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.

Nor boasted, from their tinge when free,
The charm of regularity;
But every feature had the power
To aid the expression of the hour:
Whether gay wit, and humour sly,
Danced laughing in his light-blue eye;
Or bended brow, and glance of fire,
And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire;
Or soft and sadden'd glances show
Her ready sympathy with woe;
Or in that wayward mood of mind,
When various feelings are combined,
When joy and sorrow mingle near,
And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear,
And rising doubts keep transport down,
And anger lends a short-lived frown;
In that strange mood which maids approve,
Even when they dare not call it love,
With every change his features play'd,
As aspens show the light and shade.

VI. Well Risingham young Redmond knew; And much he marvell'd that the crew, Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, Were by that Mortham's 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 couch'd like bunted deer, The very boughs his steps displace, Rustled against the ruffian's face, Who, desperate, twice prepared to start, And plunge his dayger in his heart! But Redmond turn'd a different way, And the bent boughs resumed their sway, And Bertram held it wise, unseen, Deeper to plunge in coppice green. Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, When roving hunters beat the brake, Watches with red and glistening eye, Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, With forked tongue and venom'd fang Instant to dart the deadly pang; But if the intruders turn aside, Away his coils unfolded glide, And through the deep savannah wind, Some undisturb'd retreat to find.

He listen'd long with anxious heart,
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start,
And, while his stretch'd attention glows,
Refused his weary frame repose.
'T was silence all-hie laid him down,
Where purple heath profusely strown,
And throatwort with its azure bell, (4)
And moss and thyme his cushion swell.
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed
The course of Greta's playful tide,
Beneath her banks now eddying dun,
Now brightly gleaming to the sun,
As, dancing over rock and stone,
In yellow light her currents shone,
Matching in hue the favourite gem
Of Albyn's mountain

Then, tired to watch the current's play,
He turn'd his weary eyes away,
To where the bank opposing show'd
Its huge square cliffs through shacey wood.
One, prominent above the rest,
Reard to the sun its pale gray breast;
Around its broken summit

The hazel rude, and sable yew;
A thousand varied lichens dyed
Its waste and weather-beaten side,
And round its rugged basis lay, ,
By time or thunder rent away,
Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn,
Were mantled now by verdant thorn.
Such was the scene's wild majesty,
That filld stern Bertram's gazing eye.

VII. But Bertram, as he backward drew, And heard the loud pursuit renew, And Redmond's hollo on the wind, Oft mutter'd in his savage mind« Redmond O'Neale! were thou and I Alone this day's event to try, With not a second here to see, But the gray cliff and oaken-tree, That voice of thine, that shouts so lond, Should ne'er repeat its 'summons proud! Na! nor e'er try its melung power Again in maiden's summer bower.»--

IX. In sullen mood he lay reclined, Revolving, in his stormy mind, The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, His patron's blood by treason spilt; A crime, it seemd, so dire and dread, That it had power to wake the dead. Then pondering on his life betray'd By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, In treach'rous purpose to withhold, So seem'd it, Mortham's promised gold, A deep and full revenge he vow'd On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud; 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!(5) 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 embrown'd,
No nether thunders shook the ground;
The demon knew his vassal's heart,
And spared temptation's needless art.

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 appear'd
The only man on earth he feard?-
To try the mystic cause intent,
His eyes, that on the cliff were bent,
Counter'd at once a dazzling glance,
Like sun-beam flash'd 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 summer ray.
He gazed, like lion roused, around,
Then sunk again upon the ground.
'I was 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.»

Instant his sword was in his hand,
As instant sunk the ready brand;
Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood
To him that issued from ile wood:

Guy Denzil !—is it thou ?» he said;
« Do we two meet in Scargill shade! -
Stand back a space!—thy purpose show,
Whether thou comest as friend or foe.
Report hach 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 marauding on the clowns
Of Calverley and Bradford downs. (6)
I reck not. In a war to strive,
Where, save the leaders, none can thrive,
Suits ill my mood; and better game
Awaits us both, if thou 'rt the same
Unscrupulous, bold Risingham,
Who watch'd with me in midnight dark,
To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park.
How 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 staunch and true, Glean'd from both factions-Roundheads, freed From cant of sermon and of creed; And cavaliers, whose souls, like mine, Spurn at the bonds of discipline. Wiser we judge, by dalc 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 ranged the valley in disguise.
Join then with us: though wild debate
And wrangling rend our infant state,
Each, to an equal loth to bow;
Will yield to chief renown'd as thou.»—

« Even now,» thought Bertram, « passion-stirr'd,
I call'd on hell, and hell has heard !
What lack I, vengeance to command,
But of staunch comrades such a band!
This Denzil, vow'd to every evil,
Might read a lesson to the devil.
Well, be it so! each knave and fool
Shall serve as my revenge's tool.»»-
Aloud, «I take thy proffer, Guy,
But tell me where thy comrades lie.»-
« Not far from hence,» Guy Denzil said;
« Descend and cross the river's bed,
Where rises yonder cliff so gray.”
«Do thou,» said Bertram, « lead the way.»
Then mutter'd, « It is best make sure;
Guy Denzil's faith was never pure.»
He follow'd down the steep descent,
Then through the Greta's streams they went,
And, when they reach'd the farther shore,
They stood the lonely cliff before:

With wonder Bertram heard within
The flinty rock a murmur'd din;
But when Guy pulld 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.
Ilere enter'd Devzil, Bertram here,
And loud and louder on their ear,
As from ihe bowels of the earth,
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth.
Of old, the cavern strait and rude
In slaty rock the peasant hew'd;
And Brignal's woods, and Scargill's, wave
E'en now o'er many a sister cave,(7)
Where, far within the darksome rift,
The wedge and lever ply their thrift.
But war had silenced rural trade,
And the deserted mine was made
The banquet-hall, and fortress too,
Of Denzil and his desperate crew.
There Guilt his anxious revel kept;
There on his sordid pallet slept
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd
Still in his slumbering grasp retain'd:
Regret was there, his eye still cast
With váin repining on the past;
Among the feasters waited near,
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear,

Yet sung she, « Brignal banks are fair,

And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,

Than reign our English queen.

