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Sleep came at length, but with a train
And to the torch glanced broad and cleard Of feelings true and fancies vain,
The corslet of a cuirassier; Mingling, in wild disorder cast,
Then from his brows the casque he drew, The expected future with the past
And from the dank plume dashed the dew, Conscience, anticipating time,
From groves of mail relieved his hands, Already rues the enacted crime,
And spread them to the kindling brands, And calls her furies forth, to shake
And, turning to the genial board, The sounding scourge and hissing snake;
Withont a health, or pledge, or word While her poor victim's outward throes
Of meet and social reverence said, Bear witness to his mental woes.
Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed; And show what lesson may be read
As free from ceremony's sway,
As famished wolf that tears his prey.
With deep inpatience, tinged with fear, Strange changes in his sleeping face,
His host, beheld him gorge his cheer,
And quaff the full carouse, that lent
Now Oswald stood a space aslde,
Now paced the room with hasty stride, While the perturbed sleeper's hand
In feverish agony to learn Seemed grasping dagger-knife, or brand.
Tidings of deep and dread concern, Relaxed that grasp, the heavy sigh,
Cursing each moment that his guest The tear in the half-opening eye,
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. The pallid cheek and brow confessed
Yet viewing with alarm, at last, That grief was busy in his breast;
The end of that uncouth repast, Nor paused that mood-a sudden start
Almost he seemed their haste to rue. Impelled the life-blood from the heart:
As, at his sign, his train withdrew, Features convulsed, and mutterings dread,
And left him with the stranger, free Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead.
To question of his mystery. That pang the painful slumber broke,
Then did his silence long proclaim
A struggle between fear and shame,
Much in the stranger's mien appears, His eyelids in such dire repose:
To justify suspicions fears. He woke, to watch the lamp, and tell
On his dark face & scorching clime, From hour to honr the castle-bell.
And toil, had done the work of time, Or listen to the owlet's cry,
Roughened the brow, the temples bared, Or the sad breeze that whistles by,
And sable hairs with silver shared, Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme
Yet left--what age alone could tameWith which the warder cheats the time,
The lip of pride, the eye of flame, And envying think, how, when the sun
The full-drawn lip that upward curled, Bids the poor soldier's watch be done,
The eye, that seemed to scorn the world, Conched on his straw, and fancy-free,
That lip had terror never blenched; He sleeps like careless infancy.
Ne'er in that eye hath tear-(trop quenched
The flash severe of swarthy glow, v.
That mocked at pain, and knew not woe; Far townward sounds a distant tread,
Inured to danger's direst form, And Oswald, starting from his bed,
Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, Hath caught it, thongh no hunan ear,
Death had he seen by sudden blow, Unsharpened by revenge and fear,
By wasting plagne, by tortures slow, Could e'er distinguish horse's elank,
By mine or breach, by steel or ball, Until it reached the castle bank.
Knew all his shapes, and scorned them all. Now nigh and plain the sound appears, The warder's challenge now he hears,
IX. Then clanking chains and levers tell,
But yet, though BERTRAM's hardened look That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell,
Unmoved could blood and danger brook, And, in the castle court below,
Still worse than apathy had place Voices are heard, and torches glow.
On his swart brow and callous face; As marshalling the stranger's way,
For evil passions, cherished long, Straight for the room where Oswald lay ;
Had plotighed them with impressions strong. The cry was,-“Tidings from the host,
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay Of weight-a messenger comes post."
Light folly, passed with youth away, Stifling the tumult of his breast,
But rooted stood, in manhood's hour, His answer Oswald thuis expressed
The weeds of vice without their flower. “ Bring food and wine, and trim the fire;
And yet the soil in which they grew, Adinit the stranger and retire."
Had it been tamed when life was new,
Had depth and vigour to bring forth
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth.
Not that, e'en then, his heart had known The morion's plumes his visage hide,
The gentler feelings' kindly tone; And the buff-coat, an ample fold.
But lavish waste had been refined Mantles his form's gigantic mould.
To bounty in his chastened mind, Full slender answer deigned he
And lust of gold, that waste to feed, To Oswald's anxious courtesy,
Been lost in love of glory's meed, But marked, by a disdainful smile,
And, frantie then no more, his pride
Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide.
Even now, by conscience unrestrained. The To show his looks, yet hide his own.
Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained, His guest, the while, laid slow aside
Still knew his daring soul to soar, The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide,
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; fet
Phairat lipiecowhares barn
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard,
And the pale pilot seeks in vain, Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard.
