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And bask in day, while deepest night
“ Ye mountains ! have your peaks sublime
Scorn'd all the wasting power of Time,
“ Helvetia! trust the prophet-prayers
A sister-spirit breathes and shares; * The Jungfrau, or Virgin's Horn, so called from the belief that its steep sides rendered it inaccessible. It was, however, twice ascended a few years since by two German gentlemen of the name of Meyer, who, on their second visit, left a flag upon its summit. These lines allude to a deep and extensive shadow, thr on the Jungfrau at sunset, by its western peak, which is called the Silver-Horn. This shadow (to some eyes at least) has much the form of an eagle.
+ The Shreck-Horn, or Peak of Terror, which in this view appears insulated, and almost pyramidical. It is so steep that the snow will not rest on its summit; and is believed to be completely inaccessible. VOL. X.
Albion, though distant, still allied
Are like our seasons, unconfin'd;
And Freedom breathes in every wind.”
The Wren; A Manx Legend.
What is that sound so soft and sweet,
That like a seraph's music pours?
It dies along these rocky shores.
So light it seems of woven air,
While flinging odours rich and rare,
When shines the moon with placid beam
Amid her rays those ringlets stream,
That fairy harp of witching tone,
like modest flowers of night,
And many a knight, of valour prov'd,
Had heard that harp's enchanting spell, Had seen that fairy form, and lov'd,
And long pursued o'er heath and dell; As still the lovely sorceress led
Had follow'd to the murky cave,
Had plung'd amid the roaring wave
And see, she bids the moon-beam rest
And as she bathes in silver light,
She wakes a purer, loftier strain,
For lo! a victim comes again,
His noble steed, his squires dismist,
His hooded falcon on his wrist.
Yet if a cautious glance he stole
Sir Gawaine's was no icy soul.
Yet in the blue of that soft eye,
A frozen coldness seemed to lie, And he who nearer look'd might trace
Tears gathering there that scorn'd to flow,
Young anger in that heighten'd glow, Or see that more than mortal face
Pale with the throb of inward woe.
Awakes its most resistless tone;
Less sweet, but loftier than her own :
Her lyre drops useless from her hands,
Vanquish'd and sad awhile she stands, Then bounds away with arrowy speed.
But never conquer'd in the race,
Sir Gawaine urg'd no fruitless chace; He seiz'd her by her flowing hair ;
He casts her on the rugged heath,
He draws his falchion from its sheath,
Dilated was that phantom fair, And now, in glittering armour drest, A Knight stands sternly frowning there;
And Gawaine's unpolluted sword,
That wept to shed a woman's blood,
Now aids its master's kindling mood, And thirsts to quell that form abhorr'd.
Fierce was the combat, and at length
Each panting own'd their failing strength, Though parrying still each adverse blow:
But Gawaine summon'd all his might,
Resolv'd at once to end the fight,
Rose where the warrior seem'd to die, And launching forth in full career,
Oft tost his crested head on high. One instant fixed in new surprize,
Soon Gawaine's hand the leash unbound,
Forth springs his keen, his matchless hound, And on the fainting stag he flies
Again his prey has vanish'd there, ,
An Eagle wing'd the middle air, And soar'd so boldly and so high,
It seem'd he flew to meet the sun,
Whose ruddy beams e'en now begun To purple o'er the dark blue sky,
And clouds that veiled the mountains dun.
7. But Gawaine's falcon swifter flies,
Nor fears to grapple with his king, In vain with anger-beaming eyes,
And mighty beak, and flapping wing, And dreadful cries he threats his foe.
His wing th' intrepid falcon tore,
He falls, the king of air no more.
Ere all his spreading plumes were gone:
Forth flew a little Wren alone, Scarce seen amid the brightening sky;
But on a fir-tree's pointed height
She perches, half conceal'd from sight, And human voice and words surprize
From that small frame the listening knight.
** Desist! yon rising orb of gold
“ Lov'd by your sovereign, heap'd with wealth,
That shares no bliss thy words impart;:
fate - to die
Whose cry that luckless morn is heard,
+ The chase of the wren is still pursued in the Isle of Man on the anniversary of the day when the fairy is supposed to have taken refuge in that form, and num: bers of unfortunate birds have fallen victims to the superstition,