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And when she deems, that to deny
Dooms Redmond and her sire to die,
She must give way. Then, were the line
Of Rokeby once combined with mine,
I gain the weather-gage of fate!
If Mortham come, he comes too late,
While I, allied thus and prepared,
Bid him defiance to his beard.-
-If she prove stubborn, shall I dare
To drop the axe?-soft! pause we there.
Mortham still lives-yon youth may tell
His tale-and Fairfax loves him well;-
Else, wherefore should I now delay

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'T was bustle in the court below,

« Mount, and march forward!»-forth they go;
Steeds neigh and trample all around,
Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound.-
Just then was sung his parting hymn;
And Denzil turn'd his eye-balls dim.
And scarcely conscious what he sees,
Follows the horsemen down the Tees,
And scarcely conscious what he hears,
The trumpets tingle in his cars.
O'er the long bridge they 're sweeping now,
The van is hid by green-wood bough;
But ere the rearward had pass'd o'er,
Guy Denzil heard and saw no more!

One stroke, upon the castle bell,
To Oswald rung his dying knell.

XXVI.

O for that pencil, erst profuse
Of chivalry's emblazon'd hues,

That traced, of old, in Woodstock bower,
The pageant of the Leaf and Flower,
And bodied forth the tourneys high,
Held for the hand of Emily!
Then might I paint the tumult broad
That to the crowded abbey flow'd,
And pour'd, as with an ocean's sound,
Into the church's ample bound!
Then might I show each varying mien,
Exulting woeful, or serene;
Indifference with his idiot stare,
And sympathy with anxious air;
Paint the dejected cavalier,
Doubtful, disarm'd, and sad of cheer;
And his proud foe, whose formal eye
Claim'd conquest now and mastery;
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel,
And loudest shouts when lowest lie
Exalted worth, and station high.
Yet what may such a wish avail?
"T is mine to tell an onward tale,
Hurrying, as best I can, along,
The hearers and the hasty song;-
Like traveller when approaching home,
Who sees the shades of evening come,
And must not now his course delay,
Or chuse the fair, but winding way;

Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, Where o'er his head the wildings bend, To bless the breeze that cools his brow, Or snatch a blossom from the bough.

XXVII.

The reverend pile lay wild and waste,
Profaned, dishonour'd and defaced.
Through storied lattices no more
In soften'd light the sun-beams pour,
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich
Of shrine, and monument, and niche.
The civil fury of the time
Made sport of sacrilegious crime;
For dark Fanaticism rent

Altar, and screen, and ornament,

And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew
Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh.
And now was seen unwonted sight,

In holy walls a scaffold dight!
Where once the priest, of grace divine
Dealt to his flock the mystic sign,
There stood the block display'd, and there
The headsman grim his hatchet bare;
And for the word of Hope and Faith,
Resounded loud a doom of death.
Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was heard,
And echoed thrice the herald's word,
Dooming, for breach of martial laws,
And treason to the Commons' cause,
The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale
To stoop their heads to block and steel.
The trumpets flourish'd high and shrill,
Then was a silence dead and still;
And silent prayers to heaven were cast,
And stifling sobs were bursting fast,
Till from the crowd began to rise
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise,
And from the distant aisles there came
Deep-mutter'd threats, with Wycliffe's name.

XXVIII.

But Oswald, guarded by his band, Powerful in evil, waved his hand, And bade Sedition's voice be dead, On peril of the murmurer's head.

Then first his glance sought Rokeby's knight; Who gazed on the tremendous sight,

As calm as if he came a guest

To kindred baron's feudal feast,-
As calm as if that trumpet-call
Were summons to the banner'd hall;
Firm in his loyalty he stood,
And prompt to seal it with his blood.
With downcast look drew Oswald nigh,-
He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye!--
And said, with low and faltering breath,

<< Thou know'st the terms of life and death.»>

The knight then turn'd, and sternly smiled;

<< The maiden is mine only child,

Yet shall my blessing leave her head

If with a traitor's son she wed.»>

Then Redmond spoke; « The life of one
Might thy malignity atone.

On me be flung a double guilt!

Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt!»

Wycliffe had listen'd to his suit,
But dread prevail'd, and he was mute.

XXIX.