Where rolls the river, where the main. And this felt Oswald, while in vain
Even thus, upon the bloody field, He strove, by many a winding train,
The eddying tides of conflict wheeled To lure nis sullen guest to show,
Ambiguous, till that heart of flame, Unasked, the news he longed to know,
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came, While on far other subject hung
Hurling against our spears a line His heart, than faltered from his tongue.
Of gallants, fiery as their wine; Yet nought for that his guest did deign
Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal, To note or spare his secret pain,
In zeal's despite began to reel. But still, in stern and stubborn sort,
What wouldst thou more?-in tumult tossed, Returned him answer dark and short,
Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. Or started from the theme, to range
A thousand men, who drew the sword In loose digression wild and strange,
For both the Houses and the Word, And forced the embarrassed host to buy,
Preached forth from hamlet, grange, and down, By query close, direct reply.
To curb the crosier and the crown.
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched in gore,
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more.-
Thus fared it, when I left the fight, Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws,
With the good Cause and Commons' right," And Church reformed-but felt rebuke Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look.
XIV. Then stammered—“Has a field been fought?
"Disastrous news !” dark Wycliffe said; Has Bertram news of battle brought?
Assumed despondence bent his head, For sure a soldier, famed so far
While troubled joy was in his eye, In foreign fields for feats of war,
The well-feigned sorrow to belie. On eve of fight ne'er left the host,
" Disastrous news !-when needed most, Until the field were won or lost."
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost? “Here, in your towers by circling Tees,
Complete the woeful tale, and say, You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease:
Who fell upon that fatal day; Why deem it strange that others come
What leaders of repute and name To share such safe and easy home,
Bought by their death a deathless fame! From fields where danger, death, and toil,
If such my direst foeman's doom, Are the reward of civil broil?"
My tears shall dew his honoured tomb.Nay, mock not, friend !-since well we know
No answer?-Friend, of all our host, The near advances of the foe,
Thou know'st whom I should hate the most, To mar our northern army's work,
Whom thou too, once, wert wont to hate, Encamped before beleaguered York:
Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate." Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay,
With look unmoved,-" Of friend or foe, And must have fought-how went the day?".
Aught," answered Bertram, “wouldst thou
Demand in simple terms and plain, "Wouldst hear the tale?-On Marston heath A soldier's answer shalt thout gain; Met, front to front, the ranks of death;
For question dark, or riddle high, Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now
I have not judgment nor reply." Fired was each eye, and flushed each brow;
XV. On either side loud clamours ring,
The wrath his art and fear suppressed, • God and the Cause!'-'God and the King !
Now blazed at once in Wycliffe,s breast; Bight English all, they rushed to blows,
And brave, from man so meanly born, With nought to win, and all to lose.
Roused his hereditary scorn. I could have laughed-but lacked the time
"Wretch! hast thou paid thy bloody debt? To see, in phrenesy sublime,
PHILIP OF MORTHAM, lives he yet? How the fierce zealots fought and bled,
False to thy patron or thine oath, For king or state, as humour led;
Trait'rous or prejured. one or both. Some for a dream of public good,
Slave! hast thoui kept thy promise plight, Some for church-tippet, gown and hood,
To slay thy leader in the fight?"Draining their veins, in death to claim
Then from his seat the soldier sprung, A patriot's or a martyr's name.-
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrungi Led Bertram Risingham the hearts,
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, That countered there on adverse parts,
Forced the red blood-drop from the nailNo superstitious fool had I
"A health!” he cried; and, ere he quaffed, Sought Dl Dorados in the sky!
Flung from'him Wycliffe's hand, and laughed: Chili had heard me through her states,
-"Now, Oswald Wycliffe, aks thy heart ! And Lima oped her silver gates,
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part! Rich Mexico I had marched through,
Worthy, but for thy craven fear, And sacked the splendours of Peru,
Like me to roam a buccaneer. Till sunk Pizarro's daring name,
What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame."
If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine ? -"Still from the purpose wilt thou stray !
What carest thou for beleaguered York,
If this good hand have done its work?
Or what, though Fairfax and his best
Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, --"Good am I deemed at trumpet-sound,
If Philip Mortham with them lie, And good where goblets dance the round,
Lending his life-blood to the dye ?Thongh gentle ne'er was joined, till now,
Sit, then! and as 'mid comrades free With rugged Bertram's breast and brow.
Carousing after victory, But I resame. The battle's rage
When tales are told of blood and fear, Was like the strife which currents wage,
That boys and women shrink to hear, Where Orinoco, in his pride,
From point to point I frankly tell
The deed of death as it befell,
" When purposed vengeance I forego, The billows fling their foam to heaven,
Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe;
Be parcels hee warno
And when an insult I forgive.
