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Four or five persons, whether relations or Jovers of his The author requests permission yet farther to verify mistress is uncertain, beset the disguised monarch, as the subject of his poem, by an extract from the geneahe returned from his rendezvous. Naturally gallant, logical work of Buchanan of Auchmar, upon Scottish and an admirable master of his weapon, the king took surnames. post on the high and narrow bridge over the Almond « This John Buchanan of Auchmar and Arnpryor river, and defended himself bravely with his sword. A was afterwards termed King of Kippen,' upon the folpeasant, who was threshing in a neighbouring barn, lowing account: King James V., a very sociable, decame out upon the noise, and, whether moved by com- bonair prince, residing at Stirling, in Buchanan of passion or by natural gallantry, took the weaker side, Arnpryor's time, carriers were very frequently passing and laid about with his flail so effectually, as to dis- along the common road, being near Arnpryor's house, perse the assailants, well threshed, even according to withi necessaries for the use of the king's family; and the letter. He then conducted the king into his barn, he, having some extraordinary occasion, ordered one of where his guest requested a basin and towel, to remove these carriers to leave his load at his house, and he the stains of the broil. This being procured with would pay him for it; which the carrier refused to do, difficulty, James employed himself in learning what telling him he was the king's carrier, and his load for was the summit of his deliverer's earthly wishes, and his majesty's use; to which Arnpryor seemed to have found that they were bounded by the desire of possess- small regard, compelling the carrier, in the end, to ing, in property, the farm of Braehead, upon which leave his load; telling him, if King James was king of he laboured as a bondsman The lands chanced to Scotland, he was king of Kippen, so that it was reasonbelong to the crown: and James directed him to come able he should share with his neighbour king in some to the palace of Holyrood, and enquire for thé Gude- of these loads, so frequently carried that road. The man (i. e. farmer) of Ballanguich, a name by which he carrier representing this usage, and telling the story, was known in his excursions, and which answered to as Arnpryor spoke it, to some of the king's servants, the Il Bondocani of Haroun Alraschid. He presented it came at length to his majesty's ears, who, shortly himself accordingly, and found, with due astonish- thereafter, with a few attendants, came to visit his ment, that he had saved his monarch's life, and that neighbour king, who was in the mean time at dinner. he was to be gratified with a crown-charter of the King James having sent a servant to demand access, lands of Braehead, under the service of presenting an was denied the same by a tall fellow with a battleewer, basin, and towel, for the king to wash his hands, axe, who stood porter at the gate, telling, there could be when he sball happen to pass the Bridge of Cramond. no access till dinner was over. This answer not satisThis person was ancestor of the Howisoris of Brae- fying the king, he sent to demand access a second time; head, in Mid-Lothian, a res table family, who con upon which he was desired by the 'porter to desist, tinue to hold the lands (now passed into the female otherwise he would find cause to repent his rudeness. line) under the same tenure.

His majesty finding this method would not do, desired Another of James's frolics is thus narrated by Mr the porter to tell his master that the goodman of Campbell, from the Statistical Account, « Being once Ballageigh desired to speak with the king of Kippen. benighted when out a-hunting, and separated from his The porter telling Aropryor so much, he, in all humble attendants, he happened to enter a cottage in the manner, came and received the king, and having entermidst of a moor, at the foot of the Ochil hills, near tained him with much sumptuousness and jollity, beAlloa, where, unknown, he was kindly received. In

came so a greeable to King James, that he allowed him to order to regale their unexpected guest, the gudeman take so much of any provision he found carrying that (e. i. landlord, farmer,) desired the gudewife to fetch road as he had occasion for ; and seeing he made the the hen that roosted nearest the cock, which is always first visit, desired Arnpryor in a few days to return the plumpest, for the stranger's supper. The king, him a second to Stirling, which he performed, and highly pleased with his night's lodging and hospitable continued in very much favour with the king, always entertainment, told mine host, at parting, that he thereafter being termed king of Kippen while he should be glad to return his civiltly, and requested lived.»—BUCHANAN's Essay upon the family of Buchathat the first time lie came to Stirling he would call at nan.

