For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent!
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And, oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle.
O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide
That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heart;
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part,
(The patriot's God peculiarly Thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert;
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard.
FOOTNOTES:
[H] Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq.
[1] Moan.
[2] Morrow.
[3] Stagger.
[4] Fluttering.
[5] Fire-place.
[6] Presently.
[7] Drive, _i.e._, with shouting or calling.
[8] Attentive.
[9] Requiring judgment.
[10] Brave, fine, handsome.
[11] De'posite, _for_ depos'it.
[12] Dear-won, hard-earned.
[13] Money-wages.
[14] Enquires.
[15] _Unknown_ things, news.
[16] Makes.
[17] Diligent.
[18] Trifle.
[19] Half.
[20] In, into the room.
[21] Talks.
[22] Bashful.
[23] Unwilling, shy.
[24] What is _left_, rest.
[25] Sup; _here_, milk.
[26] White-faced cow.
[27] Partition wall.
[28] Carefully kept.
[29] Cheese.
[30] Tasty.
[31] Twelvemonth.
[32] Since flax was in flower.
[33] Hall-Bible.
[34] Grey, greyish.
[35] Temples, _here_ temple-locks.
[36] Chooses.
[37] Feeds, nourishes.
XXIX. THE LAND O' THE LEAL.
LADY NAIRN.--1766-1845.
I'm wearin' awa', John,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John;
There's neither cauld nor care, John;
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, John;
She was baith gude and fair, John;
And oh! we grudg'd her sair
To the land o' the leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,
The joy that's aye to last
In the land o' the leal.
Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! dry your glistening e'e, John,
My soul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! haud ye leal and true, John,
Your day it's wearin' through, John,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Now fare-ye weel, my ain John,
This warld's cares are vain, John,
We'll meet, and we'll be fain
In the land o' the leal.
* * * * *
_Life! we've been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good-morning_.
MRS. BARBAULD.--1743-1825.
XXX. THE TRIAL BY COMBAT AT THE DIAMOND OF THE DESERT.[I]
_From_ THE TALISMAN.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.--1771-1832.
It had been agreed, on account of the heat of the climate, that the
judicial combat, which was the cause of the present assemblage of
various nations at the Diamond of the Desert, should take place at one
hour after sunrise. The wide lists, which had been constructed under the
inspection of the Knight of the Leopard, enclosed a space of hard sand,
which was one hundred and twenty yards long by forty in width. They
extended in length from north to south, so as to give both parties the
equal advantage of the rising sun. Saladin's royal seat was erected on
the western side of the enclosure, just in the centre, where the
combatants were expected to meet in mid encounter. Opposed to this was
a gallery with closed casements, so contrived, that the ladies, for
whose accommodation it was erected, might see the fight without being
themselves exposed to view. At either extremity of the lists was a
barrier, which could be opened or shut at pleasure. Thrones had been
also erected, but the Archduke, perceiving that his was lower than King
Richard's, refused to occupy it; and Coeur de Lion, who would have
submitted to much ere any formality should have interfered with the
combat, readily agreed that the sponsors, as they were called, should
remain on horseback during the fight. At one extremity of the lists were
placed the followers of Richard, and opposed to them were those who
accompanied the defender, Conrade. Around the throne destined for the
Soldan were ranged his splendid Georgian Guards, and the rest of the
enclosure was occupied by Christian and Mohammedan spectators.
Long before daybreak, the lists were surrounded by even a larger number
of Saracens than Richard had seen on the preceding evening. When the
first ray of the sun's glorious orb arose above the desert, the sonorous
call, "To prayer, to prayer!" was poured forth by the Soldan himself,
and answered by others, whose rank and zeal entitled them to act as
muezzins. It was a striking spectacle to see them all sink to earth, for
the purpose of repeating their devotions, with their faces turned to
Mecca. But when they arose from the ground, the sun's rays, now
strengthening fast, seemed to confirm the Lord of Gilsland's conjecture
of the night before. They were flashed back from many a spear-head, for
the pointless lances of the preceding day were certainly no longer such.
