The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 3 (of 3) / Everlasting Calerdar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac

by William Hone

Original Poetry.

For the Table Book.

TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORIE.
No. I.

THE MAIDEN OF THE SEA.

“Al maner Mynstralcye,
“That any man kan specifye,
****
“And many unkouth notys new,
“Offe swiche folke als lovid trewe.”

John Lidgate.

O loud howls the wind o’er the blue, blue deep,
And loud on the shore the dashing waves sweep,
And merk is the night by land and by sea,
And woe to the stranger that’s out on the lea.

Closed fast is the gate of the priory hall,[360]
Unscathed stand the towers of the castle[361] so tall,
High flare the flames on the hearth-stane so wide,
But woe to the stranger that crosses the tide.

Hark! hark! at the portal who’s voice is so bold—
It cannot be open’d for silver or gold—
The foeman is near with his harrying brand,
And brent are the homes of Northumberland.

I’m no foeman, no Scot, in sooth now to say,
But a minstral who weareth the peaceful lay;
Wynken de Mowbray the Prior doth know,
Then open the gate, for the north winds blow.

Who hath not heard De Mowbray’s song?
The softest harp in the minstrel throng;
O many a true love tale can he sing,
And touch the heart with his melting string.

Now while the welkin with tempest raves,
And the angry ocean maddens his waves,
Around the hearth-stane we’ll listen to thee,
And beguile the long night with minstralcye.

O sweet and wild is the harper’s strain,
As its magic steals o’er the raptur’d brain,
And hush’d is the crowd of hearers all,
As thronged they sit in the priory hall.

“O what is sweeter and softer than thou
“Heather-bell on the mountain brow?
“And what is more pure than the sparkling dew
“That kisses that heather-bell so blue?
“Yes! far far sweeter and purer is she,
“The dark-eyed Maiden of the Sea.

“What is more sweet in the leafy grove
“Than the nightingale’s plaintive song of love?
“And what is more gay than the lark of spring,
“As he carrols lightly on heaven-bent wing?
“O yes, more sweet and more gay is she,
“The dark-eyed Maiden of the Sea.

“Her raven-tresses in ringlets flow,
“Her step is more light than the forest doe,
“Her dark eyes shine ’neath their silken lash,
“Like the bright but lambent light’ning flash
“Of a summer eve, as noiseless it plays
“’Midst a million stars of yet softer rays.

“The beauteous Eltha’s evening song
“Is wafted o’er the swelling wave,
“And it catches the ear, as it steals along,
“Of wondering seamen, while billows lave
“In gentle murmurs his vessel’s prow,
“As he voyages to where the cedars grow.

“A shallop is riding upon the sea,
“With her broad sail furl’d to the mast;
“A pennon brave floats fair and free
“On the breeze, as it whispers past:

“And who is that stranger of lofty mien
“Who is rock’d on the salt, salt tide?
“———He is from a foreign land I ween,
“A stranger of meikle pride.

“He has heard the beauteous Eltha’s notes
“Borne far on the eventide breeze,
“Like the eastern perfume that distant floats
“O’er the silver surfac’d seas.

“The stranger hath seen dark Eltha’s eye,
“As it glanc’d o’er the wave so green;
“And mark’d her tresses of raven-dye,
“(More beauteous than golden sheen,)
“Interwoven with sea-flowers of whiten’d hue,
“Such flowers as never in garden grew,
“But pluck’d from the caverns of ocean deep
“By the last stormy waves’ fast rushing sweep,
“And left on the strand as a tribute to thee,
“Thou dark-eyed Maiden of the Sea.

“The stranger lov’d dark Eltha’s lay,
“And he lov’d her bright, bright eye;
“And he sued for the love of that maiden gay,
“As she wander’d the ocean nigh.

“He gain’d her love, for his form had grace,
“And stately was his stride;
“His gentlesse show’d him of noble race,
“Tho’ roaming on billows wide:—
“But fair skims the breeze o’er the placid sea,
“And the stranger must hie to a far countrie.

“Dark Eltha still sings but her song is slow,
“And the west wind catches its mournful
“The mariners wonder the changed lay,
“As their slothful barks calm lingering stay:
“The songstress’ cheek is wan and pale,
“And her tresses neglected float on the gale;
“The sea flower is thrown on its rocky bed,
“The once gay Eltha’s peace is fled,
“The eye of the Maiden is dark and bright,
“But it rivals no more the diamond’s light.