« I read you, by your bugle-horn,

And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a ranger sworn,

To keep the king's green-wood.»— « A ranger, lady, winds his horn,

And 't is at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,

And mine at dead of night.»


And Blasphemy, to frenzy drin,
With his own crimes reproaching Heaven;
While Bertram show'd, amid the crew,
The master-fiend that Milton drew.

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 hath known
To single out and mark her own!
Yet some there are, whose brows retain
Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain.
See yon pale stripling! when a boy,
A mother's pride, a father's joy!
Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined,
An early image fills his mind:
The cottage, once his sire's, he sees,
Embower'd upon the banks of Tees;
He views sweet Winton's woodland scene,
And shares the dance on Gainford-green.
A tear is springing-but the zest
Of some wild tale, or brutal jest,
Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest.
On him they call, the aptest mate
For jovial song and merry feat;
Fast tlies his dream-with dauntless air,
As one victorious o'er despair,
He bids the ruddy cup go round,
Till sense and sorrow both are drown'd,
And soon in merry wassail he,
The life of all their revelry,
Peals his loud song!- The Musc has found
Her blossoms on the wildest ground,
'Mid noxious weeds at random strewd,
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.

Yet sung she, « Brignal banks are fair,

And Greta woods are gay;
I would I were with Edmund there,

To reign his queen of May!

« With burnish'd brand and musquetoon,,

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.


« And O! though Brignal banks be fair,

And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare,

Would reigo my queen of May !


XVIII. « Maiden! a nameless life I lead,

A nameless death I'll die; The fiend whose lantern lights the mead

Were better mate than I ! And when I'm with my comrades mét,

Beneath the green-wood boogh, What once we were we forget,

Nor think what we are now.

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CHORUS. « Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green, And

you may gather garlands there, Would grace a summer queen.»


«O, Brignal banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta'woods are green; :I 'd rather rove with Edmund there,

Than reign our Englisla queen.»--

« If, maiden, thou wouldst 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 green-wood shalt thou speed,

As bliilie as queen of May.»-

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


And our stout night, at dawn of morn,
Who loved to hear the bugle-horn,
Nor less, when eve his oaks embrown'a,
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,»–

XIX. At length his wond'rous tale he told, When scornful smiled his comrade bold; For, train'd in license of a court, Religion's self was Denzil's sport; Then judge in what contempe he held The visionary tales of cld ! His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd The unbeliever's sneering jest. « 'T were hard,» he said, « for sage or seer To spell the subject of your fear; Nor do I boast the art renown'd, Vision and omeg 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 bold, When Rokeby Castle hath the gold Thy patron won on Indian soil, By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ?

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 Calld 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 raslı he roved, As danger for itself he loved ; On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine; IlI was the omen if he smiled, For 't was in peril stern and wild ; But when he laugh d, each luckless mate Might hold our fortune desperate. •Foremost he fought in every broil, Then scornful turn'd liim from the spoil; Nay, often strove to lar the way Between his comrades aud their prey; Preaching, even then, lo such as we, llot with our dear-bouglit victory, Of mercy and humanity!

At this he paused-for angry

shame Lower'd on the brow of Risingham, He blushid 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, Thiy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! And when he tax'd thy breach of word Το yon fair Rose of Allenford, I saw thee crouch like chastend hound, Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. Nor dare to call his foreign wealth The spoil of piracy or stealth ; Ile won it bravely with his brand, When Spain waged warfare with our land. (8) Mark too-I brook no idle jeer, Nor couple Bertram's name with fear; Minc is but half the demon's lot, For I believe, but tremble not. Enough of this.--Say, why this hoard Thou deem'st at Rokehy Castle stored ! Or think'st that Mortham would bestow His treasure with his faction's foe ?>

XXIII. « I loved him well- bis fearless part, His gallant leading, won my heart, And, after each victorious fight, 'T was I that wrangled for his right, Redeem'd 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.- (9) Yes, I have loved thee! well hath proved My toil, my dauger, how I loved ! Yet will I mourn no more thy falc, Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. Rise, if thou canst!»- he look'd around, And sternly stamp'd upon the ground« Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, Even 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


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XXI. Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-timed mirth; Rather he would have seen the earth Give to ten thousand spectres birth, Than ventured to awake to flame The deadly wrath of Risingham. Submiss he answer'd, --- Mortham's mind, Thou know'st, 10 joy was ill inclined. In youth, 't is said, a gallant free, A lusty reveller was he ; But since return'd from over sea, A sullen and a silent mood Hath numb'd the current of his blood. Hence he refused each kindly call, To Rokeby's liospitable hail,

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;

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