THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL. BY J. H. WIFFEN. It is currently believed in Scotland, and on the borders, that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy festival, and snatch away the drinking-cup, shall find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in safety across a running stream. A goblet is still carefully preserved in Eden-hall, Cumberland, which is supposed to have been seized, at such a banquet, by one of the ancient family of Musgrave. The fairy train vanished, crying aloud, "If that glass either break or fall, From this prophecy the goblet took the name it bears-the Luck of ON Eden's wild romantic bowers The summer moonbeams sweetly fall, There, lonely in the deepening night, And trims her taper's wavering light, But little can her idle lute Beguile the weary moments now; And little seems the lay to suit Her wistful eye, and anxious brow: For, as the chord her finger sweeps, And listens, as the wind sweeps by, His steed's familiar step to hear : Peace, beating heart! 't was but a cry And foot-fall of the distant deer. In, lady, to thy bower! fast weep The noon was sultry, long the chase, The purple lights of dying day. Through many a dale must Musgrave hie, Ere he behold, with gladsome eye, But twilight deepens o'er the wolds The yellow moonbeam rising plays, And now the haunted forest holds The wanderer in its bosky maze, No ready vassal rides in sight; He blows his bugle, but the call Roused echo mocks: farewell, to-night, The homefelt joys of Eden-hall ! His steed he to an alder ties, His limbs he on the green-sward flings, A prayer, a sigh, in murmurs faint, The Ave to his patron saint, The sigh was to his lady fair. 'T was well that in that Elfin wood He breathed the supplicating charm, Which binds the Guardians of the good To shield from all unearthly harm: Scarce had the night's pale lady stayed The slumberer from his trance awoke. Stiff stood his courser's mane with dread, Yet calmly shone the moonshine pale Poured forth her music wild and free. Sudden her notes fall hushed; and near The Fairies round their Fairy king. Twelve hundred Elfin knights and more And each a diamond lance displayed. And pursuivants with wands of gold, Behind, twelve hundred ladies coy, On milk-white steeds brought up their Their kerchiefs of the crimson 'soy, Their kirtles all of Lincoln green. Some wore, in fanciful costume, A sapphire or a topaz crown; queen, And some a hern's or peacock's plume, Which their own tercel-gents struck down. And some wore masks, and some wore hoods, Some turbans rich, some ouches rare; And some sweet woodbine from the woods, To bind their undulating hair. With all gay tints the darksome shade Their steeds they quit · the knights advance, And in quaint order, one by one, Each leads his lady forth to dance The timbrels sound - the charm's begun. Where'er they trip, where'er they tread, "The dance lead up, the dance lead down, The dance lead round our favourite tree; If now one lady wears a frown, A false and froward shrew is she! "There's not a smile we Fays let fall But swells the tide of human bliss ; And if good luck attends our call, 'Tis due on such sweet night as this: |