thunder o'er the plain;
'Against my father's house his arms I wield,
'His gleaming steel shall pierce my kindred's shield;
'My fatal weapon slew his valiant son,
'Ere well his race of glory had begun;
'Now round his early tomb, his country's foes
'Shall fall, the victims of my guilty woes.
'The moon's faint beams beheld the frantic deed,
'By her pale light my kindred host shall bleed.
'Once more I feel my wonted ardour burn,--
'Once more I go, but never to return!'