De Vaux pointed it out to his master, who answered with impatience, that
he had perfect confidence in the good faith of the Soldan; but if De
Vaux was afraid of his bulky body, he might retire.
Soon after this the noise of timbrels was heard, at the sound of which
the whole Saracen cavaliers threw themselves from their horses, and
prostrated themselves, as if for a second morning prayer. This was to
give an opportunity to the Queen, with Edith and her attendants, to pass
from the pavilion to the gallery intended for them. Fifty guards of
Saladin's seraglio escorted them, with naked sabres, whose orders were,
to cut to pieces whomsoever, were he prince or peasant, should venture
to gaze on the ladies as they passed, or even presume to raise his head
until the cessation of the music should make all men aware that they
were lodged in their gallery, not to be gazed on by the curious eye.
This superstitious observance of Oriental reverence to the fair sex
called forth from Queen Berengaria some criticisms very unfavorable to
Saladin and his country. But their den, as the royal fair called it,
being securely closed and guarded by their sable attendants, she was
under the necessity of contenting herself with seeing, and laying aside
for the present the still more exquisite pleasure of being seen.
Meantime the sponsors of both champions went, as was their duty, to see
that they were duly armed, and prepared for combat. The Archduke of
Austria was in no hurry to perform this part of the ceremony, having had
rather an unusually severe debauch upon wine of Schiraz the preceding
evening. But the Grand Master of the Temple, more deeply concerned in
the event of the combat, was early before the tent of Conrade of
Montserrat. To his great surprise, the attendants refused him
admittance.
"Do you not know me, ye knaves?" said the Grand Master in great anger.
"We do, most valiant and reverend," answered Conrade's squire; "but even
_you_ may not at present enter--the Marquis is about to confess
himself."
"Confess himself!" exclaimed the Templar, in a tone where alarm mingled
with surprise and scorn--"and to whom I pray thee?"
"My master bid me be secret," said the squire; on which the Grand Master
pushed past him, and entered the tent almost by force.
The Marquis of Montserrat was kneeling at the feet of the Hermit of
Engaddi, and in the act of beginning his confession.
"What means this, Marquis?" said the Grand Master, "up, for shame--or,
if you must needs confess, am not I here?"
"I have confessed to you too often already," replied Conrade, with a
pale cheek and a faltering voice. "For God's sake, Grand Master, begone,
and let me unfold my conscience to this holy man."
"In what is he holier than I am?" said the Grand Master.--"Hermit,
prophet, madman--say, if thou darest, in what thou excellest me?"
"Bold and bad man," replied the Hermit, "know that I am like the
latticed window, and the divine light passes through to avail others,
though alas! it helpeth not me. Thou art like the iron stanchions, which
neither receive light themselves, nor communicate it to any one."
"Prate not to me, but depart from this tent," said the Grand Master;
"the Marquis shall not confess this morning, unless it be to me, for I
part not from his side."
"Is this _your_ pleasure?" said the Hermit to Conrade; "for think not I
will obey that proud man, if you continue to desire my assistance."
"Alas!" said Conrade irresolutely, "what would you have me say? Farewell
for a while--we will speak anon."
"O, procrastination!" exclaimed the Hermit, "thou art a
soul-murderer!--Unhappy man, farewell; not for a while, but until we
both shall meet--no matter where.--And for thee," he added, turning to
the Grand Master, "TREMBLE!"
"Tremble!" replied the Templar contemptuously, "I cannot if I would."
The Hermit heard not his answer, having left the tent.
"Come! to this gear hastily," said the Grand Master, "since thou wilt
needs go through the foolery.--Hark thee--I think I know most of thy
frailties by heart, so we may omit the detail, which may be somewhat a
long one, and begin with the absolution. What signifies counting the
spots of dirt that we are about to wash from our hands?"
"Knowing what thou art thyself," said Conrade, "it is blasphemous to
speak of pardoning another."
"That is not according to the canon, Lord Marquis," said the Templar;
"thou art more scrupulous than orthodox. The absolution of the wicked
priest is as effectual as if he were himself a saint; otherwise,--God
help the poor penitent! What wounded man inquires whether the surgeon
that tents his gashes have clean hands or not?--Come, shall we to this
toy?"