And now he pours his choice of fear
In secret on Matilda's ear;

« A union form'd with me and mine
Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line.
Consent, and all this dread array
Like morning dream shall pass away;
Refuse, and, by my duty press'd,

I give the word-thou know'st the rest.>>
Matilda, still and motionless,

With terror heard the dread address,
Pale as the sheeted maid who dies
To hopeless love a sacrifice;
Then wrung her hands in agony,
And round her cast bewilder'd eye,
Now on the scaffold glanced, and now
On Wycliffe's unrelenting brow.
She veil'd her face, and, with a voice
Scarce audible,-«< I make my choice!
Spare but their lives!-for aught beside,
Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide.
He once was generous!»-As she spoke,
Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke:
« Wilfrid, where loiter'd ye so late?-
Why upon Basil rest thy weight?
Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand?—
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand;
Thank her with raptures, simple boy!

Should tears and trembling speak thy joy?»—
«O hush, my sire! to pray'r and tear
Of mine thou hast refused thine ear;
But now the awful hour draws on,
When truth must speak in loftier tone.»>-

XXX.

He took Matilda's hand:-« Dear maid!
Couldst thou so injure me,» he said,
« Of thy poor friend so basely deem,
As blend him with this barbarous scheme?
Alas! my efforts, made in vain,
Might well have saved this added pain.
But now, bear witness earth and heaveu,
That ne'er was hope to mortal given,
So twisted with the strings of life,
As this-to call Matilda wife!

I bid it now for ever part,

And with the effort bursts my heart.»--
His feeble frame was worn so low,

With wounds, with watching, and with woe,
That nature could no more sustain

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With Wilfrid all his projects past.
All turn'd and center'd on his son,
On Wilfrid all-and he was gone.
<< And I am childless now,» he said,
« Childless, through that relentless maid?
A lifetime's arts, in vain essay'd,
Are bursting on their artist's head!-
Here lies my Wilfrid dead-and there
Comes hated Mortham for his heir,
Eager to knit in happy band
With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand.
And shall their triumph soar o'er all
The schemes deep-laid to work their fall!
No!-deeds which prudence might not dare,
Appal not vengeance and despair.
The murderess weeps upon his bier-
I'll change to real that feigned tear!
They all shall share destruction's shock :-
Ho! lead the captives to the block!»
But ill his provost could divine
His feelings, and forbore the sign.
<< Slave! to the block !-or I, or they,
Shall face the judgment-seat this day!»—

XXXII.

The outmost crowd have heard a sound,
Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground;
Nearer it came, and yet more near,—
The very deaths-men paused to hear.
'T is in the church-yard now-the tread
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead!
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone,
Return the tramp in varied tone.
All eyes upon the gate-way hung,
When through the Gothic arch there sprung
A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed-(2)
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed.
Fire from the flinty floor was spurn'd,
The vaults unwonted clang return'd!—
One instant's glance around he threw,
From saddle-bow his pistol drew.
Grimly determined was his look!
His charger with the spurs he strook—
All scatter'd backward as he came,
For all knew Bertram Risingham!
Three bounds that noble courser gave;
The first has reach'd the central nave,
The second clear'd the chancel wide,
The third-he was at Wycliffe's side.
Full levell'd at the baron's head,
Rung the report-the bullet sped-
And to his long account, and last,
Without a groan dark Oswald past!
All was so quick, that it might seem
A flash of lightning, or a dream.

XXXIII.

While yet the smoke the deed conceals,
Bertram his ready charger wheels;
But flounder'd on the pavement floor
The steed, and down the rider bore,
And bursting in the headlong sway,
The faithless saddle-girths gave way.
'T was while he toil'd him to be freed,
And with the rein to raise the steed,
That from amazement's iron trance
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once.

Sword, halbert, musket-butt, their blows
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose;

A score of pikes, with each a wound,
Bore down and pinn'd him to the ground;
But still his struggling force he rears
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears;
Thrice from assailants shook him free,
Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee.
By tenfold odds oppress'd at length,
Despite his struggles and his strength,
He took a hundred mortal wounds,

As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds;
And when he died, his parting groan
Had more of laughter than of moan!
-They gazed, as when a lion dies,
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes,
But bend their weapons on the slain,
Lest the grim king should rouse again!—
Then blow and insult some renew'd,

And from the trunk the head had hew'd,
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;

A mantle o'er the corse he laid :-
« Fell as he was in act and mind,

He left no bolder heart behind :
Then give him, for a soldier meet,
A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet.»—

XXXIV.

No more of death and dying pang,
No more of trump and bugle clang,
Though through the sounding woods there come
Banner and bugle, trump and drum.

Arm'd with such powers as well had freed

Young Redmond at his utmost need,
And back'd with such a band of horse
As might less ample powers enforce;
Possess'd of every proof and sign
That gave an heir to Mortham's line,
And yielded to a father's arms
An image of his Edith's charms,-
Mortham is come, to hear and see
Of this strange morn the history.
What saw he?-not the church's floor,
Cumber'd with dead and stain'd with gore.
What heard he?-not the clamorous crowd,
That shout their gratulations loud;
Redmond he saw and heard alone,
Clasp'd him, and sobb'd, « My son, my son!»-

XXXV.

