Till Dixon,[55] young advent’rous swain, Who fear’d no mortal arm, Had vow’d to search the site throughout, And find the hidden charm.
The morning frown’d: he made th’ attempt; And darker still it grew: And, when he reach’d the castle walls, The owls portentous flew.
No well-fed porter now was seen Within the court to wait: And weeds and mould’ring stones appear’d, Where stood the lofty gate.
He cross’d the damp deserted halls: He spoke--but all in vain; For Echo, from the ruin’s verge, Return’d his words again.
Through many a passage long and dark His weary steps he bent: At length a flight of stairs he saw, And tried the deep descent.
He felt unwholesome dewy cold, Yet still pursued his way-- Resolv’d ’till he had all explor’d, No more to view the day.
At length a gleam of light he saw; A ray of warmth he found: And down the stairs he quickly was, And trod upon the ground;
And soon, within a chamber large, A blazing fire perceiv’d; And by its flames a sight he saw, Which else he’d ne’er believ’d.
A king and queen, in regal state, Were there by Morpheus chain’d: And o’er the train of courtiers too The same still slumber reign’d.
And round the fire some faithful dogs Their fortunes seem’d to share: And, on a table near, a sword And horn were placed there.
As from the scabbard then, with might, The blade to draw he tries, As it unsheath’d, with awe he sees The sleepers all arise.
Struck with amaze, he put it back.-- The monarch, pierc’d with woe, E’er he return’d to death-like sleep, Thus spoke in accents slow:
“A curse, O Dixon, light on thee! Why wast thou ever born? Why did thou not the sword draw out, Or wind the bugle horn?
“On them our wish’d release depends.-- A cent’ry now must fly, Before a mortal can again To break th’ enchantment try.”
And now, oppress’d by slumbers dire, He sank, till kinder fate Should send some knight, who might restore His former envied state.
For Dixon, who these wonders saw, And hope both rais’d and crush’d, Soon left th’ apartment, as at first, In solemn silence hush’d.
And never since, as records say, Has mortal ventur’d there; But all, with superstitious dread, The sleeping king revere.
[54] Sewen Shields, or Shewing Sheels, about 28 miles west of Newcastle, is a Roman Castle, 22 yards by 30, having entrances on the east, south, and west, with a foss on three sides, remarkably bold; and on the fourth Serverus’s wall. It has had four turrets, one at each corner. See _Hutton’s Desc. of the Rom. Wall_.