Whom thou too, once, wert wont to hate,
Yet leav'st me doubtful of his fate.'-
With look unmoved,- Of friend or foe,
Aught,' answered Bertram, 'wouldst thou
know,

Demand in simple terms and plain,
A soldier's answer shalt thou gain;
For question dark, or riddle high,
I have nor judgment nor reply.'-

15 The wrath his art and fear suppress'd,
Now blazed at once in Wycliffe's breast;
And brave, from man so meanly born,
Roused his hereditary scorn.

'Wretch hast thou paid thy bloody debt
PHILIP OF MORTHAM, lives he yet?

False to thy patron or thine oath,
Trait'rous or perjured, one or both,
Slave! hast thou kept thy promise, plight
To slay thy leader in the fight?'—
Then from his seat the soldier sprung,
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung;
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail,
Forced the red blood-drop from the nail-
'A health!' he cried; and, ere he quaffed,
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laughed :
Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart!
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part!
Worthy, but for thy craven fear,
Like me to roam a buccaneer.

What reck'st thou of the Cause divine,
If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine?
What carest thou for beleagured York,
If this good hand have done its work?

Or what though Fairfax and his best
Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast,
If Philip Mortham with them lie,
Lending his life-blood to the dye ?—
Sit, then and as 'mid comrades free
Carousing after victory,

When tales are told of blood and fear,
That boys and women shrink to hear,
From point to point I frankly tell
The deed of death as it befell.

16 When purposed vengeance I forego,
Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe;
And when an insult I forgive,

Then brand me as a slave, and live!—
Philip of Mortham is with those
Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes;
Or whom more sure revenge attends,
If numbered with ungrateful friends.
As was his wont, ere battle glowed,
Along the marshalled ranks he rode,
And wore his vizor up the while.
I saw his melancholy smile,
When, full opposed in front, he knew
Where ROKEBY's kindred banner flew.

"And thus," he said, "will friends divide!"
I heard, and thought how, side by side,
We two had turned the battle's tide,
In many a well-debated field,

Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield.
I thought on Darien's deserts pale,
Where death bestrides the evening gale,
How o'er my friend my cloak I threw,
And fenceless faced the deadly dew;

I thought on Quariana's cliff,

Where, rescued from our foundering skiff,
Through the white breakers' wrath I bore
Exhausted Mortham to the shore;
And when his side an arrow found,

I sucked the Indian's venomed wound.
These thoughts like torrents rushed along,
To sweep away my purpose strong.

17 Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent;
Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent.
When Mortham bade me, as of yore,
Be near him in the battle's roar,
I scarcely saw the spears laid low,
I scarcely heard the trumpets blow;
Lost was the war in inward strife,
Debating Mortham's death or life.
"Twas then I thought, how, lured to come
As partner of his wealth and home,
Years of piratic wandering o'er,

With him I sought our native shore.
But Mortham's lord grew far estranged
From the bold heart with whom he ranged;
Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears,
Saddened and dimmed descending years;
The wily priests their victim sought,
And damned each free-born deed and
thought.

Then must I seek another home,
My license shook his sober dome;
If gold he gave, in one wild day
I revelled thrice the sum away.
An idle outcast then I stray'd
Unfit for tillage or for trade,

Deemed, like the steel of rusted lance,
Useless and dangerous at once.

The women feared my hardy look,
At my approach the peaceful shook ;
The merchant saw my glance of flame,
And locked his hoards when Bertram came;
Each child of coward peace kept far
From the neglected son of war.

18 'But civil discord gave the call,
And made my trade the trade of all.
By Mortham urged, I came again
His vassals to the fight to train.
What guerdon waited on my care?
I could not cant of creed or prayer;
Sour fanatics each trust obtained,
And I, dishonoured and disdained,
Gained but the high and happy lot,
In these poor arms to front the shot!-
All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell;
Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well.
"Tis honour bids me now relate

Each circumstance of Mortham's fate.

19Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part,
Glance quick as lightning through the heart.
As my spur pressed my courser's side,
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried,
And, ere the charging squadrons mixed,
His plea was cast, his doom was fixed.
I watched him through the doubtful fray,
That changed as March's moody day,
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank,
Fierce Rupert thundered on our flank.

'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife,
Where each man fought for death or life,
"Twas then I fired my petronel,
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell.
One dying look he upward cast,

Of wrath and anguish-'twas his last.
Think not that there I stopped, to view
What of the battle should ensue ;
But ere I cleared that bloody press,
Our northern horse ran masterless;
Monckton and Mitton told the news,
How troops of Roundheads choked the
Ouse,

And many a bonny Scot, aghast,
Spurring his palfrey nothward pass'd,
Cursing the day when zeal or meed
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.F
Yet when I reached the banks of Swale,
Had rumour learn'd another tale;

With his barbed horse, fresh tidings say
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day: G
But whether false the news, or true,
Oswald, I reck as light as you.'-

20 Not then by Wycliffe might be shown,
How his pride startled at the tone
In which his complice, fierce and free,
Asserted guilt's equality.

In smoothest terms his speech he wove,
Of endless friendship, faith, and love;
Promised and vowed in courteous sort,
But Bertram broke professions short.