This chanced upon a summer morn,
When yellow waved the heavy corn;
But when brown August o'er the land
Call'd forth the reapers' busy band,
A gladsome sight the sylvan road
From Eglistone to Mortham show'd.
Awhile the hardy rustic leaves

The task to bind and pile the sheaves,
And maids their sickles fling aside,
To gaze on bridegroom and on bride,
And childhood's wondering group draws near,
And from the gleaner's hand the ear
Drops, while she folds them for a prayer

And blessing on the lovely pair.

'T was then the Maid of Rokeby gave

Her plighted troth to Redmond brave;

And Teesdale can remember yet,
How Fate to Virtue paid her debt,
And, for their troubles, bade them prove
A lengthen'd life of peace and love.

Time and tide had thus their sway, Yielding, like an April day, Smiling noon for sullen morrow, Years of joy for hours of sorrow!

NOTES.

CANTO I.

Note 1. Stanza i.

On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream, etc.

<< Barnard Castle,» saith old Leland, «< standeth stately upon Tees. >> It is founded upon a very high bank, and its ruins impend over the river, including within the area a circuit of six acres and upwards. This once magnificent fortress derives its name from its founder, Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the short and unfortunate dynasty of that name, which succeeded to the Scottish throne under the patronage of Edward I and Edward III. Baliol's tower, afterwards mentioned in the poem, is a round tower of great size, situated at the western extremity of the building. It bears marks of great antiquity, and was remarkable for the curious construction of its vaulted roof, which has been lately greatly injured by the operations of some persons to whom the tower has been leased for the purpose of making patent shot! The prospect from the top of Baliol's tower commands a rich and magnificent view of the wooded valley of the Tees.

Barnard Castle often changed masters during the middle ages. Upon the forfeiture of the unfortunate John Baliol, the first king of Scotland of that family, Edward I seized this fortress among the other English estates of his refractory vassal. It was afterwards vested in the Beauchamps of Warwick, and in the Staffords of Buckingham, and was also sometimes in the possession of the Bishops of Durham, and sometimes in that of the crown. Richard III is said to have enlarged and strengthened its fortifications, and to have made it for some time his principal residence, for the purpose of bridling and suppressing the Lancastrian faction in the northern counties. From the Staffords, Barnard Castle passed, probably by marriage, into the possession of the powerful Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, and belonged to the last representative of that family when he engaged with the Earl of Northumberland in the illconcerted insurrection of the twelfth of Queen Elizabeth. Upon this occasion, however, Sir George Bowes of Sheatlam, who held great possessions in the neighbourhood, anticipated the two insurgent earls, by seizing upon and garrisoning Barnard Castle, which he held out for ten days against all their forces, and then surrendered it upon honourable terms. See Sadler's State Papers, vol. II, p. 330. In a ballad, contained in Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. I, the siege is thus commemorated:

Then Sir George Bowes he straight way rose,
After them some spoyle to make;
These noble erles turned back againe,
And aye they vowed that knight to take.
That baron he to his castle fled,

To Barnard Castle then fled he;
The uttermost walles were eathe to won.
The erles have wonne them presentlie.
The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;
But though they won them soon anone,
Long ere they won the innermost walles,

For they were cut in rock and stone.

By the suppression of this rebellion, and the consequent forfeiture of the Earl of Westmoreland, Barnard Castle reverted to the crown, and was sold or leased out to Car, Earl of Somerset, the guilty and unhappy favourite of James I. It was afterwards granted to Sir llenry Vane the Elder, and was therefore, in all probability, occupied for the Parliament, whose interest during the civil war was so keenly espoused by the Vanes. It is now, with the other estates of that family, the property of the Right Honourable Earl of Darlington.

Note 2. Stanza v.

-no human ear,

Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear,

Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, etc.