"No," said Conrade, "I will rather die unconfessed than mock the
sacrament."
"Come, noble Marquis," said the Templar, "rouse up your courage, and
speak not thus. In an hour's time thou shalt stand victorious in the
lists, or confess thee in thy helmet, like a valiant knight."
"Alas, Grand Master!" answered Conrade, "all augurs ill for this affair.
The strange discovery by the instinct of a dog, the revival of this
Scottish knight, who comes into the lists like a spectre,--all betokens
evil."
"Pshaw!" said the Templar, "I have seen thee bend thy lance boldly
against him in sport, and with equal chance of success. Think thou art
but in a tournament, and who bears him better in the tilt-yard than
thou?--Come, squires and armorers, your master must be accoutred for the
field."
The attendants entered accordingly, and began to arm the Marquis.
"What morning is without?" said Conrade.
"The sun rises dimly," answered a squire.
"Thou seest, Grand Master," said Conrade, "naught smiles on us."
"Thou wilt fight the more coolly, my son," answered the Templar. "Thank
Heaven that hath tempered the sun of Palestine to suit thine occasion."
Thus jested the Grand Master; but his jests had lost their influence on
the harassed mind of the Marquis, and, notwithstanding his attempts to
seem gay, his gloom communicated itself to the Templar.
"This craven," he thought, "will lose the day in pure faintness and
cowardice of heart, which he calls tender conscience. I, whom visions
and auguries shake not--who am firm in my purpose as the living rock--I
should have fought the combat myself.--Would to God the Scot may strike
him dead on the spot; it were next best to his winning the victory. But,
come what will, he must have no other confessor than myself. Our sins
are too much in common, and he might confess my share with his own."
While these thoughts passed through his mind, he continued to assist the
Marquis in arming, but it was in silence.
The hour at length arrived, the trumpets sounded, the knights rode into
the lists armed at all points, and mounted like men who were to do
battle for a kingdom's honor. They wore their visors up, and, riding
around the lists three times, showed themselves to the spectators. Both
were goodly persons, and both had noble countenances. But there was an
air of manly confidence on the brow of the Scot, a radiancy of hope,
which amounted even to cheerfulness, while, although pride and effort
had recalled much of Conrade's natural courage, there lowered still on
his brow a cloud of ominous despondence. Even his steed seemed to tread
less lightly and blithely to the trumpet-sound than the noble Arab which
was bestrode by Sir Kenneth; and the _spruch-sprecher_ shook his head
while he observed, that while the challenger rode around the lists in
the course of the sun--that is, from right to left--the defender made
the same circuit _widder-sins_--that is, from left to right--which is in
most countries held ominous.
A temporary altar was erected just beneath the gallery occupied by the
Queen, and beside it stood the Hermit in the dress of his order, as a
Carmelite friar. Other churchmen were also present. To this altar the
challenger and defender were successively brought forward, conducted by
their respective sponsors. Dismounting before it, each knight avouched
the justice of his cause by a solemn oath on the Evangelists, and prayed
that his success might be according to the truth or falsehood of what he
then swore. They also made oath, that they came to do battle in knightly
guise, and with the usual weapons, disclaiming the use of spells,
charms, or magical devices, to incline victory to their side. The
challenger pronounced his vow with a firm and manly voice, and a bold
and cheerful countenance. When the ceremony was finished, the Scottish
Knight looked at the gallery, and bent his head to the earth, as if in
honor of those invisible beauties which were enclosed within; then,
loaded with armor as he was, sprung to the saddle without the use of the
stirrup, and made his courser carry him in a succession of caracoles to
his station at the eastern extremity of the lists. Conrade also
presented himself before the altar with boldness enough; but his voice,
as he took the oath, sounded hollow, as if drowned in his helmet. The
lips with which he appealed to Heaven to adjudge victory to the just
quarrel, grew white as they uttered the impious mockery. As he turned
to remount his horse, the Grand Master approached him closer, as if to
rectify something about the sitting of his gorget, and whispered,
"Coward and fool! recall thy senses, and do me this battle bravely;
else, by Heaven, shouldst thou escape him, thou escapest not _me_!"