Edin. 1775, 8vo. P: 74. the castle, and enquire for the gudeman of Ballengnich. The readers of Ariosto must give credit for the amiDonaldson, the landlord, did not fail to call on the able features with which he is represented, since he is gudeman of Ballenguich, when his astonishment al generally considered as the prototype of Zerbino, the finding that the king had been his guest afforded no most interesting hero of the Orlando Furioso. small amusement to the merry monarch and his cour

Notc 6. Stanza xxviii. tiers; and, to carry on the pleasantry, he was thenceforth designated by James with the title of King of the

Stirling's Tower

the name of Snowdoun claims. Moors, which name and designation have descended from father to son ever since, and they have continued

William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle in possession of the identical spot, the property of Mr of the fifteenth century, calls Stirling Castle Snowdoun. Erskine of Mar, till very lately, when this gentleman, Sir David Lindsay bestows the same epithet upon it in with reluctance, turned out the descendant and

repre

his Complaint of the Papiny. sentative of the King of the Moors, on account of his Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with iby towers high, majesty's invincible indolence, and great dislike to re

Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round: form or innovation of any kind, although, from the

May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee,

Were I a man, to hear the birdis sound, spirited example of his neighbour tenants on the same

Whilk doth again' thy royal rock rebound. estate, he is convinced similar exertion would promote his advantage.»

I A small district of Perthsbire.

or

уоге

Mr Chalmers, in bis late excellent edition of Sir his private excursions, was the Goodman of BallenDavid Lindsay's works, has refuted the chimerical de guich; derived from a steep pass leading up to the Castle rivation of Snawdoun from snedding, or cutting. It of Stirling, so called. Buidhe epithet would not have was probably derived from the romantic legend which suited poetry, and would besides at once, and preconnected Stirling with King Arthur, to which the maturely, have announced the plot to many of my mention of the Round Table gives countenance. The countrymen, among whom the traditional stories above ring within which justs were formerly practised, in the mentioned are still current. castle park, is still called the Round Table. Snawdoun is the official title of one of the Scottish heralds, whose epithets seem in all countries to have been fan The Author has to apologise for the inadvertent tastically adopted from ancient history or romance. appropriation of a whole line from the tragedy of

It appears from the preceding note, that the real | Douglas, name by which James was actually distinguished in

I bold the first who strikes, my foe.

Rokeby;

A POEM,

IN SIX CANTOS.

TO JOHN B. S. MORRITT, ESQ.

This Poem,

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF ROKEBY,

IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP,

BY WALTER SCOTT.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Scene of the Poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta-bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjacent fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that vicinity.

The time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three of which are supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and beginning of the Sixth Canto.

The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great Battle of Marston-moor, 3d July, 1644. This period of public confusion has been chosen, without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the Fictitious Narrative now presented to the Public.

When conscience, with remorse and fear,
Goads sleeping fancy's wild career.
Her light seem'd now the blush of shame,
Seem'd now fierce anger's darker flame,
Shifting that shade, to come and go,
Like apprehension's hurried glow;
Then sorrow's livery dims the air,
And dies in darkness, like despair.
Such varied hues the warder sees
Reflected from the woodland Tees,
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth,
Sees the clouds mustering in the north,
Hears, upon turret-roof and wall,
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall,
Lists to the breeze's boding sound,
And wraps his shaggy mantle round.

II.
Those towers, which in the changeful gleam
Throw murky shadows on the stream,
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest,
The emotions of whose troubled breast,
In wild and strange confusion driven,
Rival the flitting rack of heaven.
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied,
Oft had he changed his weary side,
Composed his limbs, and vainly sought
By effort strong to banish thought.
Sleep came at length, but with a train
Of feelings true and fancies vain,
Mingling, in wild disorder cast,
The expected future with the past.

ROKEBY

CANTO I.

