XXVIII.

What 'vailed it him, that brightly played
The morning sun on Mortham's glade?
All seems in giddy round to ride,
Like objects on a stormy tide,
Seen eddying by the moonlight dim,
Imperfectly to sink and swim.
What 'vailed it, that the fair domain,
Its battled mansion, hill and plain,
On which the sun so brightly shone,
Envied so long, was now his own?
The lowest dungeon, in that hour,
of Brackenbury's dismal tower,

Had been his choice, could such a doom
Have opened Mortham's bloody tomb!
Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear
To each surmise of hope or fear,
Murmured among the rustics round,
Who gathered at the 'larum sound,
He dared not turn his head away,
Even to look up to heaven to pray,
Or call on hell, in bitter mood,
For one sharp death-shot from the wood!

XXIX.

At length o'erpassed that dreadful space,
Back straggling came the scattered chase;
Jaded and weary, horse and man,
Returned the troopers, one by one.
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say,
All trace was lost of Bertram's way,
Though Redmond still, up Brignal wood
The hopeless quest in vain pursued.—
O, fatal doom of human race!
What tyrant passions passions chase!
Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone,
Avarice and pride resume their throne;
The pang of instant terror by,

They dictate thus, their slave's reply.

XXX.

"Ay-let him range like hasty hound!
And if the grim wolf's lair be found,
Small is my care how goes the game
With Redmond or with Risingham.
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy!
Thy fair Matilda, all so coy
To thee, is of another mood
To that bold youth of Erin's blood.
Thy ditties will she freely praise,

And pay thy pains with courtly phrase;
In a rough path will oft command--
Accept at least-thy friendly hand;
His she avoids, or, urged and prayed,
Unwilling takes his proffered aid.
While conscious passion plainly speaks
In downcast look and blushing cheeks.
Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh,
And all her soul is in her eye,
Yet doubts she still to tender free
The wonted words of courtesy.

These are strong signs!-yet wherefore sigh,
And wipe, effeminate, thine eye?
Thine shall she be, if thou attend
The counsels of thy sire and friend.
XXXI.

"Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light
Brought genuine news of Marston's fight.
Brave Cromweli turned the doubtful tide,
And conquest blessed the rightful side;
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead,
Rupert and that bold Marquis fled;
Nobles and knights, so proud of late,
Must fine for freedom and estate.
Of these, committed to my charge,
Is Rokeby, prisoner at large;
Redmond, his page, arrived to say
He reaches Barnard's towers to-day.
Right heavy shall his ransom be,
Unless that maid compound with thee!
Go to her now-be bold of cheer,

While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear:

It is the very change of tide,
When best the female heart is tried-
Pride, prejudicé, and modesty,
Are in the current swept to sea;
And the bold swain, who plies his oar,
May lightly row his bark to shore."

CANTO THIRD.

I.

THE hunting tribes of air and earth
Respect the brethren of their birth;
Nature, who loves the claim of kind,
Less cruel chase to each assigned.
The falcon, poised on soaring wing,
Watches the wild-duck by the spring;
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair;
They greyhound presses on the hare;
The eagle pounces on the lamb;
The wolf devours the fleecy dam;
Ev'n tiger fell, and sullen bear,
Their likeness and their lineage spare.
Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan,
And turns the fierce pursuit on man;
Plying war's desultory trade,
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade,
Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son,
At first the bloody game begun.

II.

The Indian, prowling for his prey,
Who hears the settlers track his way,
And knows in distant forest far
Camp his red brethren of the war;
He, when each double and disguise
To baffle the pursuit he tries.

Low crouching now his head to hide,
Where swampy streams through rushes glide,
Now covering with the withered leaves
The foot-prints that the dew receives;
He, skilled in every sylvan guile,
Knows not, nor tries, such various wile,
As Risingham, when on the wind
Arose the loud pursuit behind.
In Redesdale his youth had heard
Each art her wily dalesmen dared,
When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high,
To bugle rung and bloodhound's cry,
Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear,
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear;
And well his venturous life had proved
The lessons that his childhood loved.

III.

