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Then did I swear thy ray serene

Was form'd to light some lonely dell, By two fond lovers only seen,

Reflected from the crystal well; Or sleeping on their mossy cell,

Or quivering on the lattice bright, Or glancing on their couch, to tell

How swiftly wanes the summer night!

XXXIV.

He starts—a step at this lone hour!
A voice!—his father seeks the tower,
With haggard look and troubled sense.
Fresh from his dreadful conference,
x Wilfrid!—what, not to sleep addrest?
Thou hast no cares (o chase thy rest.
Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor;
Bertram brings warrant to secure
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood,
For the state's use and public good.
The menials will thy voice obey;
Let his commission have its way.
In every point, in every word.*—
Then, in a whisper,—«Take thy sword!
Bertcam is—what I must not tell.
I hear his hasty step—farewell!»

CANTO II.

i.

Fab in the chambers of the west.
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest;
The moon was cloudless now and clear,
But pale, and soon to disappear.
The thin gray clouds wax'd dimly light
On Brusletoo and Houghton height;
And the rich dale, that eastward lay,
Waited the wakening touch of day,
To give it* woods and cultured plain,
And towers and spires, to light again.
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell,
And Lunedale wild, and Kel ton-fell,
And rock-begird led Gilmanscar,
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar;
While, as a livelier twilight falls,
Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walls.
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale,
The sovereign of the lovely vale.

II.

What prospects, from his watch-tower high.
Gleam gradual on the warders eye !—
Far sweeping to the east, he sees
Down his deep woods the course of Tees, (i)
And tracks his wanderings by the steam
Of summer vapours from the stream;
And ere he pace his destined hour
By Bracken bury's dungeon-towcr,
These silver mists kh ill melt away,
And dew the woods with glittering spray.
Then in broad lustre shall he shown
That mighty trench of living stone,

And each huge trunk that, from the side,
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide,
Where Tees, full many a fathom low,
Wears with his rage no common foe;
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here,
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career,
Condenu'd to mine a channell'd way.
O'er solid sheeny of marble gsay.

III.
Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright,
Shall rush upon the ravish'd sight;
But many a tributary stream.
Each from its own dark dell, shall gleam:
Staindrop, who, from bcr sylvan bowers,
Salutes proud Raby's battled towers;
The rural brook of Eglistone,
And Balder, named from Odin's son;
And Greta, to whose banks ere long
We lead the lovers of the soug;
And silver Lime, from Stanmore wild.
And fairy Thorsgili's murmuring child.
And last and least, but loveliest still.
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill.
Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray d,
Tet long'd for Roslio's magic glade t
Who, wandering there, hath sought to cbanr/
Even for that vale so stern and strange.
Where Cartland's crags, fantastic rent.
Through her green copse like spires are sent!
Yet, Albyn, yet the praise be thine.
Thy scenes, and story to combine!
Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays.
List to the deeds of other days;
'Hid Cartland's crags thou show'st the. cave.
The refuge of thy champion brave;
Giving each rock its storied tale.
Pouring a lay for every dale.
Knitting, as with a moral band,
Thy native legends with thy land.
To lend each scene the interest high
Which genius beams from Beauty's eye.

IY.

Bertram awaited not the sight

Which sunrise shows from Barnard's height.

But from the towers, preventing day,

With Wilfrid took his early way.

While misty dawn, and moon-beam pale.

Still mingled in the silent dale.

By Barnard's bridge of stately stone.

The southern bank of Tees they won;

Their winding path then eastward cast.

And I .listones gray ruins (2) past;

Each on his own deep visions bent.

Silent and sad they onward went.

Well may you think that Bertram's mood

To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude;

Well may you think, bold Rutingham

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and lame;

And small the intercourse, I ween,

Such uncongenial souls between.

Stern Bertram shunn'd the nearer way. Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay.

And, skirting high ihe valley's ridge,
Tvt erossd by Greta's ancient bridge,
Descending where her waters wind
Free for a space and uncontined,
As, scaped from Ungual's dark-wood glen,
She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den.
There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound,
Raised by lhat legion long reuown'd.
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim.
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, (3)
- Stern sons of war!» sad Wilfrid sigh'd,
■ Behold the boast of Romu pride!'
What now of 3II your toils are known?
A grassy trench, a broken stone !»—
This to himself, for moral strain
To Bertram were address'd in vain.

