THE KNIGHTLYE TALE OF SIR GUY OF NORMANDYE.

BY THE LATE WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE.

MY DEAR POPLAR,-Among what an alliterative friend styles "my manifold manuscripts most marvellously multiplied," I have happened on the accompanying poem of MOTHERWELL'S, which is not included in either the late or the former edition of his works. His editor appears ignorant of its existence; and I send it you that you may print it, if you think fit. For its authenticity I shall vouch. I am not equally positive that it has never yet seen the lightmy impression being that it was once given in the columns of a newspaper, or in an extinct Paisley magazine. However, I cannot speak confidently. The ballad itself is worthy of a better fate than it has met with, and is of the true ghostly and ghastly character of the school of MONK LEWIS, blended with a chivalresque handling quite characteristic of poor MOTHERWELL.

Yours, dear Poplar, very truly,

A DREAMER.

North Esk, 21st July, 1848.

FYTTE THE FIRST.

Oh, proudly upcurls the wan, wan wave,
And deadly black grows the sky,

And the storm comes on, with night anon,
While there's no haven nigh;

But bend to the oar, brave Roland Bois,

Steer aright, fair brother mine;

As we trim the sail to meet the gale,

And battle with the brine.

Oh, breast the proud billows, gallant knights,

Now breast them in merry mood,

But a little while, and eftsoon shall smile,

The paly moon o'er the flood:

And by to-morrow's bright dawn, I guess,

Our galley shall anchored be

On that Pagan strand, where we must land,
To aid with our arms the Christian band
Beleagured in Tripoli.

The Soldan shall quail when he sees our bark

Burst through, like a bird of the air,

The foamy shroud of the tempest cloud,

And furl its broad pinions there —

From steeple and tower, from hall and bower,
The leagured shall shout amain,

When afar they descry, 'twixt earth and sky,
Our friendly banner again.

Oh, blithely, I weet, shall our long swords greet

The Paynim's fierce chivalry!

But why droop thy head now, Roland Bois,

And why gaze thus sadly on me?

"Oh, Jesu sweet!" sighed then Roland Bois,

"I have dreamed a dreary dream;

I swevened, last night, that our bark shone bright,
Under the pale moonbeam.

I swevened that we were far, far at sea,
Nor haven nor land was nigh;

And the wind and the wave were hushed as the grave,
And cloudless o'er us hung the sky.

'Twas so calm and bright, that each wearied wight, At his oar fell fast asleep;

While the midnight watch, on the high poop set,

Thy brother, Sir Guy, did keep.

At the galley's prow with a feverish brow,
Methought, that night I awoke,

And under the fear of danger near,

The cold sweat o'er me broke;

'Twas fearfully still, but soon, loud and shrill,

The slumbering gale did blow;

Like a damned spright in troubled flight
Then our bark did madly go.

Each sail was spread, and black overhead

Now frowned the chequer'd sky;

And like monsters vast, the billows past,
Each shouting its fierce storm-cry.

Methought, as I gazed on the tumbling waves,
And looked to the heavens drear,

There flitted by, to my waking eye,

A shroud and a scutcheoned bier.

They passed-and then I heard a loud plunge-
A sob from the deep, deep sea-

Like the sound of one who had sunk therein

In war's heavy panoply.

And then the wave came slow-boiling up,

With a load upon its breast,

And, brave Sir Fulco, it was topped

With thine own eagle crest.

The white wave bore up thy dripping plumes,

And they were bloody red;

Then it bore aloft thy pale, sad brow

But thine eyes were fixed and dead.

I swevened still, and more the wave

Did chafe and rudely swell,

Till, midst its throes, thy broad breast rose,

And there a wound did well.

And fast and fast thy heart's blood streamed,

Till the billows were ruddy grown;

And fiercely clenched were thy death-set teeth,

But thy lips seemed cut in stone.

The waves went round and round our good bark,

They were flowing to the brim ;

And thou wast floating round it, too,

Upon their bosom dim.

Jesu! thy mailed right hand arose

It flittered in the moon

And then distraught, thy brother, methought,

Fell down in a death-like swoon :

For it pointed to him from the waters dim,

As it danced to and fro;

And then to the wound, and in that stound

The blood afresh 'gan flow.

I dreamed that I leaped in the ruddy-edged wave,

Sir Fulco, for love of thee,

When a bolt pierced me through, and together we sank
In the depths of the greedy sea,

The waves grappled with us, and pressed us down,
Our galley bore fast away,

But there came on the wind a laugh, which I know, I shall hear in my dying day."