Oft had he shown, in climes afar,
Each attribute of roving war;
The sharpened ear, the piercing eye,
The quick resolve in danger nigh;
The speed, that in the flight or chase,
Outstripped the Charib's rapid race:
The steady brain, the sinewy limb,
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim;
The iron frame, inured to bear
Each dire inclemency of air,
Nor less confirmed to undergo
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe.
These arts he proved, his life to save
In 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
Tracked 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 stalked 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 drowned.
But if the forest verge he nears,

There trample steeds, and glininer 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 sylvan game.
'Twas then,-like tiger close beset
At every pass with toil and net,
'Countered 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, cowed
By brandished 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,
Climbed 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
Disordered 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 saddened 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 checked by fear,
And rising doubts keep transport down,
And anger lends a short-lived frown;

In that strange mood 'which maids approve
Even when they dare not call it love:
With every change his features played,
As aspens show the light and ahade.

VI.

Well Risingham young Redmond knew;
And much he marvelled that the crew, .
Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead,
Were by that Mörtham's foemen 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 couched 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 turned 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 venomed fang,
Instant to dart the deadly pang;
But if the intruders turn aside,
Away his coils unfolded glide,
And through the deep savanna wind,
Some undisturbed retreat to find.
VII.

But Bertram, as he backward drew,
And heard the loud pursuit renew,
And Redmond's halloo on the wind,
Oft mutter'd fn 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 gray 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 listened long with anxious heart,
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start,
And, while his wretched 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 mess 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 current's play,
He turned his weary eyes away,

To where the bank opposing showed

Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood.
One, prominent above the rest,

Reared to the sun its pale gray breast;
Around its broken summit grew
The hazle 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 torn,
Were mantled now by verdant thorn.
Such was the scene's wild majesty,
That filled stern Bertram's gazing eye.

Revenge on Wilfrid-on his sire

Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire!-
If, in such mood, (as legends say,
And well believed that simple day,)
The Enemy of Man has power
To profit by the evil hour,

Here stood a wretch, prepared to change
His soul's redemption for revenge!
But though his vows, with such a fire
Of earnest and intense desire

For vengeance dark and fell, were made,
As well might reach hell's lowest shade,"
No deeper clouds the grove embrowned,
No nether thunders shook the ground;
The demon knew his vassal's heart,
And spared temptation's needless art.

X.

Oft, mingled with the direful theme,
Came Mortham's form.-Was it a dream?
Or had he seen, in vision true,
That very Mortham whom he slew?
Or had in living flesh appeared

The only man on earth he feared ?-
To try the mystic cause intent,

His eyes, that on the cliff were bent,
'Countered at once a dazzling glance,

Like sunbeam flashed from sword or lance.
At once he started as for fight,

But not a foeman was in sight;
He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse,
He heard the river's sounding course;

The solitary woodlands lay,

As slumbering in the suminer ray.
He gazed, like lion roused, around,
Then sunk again upon the ground.
'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam,
Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream;
Then plunged him in 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 sald;
"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 razed with shame."--
"A shame I owe that hot O'Neale,
Who told his knight, in peevish zeal,
Of my maranding 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 watched with me in midnight dark,
To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park.

How think'st thou ?"-" Speak thy purpose out;
I love not mystery or doubt."-

XII.

"Then, list.-Not far there lurk a crew Of trusty comrades stanch and true,

Gleaned 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 waylaid,

Thy head at price-so say our spies,
Who range the valley in disguise.
Join then with us; though wild debate
And wrangling rend our infant state,
Each, to an equal loath to bow,

Will yield to chief renowned as thou."

XIII.

"Even now," thought Bertram, "passion stirred,

I called on hell, and hell has heard!
What lack I, vengeance to command,
But of stanch comrades such a band?
This Denzil, vowed 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 gray."-

Do thou," said Bertram, "lead the way."
Then muttered, "It is best make sure,
Guy Denzil's faith was never pure.'

He followed down the steep descent,

Then through the Greta's streams they went; And, when they reached the farther shore, They stood the lonely cliff before.

XIV.

