That only would his life retain,
To aid thy sire to bear his chain !»-
Thus Redmond to himself apart,
Nor lighter was his rival's heart;
For Wilfrid, while his generous soul
Disdain'd to profit by control,

By many a sign could mark too plain,
Save with such aid, his hopes were vain.
But now Matilda's accents stole
On the dark visions of their soul,
And bade their mournful musing fly,
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh.

XVIII.

<< I need not to my friends recal
How Mortham shunn'd my father's hall;
A man of silence and of woe,
Yet ever anxious to bestow

On my poor self whate'er could prove
A kinsman's confidence and love.
My feeble aid could sometimes chase
The clouds of sorrow for a space,
But, oftener, fix'd beyond my power,
I mark'd his deep despondence lower.
One dismal cause, by all unguess'd,
His fearful contidence confess'd;
And twice it was my hap to see
Examples of that agony,

Which for a season can o'erstrain
And wreck the structure of the brain.
He had the awful power to know
The approaching mental overthrow,
And while his mind had courage yet
To struggle with the dreadful fit,
The victim writhed against its throes,
Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows.
This malady I well could mark,
Sprung from some direful cause and dark;
But still he kept its source conceal'd,
Till arming for the civil field;
Then in my charge be bade me hold
A treasure huge of gems and gold,
With this disjointed dismal scroll
That tells the secret of his soul,
In such wild words as oft betray
A mind by anguish forced astray.

XIX.

MORTHAM'S HISTORY.

"Matilda! thou hast seen me start,
As if a dagger thrill'd my heart,
When it has happ'd some casual phrase
Waked memory of my former days.
Believe, that few can backward cast
Their thoughts with pleasure on the past.
But my youth was rash and vain,
And blood and rage my manhood stain,
And my gray hairs must now descend
To my cold grave without a friend!
Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown
Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known.
And must I lift the bloody veil,
That hides my dark and fatal tale?
I must-I will-pale phantom, cease!
Leave me one little hour in peace!

Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill
Thine own commission to fulfil?
Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce,
Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse,
How can I paint thee as thou wert,
So fair in face, so warm in heart!

XX.

«Yes, she was fair!-Matilda, thou
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow;
But her's was like the sunny glow,
That laughs on earth and all below!
We wedded secret-there was need—
Differing in country and in creed;
And when to Mortham's tower she came,
We mention'd not her race and name,
Until thy sire, who fought afar,
Should turn him home from foreign war,
On whose kind influence we relied
To soothe her father's ire and pride.
Few months we lived retired, unknown,
To all but one dear friend alone,
One darling friend-I spare his shame,
I will not write the villain's name!
My trespasses I might forget,
And sue in vengeance for the debt
Due by a brother worm to me,
Ungrateful to God's clemency,
That spared me penitential time,
Nor cut me off amid my crime.-

XXI.

« A kindly smile to all she lent,
But on her husband's friend 't was bent
So kind, that, from its harmless glee,
The wretch misconstrued villany.
Repulsed in his presumptuous love,
A vengeful snare the traitor wove.
Alone we sate-the flask had flow'd,
My blood with heat unwonted glow'd,
When through the alley'd walk we spied
With hurried step my Edith glide,
Cowering beneath the verdant screen,
As one unwilling to be seen.

Words cannot paint the fiendish smile

That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while! Fiercely 1 question'd of the cause;

He made a cold and artful pause,

Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood-
"There was a gallant in the wood!'
We had been shooting at the deer;
My cross-bow (evil chance) was near:
That ready weapon of my wrath

I caught, and, hasting up the path,
In the yew-grove my wife I found,
A stranger's arms her neck had bound!
I mark'd his heart-the bow I drew-

I loosed the shaft-'t was more than true!

I found my Edith's dying charms
Lock'd in her murder'd brother's arms!
He came in secret to inquire

Her state, and reconcile her sire.

XXII.

« All fled my rage—the villain first, Whose craft my jealousy had nursed;

He sought in far and foreign clime
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime.
The manner of the slaughter done

Was known to few, my guilt to none;
Some tale my faithful steward framed-
I know not what-of shaft mis-aim'd;

And even from those the act who knew,
He hid the hand from which it flew.
Untouch'd by human laws I stood,
But God had heard the cry of blood!
There is a blank upon my mind,
A fearful vision ill-defined,

Of raving till my flesh was torn,
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn-
And when I waked to woe more mild,
And question'd of my infant child-
(Have I not written, that she bare
A boy, like summer morning fair?)
With looks confused my menials tell,
That armed men in Mortham dell
Beset the nurse's evening way,
And bore her, with her charge, away.
My faithless friend, and none but he,
Could profit by this villany;

Him, then, I sought, with purpose dread
Of treble vengeance on his head!

