nd knows in distant forest far amp his red brethren of the war; e, when each double and disguise. o baffle the pursuit he tries, ow crouching now his head to hide, 'here swampy streams through rushes glide,

ow covering with the wither'd leaves he foot-prints that the dew receives; e, skill'd in every silvan guile, nows not, nor tries, such various wile, s Risingham, when on the wind rose the loud pursuit behind. 1 Redesdale his youth had heard ach art her wily dalesmen dared, Then Rooken-edge, and Redswair high, o bugle rung and blood-hound's cry, nnouncing Jedwood-axe and spear, nd Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; nd well his venturous life had proved he lessons that his childhood loved.

III.

Oft had he shown, in climes afar,
ach attribute of roving war;
'he sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye,
The quick resolve in danger nigh;
The speed, that in the flight or chase,
Dutstripp'd the Charib's rapid race;
he steady brain, the sinewy limb,
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ;
The iron frame, inured to bear
Each dire inclemency of air,
For less confirm'd to undergo
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe.
These arts he proved, his life to save,
n peril oft by land and wave,
On Arawaca's desert shore,
Or where La Plata's billows roar,
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain
Track'd the marauder's steps in vain.
These arts, in Indian warfare tried,
Must save him now by Greta's side.

IV.

Twas then, in hour of utmost need,
He proved his courage, art, and speed.
Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace,
Now started forth in rapid race,
Oft doubling back in mazy train,
To blind the trace the dews retain ;
Now clombe the rocks projecting high,
To baffle the pursuer's eye;

Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound

The echo of his footsteps drown'd.
But if the forest verge he nears,
There trample steeds, and glimmer
spears;

If deeper down the copse he drew,
He heard the rangers' loud halloo,
Beating each cover while they came,
As if to start the silvan game.
'Twas then-like tiger close beset
At every pass with toil and net,
'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare,
By clashing arms and torches' flare,
Who meditates, with furious bound,
To burst on hunter, horse, and hound,-
'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose,
Prompting to rush upon his foes:
But as that crouching tiger, cow'd
By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd,
Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud,
Bertram suspends his purpose stern,
And crouches in the brake and fern,
Hiding his face, lest foemen spy
The sparkle of his swarthy eye.

V.

Then Bertram might the bearing trace
Of the bold youth who led the chase;
Who paused to list for every sound,
Climb' every height to look around,
Then rushing on with naked sword,
Each dingle's bosky depths explored.
'Twas Redmond-by the azure eye;
'Twas Redmond-by the locks that fly
Disorder'd from his glowing cheek;
Mien, face, and form, young Redmond
speak.

A form more active, light, and strong,
Ne'er shot the ranks of war along;
The modest, yet the manly mien,
Might grace the court of maiden queen;
A face more fair you well might find,
For Redmond's knew the sun and wind,
Nor boasted, from their tinge when free,
The charm of regularity;

But every feature had the power
To aid the expression of the hour:
Whether gay wit, and humour sly,
Danced laughing in his light-blue eye;
Or bended brow, and glance of fire,
And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire;

Or soft and sadden'd glances show
Her ready sympathy with woe;
Or in that wayward mood of mind,
When various feelings are combined,
When joy and sorrow mingle near,
And hope's bright wings are check'd by
fear,

And rising doubts keep transport down,
And anger lends a short-lived frown;
In that strange mood which maids ap-
prove

Even when they dare not call it love;
With every change his features play'd,
As aspens show the light and shade.

VI.

Well Risingham young Redmond knew:
And much he marvell'd that the crew,
Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead
Were by that Mortham's foeman led;,
For never felt his soul the woe,
That wails a generous foeman low,
Far less that sense of justice strong,
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong.
But small his leisure now to pause;
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause :
And twice that Redmond came so near
Where Bertram couch'd like hunted deer,
The very boughs his steps displace,
Rustled against the ruffian's face,
Who, desperate, twice prepared to start,
And plunge his dagger in his heart!
But Redmond turn'd a different way,
And the bent boughs resumed their sway,
And Bertram held it wise, unseen,
Deeper to plunge in coppice green.
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake,
When roving hunters beat the brake,
Watches with red and glistening eye,
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh,
With forked tongue and venom'd fang
Instant to dart the deadly pang;
But if the intruders turn aside,
Away his coils unfolded glide,
And through the deep savannah wind,
Some undisturb'd retreat to find.

