'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides The brush-wood that the cavern hides,

And, when its narrow porch lies bare,

'Tis Edmund's form that enters there.

IV.

His flint and steel have sparkled bright,
A lamp hath lent the cavern light.
Fearful and quick his eye surveys
Each angle of the gloomy maze.
Since last he left that stern abode,
It seem'd as none its floor had trode ;
Untouch'd appear'd the various spoil,
The purchase of his comrades' toil;
Masques and disguises grim'd with mud,
Arms broken and defil'd with blood,

And all the nameless tools that aid
Night-felons in their lawless trade,
Upon the gloomy walls were hung,
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung.

Still on the sordid board appear

The reliques of the noontide cheer;

Flagons and emptied flasks were there,
And bench o'erthrown, and shatter'd chair;

And all around the semblance show'd,
As when the final revel glow'd,

When the red sun was setting fast,
And parting pledge Guy Denzil past.
To Rokeby treasure-vaults! they quaff'd,
And shouted loud and wildly laugh'd,
Pour'd maddening from the rocky door,

And parted-to return no more!

They found in Rokeby vaults their doom,— A bloody death, a burning tomb.

V.

There his own peasant dress he spies,
Doff'd to assume that quaint disguise,
And shuddering thought upon his glee,
When prank'd in garb of minstrelsy.

"O be the fatal art accurst,"

He cried, "that moved my folly first,
Till bribed by bandits' base applause,

I burst through God's and Nature's laws!
Three summer days are scantly past
Since I have trode this cavern last,

A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err-
But O, as yet no murderer!

Even now I list my comrades' cheer,

That general laugh is in mine ear,

Which raised my pulse and steel'd my heart,

As I rehearsed my treacherous part

And would that all since then could seem

The phantom of a fever's dream!

But fatal Memory notes too well

The horrors of the dying yell,

From my despairing mates that broke,

When flash'd the fire and roll'd the smoke,

When the avengers shouting came,

And hemm'd us 'twixt the sword and flame!

My frantic flight,-the lifted brand,—
That angel's interposing hand!——

If for my life from slaughter freed,

I yet could pay some grateful meed !
Perchance this object of my quest

May aid"—he turn'd, nor spoke the rest.

VI.

Due northward from the rugged hearth,
With paces five he metes the earth,

Then toil'd with mattock to explore
The entrails of the cavern floor,

Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground,
His search a small steel casket found.

Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp,

His shoulder felt a giant grasp;

He started, and look'd up aghast,

Then shriek'd-'twas Bertram held him fast. "Fear not!" he said; but who could hear

That deep stern voice, and cease to fear?

"Fear not!-by heaven he shakes as much

As partridge in the falcon's clutch !"-
He raised him, and unloosed his hold,
While from the opening casket roll'd
A chain and reliquaire of gold.
Bertram beheld it with surprise,

Gazed on its fashion and device,

Then, cheering Edmund as he could,
Somewhat he smooth'd his rugged mood;

For still the youth's half-lifted eye
Quiver'd with terror's agony,

And sidelong glanced, as to explore,

In meditated flight, the door.

66

Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free; Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. Chance brings me hither; hill and plain

I've sought for refuge-place in vain.

And tell me now, thou aguish boy,

What makest thou here? what means this toy?

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