Fron the following curious account of a dispute respecting a buff coat, between an old roundhead captain and a justice of peace, by whom his arms were seized after the Restoration, we learn that the value and importance of this defensive garment were considerable. « A party of horse came to my house, commanded by Mr Peebles; and he told me he was come for my arms, and that I must deliver them. I asked him for his order. He told me he had a better order than Oliver used to give, and, clapping his hand upon his sword-hilt, he said that was his order. I told him, if he had none but that, it was not sufficient to take my arms; and then he pulled out his warrant, and I read it. It was signed by Wentworth Armitage, a general warrant to search all persons they suspected, and so left the power to the soldiers at their pleasure. They came to us at Coalley-hall, about sun-setting; and I caused a candle to be lighted, and conveyed Peebles into the room where my arms were. My arms were near the kitchen fire; and there they took away fowling-pieces, pistols, muskets, carbines and such like, better than 201. Then Mr Peebles asked me for my buff coat; and I told him they had no order to take away my apparel. He told me I was not to dispute their orders; but if I would not deliver it, he would I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the effect carry me away prisoner, and had me out of doors. Yet of keen and fervent anxiety in giving acuteness to the he let me alone unto the next morning, that I must organs of sense. My gifted friend, Miss Joanna Baillie, wait upon Sir John, at Halifax; and coming before whose dramatic works display such intimate acquaint-him, he threatened me, and said, if I did not send the ance with the operations of human passion, has not coat, for it was too good for me to keep. I told him it omitted this remarkable circumstance: was not in his power to demand my apparel; and he, growing into a fit, called me rebel and traitor, and said if I did not send the coat with all speed, he would send me where I did not like well. I told him I was no rebel, and he did not well to call me so before these soldiers and gentlemen, to make me the mark for every one to shoot at. I departed the room, yet, notwithstanding all the threatenings, did not send the coat. But the next day he sent John Lyster, the son of Mr Thomas Lyster, of Shipden-hall, for this coat, with a letter verbatim thus: Mr Hodgson, I admire you will The use of complete suits of armour was fallen into play the child so with me as you have done, in writdisuse during the civil war, though they were still worn ing such an inconsiderate letter. Let me have the buff by leaders of rank and importance.-<< In the reign of coat sent forthwith, otherwise you shall so hear from King James I,» says our military antiquary, «no great me as will not very well please you.' I was not at home alterations were made in the article of defensive armour, when this messenger came; but I had ordered my wife except that the buff coat, or jerkin, which was origi- not to deliver it, but if they would take it, let them look nally worn under the cuirass, now became frequently to it; and he took it away; and one of Sir John's bresubstitute for it, it having been found that a good buff thren wore it many years after. They sent Captain Batt leather would of itself resist the stroke of a sword; this, to compound with my wife about it; but I sent word I however, only occasionally took place among the light-would have my own again; but he advised me to take a armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits of armour being still used among the heavy horse. Buff coats continued to be worn by the city trained-bands till within the memory of persons now living, so that defensive armour may in some measure be said to have terminated in the same materials with which it began, that is, the skins of animals or leather.»-GROSE'S Military Antiquities, Lond. 1801, 4to, vol. II, p. 323.

De Montfort (off his guard). T is Rezenvelt; I heard his wellknown foot!

From the first staircase mounting step by step.

Freb. How quick an ear thou hast for distant sound!
I heard him not.

[De Montfort looks embarrassed, and is silent.
Note 3. Stanza vi.

The morion's plumes his visage hide,
And the buff coat, in ample fold,
Mantles his form's gigantic mould.

a

Of the buff coats which were worn over the corslet, several are yet preserved; and Captain Grose has given an engraving of one which was used in the time of Charles I by Sir Francis Rhodes, Bart. of Balbroughhall, Derbyshire. They were usually lined with silk or linen, secured before by buttons, or by a lace, and often richly decorated with gold or silver embroidery.

price for it, and make no more ado. I said it was hard to take my arms and apparel too; I had laid out a great deal of money for them; I hoped they did not mean to destroy me, by taking my goods illegally from me. He said he would make up the matter, if I pleased, betwixt us; and, it seems, had brought Sir John to a price for my coat. I would not have taken 10l. for it; he would have given about 41.; but wanting my receipt for the money, he kept both sides, and I had never satisfaction.»-Memoirs of Captain Hodgson, Edinb. 1806, p. 178.

Note 4. Stanza viii.

On his dark face a scorching clime,
And toil, had done the work of time, etc.