VI.

Of different mood, a deeper sigh
Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high (4)
Were northward in the dawning seen
To rear them o'er the thicket green.
0 then, though Spenser's self had stray'd
Beside him through the lovely glade,
Lending his rich luxuriant glow
Of fancy, all its charms to show,
Pointing the stream rejoicing free,
As captive set at liberty,
fluhiog her sparkling waves abroad,
And clamouring joyful on her road;
Pointing where, up the sunny banks,
The trees retire in scatler'd ranks,
S«< where, advanced before the rest,
On knoll or hillock rears his crest,
l^ntly and huge, the giant oak—
As champions, when their band is broke.
Stand forth to guard the rearward post,
The bulwark of the scatler'd host—
All this, and more, might Spenser sav,
irt waste in vain his magic lay,
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower.
Whose lattice lights Matildas bower.

YH.

The open vale is soon past o'er,

Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more;

Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep,

A *ild and darker course they keep,

A stern and lone, yet lovely road.

As e'er the foot of minstrel trode! (5)

Br<wd shadows o'er their passage fell,

keper and narrower grew the dell:

It wem'd some mountain, rent and riven,

A channel for the stream had given,

*° high the cliffs of limestone gray

Hang beetling o'er the torrent's way.

Yielding, along their rugged base,

A flinty footpath's niggard space,

"here he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave,

»ay hear the headlong torrent rave,

■^d like a steed in frantic fit,

Tint flings the froth from curb and bit,

"ay view her chafe her waves to spray,

Ot every rock that bars her way,

Till foam-globes on her eddies ride.

Thick as the schemes of human pride,

That down life's current drive amain,
As frail, as frothy, and as vain!

Yin.

The cliffs, that rear the haughty head
High o'er the river's darksome bed,
Were now all naked, wild, and gray.
Now waving all with green-wood spray;
Here trees to every crevice clung,
And o'er the dell their branches hung;
And there, all splinter'd and uneven,
The shiver'd rocks ascend to heaven.
Oft, too, die ivy swathed their breast,
And wreathed its garland round their crest,
Or from the spires bade loosely Hare
Its tendrils in the middle air,
As pennons wont to wave of old,
O'er the high feast of baron hold.
When revelld loud the feudal rout.
And the arch'd halls return'd their shout.
Such and more wild is Greta's roar,
And such the echoes from her shore.
And so the ivied banner's gleam
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream.

IX.

Now from the stream the rocks recede,

But leave between no sunny mead.

No, nor the spot of pebbly sand,

Oft found by such a mountain strand.

Forming such warm and dry retreat,

As fancy deems the lonely seat.

Where hermit, wandering from his cell,

His rosary might love to tell.

But here, *twixt rock and river grew

A dismal grove of sable yew,

With whose sad tints were mingled seen

The blighted fir's sepulchral green,

Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast,

The earth that nourished them to blast,

For never knew that swarthy grove

The verdant hue that fairies love;

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower.

Arose within its baleful bower;

The dank and sable earth receives

Its only carpet from the leaves,

That, from the withering branches cast,

Bestrew'd the ground with every blast.

Though now the sun was o'er the hill,

In this dark spot t was twilight still,

Save that on Greta's farther side

Some straggling beams through copse-wood glide.

And wild and savage contrast made

That dingle's deep and funeral shade,

With the bright tints of early day,

Which, glimmering through the ivy-spray,

On the opposing summit lay.

X.

Ili'- lated peasant shunn'd the dell.

For superstition wont to toll

Of many a grisly sound and sight,

Scaring its path at dead of night.

When Christmas logs bhue high and wide.

Such wonders speed the festal tide,

W'lnlc curiosity and fear,

Pleasure and pain, sit crouching near.

Till childhood's check no longer glows,

And village maidens Ins.** the rose.

The thrilling interest rises higher,

The circle closes nigh and nigher.

And shuddering glance is cast behind.

As louder moans the wintry wind.

Itelieve, that fitting scene was laid

For such wild talcs in Mortliam's glade;

For who had seen on Greta's side,

By that dim light fierce Bertram stride.

In such a spot, at such an hour,— .