VII.

But Bertram, as he backward drew, And heard the loud pursuit renew, And Redmond's hollo on the wind, Oft mutter'd in his savage mind—

"Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I
Alone this day's event to try,
With not a second here to see,
But the grey cliff and oaken tree,—
That voice of thine, that shouts so
loud,

Should ne'er repeat its summons proud!
No! nor e'er try its melting power
Again in maiden's summer bower."
Eluded, now behind him die,
Faint and more faint each hostile cry;
He stands in Scargill wood alone,.
Nor hears he now a harsher tone
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry,
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by;
And on the dale, so lone and wild,
The summer sun in quiet smiled.

VIII.

He listen'd long with anxious heart,
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start,
And, while his stretch'd attention glows,
Refused his weary frame repose.
'Twas silence all-he laid him down,
Where purple heath profusely strown,
And throatwort with its azure bell,
And moss and thyme his cushion swell.
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed
The course of Greta's playful tide;
Beneath, her banks now eddying dun,
Now brightly gleaming to the sun,
As, dancing over rock and stone,
In yellow light her currents shone,
Matching in hue the favourite gem
Of Albin's mountain-diadem.
Then, tired to watch the currents play
He turned his weary eyes away,
To where the bank opposing show'd
Its huge, square cliffs through shagg
wood.

One, prominent above the rest,
Rear'd to the sun its pale grey breast;
Around its broken summit grew
The hazel rude, and sable yew;
A thousand varied lichens dyed
Its waste and weather-beaten side,
And round its rugged basis lay,
By time or thunder rent away,
Fragments, that, from its frontlet tort
Were mantled now by verdant thorn.
Such was the scene's wild majesty,
That fill'd stern Bertram's gazing eye.

IX.

llen mood he lay reclined, Olving, in his stormy mind, felon deed, the fruitless guilt, patron's blood by treason spilt; ime, it seem'd, so dire and dread, it had power to wake the dead. , pondering on his life betray'd Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, eacherous purpose to withhold, em'd it, Mortham's promised gold, ep and full revenge he vow'd Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud;

nge on Wilfrid-on his sire ubled vengeance, swift and dire !— such mood, (as legends say, well believed that simple day,) Enemy of Man has power rofit by the evil hour,

stood a wretch, prepared to change oul's redemption for revenge! hough his vows, with such a fire nest and intense desire

engeance dark and fell, were made, ell might reach hell's lowest shade, eeper clouds the grove embrown'd, ther thunders shook the ground;emon knew his vassal's heart, pared temptation's needless art.

X.

1

ingled with the direful theme, Mortham's form-Was it a dream? 1 he seen, in vision true, ery Mortham whom he slew? 1 in living flesh appear'd ily man on earth he fear'd ?— the mystic cause intent, es, that on the cliff were bent, er'd at once a dazzling glance, inbeam flash'd from sword or lance. e he started as for fight, a foeman was in sight; d the cushat's murmur hoarse, d the river's sounding course; terary woodlands lay, shering in the summer ray. wa, like lion roused, around, frol again upon the ground. dan, he thought, some fitful beam, maiden from the sparkling stream; ga

Then plunged him from his gloomy train
Of ill-connected thoughts again,
Until a voice behind him cried,
"Bertram ! well met on Greta side."

XI.

Instant his sword was in his hand,
As instant sunk the ready brand;
Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood
To him that issued from the wood:
“Guy Denzil !—is it thou?" he said;
"Do we two meet in Scargill shade!-
Stand back a space!-thy purpose show,
Whether thou comest as friend or foe.
Report hath said, that Denzil's name
From Rokeby's band was raised with
shame.".

"A shame I owe that hot O'Neale,
Who told his knight, in peevish zeal,
Of my marauding on the clowns
Of Calverley and Bradford downs.
I reck not. In a war to strive,
Where, save the leaders, none can thrive,
Suits ill my mood; and better game
Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same
Unscrupulous, bold Risingham,
Who watch'd with me in midnight dark,
To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park.
How thinks't thou?"—"Speak thy pur-
pose out;

I love not mystery or doubt."

XII.

