_Our Hero pays his first Visit to his Grandfather. The congratulatory
Lay of the Minstrel._
The next morning Robert de Lancaster rose with the sun. From the window
of his chamber he cast his eyes over that grand and beautiful expanse of
country, which the proud and lofty site of his castle overpeered. It was
the first sun, that had risen on his new-born hope, and the splendour,
which that glorious luminary diffused over the animating scenery under
his survey, was to a mind like his peculiarly auspicious and impressive:
his bosom glowed with pious gratitude to the Supreme Dispenser of those
blessings--It is too much, all-bounteous Being, he exclaimed, too much
for sinful man! I am not worthy of such goodness.
He summoned his servant, and being informed that the night had passed
well with Mrs. De Lancaster, he desired the child might be brought to
him: his wish was speedily obeyed. He stood for some time intently
gazing on the countenance of his grandchild, and at length pronounced it
to be a perfect model of infantine beauty, open and ingenuous, every
thing in short that his warmest wishes could have pictured.
I perceive, cried he, and can decypher the hand-writing of nature in the
expressive lineaments of this lovely babe: if God, who gave him life,
shall in his mercy give him length of days, he will be an honour to his
name and an ornament to his country.
He is a sweet pretty puppet, said the nurse.
Pooh! cried the prophet, I am not speaking of what he is, I am telling
what he will be. I prognosticate that he will be brave, benevolent, and
virtuous--
And handsome and tall and well-shaped, re-echoed the loquacious dame;
only look what fine straight limbs he has, pretty fellow!
Take yourself away with him! cried De Lancaster in displeasure. You have
interrupted me with your chatter, and the continuity of those thoughts,
which spontaneously presented themselves, is no more to be resumed.
The nurse departed, dancing the child in her arms, and prattling to it
in her way, unconscious of the offence she had committed, whilst De
Lancaster, pacing up and down his room, in vain attempted to find that
place in the book of fate, from which her untimely gabble had caused him
to break off--It is lost, said he to himself; I can only discern bright
gleams of virtuous happiness, but not unclouded, not without those
darkening shadows, that denounce misfortune.--Heaven forbid my father’s
fate should be this infant’s portion with my father’s name!
He ceased; sate down, and, whilst the tear hung on his cheek, silently
put up an unpremeditated prayer.
It was his custom every morning after he had dressed himself for the day
to be attended by his bard David Williams, and it was now the hour for
the old man to present himself with his harp at the door of his patron’s
chamber: whilst he was in it, all approach was interdicted; the mind of
De Lancaster seemed in a peculiar manner to sympathize with the melody
of the harp: he had not only a national predilection for that instrument
in common with his countrymen of the principality, but professed an
hereditary attachment to it as a true De Lancaster, whose ancestors had
worn it on their shields from the days of King Bardus. He had now heard
the signal, that announced the morning visit of his minstrel, but a
doubt struck him whether he could admit him to perform without hazarding
an infringement upon his own order for general silence throughout the
castle, as recommended by the sage Llewellyn: whilst pausing upon this
dilemma it luckily occurred to his recollection, that there was a piano
as well as a forte upon his favourite instrument, and furthermore, that
the apartment of his daughter-in-law was at the greatest possible
distance from his own; balancing these considerations in his mind, the
good man became satisfied upon the point in doubt so far, that David was
allowed to enter, and perform his morning serenade under suitable
restrictions.
There was a stool, on which Williams always sate during his
performances, and an easy chair, in which the patron reposed himself,
and indulged his silent meditations. By signals audibly given, on the
arms of the aforesaid chair the blind musician was directed to modulate
the character and spirit of his movements, so as to correspond and
accord with the movements of the hearer’s mind. It was a communication
without language, perfectly well understood by the performer, who no
sooner heard the signal for soft music than he began a prelude so
exquisitely tender, that the strings only whispered under his fingers,
till at length being filled with the inspiration of his muse, he broke
forth extemporaneously into the following strains--
“Shine forth, bright sun, and gild the day,
“That greets our new-born hope with light!
“Give me to feel thy cheering ray,
“Tho’ these dark orbs are wrapt in night.
“Yet Heav’n in pity hath allow’d
“These hands to wake the tuneful string,
“The muse her influence hath bestow’d,
“And taught her sightless bard to sing.