If touch'd hy superstition's power,

Might well have deem'd that hell had given

A murderer's ghost to upper heaven.

While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide

Like his pale victim hy his side.

XI.

Nor think to village swains alone
Are these unearthly terrors known;
For not to rank nor sex confined
Is this vain ague of the mind.
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard,
'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barr'd,
Have quaked like aspen-leaves in May,
Beneath its universal sway.
Bertram had listed many a tale
Of wonder in his native dale,
That in his secret soul retain'd
The credence they in childhood gain'd;
Nor less his wild and venturous youth
Believed in every legend's truth,
I.earn'd when beneath the tropic gale
Full swcll'd the vessel's steady sail.
And the broad Indian moon her light
Pour'd ou the watch of middle night,
When seamen love to hear aud tell
Of portent, prodigy, and spell;
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore, (6)
How whistle rash bids tempests roar; (7)
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite,
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's lighs; (8)
Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form
Shoots like a meteor through the storm,
Wheu the dark scud comes dri\ing hard,
And lower d is every topsail-yard,
And canvas, wove in earthly looms,
No more to brave the storm presumes!
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky,
Top and top-gallant hoisted high.
Full-spread and crowded every sail,
The demon-frigate (9) braves the gale;
And well the doom'd spectators know,
The harbinger of wreck and woe.

XII.

Then too were told, in stifled tone.
Marvels and omens all their own;
How, by some desert isle or key, (to)
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelly, ,
Or where the lavage pirate's1 mood
Repaid it home in deed* of Mood,
Strange nightly sounds of wo<» and fear
AppaU'd the listening bttcva^leqr,

Whose lighl-arm'd shallop anchord lay

In ambush by the lonely bay.

The groan of grief, the shriek of pain,

Uing from the moon-light groves of cane;

The fierce adventurer's heart they scare.

Who wearies memory for a prayer.

Curses the roadstead, and with gale

Of early morning lifts the sail.

To give, in thirst of blood and prtv,

A legend for another bay.

xm.

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child,

Train'd in the mystic and the wild.

With this on Bertram's soul at limes

Rush'd a dark feeling of his crimes;

Such to his troubled soul their form.

As the pale death-ship to the storm.

And such their omen dim and dread,

As shrieks and voices of the dead.

That pang, whose transitory force

llovcr'd twixt horror aud remorse;

That pang, perchance, his bosom presVd,

As Wilfrid sudden he address d

« Wilfrid, this glen is ne»cr trod

Until the sun rides high abroad;

Yet twice have I beheld to^lay

A form that seem'd to dog our way;

Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee.

And shroud itself by cliff or tree;

How think'st thou?—is our path waylaid.

Or hath thy sire my trust betray d!

If so >■>—Ere, starting from hi* dream.

That turn'd upon a gentler theme,

Wilfrid had roused him to reply,

Hertram sprung forward shouting high.

H Whate'er thou an, thou now shall stand!'

And forth he darted, sword in hand.

XIV. As bursts the levin in its wrath. He shot him down the sounding path: Rock, wood, and stream, rung wildly out. To his loud step and savage shout. Seems that the object of his race Hath scaled the cliffs; his frantic chaw Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis bent Right up the rocks tall battlement; Straining each sinew to ascend, Foot, hand, and knee their aid must leu A Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay. Views from benrath his dreadful way; Now to the oak's warp'd roots lie clings. Now trusts his weight to ivy-strings; Now, like the wild goat, must he dare An unsupported leap in air Hid in the shrubby rain-course now. You mark him by the crashing bough. And by his corslet's sullen clank, And by the stones spurn d from the bank. And by the hawk scared from her nest. And ravens croaking o'er their guest. Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay The tribute of his bold est*v.

XV.

See. he emerges '.—desperate now

All farther course—yon beetling bn.w,

la craggy nakedness sublime,

What heart or foot shall dare to climb!

It bears no tendril for his clasp,

Presents no angle to bis grasp;

Sole stay his foot may rest upon,

h yon earth-bedded jelling stone.

Balanced on. such precarious prop,

lie strains lik grasp to resell the top.

Just as the dangerous stretch he makes,

Br heaven, his faithless foolsto&l shakes!

Beneath his tottering bulk it bends,

It prays, it loosens, it descends!

