The Mysteries of All Nations Part 14

'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd; With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, And all combine to hail the draught.

Sudden the stranger chief arose, And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd.

'Old man!' he cried, 'this pledge is done; Thou saw'st was duly drunk by me: It hail'd the nuptials of thy son: Now will I claim, a pledge from thee.

While all around is mirth and joy, To bless thy Allan's happy lot, Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy?

Say, why should Oscar be forgot?'

'Alas!' the hapless sire replied, The big tear starting as he spoke; When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke.

'Thrice has the earth revolved her course Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight; And Allan is my last resource, Since martial Oscar's death or flight.'

"Tis well,' replied the stranger stern, And fiercely flashed his rolling eye; 'Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn: Perhaps the hero did not die.

'Perchance if those whom most he loved Would call, thy Oscar might return; Perchance the chief has only roved; For him thy beltane yet may burn.

'Fill high the bowl the table round, We will not claim the pledge by stealth; With wine let every cup be crown'd: Pledge me departed Oscar's health.'

'With all my soul,' old Angus said, And fill'd his goblet to the brim; 'Here's to my boy! alive or dead, I ne'er shall find a son like him.'

'Bravely, old man, this health hath sped; But why does Allan trembling stand?

Come, drink remembrance of the dead, And raise thy cup with firmer hand.'

The crimson glow of Allan's face Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue; The drops of death each other chase Adown in agonizing dew.

Thrice did he raise the goblet high, And thrice his lips refused to taste; For thrice he caught the stranger's eye On his with deadly fury placed.

'And is it thus a brother hails A brother's fond remembrance here; If thus affection's strength prevails, What might we not expect from fear?'

Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, 'Would Oscar now could share our mirth!'

Internal fear appall'd his soul; He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.

'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!'

Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form; 'A murderer's voice!' the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm.

The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, The stranger's gone--amidst the crew A form was seen in tartan green, And tall the shade terrific grew.

His waist was bound with a broad belt round, His plume of sable stream'd on high; But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there And fixed was the glare of his gla.s.sy eye.

And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild, On Angus bending low the knee: And thrice he frown'd on a chief on the ground, Whom s.h.i.+vering crowds with horror see.

The bolts loud roll from pole to pole, The thunders through the welkin ring; And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm, Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.

Cold was the feast, the revel ceased, Who lies upon the stony floor?

Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast, At length his life-pulse throbs once more.

Away! away! let the leech a.s.say To pour the light on Allan's eyes: His sand is done--his race is run; O! never more shall Allan rise:

But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, His locks are lifted by the gale: And Allan's barbed arrow lay With him in dark Glentanar's vale.

And whence the dreadful stranger came, Or who, no mortal wight can tell; But no one doubts the form of flame, For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.

Ambition nerved young Allan's hand, Exulting demons wing'd his dart; While Envy waved her burning brand, And pour'd her venom round his heart.

Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow; Whose streaming life-blood stains his side?

Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, The dart has drunk his vital tide.

And Mora's eye could Allan move, She bade his wounded pride rebel; Alas! that eyes which beam'd with love Should urge the soul to deeds of h.e.l.l.

Lo! seest thou not a lonely tomb Which rises o'er a warrior dead?

It glimmers through the twilight gloom: O! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

Far, distant far, the n.o.ble grave Which held his clan's great ashes stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave, For they were stain'd with kindred blood.

What minstrel grey, what h.o.a.ry bard, Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?

The song is glory's chief reward, But who can strike a murderer's praise?

Unstrung, untouch'd the harp must stand, No minstrel dare the theme awake; Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, His harp in shuddering chords would break.

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, Shall sound his glories high in air: A dying father's bitter curse, A brother's death-groan echoes there."

The incidents immediately preceding Byron's death show that, to his last moments, he entertained what is generally regarded as superst.i.tious sentiments. He thought it possible for him to waken from the sleep of death, and torment those he desired to punish. Perceiving that he was seriously ill, he called his faithful attendant Fletcher, and gave him several directions. The servant expressed a hope that he (his master) would live many years. To this Byron replied, "No, it is now nearly over;" and then added, "I must tell you all, without losing a single moment. Now pay attention--You will be provided for--Oh, my poor dear child, my dear Ada!--could I but see her--give her my blessing--and my dear sister Augusta and her children--you will go to Lady Byron, and say--tell her everything." Here his Lords.h.i.+p seemed to be greatly affected; his voice failed him so much that it was difficult to understand what he said. After remaining silent for a short time, he raised his voice and said, "Fletcher: now if you do not execute every order which I have given you, I will torment you hereafter, if possible." These were nearly the last words he spoke, having very soon afterwards fallen into an easy sleep, from which he never awoke.