"Now peace be with thee, brave Roland Bois, But thy dreamings be strange and sad,

For in sooth thou hast swevened the very same dream, Which in yesternight's slumbers I had."

FYTTE THE SECOND.

High feast is held in bower and hall,
Great gamen and minstrelsie,

With gay revel and rout, and cheer and shout,
And bridal festivitie;

For the cross-bearing knight, the bold Sir Guy,
Hath returned from the Holy Land,

From storm and strife he alone in life

Remains of Sir Fulco's band.

His fame flies before him to sound his deeds—
The scourge of the Paynim was he,

For a braver knight never buckled on brand,
Or sailed on the green salt sea.

Oh! now he hath come to his Norman plains,
By the Mass! he singeth with glee,

For he heirs as his own Sir Fulco's domains,
And weds Ermengarde bright of blee.
To tower and town, to dale and down,
To forest and frith so fair,

To the bravest lordships in broad Normandye,
The gentle Sir Guy is heir.

Now he sits in his hall with his vassals all,
And he bids the red wine to flow,

And he pledges his bride, who blooms by his side
Like a rose in its summer glow.

The fairest of dames of Norman blood

Then pledges the courtly Guy;

"Now arede me right," quoth that ladye bright,
"How thy knightly freres did die-

In flood or on field, by strength or by guile,
Did perish that companie,

Since a bolder band from Christian land
Never sailed to Galilee ?"

That baron upsterte, and he spilled the wine
Which he raised to his lip so pale,

With a cold thick sweat his dark brow is wet,
And he shuddered to tell his tale.

But he smoothed his brow, and bit his lip
Till the very blood outran-

"Now peace to the Dead," that baron said,
And thus his dark tale began-

"Oh, many a mile of land we had sailed,

And many a league of sea,

And the wind blew fair, and our galley yare
Did bound o'er the waters free.

The shores of Crete were left far behind,
The wide blue sea was before,

When a calm did creep, like a deathful sleep,
The slumbering waters o'er.

The calm did creep, like a deathful sleep,
O'er the ocean's glassy eye,

And our galley lay quite motionless,
Like a cloud in the summer sky.

It pitched none-oh! it trembled none
Upon that tranquillest tide,

But its masts stood up, strange fixed things,
In strange silentness and pride.

While thus we lay for a long bright day,

Nor any wind would start,

'Twas then fierce and bitter thoughts grew up Like scorpions in our heart;

And many a reckless knight did look

In the mirrored sea below,

And cursed the slumbering deep, and cursed
The wind that would not blow.

The red sun rushed down, and then a sound
Came muttering from the west-

It was the moan of the heavy storm,

Ere it broke the ocean's rest.

Loud shouted then some wild, fearless men-
'Come on, in the devil's name!'

And, fast and fell, came on the big swell,
The blast, and the beating rain.

Each sail was set, and each cord was strained,
Like wands the tall masts quoke,

And fast through the darkness, like fiend unblessed,
Our bark and its wild crew broke.

Ha, ha!' yelled they, as the maddening spray
Climbed up to the starless sky,

"We have won us a gale of noblest avail !'-
'God speed us!' the reckless cry.

It was fearful to me, as I knelt on my knee,
To hear the unholy crew

Shout louder and louder their fierce war-songs,
As wilder the hurricane blew.

With penitent face I prayed long for grace
On my bended knee to heaven;

And, 'mid lightning and rain, on that storm-vexed main,
Of mine own sin was I shriven.

On, on our ship recled, and harsher pealed
The thunder o'er that doomed bark-
Now sailless and mastless it onward snored,
And panted through billows dark.

Each bulwark groaned, each timber creaked,
The rudder was wrenched away,

The planks start out, now about and about
It whirls through the foamy spray.

Through darkness and foam, and thunder and storm,

It dashed with desperate glee;

And faster and faster on lashed in its might

The wrath of the howling sea.

Yes-ever and aye, like some fell beast of prey,

O'er our deck the huge wave burst,

Till it bore far away in its savage swoop

Each knight that had idly cursed.

They were swept away, I was left to pray—
To the wreck I madly clung,

While, 'mid raging waves and thundering winds,

Their wild, dying accents rung.

Oh! 'twas fearful to hear on the ocean drear

The shout and the curse of the brave,