In this character I have attempted to sketch one of

those West Indian adventurers, who, during the course of the seventeenth century, were popularly known by the name of Buccaneers. The successes of the English in the predatory incursions upon Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, had never been forgotten; and from that period downward, the exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imitated, upon a smaller scale indeed, but with equally desperate valour, by small bands of pirates, gathered from all nations, but chiefly French and English. The engrossing policy of the Spaniards tended greatly to increase the number of these freebooters, from whom their commerce and colonies suffered, in the issue, dreadful calamity. The Windward Islands, which the Spaniards did not deem worthy their own occupation, had been gradually settled by adventurers of the French and English nations. But Frederick of Toledo, who was dispatched in 1630, with a powerful fleet against the Dutch, had orders from the court of Madrid to destroy these colonies, whose vicinity at once offended the pride, and excited the jealous suspicions of their Spanish neighbours. This order the Spanish admiral executed with sufficient rigour; but the only consequence was, that the planters, being rendered desperate by persecution, began, under the well-known name of Buccaneers, to commence a retaliation so horridly savage that the perusal makes the reader shudder. When they carried on their depredations at sea, they boarded, without respect to disparity of number, every Spanish vessel that came in their way; and, demeaning themselves both in the battle and after the conquest more like demons than human beings, they succeeded in impressing their enemies with a sort of superstitious terror, which rendered them incapable of offering effectual resistance. From piracy at sea they advanced to making predatory descents on the Spanish territories, in which they displayed the same furious and irresistible valour, the same thirst of spoil, and the same brutal inhumanity to their captives. The large treasures which they acquired in their adventures, they dissipated by the most unbounded licentiousness in gaming, women, wine, and debauchery of every species. When their spoils were thus wasted, they entered into some new association, and undertook new adventures. For further particulars concerning these extraordinary banditti, the reader may consult Raynal, or the common and popular book called the History of the Buccaneers.

Note 5. Stanza xii.

-On Marston heath

Met, front to front, the ranks of death.

The well-known and desperate battle of Long-Marston Moor, which terminated so unfortunately for the cause of Charles, commenced under very different auspices. Prince Rupert had marched with an army of 20,000 men for the relief of York, then besieged by Sir Thomas Fairfax, at the head of the parliamentary army, and the Earl of Leven, with the Scottish auxiliary forces. In this he so completely succeeded, that he compelled the besiegers to retreat to Marston-moor, a large open plain, about eight miles distant from the city. Thither they were followed by the prince, who had now united to his army the garrison of York, probably not less than ten thousand men strong, under the gallant Marquis (then Earl) of Newcastle. Whitelocke has recorded, with much impartiality, the following particulars of this eventful day:7:-« The right wing of the parliament

was commanded by Sir Thomas Fairfax, and consisted of all his horse, and three regiments of the Scots horse; the left wing was commanded by the Earl of Manchester and Colonel Cromwell. One body of their foot was commanded by Lord Fairfax, and consisted of his foot, and two brigades of the Scots foot for a reserve; and the main body of the rest of the foot was commanded by General Leven.

«The right wing of the prince's army was commanded by the Earl of Newcastle, the left wing by the prince himself, and the main body by General Goring, Sir Charles Lucas, and Major-General Porter; thus were both sides drawn up into battalia.

«July 3d, 1644. In this posture both armies faced each other, and about seven o'clock in the morning the fight began between them. The prince, with his left wing, fell on the parliament's right wing, routed them, and pursued them a great way; the like did General Goring, Lucas, and Porter, upon the parliament's main body. The three generals, giving all for lost, hasted out of the field, and many of their soldiers fled, and threw down their arms; the king's forces, too eagerly following them, the victory, now almost achieved by them, was again snatched out of their hands. Colonel Cromwell, with the brave regiment of his countrymen, and Sir Thomas Fairfax, having rallied some of his horse, fell upon the prince's right wing, where the Earl of Newcastle was, and routed them; and the rest of their companions rallying, they fell altogether upon the divided bodies of Rupert and Goring, and totally dispersed them, and obtained a complete victory after three hours' fight.

For

«From this battle and the pursuit some reckon were buried 7000 Englishmen; all agree that above 3000 of the prince's men were slain in the battle, besides those in the chace, and 3000 prisoners taken, many of their chief officers, 25 pieces of ordnance, 47 colours, 10,000 arms, two waggons of carabines and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and all their bag and baggage.» -WHITE LOCKE's Memoirs, Lond. 1682, fol. p. 89.

Lord Clarendon informs us that the king, previous to receiving the true account of the battle, had been informed, by an express from Oxford, « that Prince Rupert had not only relieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, with many particulars to confirm it, all which was so much believed there, that they had made public fires of joy for the victory.»>

Note 6. Stanza xix.
Monckton and Mitton told the news,

How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse;
And many a bonny Scot, aghast,
Spurring his palfrey northward, past,
Cursing the day when zeal or meed

First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.

Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse, and not very distant from the field of battle. The particulars of the action were violently disputed at the time; but the following extract, from the manuscript history of the Baronial House of Somerville, is decisive as to the flight of the Scottish general, the Earl of Leven. The particulars are given by the author of the history on the authority of his father, then the representative of the family. This curious manuscript has been published by consent of my noble friend, the present Lord Somerville.

<< The order of this great battell, wherein both armies

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