CHAPTER XXI.

Tale by Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd--Aikwood Castle--Black Pages in Livery--The Witch Henbane--Imps demanding Work--Michael Scott--Curious Sport--Dreadful Threat--Rats transformed into the form of Men--Inventor of Gunpowder--Witches'

Operations--Summoning Evil Spirits to torture a Man--Latin the Language best understood by Satan and his Emissaries--Holy Signs and Charms--Two Captives--Effects of a Friar's Blessing--Magic Lantern--Man blown into the Air--Michael Scott's Sealed and Subscribed Conditions--Imps' Song--Spirits in the forms of Crows--Dreadful Storm--Warlocks'

Hymn--Eildon Hill.

Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, whose memory will long be remembered in Scotland, particularly in the Border counties, introduces, in his _Three Perils of Man_, a party of travellers approaching Aikwood Castle, about nine miles from Melrose. The edifice scarcely seemed to be the abode of man. "Is that now to be my residence, Yardbire?" said the beautiful Delany. "Will you go away, and leave Elias and me in that frightsome and desolate-looking mansion?" "Thou art in good hands," said the friar. "But thou art perhaps going into a place of danger, and evil things may await thee. Here, take thou this, and keep it in thy bosom; and, by the blessing of the Holy Virgin, it will s.h.i.+eld thee from all malevolent spirits, all enchantments, and all dangers of the wicked one." As he said this, he put into her hand a small gilded copy of the four Evangelists, which she kissed and put into her bosom. All the rest of the company saw the small volume, and took it for a book of the black art. Close to the castle gate there appeared three pages in black livery, although a moment before there was no living creature there. They seemed to have risen out of the ground. All at once the horses and mules on which the travellers rode became restive; at this, the elves set up a shout, and skipped about with the swiftness of lightning. Hearing the noise, the great master asked his only attendant, Gourlay, "What is the meaning of the uproar?" "It is only Prim, Prig, and p.r.i.c.ker making sport," replied the servant.

As soon as the mighty master knew of the friar and his companions being in the castle, he ordered them to be treated as spies. The old witch Henbane, who acted as housekeeper, and the three pages, were called into the presence of the wizard, to receive instructions from him. First the imps threatened Gourlay, and then rushed on Michael himself, as if they would tear him to pieces, and cried out with one voice:

"Work, master, work; work we need; Work for the living, or for the dead: Since we are called, work we will have, For the master, or for the slave.

Work, master, work. What work now?"

Michael Scott (no doubt the reader has by this time discovered that he was the master of the castle), to keep the restless beings at work, told them to give Gourlay three varieties of punishment, but no more.

They soon began their wicked pranks, first changing the seneschal from one grotesque form to another. Quickly transforming him into a dog, they chased him up and down and round about with a pan at its tail.

Next they made him a.s.sume the shape of a hare, while to all appearance they became collie dogs. An exciting chase followed over hill and dale, but the poor hare succeeded in eluding its pursuers, and returned to the master, who, by one touch of his divining rod, changed Gourlay into his own natural shape. As soon as the poor ill-used servant recovered speech, he threatened to cut his throat, that he might be freed from his severe bondage. Michael dared him to do such a thing, as he had him wholly in his power, dead or alive. "Were you to take away your life by a ghastly wound," said the wizard, "I would even make one of these fiendish spirits enter into your body, reanimate it, and cause you to go about with your gaping wound, unclosed and unpurified, as when death entered thereat." "Cursed be the day that I saw you, and ten times cursed the confession I made, that has thus subjected me to your tyranny!" exclaimed Gourlay.

Michael again asked what living creatures were in the castle. The servant replied, "I again repeat it, that there is no mortal thing in the castle but the old witch, and perhaps two or three hundred rats."

"Call out those rats," said Michael; "marshal them up in the court, and receive the visitors according to their demerits." At the same time the master gave the servant a small piece of parchment, with red characters traced on it, and told him to put it above the lock-hole of the door. "It shall serve as a summons, and Prig, Prim, and p.r.i.c.ker shall marshal your forces," continued the wizard. The citation was effective: the running and screaming of rats were heard in every corner of the castle, and forthwith a whole column of armed men marched into the court, led by the three pages, and headed by the seneschal in grey mantle and cap. In walked the strangers, and pa.s.sed between two ranks of men, or rather rats, the appearance of which raised a suspicion that they were spirits or elves.

The friar, it should be noticed, was the great philosopher and chemist who invented gunpowder, and made many other wonderful discoveries, for which he was in danger of being burnt as a wizard and necromancer.