Hle scaped me-but my bosom's wound
Some faint relief from wandering found,
And over distant land and sea
I bore my load of misery.

XXIII.

Twas then that fate my footsteps led
Among a daring crew and dread,
With whom full oft my hated life
I ventured in such desperate strife,
That even my fierce associates saw
My frantic deeds with doubt and awe.
Much then I learn'd, and much can show,

Of human guilt and human woe,
Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known

A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own!It chanced, that after battle-fray,

Upon the bloody field we lay;

The yellow moon her lustre shed

Upon the wounded and the dead,

While, sense in toil and wassail drown'd,

My ruffian comrades slept around.

There came a voice-its silver tone

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own

'Ah wretch! it said, what mak'st thou here,

While unavenged my bloody bier,

While unprotected lives mine heir,
Without a father's name and care?-

I claim'd of him my only child-
As he disown'd the theft, he smiled!
That very calm and callous look,
That fiendish sneer his visage took,
As when he said, in scornful mood,
'There is a gallant in the wood!'-
-I did not slay him as he stood-
All praise be to my Maker given!
Long sufferance is one path to heaven.»—
XXV.

Thus far the woful tale was heard,
When something in the thicket stirr'd,
Up Redmond sprang; the villain Guy
(For he it was that lurk'd so nigh)
Drew back-he durst not cross his steel
A moment's space with brave O'Neale,
For all the treasured gold that rests
In Mortham's iron-banded chests.
Redmond resumed his seat;-he said,
Some roe was rustling in the shade.
Bertram laugh'd grimly, when he saw
His timorous comrade backward draw:
« A trusty mate art thou, to fear
A single arm, and aid so near!
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer.
Give me thy carabine-I'll show
An art that thou wilt gladly know,
How thou may'st safely quell a foe.»>

XXVI.

On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew
The spreading birch and hazels through,
Till he had Redmond full in view.
The gun he levell'd-mark like this
Was Bertram never known to miss,
When fair opposed to him there sate
An object of his mortal hate.

That day young Redmond's death had seen,
But twice Matilda came between
The carabine and Redmond's breast,
Just ere the spring his finger press'd.
A deadly oath the ruffian swore,

But

yet his fell design forbore:

<«< It ne'er,» he mutter'd, « shall be said,
That thus I scathed thee, haughty maid!»
Then moved to seek more open aim,
When to his side Guy Denzil came;
« Bertram, forbear!--we are undone

For ever, if thou fire the gun.
By all the fiends, an armed force
Descends the dell, of foot and horse!
We perish if they hear a shot-

Madman! we have a safer plot

Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back! Behold, down yonder hollow track,

The warlike leader of the band

Comes, with his broadsword in his hand.»--
Bertram look'd up; he saw, he knew,
That Denzil's fears had counsell'd true,
Then cursed his fortune and withdrew,
Threaded the woodlands undescried,
And gain'd the cave on Greta-side.

Their thoughts to one sad subject lent,
Saw not, nor heard, the ambushment.
Heedless and unconcern'd they sate,
While on the very verge of fate;
Heedless and unconcern'd remain'd,

When Heaven the murderer's arm restrain'd;
As ships drift darkling down the tide,
Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide.
Uninterrupted thus they heard
What Mortham's closing tale declared.
He spoke of wealth as of a load
By fortune on a wretch bestow'd,
In bitter mockery of hate,

His cureless woes to aggravate;
But yet he pray'd Matilda's care

Might save that treasure for his heir

His Edith's son-for still he raved
As confident his life was saved;
In frequent vision, he averr'd,
He saw his face, his voice he heard.
Then argued calm-had murder been,
The blood, the corpses, had been seen;
Some had pretended, too, to mark
On Windermere a stranger bark,
Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild,
Guarded a female and a child.

While these faint proofs he told and press'd,
Hope seem'd to kindle in his breast;
Though inconsistent, vague, and vain,
It warp'd his judgment and his brain.

XXVIII.

These solemn words his story close :-
« Heaven witness for me, that I chose
My part in this sad civil fight,
Moved by no cause but England's right.
My country's groans have bid me draw
My sword for gospel and for law ;—
These righted, I fling arms aside,
And seek my son through Europe wide,
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh
Already casts a grasping eye,
With thee may unsuspected lie.
When of my death Matilda hears,

Let her retain her trust three years;
If none, from me, the treasure claim,
Perish'd is Mortham's race and name;
Then let it leave her generous hand,
And flow in bounty o'er the land,
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot,
Rebuild the peasant's ruin'd cot;
So spoils, acquired by fight afar,
Shall mitigate domestic war.»-

XXIX.