1 As my spur pressed my courser's side, Then brand me as a slave, and live!
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried. Philip of Mortham is with those
And, ere the charging squadrons mixed, Whoin Bertram Pisingham calls foes ;
His plea was cast, his doom was fixed. Or whom more sure revenge attends,
I watched him through the doubtful fray, If numbered with ungrateful friends.
That changed as March's moody day, As was his wont, ere battle glowed,
Till, like a stream that burst its bank, Along the marshalled ranks he rode,
Fierce Rupert thundered on our flank: And wore his visor up the while.
'Twas then, 'midst tumult, smoke, and strife, I saw his melancholy smile,
Where each man fought for death or life, When, full opposed in front, he knew
'Twas then I fired my petronel, Where ROKEBY's kindred banner flew.
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. "And thus,' he said, will friends divide!'
One dying look he upward cast, I heard, and thought how, side by side,
Of wrath and anguish-'twas his last. We two had turned the battle's tide,
Think not that there I stopped to view In many a well debated field,
What of the battle should ensue; Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. But ere I cleared that bloody press, I thought on Darien's deserts pale,
Our northern horse ran masterless : Where death bestrides the evening gule,
Monckton and Mitton told the news, How o'er my friend my cloak I threw,
How troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse, And fencless faced the deadly dew:
And inany a bonny Scot, aghast, I thought on Quari111's cliff,
Spurring his palfrey northward, passed, Where, rescued from our foundering skilf, Cirsing the day when zeal or meed Through the white breakers' wrath I bore
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. Exhausted Mortham to the shore;
Yet when I reached the banks of Swale, And when his side an arrow found,
Had rumour learned another tale; I sucked the Indian's venomed wound.
With his barbed horse, fresh tidings say, These thoughts like torrents rushed along,
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day; To sweep away my purpose strong.
But whether false the news, or true,
Oswald, I reck as light as yon." XVII. “ Hearts are not flint, and fints are rent:
XX. Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent.
Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, When Mortham bade me, as of yore,
How his pride startled at the tone Be near him in the battle's roar,
In which his complice, fierce and free, I scarcely saw the spears laid low,
Asserted guilt's equality. I scarcely heard the trumpets blow;
In smoothest terms his speech he wove, Lost was the war in inward strife,
Of endless friendship, faith, and love; Debating Mortham's death or life.
Promised and vowed in couteous sort, 'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come,
But Bertram broke professions short. As partner of his wealth and home,
* Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay, Years of piratic wandering o'er,
No, scarcely till the rising day: With him I sought our native shore.
Warned by the legends of my youth, But Mortham's iord grew far estranged
I trust not an associate's truth. From the bold heart with whom he ranged;
Do not my native dales prolong Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears,
Of Percy Rede the tragic song, Saddened and dimmed descending years;
Trained forward to his bloody fall, The wily priests their victim sought,
By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall ? And damned each free-born deed and thought.
oft, by the Pringle's haunted side, Then must I seek another home,
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. My licence shook his sober dome:
And near the spot that gave me name, If gold he gave, in one wild day
The monted mound of Risingham, I revelled thrice the sum away.
Where Reed upon her margin sees An idle outcast then I strayed,
Sweet Woodburn's cottages and trees, Unfit for tillage or for trade.
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown Deemed, like the steel of rusted lance,
An outlaw's image on the stone: Useless and dangerous at once.
Unmatched in strength, a giant he, The women feared my hardy look,
With quivered back, and kirtled knee. At my approach the peaceful shook :
Ask how he died, that hunter bold, The merchant saw my glance of flame,
The tameless monarch of the wold, And locked his hoards when Bertram came;
And age and infancy can tell, Each child of coward peace kept far
By brother's treachery he feü.--
This warned by legends of my youth,
I trust to no associate's truth. * But civil discord gave the call,
“When last we reasoned of this deed, Ilis vassals to the fight to train.
Nought. I bethink me, was agreed, What guerdon waited on my care?
Or by what rule, or when, or where, I could not cant of creed or prayer;
The wealth of Mortham we should share: Sour fanatics each trust obtained,
Then list, while I the portion name, And I, dishonoured and disdained,
Our differing laws give cach to claim. Gained but the high and happy lot,
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne, In these poor arms to front the shot!-
Her rules of heritage must own; All this thou know'st, thy gestnres tell;
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well.
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair, 'Tis honour bids me now relate
And these I yield do thon revere Each circumstance of Mortham's fate.