With wonder Bertram heard within
The flinty rock a murmured din:

But when Guy pulled 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 lone,

Dark, winding through the living stone.
Here entered 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 hewed;"
And Brignal'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 drained
Still in his slumbering grasp retained;
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 showed. 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 has known,
To single out and mark her own;
Yet some there are, whose brows retain
Less deeply stamped her brand and stain.
See yon pale strippling! when a boy,
A mother's pride, a father'a joy!
Now 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined,
An early image fills his mind:

The cottage, once his sire's he sees,
Embowered 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 stirred 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 drowned.
And soon in merry wassail, he
The life of all their revelry,

Peals his loud sung!-The muse has found
Her blossoms on the wildest ground,
'Mid noxious weeds at random strewed,
Themselves all profitless and rude.--
With desperate merriment he sung,
The cavern to the chorus rung;
Yet mingled with his reckless glee
Remorse's bitter agony.

XVI.

SONG.

O, Brignal banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton-hall.
Beneath the turrets high,

A Maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily,-

CHORUS.

"O, Brignal banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen.'

"If maiden thou would'st wend with me,
To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we,
That dwell by dale and down:
And if thou canst that riddle read,

As read full well you may,
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
As blithe as Queen of May."-

CHORUS.

Yet sung she, "Brignal banks are fair,
And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen.

XVII.

"I read you, by your bugle-horn, And by your palfrey good,

I read you for a ranger sworn,
To keep the king's greenwood."-
"A ranger lady winds his horn,
And 'tis at peep of light;

His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night."

CHORUS.

Yet sung she, "Brignal banks are fair,
And Greta woods are gay;

I would I were with Edinund there,
To reign his Queen of May!

"With burnished 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 Brignal banks be fair,
And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare,
Would reign my Queen of May!"

XVIII.

"Maiden! a namelesd 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 bongh,
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.

CHORUS.

"Yet Brignal 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, designed, While still on Bertram's grasping mind The wealth of murdered Mortham hung; Though half he feared 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, trained in licence 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 repressed
The unbeliever's sneering jest.

""Twere hard," he said, "for sage or seer
To spell the subject of your fear;
Nor do I boast the art renowned,
Vision and omen to expound.
Yet, faith if I must needs afford
To spectre watching treasured hoard.
As ban-dog keeps his master's roof,
Bidding the plunderer stand aloof,
This doubt remains-thy goblin gaunt
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt;
For why his guard on Mortham hold,
When Rokeby castle hath the gold
Thy patron won on Indian soil,
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil?"-

XX.

At this he paused-for angry shame
Lowered on the brow of Risingham.
He blushed to think, that he should seem
Assertor of an airy dream,

And gave his wrath another theme.
"Denzil," he says, "though lowly laid,
Wrong not the memory of the dead;
For, while he lived, at Mortham's look
Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook!
And when he taxed thy breach of word
To yon fair Rose of Allenford,

I saw thee crouch like chastened hound,

Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found.
Nor dare to call his foreign wealth
The spoil of piracy or stealth;

He won it bravely with his brand,

When Spain raged warfare with our land.
Mark, too,-I brook no idle feer,
Nor couple Bertram's name with fear;
Mine is but half the demon's lot,
For I believe, but tremble not,-
Enough of this.-Say, why this hoard
Thou deem'st at Rokeby Castle stored.
Or think'st that Mortham would bestow
His treasure with his faction's foe ?"-

XXI.

Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-timed mirth;
Rather he would have seen the earth
Give to ten thousand spectres birth,

Than venture to awake to flame
The deadly wrath of Risingham.
Submiss he answered,-"Mortham's mind,
Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined.
In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free,

A lusty reveller was he;

But since returned from over sea,

A sullen and a silent mood

Hath numbed the current of his blood.
Hence he refused each kindly call
To Rokeby's hospitable hall,

And our stout Knight, at dawn of morn
Who loved to hear the bugle-horn,
Nor less, when eve his oaks embrowned,
To see the ruddy cup go round,
Took umbrage that a friend so near
Refused to share his chase and cheer;
Thus did the kindred barons jar,
Ere they divided in the war.
Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair
Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir."-
XXII.