“Sound then, my harp, thy softest strain,
“Melodious solace of the blind!
“Airs, that may heal a mother’s pain,
“And sooth a father’s anxious mind!
“Hush, hush! for now the infant sleeps--
“Let no rude string disturb its rest;
“And lo! instinctively it creeps
“To nestle at its parent breast.
“Ah luckless me! these curtain’d eyes
“Shall never view its lovely face;
“I ne’er must see that star arise,
“The day-spring of an ancient race.
“Father of life, in mercy take
“This infant to thy nursing care,
“And for the virtuous grandsire’s sake
“Oh! hear the humble minstrel’s pray’r!
“Grant that this babe, as yet the last
“Of Lancaster’s time-honour’d name,
“When coming ages shall have past,
“May rank amongst the first in fame!”
Thou hast sung well, David Williams, said the patron, as soon as the
harp had ceased, and I command thee to accept, and wear upon thy finger,
this antique beryl, upon which is engraved a head of the poet Homer, thy
prototype in melody not less than in misfortune. Thy muse, old man,
hath not been unpropitious: go thy way therefore, and cherish thy spirit
with the best flask of metheglin, that my cellars afford. I know it is
thy favourite Helicon, which at once gives nerves to thy fingers, and
nourishment to thy fancy. Get thee hence, blind bard, and be merry!
Old David devoutly drew the ring on his finger, and with a profound
obeisance replied--I thank you and I bless you, my munificent patron. I
will drink prosperity to the illustrious house of De Lancaster and the
new-born heir thereof. It has stood from the time when the old world was
deluged, may it stand till the time when the new one shall be dissolved!
With these words David took his leave and departed, whilst De Lancaster,
glowing with that pure sensation of refined delight, which music can
convey to its admirers, and blest in having now recruited his pedigree
with a new descendant from the loins of Noah, sallied forth for the
breakfast room, displaying on his stately person a new suit, after an
old fashion, of flaming full-trimmed scarlet, ornamented with enormous
gold-worked buttons, plentifully dispersed; a prodigious flowing
perriwig of natural hair sable as the raven’s plume, with rolled silk
stockings and high-topped square-toed shoes, which, resounding upon
every step of the oaken stairs as he descended, gave loud and early
notice of his approach to the personages assembled to receive him.
Cecilia, Philip and Colonel Wilson in turn presented themselves, and
received his cordial embrace, for in his heart nature had implanted all
the warm affections of father and of friend, and in courtesy of manners
he was a sample of the chivalric ages; Llewellyn therefore was by no
means overlooked; his services were both highly praised, and liberally
repaid. Lawyer Davis also attended, being summoned for the purpose of
the enrolment. So many were the messages of enquiry from the neighbours
round the castle, that almost every servant and retainer belonging to
his houshold made an errand to present themselves and pay homage to
their good old master. Had pen, ink and paper been called for, there
would have been three domestics to have brought them in: in the mean
while it may be presumed that the more than usually profound respect,
with which they accompanied their devoirs, was in some degree owing to
the awe they were impressed with by the splendor, in which they saw him
now arrayed; and certain it is, if they needed any pardon for this
excess of reverence towards a mortal like themselves, the stately person
and commanding countenance of Robert De Lancaster were exactly such, as
in their predicament might serve for an apology: his stature was of the
tallest, but well-proportioned and erect; his frame athletic, but
without a trace of clumsiness or vulgarity; his voice, his action, his
address were all of that character, which seemed peculiarly adapted to
impose respect. Colonel Wilson, who had got secret intimation of this
brilliant sortie, which his friend was about to make, had brushed up his
epaulets, and turned out in full uniform for the occasion.
Not so Sir Owen ap Owen, baronet, of Penruth Abbey, who, having been
told of the event as he had just turned his hounds into cover, instantly
galloped off to Kray Castle; and being now ushered into the room in his
hunting jacket and boots, exhibited a figure, which both in dress and
address was as perfect a contrast to that we have been describing, as
reality could present, or imagination feign.
Cecilia took an early opportunity of saying she was upon duty and
withdrew: the rest of the company fell off one and one, and Sir Owen
found himself left with Mr. De Lancaster.
What ensued will be related in the following chapter.