I.
Tu moon is in her summer glow,
But hoarse and high the breezes blow,
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud
Varies the tincture of her shroud;
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream, (1)
She changes as a guilty dream,

And the buff coat, in ample fold, Mantles his form's gigantic mould. (3) Full slender auswer deigned he To Oswald's anxious courtesy, But mark'd, by a disdainful smile, He saw and scornd the petty wile, When Oswald changed the torch's place, Anxious that on the soldier's face Its partial lustre might be thrown, To show his looks, yet hide his own. His guest, the while, laid slow aside The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide, And to the torch glanced broad and clear The corslet of a cuirassier. Then from his brows the casque he drew, And from the dank plume dash'd the dew, From gloves of mail relieved his hands, And spread them to the kindling brands, And, turning to the genial board, Without a health, or pledge, or word Of meet and social reverence said, Decply he drank, and fiercely fed ; As free from ceremony's sway, As famish'd wolf that tears his prey.

Conscience, anticipating time,
Already rues the unacted crime,
And calls her furies forth to shake
The sounding scourge and hissing snake;
While her poor victim's outward throes
Bear witness to his mcntal woes,
And show what tesson may be read
Beside a sinner's restless bed.

III.
Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace
Strange changes in his sleeping face,
Rapid and ominous as these
With which the moon-beams tinge the Tees.
There might be seen of shame the blush,
There anger's dark and fiercer flush,
While the perturbed sleeper's hand
Seem'd grasping dagger-knife or brand.
Relax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh,
The tear in the half-opening eye,
The pallid cheek and brow, confess'd
That grief was busy in his breast;
Nor paused that mood—a sudden start
Impell’d the life-blood from the heart;
Features convulsed, and mutterings dread,
Show terror reigos in sorrow's stead;
That pang the painful slumber broke,
And Oswald, with a start, awoke.

IV.
He woke, and fear'd again to close
His eye-lids in such dire repose;
He woke,- to watch the lamp, and tell
From hour to hour the castle-bell,
Or listen to the owlet's cry,
Or the sad brecze that whistles by,
Or cateh, by fits, the luneless rhyme
With which the warder cheats the time,
And envying think how, when the sun
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done,
Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free,
He sleeps like careless infancy.

V.
Far townward sounds a distant tread,
And Oswald, starting from his bed,
Hath caught it, though no human ear,
Unsharpened by revenge and fear,
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, (2)
Until it reach'd the castle-bank.
Now nigh and plain the sound appears,
The warder's challenge now be hears.
Then clanking chains and levers tell,
That o'er the moat the draw-bridge fell,
And, in the castle-court below,
Voices are heard, and torches glow,
As marshalling the stranger's way,
Straight for the room where Oswald lay;
The cry was,- « Tidings from the host,
Of weight-a messenger comes post.»
Stilling the tumult of his breast,
His answer Oswald thus express'd-
« Bring food and wine, and trim the fire;
Admit the stranger, and retire.»-

VI.
The stranger came with heavy stride:
The morion's plumes his visage lide,

VII. With deep impatience, tinged with fear, His host beheld him

gorge

his cheer,
And quaff the full carouse, that lent
His brow a Gercer hardiment.
Now Oswald stood a space aside,
Now paced the room with hasty stride,
In feverish agony to learn
Tidings of deep and dread concern,
Cursing each moment that his guest
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast.
Yet, viewing with alarm, at last,
The end of that uncouth repast,
Almost he seem'd their haste to rue,
As, at his sign, his train withdrew,
And left him with the stranger,

free
To question of his mystery.
Then did his silence long proclaim
A struggle between fear and shame.

VIII. Much in the stranger's mien appears, To justify suspicious fears. On his dark face a scorching clime, And toil, had done the work of time, (4) Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared, And sable hairs with silver shared, Yet left-what age alone could tameThe lip of pride, the eye

of Name, The full-drawn lip that upward curld, The eye, that seem'd to scorn the world. That lip had terror never blanch'd; Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quench'd The flash severe of swartlıy glow, That mock'd at pain, and knew not woe; Toured to danger's direst form, Tornade and carthquake, flood and storm, Death had be seen by sudden blow, By wasting plague, by tortures slow, By mine or breach, by steel or ball, knew all his shapes, and scorn'd them all.