The generous youth, who well had known
Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone,
To that high mind, by sorrow swerved,
Gave sympathy his woes deserved;
But Wilfrid chief, who saw reveal'd
Why Mortham wish'd his life conceal'd,-
In secret, doubtless, to pursue
The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew.
Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell,

That she would share her father's cell,

His partner of captivity,
Where'er his prison-house should be;
Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall,
Dismantled, and forsook by all,
Open to rapine and to stealth,
Had now no safeguard for the wealth
Entrusted by her kinsman kind,
And for such noble use design'd.

« Was Barnard Castle then her choice,»>
Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice,
« Since there the victor's laws ordain,
Her father must a space remain?»—
A flutter'd hope his accents shook,
A flutter'd joy was in his look.
Matilda hasten'd to reply,

flash'd in Redmond's eye;—

Duty,» she said, with gentle grace,

«Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place;
Else had I for my sire assign'd
Prison less galling to his mind,

Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees,
And hears the murmur of the Tees,
Recalling thus, with every glance,
What captive's sorrow can enhance.
But where those woes are highest, there
Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care.»-

XXX.

He felt the kindly check she gave,

And stood abash'd-then answer'd grave:

« I sought thy purpose, noble maid,
Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid.
I have beneath mine own command,
So wills my sire, a gallant band,
And well could send some horsemen wight
To bear the treasure forth by night,
And so bestow it as you deem
In these ill days may safest seem.»>——

« Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks,» she said:
« O be it not one day delay'd!
And, more thy sister-friend to aid,
Be thou thyself content to hold,
In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold,
Safest with thee.»-While thus she spoke,
Arm'd soldiers on their converse broke,
The same of whose approach afraid,
The ruffians left their ambuscade.
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low,
Then look'd around as for a foe.

« What mean'st thou, friend?» young Wycliffe said

"

« Why thus in arms beset the glade?»

« That would I gladly learn from you;
For up my squadron as I drew,
To exercise our martial game
Upon the moor of Barninghame,
A stranger told you were waylaid,
Surrounded, and to death betray'd.
He had a leader's voice, I ween,
A falcon glance, a warrior's mien.
He bade me bring you instant aid;
I doubted not, and I obey'd.»>

XXXI.

Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed, Turn'd short, and on the speaker gazed,

While Redmond every thicket round
Track'd earnest as a questing hound,
And Denzil's carabine he found;
Sure evidence, by which they knew
The warning was as kind as true.
Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed
To leave the dell. It was agreed,
That Redmond, with Matilda fair,

And fitting guard, should home repair;
At night-fall Wilfrid should attend,
With a strong band, his sister-friend,
To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers,
Secret and safe, the banded chests,
In which the wealth of Mortham rests.
This hasty purpose fix'd, they part,
Each with a grieved and anxious heart.

CANTO V.

I.

THE sultry summer day is done,
The western hills have hid the sun,
But mountain peak and village spire
Retain reflection of his fire.

Old Barnard's towers are purple still,
To those that gaze from Toller-hill;
Distant and high, the tower of Bowes
Like steel upon the anvil glows;
And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay,
Rich with the spoils of parting day,
In crimson and in gold array'd,
Streaks yet awhile the closing shade,
Then slow resigns to dark'ning heaven
The tints which brighter hours had given.
Thus aged men full loth and slow
The vanities of life forego,

And count their youthful follies o'er,
Till Memory lends her light no more.

II.

The eve, that slow on upland fades,

Has darker closed on Rokeby's (1) glades, Where, sunk within their banks profound, Her guardian streams to meeting wound. The stately oaks, whose sombre frown Of noontide made a twilight brown, Impervious now to fainter light, Of twilight make an early night. Hoarse into middle air arose The vespers of the roosting crows, And with congenial murmurs scem To wake the genii of the stream; For louder clamour'd Greta's tide, And Tees in deeper voice replied, And fitful waked the evening wind, Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd. Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul Felt in the scene a soft control, With lighter footstep press'd the ground, And often paused to look around; And, though his path was to his love, Could not but linger in the grove,

To drink the thrilling interest dear,

Of awful pleasure check'd by fear.
Such inconsistent moods have we,
Even when our passions strike the key.
III.

Now through the wood's dark mazes past,
The opening lawn he reach'd at last,
Where, silver'd by the moon-light ray,
The ancient hall before him lay.
Those martial terrors long were fled,
That frown'd of old around its head:
The battlements, the turrets gray,
Seem'd half abandon'd to decay;
On barbican and keep of stone
Stern time the foeman's work liad done;
Where banners the invader braved,
The hare-bell now and wall-flower waved;
In the rude guard-room, where of yore
Their weary hours the warders wore,
Now, while the cheerful faggots blaze,
On the paved floor the spindle plays;
The flanking guns dismounted lie,
The moat is ruinous and dry,
The grim portcullis gone-and all
The fortress turn'd to peaceful hall.
IV.