The statutes of the buccaneer.
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn xix.
To all that on her waves are borne, * Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part, When falls a mate in battle broil, Glance quick as lightning through the heart. i His comrade heirs his portioned spoil;
The differing worn to List ow!
lice and and diams.cavera
When dies in fight a daring foe,
In Deepdule's solitude to lie,
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak,
Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark ;
Such was he wont; and there his dream Ingot of gold and diamond spark,
Soared on some wild fantastic theme, Chalice and plate from churches borne,
Of faithful love, or ceaseless Spring, And gems from shrieking beauty torn,
Till Contemplation's wearied wing Each string of pearl, each silver bar,
The enthusiast could no more sustain, And all the wealth of western war.
And sad he sunk to earth again.
He loved-as many a lay can tell, The heir will scarce find entrance free;
Preserved in Staninore's lonely dell: And then farewell. I haste to try
For his was minstrel's skill, he caught Each wearied pleasure wealth can buy ;
The art unteachable, untaught; When cloyed each wish, these wars afford
He loved-his soul did nature frame Fresh work for Betram's restless sword."
For love, and fancy nursed the flame:
Vainly he loved-for seldom swain
Of such soft mould is loved again ;
Silent he loved-in every gaze On Oswald's hesitating tongue.
Was passion, friendship in his phrase. Despite his craft, he heard with awe
So mused his life away-till dled This ruffian stabber fix the lawl:
His brethren all, their father's pride. While his own troubled pussions veer,
Wilfrid is now the only heir Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear;
Of all his stratagems and care, Joyed at the soul that Bertram flies,
And destined, darkling, to pursue
Ambition's inaze by Oswald's clue.
Wilfrid must love and woo the bright To cowardice and craft so dear,
Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight. "His charge," he said, "would ill allow
To love her was an easy hest, His absence from the fortress now :
The secret empress of his breast; WILFRID on Bertram should attend,
To woo her was a harder task His son should journey with his friend."
To one that durst not hope or ask.
Yet all Matilda could, she gave
In pity to her gentle slave:
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, And wreathed to savage smile his frown.
And praise, the poet's best reward! " Wilfrid, or thou-'tis one to me,
She read the tales his taste approved, Whichever bears the golden key.
And sung the lays he framed or loved; Yet think not but I mark, and smile
Yet, loth to nurse the fatal flame To mark thy poor and selfish wile !
Of hopeless love in friendship's name, If injury from me you fear,
In kind caprice she oft withdrew What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here?
The favouring glance to friendship que, I've sprung from walls more high than these,
Then grieved to see her victim's pain,
And gave the dangerous smiles again.
So did the suit of Wilfred stand, But, if it were, weak fence were thine;
When war's loud summons waked the laná. And, trust me, that, in time of need,
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, This hand hath done more desperate deed.
The woe-foreboding peasant sees; Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son;
In concert of they braved of old Time calls, and I must needs be gone."
The bordering Scot's incursion bold;
Frowning defiance in their pride,
Their vassals now and lords divide.
From his fair hall on Greta banks, Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart
The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks, A heart, too soft from early life
To aid the valiant northern Earls To hold with fortune needful strife.
Who drew the sword for royal Charles; His sire, while yet a hardier race
Mortham, by marriage near allied, Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace,
His sister had been Rokeby's bride, On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand,
Though long before the civil fray, For feeble heart and forceless hand;
In peaceful grave the lady lay,-. Bnt a fond mother's care and joy
Philip of Mortham raised his hand, Were centred in her sickly hoy.
And marched at Fairfax's command: No touch of childhood's frolic inood
While Wycliffe, bound by many a train Showed the elastic spring of blood;
Of kindred heart with wily Vane, Hour after honr he loved to pore
Less prompt to brave the bloody field, On Shakspere's rich and varied lore,
Made Barnard's battlements his shield. But turned from martial scenes and light,
Secured them with his Lunedale powers, From Falstaff's feast and Percy's fight,
And for the Commons held the towers. To ponder Jaques' moral strain,
XXIX. And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain;
The lovely heir of Rokeby's knight And weep himself to soft repose
Waits in the halls the event of fight: O'er gentle Desdemona's woes.
For England's war revered the claim. xxv.