“Now many a day thou hast gaz’d o’er the sea
“For the bark of thy lover in vain,
“And many a storm thou hast shudder’d to see
“Spread its wings o’er the anger’d main:
“—Is he faithless the stranger?—forgetful of thee?
“Thou beauteous Maiden of the Sea.

“On many a whiten’d sail hast thou gaz’d,
“Till the lazy breeze bore it on,
“But they pass, and thy weary eyes are glaz’d,
“As they trace the bark just gone:
“None have the pennon, so free and fair,
“As the stranger ship which once tarried there.

“On yon tall cliff to whose broken base
“Loud surging waves for ever race,
“A form is bent o’er the fearful height,
“So eager, that a feather’s weight
“Would cast its poised balance o’er,
“And leave a mangled corse on the shore.

“——-’Tis Eltha’s form, that with eager glance,
“Scans the wide world of waves, as they dance,
“Uprais’d by the sigh of the east wind chill,
“Which wafts to the ear the scream so shrill
“Of the whirling sea mews, as landward they fly,
“—To seamen a mark that the storm is nigh.

“And what is yon distant speck on the sea,
“That seems but a floating beam,
“Save that a pennon fair and free
“Waves in the sun’s bright gleam?

“A bark is driven with rapid sail,
“Its pennon far spread on the moaning gale,
“A foamy track at its angry keel,
“And the billows around it maddening reel;
“The white fring’d surges dash over its prow
“As its masts to the pressing canvass bow—

“But O with rapid, fiend-like, haste,
“The breeze rolls o’er the watery waste,
“And louder is heard the deaf’ning roar
“Of the waves dashing fierce on the trembling shore,
“Ten thousand eddying billows recede,
“And return again with an arrow’s speed,
“Till the flaky foam on the wind is spread,
“Far, far above their ocean bed,
“And boom o’er the cliff where Eltha’s form
“Is seen to await the deadly storm.

“Keep to the wind with a taughten’d sheet,[362]
“Thou bark from a stranger land,
“No daring northern pilot would meet
“A storm like this near the strand;
“No kindly haven of shelter is here,
“Then whilst thou may,—to seaward steer;
“But thou com’st, with a wide and flowing sail,
“To a rock bound coast in an eastern gale,
“Thou wilt see the danger around thee at last,
“When the hour of safety for ever is past;

“——And O it is past, thou art now embay’d,
“And around thee gathers the evening shade,
“Thy last sun has set in a red, red sky,
“Thy last Vesper hymn is the fearful cry
“Of the ominous sea bird shrieking on high.
“The night and the storm have hidden from view
“The fated ship and her gallant crew,
“And the last sight seen on the foamy sea
“Was a pennon broad streaming fair and free.
********
“The morrow is come and the storm is o’er,
“And the billows more slowly dash,
“But shatter’d timbers are spread on the shore
“Beyond the ebb-waves’ wash:
“Still are the hearts of the gallant band
“Which erst did beat so true;
“They’ll never more see their fatherland,
“Where their playful childhood grew.

“And on a shelving rock is seen,
“Enwrapp’d in a shroud of sea-weed green,
“A noble corse, whose marble brow
“Is cluster’d with locks of auburn hue;
“And even in death, his manly form
“Seems to mock the rage of the northern storm.
“In his hand is clasp’d a jewel rare
“Enshrining a lock of black, black hair:
“And on his cold breast, near his heart, is display’d
“A golden gift of the dark-ey’d maid.

“The lovely Eltha’s smiles are fled,
“And she wildly looks o’er the ocean-bed
“With sunken glance and a pale, pale cheek,
“And her once bounding step is slow and weak;
“On the wave she launches the blue sea-shell
“Which swims for a moment then sinks in the swell
“And wilder’d she bends o’er the chrystal billow
“As it eddying whirls to its coral pillow:
“She fancys a faëry bark is sped
“To bring her cold love from the land of the dead;
“But no tears on her sunken eye-lids quiver,
“Her reason is fled for ever!—for ever!—”

De Mowbray’s soft harp ceas’d the mournful strain
But awaken’d the broken notes once again,
like the throb of the heart strings when dying they sever,
They stop—thrill—stop—and are silent for ever.

Alpha.

September, 1827.

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[[360], [361]] Tynemouth castle and priory, which stand together on a bleak promontory.

[362] Keep to the wind, &c. This line is a technical description of the sails of a vessel when contending against the wind.—αλφα.

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For the Table Book.