But yet precautions, lately ta'en,
Show'd danger's day revived again;
The court-yard wall show'd marks of care,
The fall'n defences to repair,

Lending such strength as might withstand
The insult of marauding band.

The beams once more were taught to bear
The trembling draw-bridge into air,
And not, till question'd o'er and o'er,
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door;
And when he enter'd, bolt and bar
Resumed their place with sullen jar;
Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch,
The old gray porter raised his torch,
And view'd him o'er, from foot to head,
Ere to the hall his steps he led.
That huge old hall, of knightly state,
Dismantled seem'd and desolate.
The moon through transom-shafts of stone,
Which cross'd the latticed oriels, shone,
And, by the mournful light she gave,
The Gothic vault seem'd funeral grave.
Pennon and banner waved no more
O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar,
Nor glimmering arms were marshall'd seen,
To glance those sylvan spoils between.
Those arms, those ensigns, borne away,
Accomplish'd Rokeby's brave array,
But all were lost on Marston's day!
Yet, here and there, the moon-beams fall
Where armour yet adorns the wall,
Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight,
And useless in the modern fight;
Like veteran relic of the wars,
Known only by neglected scars.

V.

Matilda soon to greet him came,
And bade them light the evening flame;

Said, all for parting was prepared,
And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard.
But then, reluctant to unfold
His father's avarice of gold,
He hinted, that, lest jealous eye

Should on their precious burthen pry,
He judged it best the castle-gate
To enter when the night wore late;
And therefore he had left command
With those he trusted of his band,
That they should be at Rokeby met,
What time the midnight watch was set.
Now Redmond came, whose anxious care
Till then was busied to prepare
All needful, meetly to arrange
The mansion for its mournful change.

With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased,
His cold unready hand he seized,
And press'd it till his kindly strain
The gentle youth return'd again.

Seem'd as between them this was said,
« Awhile let jealousy be dead;
And let our contest be, whose care
Shall best assist this helpless fair.»-

VI.

There was no speech the truce to bind,
It was a compact of the mind;

A generous thought at once impress'd
On either rival's generous breast.
Matilda well the secret took,
From sudden change of mien and look,
And-for not small had been her fear
Of jealous ire and danger near-
Felt, even in her dejected state,
A joy beyond the reach of fate.
They closed beside the chimney's blaze,
And talk'd and hoped for happier days,
And lent their spirits' rising glow
Awhile to gild impending woe;-
High privilege of youthful time,
Worth all the pleasures of our prime!
The bickering fagot sparkled bright,
And gave the scene of love to sight,
Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow,
Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow,
Her nut-brown curls and forehead high,
And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye.
Two lovers by the maiden sate,
Without a glance of jealous hate;
The maid her lovers sate between,
With open brow and equal mien ;-
It is a sight but rarely spied,

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride.

VII.

While thus in peaceful guise they sate,
A knock alarm'd the outer gate,
And, ere the tardy porter stirr'd,
The tinkling of a harp was heard.
A manly voice, of mellow swell,
Bore burthen to the music well.

SONG. «Summer eve is gone and past, Summer dew is falling fast:

With somewhat of appealing look,
The harper's part young Wilfrid took;
<< These notes so wild and ready thrill,
They show no vulgar minstrel's skill;
Hard were his task to seek a home
More distant, since the night is come;
And for his faith I dare engage-
Your Harpool's blood is sour'd by age;
His gate, once readily display'd,
To greet the friend, the poor to aid,
Now even to me, though known of old,
Did but reluctantly unfold.»-

-<< O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime, An evil of this evil time.

He deems dependent on his care
The safety of his patron's heir,
Nor judges meet to ope the tower
To guest unknown at parting hour,
Urging his duty to excess

Of rough and stubborn faithfulness.
For this poor harper I would fain
He may relax:-hark to his strain!»

IX.

SONG RESUMED.

<< I have song of war for knight,
Lay of love for lady bright,
Fairy tale to lull the heir,
Goblin grim the maids to scare;
Dark the night, and long till day,
Do not bid me farther stray!

«Rokeby's lords of martial fame,
I can count them name by name; (2)
Legends of their line there be,
Known to few, but known to me;
If you honour Rokeby's kin,
Take the wandering harper in!

« Rokeby's lords had fair regard
For the harp, and for the bard;