"Destined to her! to yon slight maid!
The prize my life had well nigh paid,
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave
I fought, my patron's wealth to save!-
Denzil, I knew him long, but ne'er
Knew him that joyous cavalier,
Whom youthful friends and early fame
Called soul of gallantry and game.
A moody man, he sought our crew,
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew;
And rose, as men with us must rise,
By scorning life and all its ties.

On each adventure rash he roved,

As danger for itself he loved;

On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine;
Ill was the omen if he smiled,
For 'twas in peril stern and wild;

But when he laughed, each luckless mate
Might hold our fortune desperate.
Foremost he fought in every broil,
Then scornful turned him from the spoil;
Nay, often strove to bar the way
Between his comrades and their pray;
Preaching, e'en then, to such as we,
Hot with our dear-bought victory,
Of mercy and humanity!

XXIII.

"I loved him well-His fearless part,
His gallant leading, won my heart.
And after cach victorious fight,
"Twas I that wrangled for his right,
Redeemed his portion of the prey
That greedier mates had torn away:
In field and storm thrice saved his life.
And once amid our comrades' strife.-
Yes, I have loved thee! Well hath proved
My toil, my danger, how I loved!
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate,
Ingrate in life, in death ingråte.
Rise if thou canst!" he looked around,
And sternly stamped upon the ground-
"Rise, with thy bearing proud and high,
E'en as this morn it met mine eye,
And give me, if thou darest, the lie!"
He paused-then, calm and passion-freed,
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed.
XXIV.

"Bertram, to thee I need not tell,
What thou hast cause to wot so well,
How Superstition's nets were twined
Around the Lord of Mortham's mind;
But since he drove thee from his tower,
A maid he found in Greta's bower,
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway
To charm his evil fiend away.

I know not if her features moved
Remembrance of the wife he loved:

But he would gaze upon her eye,
Till his mood softened to a sighi.
He, whom no living mortal sought
To question of his secret thought,
Now every thought and care confessed
To his fair niece's faithtul breast;
Nor was there aught of rich and rare,
In earth, in ocean, or in air,
But it must deck Matilda's hair.
Her love still bound him unto life;
But then awoke the civil strife,
And menials bore, by his commands,
Three coffers, with their iron bands,
From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep,
To her lone bower in Rokeby-keep.
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride-
His gift, if he in battle died."-

XXV.

"Then, Denzil, as I guess, lays train,
These iron-banded chests to gain;
Else, wherefore should he hover here,
Where many a peril waits him near,
For all his feats of war and peace,

For plundered boors, and harts of greece ?"*
Since through the hamlets as he fared,
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared,-
Or where the chase that hath not rung
With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung?"
"I hold my wont-my rangers go
E'en now to track a milk-white doe.
By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair,
In Greta woods she harbours fair,"
And when my huntsman marks her way,
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey?
Were Rokeby's daughter in our power,
We rate her ransom at her dower."-

XXVI.

""Tis well!-there's vengeance in the thought, Matilda is by Wilfrid sought;

And hot-brained Redmond, too, 'tis said,
Pays lover's homage to the maid.
Bertram she scorned-if met by chance,

She turned from me her shuddering glance,
Like a nice dame, that will not brook
On what she hates and loathes to look;
She told to Mortham she could ne'er
Behold me without secret fear,
Foreboding evil:-she may rue
To find her prophecy fall true!-
The war has weeded Rokeby's train,
Few followers In his halls remain;
If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold,
We are enow to storm the hold,
Bear off the plunder, and the dame,
And leave the castle all in flame."-

XXVII.

"Still art thou Valour's venturous son!
Yet ponder first the risk to run:
The menials of the castle, true,
And stubborn to their charge, though few;
The wall to scale-the moat to cross-

The wicket-grate-the inner fosse
"Fool! if we blench for toys like these,
On what fair guerdon can we seize?

Our hardiest venture, to explore

Some wretched peasant's fenceless door,
And the best prize we bear away,
The earnings of his sordid day."
"A while thy hasty taunt forbear:
In sight of road more sure and fair,

Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath,
Or wantonness, a desperate path?
List, then-for vantage or assault,
From gilded vane to dungeon vault,
Each pass of Rokeby-house I know:
There is one postern, dark and low,
That issues at a secret spot,
By most neglected or forgot.

* Deer in season.