"Then list.-Not far there lurk a crew Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, Glean'd from both factions-Roundheads, freed

From cant of sermon and of creed;
And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine,
Spurn at the bonds of discipline.
Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold,
A warfare of our own to hold,
Than breathe our last on battle-down,
For cloak or surplice, mace or crown.
Our schemes are laid, our purpose set,
A chief and leader lack we yet.-
Thou art a wanderer, it is said;
For Mortham's death, thy steps way-
laid,

Thy head at price-so say our spies,
Who range the valley in disguise.

R

"Even now," thought Bertram, passionstirr'd,

"I call'd on hell, and hell has heard! What lack I, vengeance to command, But of stanch comrades such a band? This Denzil, vow'd to every evil, Might read a lesson to the devil. Well, be it so! each knave and fool Shall serve as my revenge's tool." Aloud, "I take thy proffer, Guy, But tell me where thy comrades lie?""Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said; "Descend, and cross the river's bed, Where rises yonder cliff so grey.' "Do thou," said Bertram, "lead the way."

Then mutter'd, "It is best make sure;
Guy Denzil's faith was never pure."
He follow'd down the steep descent,
Then through the Greta's streams they
went ;

And, when they reach'd the farther shore,
They stood the lonely cliff before.

XIV.

With wonder Bertram heard within
The flinty rock a murmur'd din ;
But when Guy pull'd the wilding spray,
And brambles, from its base away,
He saw, appearing to the air,
A little entrance, low and square,
Like opening cell of hermit Îone,
Dark, winding through the living stone.
Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here;
And loud and louder on their ear,
As from the bowels of the earth,
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth.
Of old, the cavern strait and rude,
In slaty rock the peasant hew'd;
And Brignall's woods, and Scargill's,

wave,

E'en now, o'er many a sister cave, Where, far within the darksome rift, The wedge and lever ply their thrift. But war had silenced rural trade, And the deserted mine was made

The banquet-hall and fortress too,
Of Denzil and his desperate crew.—
There Guilt his anxious revel kept;
There, on his sordid pallet, slept
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd,
Still in his slumbering grasp retain'd;
Regret was there, his eye still cast
With vain repining on the past;
Among the feasters waited near
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear,
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,
With his own crimes reproaching heaven;
While Bertram show'd, amid the crew,
The Master-Fiend that Milton drew.

XV.

Hark! the loud revel wakes again,
To greet the leader of the train.
Behold the group by the pale lamp,
That struggles with the earthy damp.
By what strange features Vice bath
known,

To single out and mark her own!
Yet some there are, whose brows retain
Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain.
See yon pale stripling! when a boy,
A mother's pride, a father's joy!
Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls re-
clined,

An early image fills his mind:
The cottage, once his sire's, he sees,
Embower'd upon the banks of Tees;
He views sweet Winston's woodland
scene,

And shares the dance on Gainford-green.
A tear is springing-but the zest
Of some wild tale, or brutal jest,
Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest.
On him they call, the aptest mate
For jovial song and merry feat:
Fast flies his dream-with dauntless
air,

As one victorious o'er Despair,
He bids the ruddy cup go round,
Till sense and sorrow both are drown'd
And soon, in merry wassail, he,
The life of all their revelry,
Peals his loud song!-The muse ha
found

Her blossoms on the wildest ground,
Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd,
Themselves all profitless and rude.—

"With burnish'd brand and musketoon, So gallantly you come,

I read you for a bold Dragoon,

That lists the tuck of drum.'
"I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum,
My comrades take the spear.

CHORUS.

"And, O! though Brignall banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay,

Yet mickle must the maiden dare,
Would reign my Queen of May!

XVIII.

"Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die ;

The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
Were better mate than I!

And when I'm with my comrades met,
Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.

CHORUS.

"Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there

Would grace a summer queen."

When Edmund ceased his simple song,
Was silence on the sullen throng,
Till waked some ruder mate their glee
With note of coarser minstrelsy.
But, far apart, in dark divan,
Denzil and Bertram many a plan,
Of import foul and fierce, design'd,
While still on Bertram's grasping mind
The wealth of murder'd Mortham hung;
Though half he fear'd his daring tongue,
When it should give his wishes birth,
Might raise a spectre from the earth!

XIX.

At length his wondrous tale he told :
When, scornful, smiled his comrade bold;
For, train'd in license of a court,
Religion's self was Denzil's sport;
Then judge in what contempt he held
The visionary tales of eld!

His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd
The unbeliever's sneering jest.