The savage tone in which this was whispered, perhaps completed the
confusion of the Marquis's nerves, for he stumbled as he made to horse;
and though he recovered his feet, sprung to the saddle with his usual
agility, and displayed his address in horsemanship as he assumed his
position opposite to the challenger's, yet the accident did not escape
those who were on the watch for omens, which might predict the fate of
the day.
The priests, after a solemn prayer that God would show the rightful
quarrel, departed from the lists. The trumpets of the challenger then
rung a flourish, and the herald-at-arms proclaimed at the eastern end
of the lists,--"Here stands a good knight, Sir Kenneth of Scotland,
champion for the royal King Richard of England, who accuseth Conrade,
Marquis of Montserrat, of foul treason and dishonor done to the said
King."
When the words Kenneth of Scotland announced the name and character of
the champion, hitherto scarce generally known, a loud and cheerful
acclaim burst from the followers of King Richard, and hardly,
notwithstanding repeated commands of silence, suffered the reply of the
defendant to be heard. He, of course, avouched his innocence, and
offered his body for battle. The esquires of the combatants now
approached, and delivered to each his shield and lance, assisting to
hang the former around his neck, that his two hands might remain free,
one for the management of the bridle, the other to direct the lance.
The shield of the Scot displayed his old bearing, the leopard, but with
the addition of a collar and broken chain, in allusion to his late
captivity. The shield of the Marquis bore, in reference to his title, a
serrated and rocky mountain. Each shook his lance aloft, as if to
ascertain the weight and toughness of the unwieldy weapon, and then laid
it in the rest. The sponsors, heralds, and squires, now retired to the
barriers, and the combatants sat opposite to each other, face to face,
with couched lance and closed visor, the human form so completely
enclosed, that they looked more like statues of molten iron than beings
of flesh and blood. The silence of suspense was now general--men
breathed thicker, and their very souls seemed seated in their eyes,
while not a sound was to be heard save the snorting and pawing of the
good steeds, who, sensible of what was about to happen, were impatient
to dash into career. They stood thus for perhaps three minutes, when at
a signal given by the Soldan, an hundred instruments rent the air with
their brazen clamors, and each champion striking his horse with the
spurs, and slacking the rein, the horses started into full gallop, and
the knights met in mid space with a shock like a thunderbolt. The
victory was not in doubt--no, not one moment. Conrade, indeed, showed
himself a practised warrior; for he struck his antagonist knightly in
the midst of his shield, bearing his lance so straight and true, that it
shivered into splinters from the steel spear-head up to the very
gauntlet. The horse of Sir Kenneth recoiled two or three yards and fell
on his haunches, but the rider easily raised him with hand and rein. But
for Conrade there was no recovery. Sir Kenneth's lance had pierced
through the shield, through a plated corselet of Milan steel, through a
_secret_, or coat of linked mail, worn beneath the corselet, had
wounded him deep in the bosom, and borne him from his saddle, leaving
the truncheon of the lance fixed in his wound. The sponsors, heralds,
and Saladin himself, descending from his throne, crowded around the
wounded man; while Sir Kenneth, who had drawn his sword ere yet he
discovered his antagonist was totally helpless, now commanded him to
avow his guilt. The helmet was hastily unclosed, and the wounded man,
gazing wildly on the skies, replied, "What would you more? God hath
decided justly. I am guilty--but there are worse traitors in the camp
than I.--In pity to my soul, let me have a confessor!"
He revived as he uttered these words.
"The talisman--the powerful remedy, royal brother," said King Richard to
Saladin.
"The traitor," answered the Soldan, "is more fit to be dragged from the
lists to the gallows by the heels, than to profit by its virtues: and
some such fate is in his look," he added, after gazing fixedly upon the
wounded man; "for though his wound may be cured, yet Azrael's seal is on
the wretch's brow."
"Nevertheless," said Richard, "I pray you do for him what you may, that
he may at least have time for confession. Slay not soul and body! To him
one half-hour of time may be worth more, by ten thousand fold, than the
life of the oldest patriarch."
"My royal brother's wish shall be obeyed," said Saladin.--"Slaves, bear
this wounded man to our tent."