And downward holds its headlong way.

Crashing o'er rock and copse-wood spray.

Loud thunders shake the echoing dell!—

FeU it alone?—alone it fell.

Ju«t on the very Teq;e of fate,

The hardy Bertram s falling weight

fie trusted to his sinewy hands,

And on the lop unbarm'd he stands.

XVI.

Wilfrid a safer path pursued,
Al intervals where, roughly hew'd,
Rode steps ascending from the dell
Reader d the cliffs accessible.
t-v circuit slow be thus altain'd
The height thai Hisiugbam had gain'd,
And when he issued from the wood,
L'efore the gate of Mortham stood.(l i)
T was a fair scene! the sun-beam lay
tm hauled lower and portal gray,
And from the grassy slope he sees
The Greta How to meel the Tees,
Where, issuing from her darksome bed,
Sue caught the morning's eastern red.
And through the softening vale below
Rolld her bright waves in rosy glow,
All blushing to her bridal bed,
Like some shy maid in convent bred.
While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay,
Sing forth lier nuptial rouudclay.

XVII.

Twas sweetly sung that roundelay, That summer morn shone blithe and gay, But morning beam, and wild bird's call, Awaked not Morlham's silent hall. No porter, by the low-brow'd gale. Took in ihe wonted niche bis seat; To the paved court no peasaut drew, Waked to their toil no menial crew; The maidens rarol was nol heard, As to her morning task she fared; lo the void offices around, Rung not a hoof, nor bay'd a hound, Nor eager sleed, with shrilling neigh, Accused the lagging groom's delay; I mnnim d, undrcss'd, neglected now, . Was alley d walk and orchard hough; All spoke the master's absetil care, All spoke neglect and disrepair.

South of the gale an arrow-flight.
Two mighty elms their limbs unite.
As if a canopy lo spread.
O cr the lone dwelling of die dead;
For their huge boughs in arches bent
Above a massy monument,
Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise.
With many a scutcheon and device:
There, spent wilh toil and sunk in gloom,
Bertram stood pondering by the tomb.

XVIII.

,, It vanish d, like a fluting ghosl!
Behind this tomb,» he said, « l was lost—
This tomb, where oft I deemd, lies stored
Of Mortham is Indian wealth the hoard.
T is true, the aged servants said
Here his lamented wife is laid;
But weightier reasons may be guess d. ■
For their lord's strict and stern behest,
That none should on his steps intrude,
Whene'er he sought this solitude—
All ancient mariner I knew,
What time I sail'd with Morgans crew,
Who oft, mid our carousals, spake
Of Raleigh, Forhishcr, and Drake;
Adventurous hearts! who barterd bold
Their English steel for Spanish gold.
Trust not, would his evpeneocc say,
Captain or comrade wilh your prey;

Hut seek some charncl, when, at full.
The moon gilds skeleton and skull;

There dig and tomb your precious heap,

And hid the dead your treasure keep; (12)

Sure stewards they, if filling spell

Their service lo the task compel.

Lacks there such charncl '.-kill a slave,

Or prisoner, on the treasure-grave;

And bid his discontented ghost

Slalk nightly on his lonely post.—

Such was his tale. I Is truth, I ween,

Is in my morning vision seen.»

XIX.

Wilfrid, who scorn'd the legend wild,
In mingled mirth and pity smiled,
Much marvelling that a breast so bold
In such fond tile belief should hold;
But yet of Bertram sought to know
The apparition's form and show.—
The power within the guilty breast.
Oft vanquish d, never quite suppress d,
That unsubdued and lurking lies
To lake the felon by surprise, (i3)
And force him, as by magic spell,
In his despite his guill to tell-
That power in Bertrams breast awoke;
Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke.
. T was Morlham's form, from foot to head.
His morion, with the plume of red,
His shape, his mien—t was Mortham right,
As when 1 slew him in die fight."—
.Thou slay him.-tlio..!—Wilh conscious su
He heard, ihen manned his haughly heart.—
—« I slew him!—1!—I liad forgot,
Thou, stripling, knew si not of ihe plol.

But it is spoken—nor will I

Deed done, or spoken word, deny.

I slew htm, I! for thankless pride;

T was by this hand thai Mortham died.» —

XX.

