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 'twas 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 flowed,
My blood with heat unwonted glowed,
When through the alleyed 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 curled the traitor's cheek the while!
Fiercely 1 questioned of the cause;
He made a cold and artful pause,
Then prayed 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, hastening up the path,
In the yew-grove my wife I found,
A stranger's arms her neck had bound!
I marked his heart-the bow 1 drew-
I loosed the shaft--'twas more than true!
I found my Edith's dying charms
Locked in her murdered brother's arms!
He came in secret to inquire
Her state, and reconcile her sire.

"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 misaimed;
And even from those the act who knew,
He hid the hand from which it flew.
Untouched 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 wo more mild,
And questioned 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!

He 'scaped me-but my bosom's wound Some faint relief from wandering found, And over distant land and sea

1 bore my load of misery.

ROKEBY.

I ventured in such desperate strife,
That e'en my fierce associates saw
My frantic deeds with doubt and awe.
Much then I learned, and much can show,
Of human guilt and human wo,

Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known
A wretch, whose sorrows matched 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 drowned,
My ruffian comrades slept around.
There came a voice-its silver tone
Was soft, Matilda, as thine own-

Ah wretch!' it said, what makest thou here,
While unavenged my bloody bier,
While unprotected lives mine heir,
Without a father's name and care!"
XXIV.

"I heared-obeyed-and homeward drew;
The fiercest of our desperate crew

I brought, at time of need, to aid
My purposed vengeance, long delayed.
But, humble be my thanks to heaven,
That better hopes and thoughts has given,
And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught
Mercy by mercy must be bought!
Let me in misery rejoice--

I've seen his face-I've heard his voice

I claimed of him my only child-
As he disowned 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!'
-1 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 stirred.
Up Redmond sprang; the villain Guy
(For he it was that lurked 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 laughed 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 mayest 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 levelled-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

Then let it leave her generous nand
And flow in bounty o'er the land,
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot,
Rebuild the peasant's ruined 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 revealed
Why Mortham wished his life concealed,
In secret, doubtless, to pursue

The schemes his wildered 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
Intrusted by her kinsman kind,
And for such noble use designed.
"Was Barnard-castle then her choice,"
Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice,
"Since there the vietor's laws ordain,
Her father must a space remain?"
A fluttered hope his accents shook,
A fluttered joy was in his look.
Matilda hastened to reply,

For anger flashed in Redmond's eye:-
"Duty," she said, with gentle grace,
"Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place;
Else had 1 for my sire assigned
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 abashed-then answered 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 delayed!
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,
Armed soldiers on their converse broke,
The same of whose approach afraid,
The ruffians left their ambuscade.
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low,
Then looked 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 betrayed.
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 obeyed."

XXXI.

Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed,
Turned short and on the speaker gazed,
While Redmond every thicket round
Tracked 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 seemed, with cautious speed
To leave the dell. It was agreed,
That Redmond, with Matilda fair,
And fitting guard, should home repair;
At nightfall 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 fixed, 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 arrayed,
Streaks yet awhile the closing shade,
Then slow resigns to darkening 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's1 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 seem
To wake the genii of the stream;
For louder clamoured Greta's tide,
And Tees in deeper voice replied,
And fitful waked the evening wind,
Fitful in sighs its breath resigned.
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured sou!
Felt in the scene a soft control,

With lighter footstep pressed 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 checked by fear.
Such inconsistent moods nave we,
E'en when our passions strike the zor.

III.

Now through the wood's dark mazes past.
The opening lawn he reached at last,
Where, silvered by the moonlight may
The ancient hall before him lay.
Those martial terrors long were fled,
That frowned of old around its head:
The battlements, the turrets gray,
Seemed half abandoned to decay:
On barbican and keep of stone
Stern time the foeman's work had 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 turned to peaceful hall.
IV.

But yet precautions, lately ta'en,
Showed danger's day revived again;
The court-yard wall showed marks of care,
The fallen defences to repair,

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

The beams once more were taught to bear
The trembling drawbridge into air,
And not, till questioned o'er and o'er,
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door;
And when he entered, bolt and bar
Resumed their place with sullen jar;
Then, as he crossed the vaulted porch,
The old gray porter raised his torch,
And viewed him o'er from foot to head,
Ere to the hall his steps he led.
That huge old hall, of knightly state,
Dismantled seemed and desolate.

The moon through transom-shafts of stone,
Which crossed the latticed oriels, shone,
And, by the mournful light she gave,
The Gothic vault seemed funeral grave.
Pennon and banner waved no more
O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar,
Nor glimmering arms were marshalled seen,
To glance those sylvan spoils between.
Those arms, those ensigns, borne away,
Accomplished Rokeby's brave array,
But all were lost on Marston's day!
Yet, here and there, the moonbeams 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,