Of every unprotected name, In youth he songht not pleasures found
And spared, amid its fiercest rage, By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound,
Childhood and womanhood and age. But loved the quiet joys that wake
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, By lonely stream and silent lake;
Must the dear privilege forego,
Band hand had sou mu
By Greta's side, in evening gray,
XXXII. To steal upon Matilda's way,
More wouldst thou know-yon tower survey, Striving, with fond hypocrisy,
Yon couch unpressed since parting day, For careless step and vacant eye;
Yon untrimmed lamp, whose yellow gleam, Calming each anxious look and glance,
Is mingling with the cold moonbeam, To give the meeting all to chance,
And yon thin form!--the hectic red Or framing as a fair excuse,
On his pale cheek unequal spread; The book, the pencil, or the muse;
The head reclined, the loosened hair, Something to give, to sing, to say,
The limbs relaxed, the mournful air. Some modern tale, some ancient lay.
See, he looks upå wocful smile Then, while the longed-for minutes last,
Lightens his woe-worn cheek a while, Ah! minutes quickly over-passed !
'Tis Fancy wakes some idle thought, Recording each expression free,
To gild the ruin she has wrought; Of kind or careless courtesy,
For, like the bat of Indian brakes, Each friendly look, each softer tone,
Her pinions fan the wound she makes, As food for fancy when alone.
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain, All this is o'er-but still, unseen,
She drinks his life-blood from the yei. Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green,
Now to the lattice turn his eyes, To watch Matilda's wonted round,
Vain hope! to see the sun arise. While springs his heart at every sound.
The moon with clonds is still o'ercast; She comes!-'tis but a passing sight,
Btill howls by fits the stormy blast; Yet serves to cheat his weary night;
Another hour must wear away, She comes not-He will wait the hour,
Ere the East kindle into day, When her lamp lightens in the tower;
And, hark! to waste that weary hour, 'Tis something yet, if. as she passed,
He tries the minstrel's magic power. Her shade is o'er, the lattice cast. " What is my life, my hope?" he said ;
TO THE MOON.
Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, For mastery in vain with love.
Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky! Forcing upon his thoughts the sum
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream Of present woe and ills to come,
Lend to thy brow their sullen dye! While still he turned impatient ear
How should thy pure and peaceful eye From Truth's intrusive voice severe.
Untroubled view our scenes below, Gentle, indifferent, and subdued,
Or how a tearless beam supply In all but this, unmoved he viewed,
To light a world of war and woe!
Fair Queen! I will not blame thee no
As once by Greta's fairy side;
Each little cloud that dimmed thy bro With one fair form to grace his side,
Did then an angel's beauty hide. Or, in some wild and lone retreat,
And of the shades I then could chide, Flung her high spells around his seat,
Still are the thoughts to memory dear, Bathed in her dews his languid head,
For, while a softer strain I tried, Her fairy mantle o'er him spread:
They hid my blush, and calmed my fear. For him her opiates gave to flow,
Then did I swear thy ray serene Which he who tastes, can ne'er forego,
Was formed to light some lonely delle due And placed him in her circle, free
By two fond lovers only seen, From every stern reality,
Reflected from the crystal well, Till to the Visionary, seem
Or sleeping on their mossy cell,
iu Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream.
Or quivering on the lattice bright,
Or glancing on their couch, to tell
How swiftly wanes the summer night! Winning from Reason's hand the reins,
XXXIV. Pity and woe! for such a mind
He starts--a step at this lone hour! Is soft, contemplative, and kind;
A voice!-his father seeks the tower, And woe to those who train such youth,
With haggard look and troubled sense, in And spare to press the rights of truth,
Fresh from his dreadful conference. The mind to strengthen and anneal,
“ Wilfrid !--what, not to sleep addressed? While on the stithy glows the steel!
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest, O teach him, while your lessons last
Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor: 1132 To judge the present by the past;
Bertram brings warrant to secure
! Remind him of each wish pursued,
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, How rich it glowed with promised good;
For the state's use and public good. Remind him of each wish enjoyed,
The menials will thy voice obey;...! !!! How soon his hopes possession cloyed!
Let his commission have its way, it Tell him, we play unequal game,
In every point, in every word." Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim;
Then, in a whisper,-"Take thy sword ! : And, ere he strip him for her race,
Bertram is-what I must not tell. Show the conditions of the chase.
I hear his hasty step-farewell!" C
th, Two Sisters by the goal are set, Cold Disappointment and Regret. One disenchants the winner's eyes, And strips of all its worth the prize.
CANTO SECOND. Ang While one augments its gaudy show, More to enhance the loser's woe. The victor sees his fairy gold,
FAR in the chambers of the west,
ut", Transformed, when won, to drossy mold,
The gale had sighed itself to rest; But still the vanquished mourns his loss,
The moon was cloudless now and clear, And rues, as gold, that glittering dross.
But pale, and soon to disappear.
Each then a hade