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart,

Averse to every active part.

But most averse to martial broil,

From danger shrunk, and turn'd from toil;

Yet the meek lover of the lyre

Nursed one brave spark of noble fire;

Against injustice, fraud, or wroug,

His blood beat high, his hand waxd'strong.

Not bis the nerves that could sustain,

Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain;

But when that sp.irk blazed forth to flame,

He rose superior to his frame.

And now it came, that generous mood;

And, in full current of his blood,

Ou Bertram he laid desperate hand,

Placed firm his foot, and drew his brand.

« Should every fiend to whom thou'rt sold,

Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold.—

Arouse there, ho! take spear and sword!

Attach the murderer of your lord!»—

XXI. A moment, fix'd as by a spell, Stood Bertram—it seem'd miracle, That one so feeble, soft, and tame, Set grasp on warlike Risingham. But when he frit a feeble stroke. The ficud within the ruffian woke! To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand, To dash him headlong on the sand. Was but one moment's work,—one more Had drench'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore; But, iu the instant it arose, To end his life, his love, his woes, A warlike form, that mark'd the scene, Presents his rapier sheath'd between, Parries the fast-descending blow, And steps "twiitt Wilfrid and his foe; Nor then unscabharded his brand, But sternly pointing with his hand, With monarch's voice forbade the fight, And moiion'd Bertram from his sight. ,« Go, and>cpcnt,»—he said, « while time Is given thee; add not crime to crime.*

xxn.

. Mutt and uncertain, and amaied,
As on a vision, Bertram gated!
Twas Mortham's bearing bold and high,
His sinewy frame, his falcon eye,
His look and accent of command,
The martial gesture of his hand,
His stately form, spare-built and tall.
His war-bleach'd locks—"t was Mortham all.
Through Bertram's diziy brain carect
A thousand thoughts, and all of fear.
His wavering faith received not quite
The form he saw as Murtham's sprite,
But more he feard it, if it stood
His lord, in living flesh and blood—

What spectre can the charuel send,

So dreadful as an injured friend?

Then, too, the habit of command,

t'sed by the leader of the band.

When Risingham, for many a day,

Had tnarch'd and fought beneath his sway.

Tamed him—and, with reverted face.

Backwards he bore his sullen pace.

Oft stopp'd, and oft on Mortham stared,

And dark as rated mastiff glared;

But when the tramp of steeds was heard.

Plunged in the glen, and dtsapjAr d.

Nor longer there the warrior stood.

Retiring eastward through the wood;

But first to Wilfrid warning gives,

« Tell thou to none that Mortham lives.*

xxin.

Still rung these words in Wilfrid's car,

Hinting he knew not what of fear,

When nearer came the coursers' tread,

And, with his father at their head,

Of horsemen arm'd a gallant power

Rein'd up their steeds before the tower.

M Whence these pale looks, my son ?» he said

« Where 's Bertram T why that naked blade?*

Wilfrid ambiguously replied

(For Mortham's charge his honour tied),

« Bertram is gone—the villain's word

Avouch'd him murderer of his lord!

Even now we fought—but, when your tread

Announced you nigh, the felon fled.**—

In Wycliffe's conscious eye appear

A guilty hope, a guilty fear;

On his pale brow the dew-drop broke*.

And his lip quivcr'd as he spoke.

XXIV.

« A murderer!—Philip Mortham died
Amid the battles wildest tide.
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you!
Yet grant such strange confession true*.
Pursuit were vain—let him fly far—
Justice must sleep in civil war.*—
A gallant youth rode near his side.
Brave Rokcby's page, in battle tried,
That morn, an embassy of weight
He brought to Barnard's castle gate.
And follow'd now in Wycliffe's train,
An answer for his lord to gain.
His steed, whose arch'd and sable neck
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck,
Chafed not against the curb more high
lit Hi he at Oswald's cold reply;
He bit his lip, implored his saint,
(His the old faith)—then burst restraint.

XXV.

M Yes! I beheld his bloody fall.
By that base traitor's dastard ball.
Just when I thought to measure sword,
Presumptuous hope! with Mortham's lord.
And shall the murderer scape, who slew
His leader generous, brave, .tud true *
Esc;i|>e ! while on the dew you trace
The marks of his gigantic pace?

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