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay,
And must have fought-how went the day?»—

XII. « Wouldst hear the tale?-On Marston heath Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; (5) Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and now, Fired was each eye, and flush'd each brow; On either side loud clamours ring, "God and the Cause!–God and the King! Right English all, they rush'd to blows, With nought to win, and all to lose. I could have laugh'd—but lack'd the timeTo see, in phrenesy sublime, How the fierce zealots fought and bled, For king or state, as humour led; Some for a dream of public good, Some for church-tippet, gown, and hood, Draining their veins, in death to claim A patriot's or a martyr's name.Led Bertram Risingham the hearts, That counter'd there on adverse parts, No superstitious fool had I Sought El Dorados in the sky! Chili had heard me through her states, And Lima oped her silver gates, Rich Mexico I had march'd through, And sack'd the splendours of Peru, Till sunk Pizarro's daring name, And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame!»-

Still from the purpose wilt thou stray! Good gentle friend, how went the day?»

IX. But yet, though Bertram's harden'd look, Unmoved, could blood and danger brook, Still worse than apathy had place On his swart brow and callous face; For evil passions, cherish'd long, Had plough'd them with impressions strong. All that gives gloss lo sin, all gay Light folly, pass'd with youth away, But rooted stood, in manhood's hour, The weeds of vice without their flower. And yet the soil in which they grew, 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 gentler feelings' kindlier tone; But lavish waste had been refined To bounty in his chasten d mind, And lust of gold, that waste to feed, Been lost in love of glory's meed, And, frantic then no more, his pride Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide.

X. Even now, by conscience unrestrain'd, Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter stain d, Sudl knew his daring soul to soar, And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; For meaner guilt, or heart less hard, Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard. And this felt Oswald, while in vain He strove, by many a winding train, To lure his sullen guest to show, Unask'd, the news he long'd to know, While on far other subject hung His heart, than falter'd from his congue. Yet nought for that his guest did deign To pote or spare his secret pain, But still, in stern and stubborn sort, Return'd him answer dark and short, Or started from the theme, to range In loose digression will and strange, And forced the embarrass'd host to buy, By query close, direct reply.

XI. Awhile he glozed upon the cause Of commons, covenant, and laws, And church reformid-but felt rebuke Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. Then stammer'd—« Has a field been fought? Has Bertram news of battle brought ? For sure a soldier, famed so far In foreign fields for feats of war, On eve of fight ne'er left the host, Until the field were won or lost.» « Here, in your towers by circling Tees, You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease; Why deem it strange that others come To share such safe and easy home, From fields where danger, death, and toil, Are the reward of civil broil ?»— Nay, mock not, friend! since well we know The near advances of the foe, To mar our northern army's work, Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York;

XIII.
--« Good am I deem'd at trumpet-sound,
And good where goblets dance the round,
Though gentle ne'er was joind, till now,
With rugged Bertram's breast and brow. -
But I resume.

The battle's rage
Was like the strife which currents wage,
Where Orinoco, in his pride,
Rolls to the main no tribute tide,
But 'gainst broad ocean urges far
A rival sea of roaring war;
While, in ten thousand eddies driven,
The billows fling their foam to lieaven.
And the pale pilot seeks in vain,
Where rolls the river, where the main.
Even thus, upon the bloody field,
The eddying tides of conflict wheeld
Ambiguous till that beart of flame,
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came,
Hurling against our spears a line
Of gallants, fiery as their wine;
Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal,
In zeal's despite began to reel.
What wouldst thou more?-in tumult tost,
Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost.
A thousand

men,

who drew the sword For both the Houses and the Word, Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and dowo, To curb the crosier and the crown, Now, stark and stiff, lie stretch'd in gore, And ne'er shall rail at mitre more.Thus fared it, when I left the fight, With the good cause and commons' right.»—

