Volume 32 / Part 4 — PART IV.

In his cell the knight is lying, naked, fettered foot and hand; Bound unto the rocky ground with many an iron link and band; On him lie the piles of granite, pressing, pressing; yet he still Looks on death with lofty eye—so giant is his mighty will. Day by day, he lay and suffered, wrung with agony, but content— Day by day, though hard to bear was his grievous punishment— Never once, though, hour on hour, they piled the jagged granite higher On his quivering limbs, he murmured; yet his very veins were fire. Once, however, came his jailer, saying that his nephew sought His presence; and the knight, consenting, in his brother's son was brought: "Uncle Roland," quoth he, weeping, "what is this that I have done? Curses, curses on my head! curse, uncle, curse thy brother's son! Mine the tongue that wrought this evil—mine the false and slanderous tongue That done to death the Lady Gwineth—O! my soul is sadly wrung!" "Demon, devil!" groaned the warrior—"devil of the evil eye! Look upon the awful horror wrought by thy atrocious lie. Tell me? was it all a falsehood? Tell me, was it all—all—all? Speak! and let these prison walls, oppressed with horror, on thee fall!" "All was false! Mine, too the ambush; for I sought to grasp thy lands— Sought to win the Lady Gwineth, with thy blood upon my hands. But she drove me forth with scorn; and then I coined the lying tale— O! forgive me, Uncle Roland! give me leave to weep and wail; Give me leave to sit in sackcloth, heaping ashes on my head; Mourning in some craggy cavern for the early lost and dead." "Unexampled liar and traitor! first of all our noble name Guilty of so black a treason! first to stain our shield with shame! Hence! away! I—No! repent! begone! and pray for my repose: Life on both of us too soon for our grievous crimes will close. I forgive thee—now away—nay, do not touch me! I am wan— Sick with suffering—mad with anguish—Go!" The penitent man is gone. —Once again he lies alone, save his agony, alone; Then they come and pile upon him heavier weights of iron and stone. Still more pallid, at the even, Roland in his anguish lay, Wrestling, for his soul was strong, with his body's slow decay; And the sweat upon his forehead stood and rolled and fell like rain, Cold, while pain and fire and fever battled in his heart and brain. Now and then his senses wandered; now again his mind was calm, And he wrung from out his suffering penitential draughts of balm; Then again his senses left him, and he lay in phrenzy there, Talking wildly in his madness with the dim, impalpable air. Now, he saw the Lady Gwineth wandering in her maiden joy; Now, he viewed her in her chamber frolic with her baby boy; Now, he saw her sadly lying, all her bosom bathed with blood; And beheld himself as o'er her on that fatal night he stood. Was he dreaming? through his dungeon stole a pale purpureal light, Flowing round him, floating round him, making daylight of its night; In its midst, his gentle Gwineth, while around her brow there flowed, Fluttering flame, a golden halo! that with heavenly glory glowed. Did he hear her? Was it real? With an angel's voice she spoke: How the words, like flakes of music, silver music! sweetly broke, Round and round him! how they floated, ringing in his ravished ears, Like the notes of Memnon's lyre, or chantings from the distant spheres! "Coming, Roland, from that heaven where, though clad with light, I sigh And languish for the softer lustre of thy gentle loving eye, I await thee, singing, singing hymns to cheer thy dying hour That the Cherubim sang in Eden when it first arose in flower. Hearken! how my notes are mingling—one by one, and two by two, Dropping on thy brain as falls on fading roses freshening dew; Three by three, they upward circle: thou hast heard them in thy dreams, When I came, a missioned spirit, from the four eternal streams. I can see them, though thine eyes can only compass earthly vision: Soon, O, Roland! soon, O, Roland! thou shalt see with eyes elysian: Then the notes that now thou hearest thou shalt see, as on they flow,— Angels that are rarest air! and view them through their dances go." Still, entranced, the sufferer listened; and it seemed as from his pain Sweeter music yet was born, for holier hymning lulled his brain; Very wild his agony; very; but between its bars his eyes Saw the angels as they wandered on the walls of Paradise. Faint and fainter grew he, while the melody loud and louder rang, Till it seemed not only Gwineth but a myriad angels sang; And his soul seemed rising, rising, rising from his pallid clay, Which, each moment, grew more feeble—faintlier wrestling with decay. Burst upon his ears one swell! it seemed an anthem of the spheres, Jubilant, divinely ringing; swam his eyes with happy tears— "Come, forgiven one," the cadence, "chastened spirit, come, arise From thine earthly prison-house to holy homes beyond the skies." Fainter, fainter, still more feeble, grew the sufferer as he heard, And a sigh swooned on the silence, soft as breathing of a bird,— And all was over. In his trance his spirit's sparkling feet had trod The realms of space, and gone from earth, through air, to judgment and to God.

NOTES.

The judgment of the peine forte et dure, on an instance of which our ballad is founded, was well known in the ancient law of England. As has been seen, it was terribly severe. The circumstances of the judgment were as follows: When a prisoner stood charged with an offence, and an indictment had been found against him, before he could be tried he was called upon to answer, or, in technical parlance, to plead. A plea in bar is an answer, either affirming or denying the offence charged in the indictment, or, if of a dilatory character, showing some ground why the defendant should not be called upon to answer at all. In those days, in all capital cases, the estates of the criminal, on conviction and judgment, were forfeited to the crown. The blood of the offender was considered as corrupted, and, as a consequence, his property could not pass to his family, who, although innocent, suffered for the faults of the criminal. Crimes, therefore, where the punishment fell, not only on the criminal but on his family, were comparatively of rare occurrence. An admission of guilt produced the same effect as a conviction. If the defendant, however, stood mute, obstinately refusing to answer, by which behaviour he preserved his estates to his family, he was sentenced to undergo the judgment of the peine forte et dure.

"The English judgment of penance for standing mute," says Chief Justice Blackstone, in his admirable Commentaries, "was as follows: That the prisoner be remanded to the prison from whence he came, and put into a low, dark chamber; and there be laid on his back, naked, unless where decency forbids: that there be placed upon his body as great a weight of iron as he could bear and more; that he have no sustenance, save only on the first day, three morsels of the worst bread; and, on the second day, three draughts of standing water, that should be nearest to the prison door; and in this situation this should be alternately his daily diet till he died, or (as anciently the judgement ran) till he answered."

With respect to this horrid judgment, Christian, in his notes to the same work, goes on to say: that "the prosecutor and the court could exercise no discretion, or show no favour to a prisoner who stood obstinately mute." "In the legal history of this country," (England,) he continues, "are numerous instances of persons who have had resolution and patience to undergo so terrible a death in order to benefit their heirs by preventing a forfeiture of their estates, which would have been a consequence of a conviction by a verdict. There is a memorable story of an ancestor of an ancient family in the north of England. In a fit of jealousy he killed his wife; and put to death his children who were at home, by throwing them from the battlements of his castle; and proceeding with an intent to destroy his only remaining child, an infant nursed at a farm-house at some distance, he was intercepted by a storm of thunder and lightning. This awakened in his breast compunction of conscience. He desisted from his purpose, and having surrendered himself to justice, in order to secure his estates to this child, he had the resolution to die under the dreadful judgment of the peine forte et dure." This tale is the base of our romance.