"Do not so," said the Templar, who had hitherto stood gloomily looking
on in silence. "The royal Duke of Austria and myself will not permit
this unhappy Christian prince to be delivered over to the Saracens,
that they may try their spells upon him. We are his sponsors, and demand
that he be assigned to our care."
"That is, you refuse the certain means offered to recover him?" said
Richard.
"Not so," said the Grand Master, recollecting himself. "If the Soldan
useth lawful medicines, he may attend the patient in my tent."
"Do so, I pray thee, good brother," said Richard to Saladin, "though the
permission be ungraciously yielded.--But now to a more glorious work.
Sound, trumpets--shout, England, in honor of England's champion!"
Drum, clarion, trumpet, and cymbal, rung forth at once, and the deep and
regular shout, which for ages has been the English acclamation, sounded
amidst the shrill and irregular yells of the Arabs, like the diapason of
the organ amid the howling of a storm. There was silence at length.
"Brave Knight of the Leopard," resumed Coeur de Lion, "thou hast shown
that the Ethiopian _may_ change his skin and the Leopard his spots,
though clerks quote Scripture for the impossibility. Yet I have more to
say to you when I have conducted you to the presence of the ladies, the
best judges, and best rewarders, of deeds of chivalry."
The Knight of the Leopard bowed assent.
"And thou, princely Saladin, wilt also attend them. I promise thee our
Queen will not think herself welcome, if she lacks the opportunity to
thank her royal host for her most princely reception."
Saladin bent his head gracefully, but declined the invitation.
"I must attend the wounded man," he said. "The leech leaves not his
patient more than the champion the lists, even if he be summoned to a
bower like those of Paradise.... At noon," said the Soldan, as he
departed, "I trust ye will all accept a collation under the black
camel-skin tent of a chief of Curdistan."
The same invitation was circulated among the Christians, comprehending
all those of sufficient importance to be admitted to sit at a feast made
for princes.
"Hark!" said Richard, "the timbrels announce that our Queen and her
attendants are leaving their gallery; and see, the turbans sink on the
ground, as if struck down by a destroying angel. All lie prostrate, as
if the glance of an Arab's eye could sully the lustre of a lady's cheek!
Come, we will to the pavillion, and lead our conqueror thither in
triumph. How I pity that noble Soldan, who knows but of love as it is
known to those of inferior nature!"
Blondel tuned his harp to its boldest measure, to welcome the
introduction of the victor into the pavilion of Queen Berengaria.
He entered, supported on either side by his sponsors, Richard and
William Longsword, and knelt gracefully down before the Queen, though
more than half the homage was silently rendered to Edith, who sat on
her right hand.
"Unarm him, my mistresses," said the King, whose delight was in the
execution of such chivalrous usages; "let Beauty honor Chivalry! Undo
his spurs, Berengaria; Queen though thou be, thou owest him what marks
of favor thou canst give.--Unlace his helmet, Edith; by this hand, thou
shalt, wert thou the proudest Plantagenet of the line, and he the
poorest knight on earth!"
Both ladies obeyed the royal commands,--Berengaria with bustling
assiduity, as anxious to gratify her husband's humor, and Edith
blushing and growing pale alternately, as slowly and awkwardly she
undid, with Longsword's assistance, the fastenings which secured the
helmet to the gorget.
"And what expect you from beneath this iron shell?" said Richard, as the
removal of the casque gave to view the noble countenance of Sir Kenneth,
his face glowing with recent exertion, and not less so with present
emotion. "What think ye of him, gallants and beauties?" said Richard.
"Doth he resemble an Ethiopian slave, or doth he present the face of an
obscure and nameless adventurer? No, by my good sword! Here terminate
his various disguises. He hath knelt down before you, unknown save by
his worth; he arises, equally distinguished by birth and by fortune. The
adventurous knight, Kenneth, arises David, Earl of Huntingdon, Prince
Royal of Scotland!"
There was a general exclamation of surprise, and Edith dropped from her
hand the helmet which she had just received....
"May we know of your grace by what strange and happy chance this riddle
has been read?" said the Queen Berengaria.