1

XIV. « Disastrous news !» dark Wycliffe said; Assumed despondence bent his head, While troubled joy was in his eye, The well-feign'd sorrow to belie.« Disastrous news !- when necded most, Told ye not that your chiefs were lost? Complete the woeful tale, and say, Who fell upon that fatal day; What leaders of repute and name Bought by their death a deathless fame. If such my direst foeman's doom, My tears shall dew his honour'd tomb.No answer?-Friend, of all our host, Thou know'st whom I should hate the most ; Whom thou too, once wert wont to hate, Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate.» With look unmoved, -« Of friend or foe, Aught,» answer'd Bertram, « wouldst thou know, Demand in simple terms and plain, A soldier's answer shalt thou gain; For question dark, or riddle highi, I have nor judgment nor reply.»--'

Philip of Mortham is with those
Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes;
Or whom more sure revenge attends,
If numbers with ungrateful friends.
As was his wont, ere battle glow'd,
Along the marsball'd ranks he rode,
And wore his vizor up the while.
I saw his melancholy smile,
When, full opposed in front, he knew
Where Rokeby's kindred banner flew.

And thus," he said, “will friends divide ! »–
I heard, and thought how, side by side,
We two had turn'd the battle's tide,
In many a well-debated field,
Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield.
I thought on Darien's deserts pale,
Where death bestrides the evening gale,
How o'er my friend my cloak I threw,
And fenceless faced the deadly dew;.
I thought on Quariana's cliff,
Where, rescued from our foundering skiff,
Through the white breakers' wrath I bore
Exhausted Mortham to the shore ;
And when his side an arrow found,
I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound.
These thoughts like torrents rush'd along,
To sweep away my purpose strong.

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

Wretch! hast thou paid thy bloody debt?
Puilip of Mortiam, lives he yet?
False to thy patron or thine oath,
Trait'rous or perjured, one or both,
Slave! hast thou kept thy promise plight,
To slay thy leader in the fight?»—
Then from his seat the soldier sprung,
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung;
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail,
Forced the red blood-drop from the nail-
« A health !» he cried; and, ere he quaffd,
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laugh'd:

-« Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart! Now play'st thou well thy genuine part! Worthy, but for thy craven fear, Like me to roam a buccaneer. What reck'st thou of the cause divine, If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine ? What carest thou for beleaguer'd York, If this good hand have done its work? Or what though Fairfax and his best Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, Jf Philip Mortham with them lie, Lending his life-blood to the dye ? Sit then! and as 'mid comrades free Carousing after victory, When tales are told of blood and fear, That boys and women shrink to hear, From point to point I frankly tell The deed of death 'as it befel.

XVII. « Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent; Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. When Mortham bade me, as of yore, Be near him in the battle's roar, I scarcely saw the spears laid low, I scarcely heard the trumpets blow; Lost was the war in inward strife, Debating Mortham's death or life. 'T was then I thought, how, lured to come As partner of his wealth and home, Years of piratic wandering o'er, With him I sought our native shore. But Mortham's lord grew far estranged From the bold hearts with whom he ranged; Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears, Sadden'd and dimmid descending years; The wily priests their victim sought, And damn'd each free-born deed and thought. Then must I seek another home, My license shook his sober dome; If gold he gave, in one wild day I revell'd thrice the sum away. An idle outcast then I stray'd, Unfit for tillage or for trade, Deemid, like the steel of rusted lance, Useless and dangerous at once. The women fear'd my hardy look, At my approach the peaceful shook ; The merchant saw my glance of flame, And lock'd his hoards when Bertram came; Each child of coward peace kept far From the neglected son of war.

XVI. « When purposed vengeance 1 forego, Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe; And when an insult I forgive, Then brand me as a slave, and live!

XVIII. « But civil discord gave the call, And made my trade the trade of all.

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