Plying war's desultory trade, Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son, At first the bloody game begun.

II

20

The Indian, prowling for his prey,
Who hears the settlers track his way,
And knows in distant forest far
Camp his red brethren of the war —
He, when each double and disguise
To baffle the pursuit he tries,
Low crouching now his head to hide
Where swampy streams through rushes
glide,

Now covering with the withered leaves
The foot-prints that the dew receives
He, skilled in every sylvan guile,
Knows not, nor tries, such various wile
As Risingham when on the wind
Arose the loud pursuit behind.
In Redesdale his youth had heard
Each art her wily dalesman dared,
When Rooken-edge and Redswair high
To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry,
Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear,
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear;
And well his venturous life had proved
The lessons that his childhood loved.

III

Oft had he shown in climes afar Each attribute of roving war; The sharpened ear, the piercing eye, The quick resolve in danger nigh; The speed that in the flight or chase Outstripped the Charib's rapid race; The steady brain, the sinewy limb, To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim; The iron frame, inured to bear Each dire inclemency of air, Nor less confirmed to undergo Fatigue's faint chill and famine's throe. These arts he proved, his life to save, In peril oft by land and wave, On Arawaca's desert shore, Or where La Plata's billows roar, When oft the sons of vengeful Spain Tracked the marauder's steps in vain. These arts, in Indian warfare tried, Must save him now by Greta's side.

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80

The echo of his footsteps drowned. But if the forest verge he nears, There trample steeds, and glimmer spears; If deeper down the copse he drew, He heard the rangers' loud halloo, Beating each cover while they came, As if to start the sylvan game. 'T was then-like tiger close beset At every pass with toil and net, 'Countered where'er he turns his glare By clashing arms and torches' flare, Who meditates with furious bound To burst on hunter, horse and hound 'T was then that Bertram's soul arose, Prompting to rush upon his foes: But as that crouching tiger, cowed By brandished steel and shouting crowd, Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, Bertram suspends his purpose stern, And crouches in the brake and fern, Hiding his face lest foemen spy The sparkle of his swarthy eye.

V

90

140

Well Risingham young Redmond knew, And much he marvelled that the crew Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead 130 Were by that Mortham's foeman 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 couched like hunted deer, The very boughs his steps displace Rustled against the ruffian's face, Who desperate twice prepared to start, And plunge his dagger in his heart! But Redmond turned 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 venomed 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 undisturbed retreat to find.

VII

But Bertram, as he backward drew,
And heard the loud pursuit renew,
And Redmond's hollo on the wind,
Oft muttered in his savage mind -
'Redmond O'Neale! were thou and I
Alone this day's event to try,

150

160

With not a second here to see
But the gray cliff and oaken tree,
That voice of thine that shouts so loud
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud!
No! nor e'er try its melting power
Again in maiden's summer bower.'
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.

VIII

170

He listened long with anxious heart, Ear bent to hear and foot to start, And, while his stretched attention glows, 180 Refused his weary frame repose. 'T was silence all- he laid him down, Where purple heath profusely strown, And throatwort with its azure bell, 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 favorite gem Of Albin's mountain-diadem. Then, tired to watch the currents play, He turned his weary eyes away To where the bank opposing showed Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy

wood.

One, prominent above the rest, Reared to the sun its pale gray breast; Around its broken summit grew 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 filled stern Bertram's gazing eye.

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;

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200

210

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 muttered, 'It is best make sure; Guy Denzil's faith was never pure.' He followed down the steep descent, Then through the Greta's streams they went;

And when they reached the farther shore They stood the lonely cliff before.

XIV

With wonder Bertram heard within
The flinty rock a murmured din;
But when Guy pulled 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.
Here entered Denzil, Bertram here;
And loud and louder on their ear,
As from the bowels of the earth,
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth.
Of old the cavern strait and rude
In slaty rock the peasant hewed;
And Brignall's woods and Scargill's wave
E'en now o'er many a sister cave,
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 drained

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340

Still in his slumbering grasp retained; 350
Regret was there, his eye still cast
With vain repining on the past;
Among the feasters waited near
Sorrow and unrepentant Fear,
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,

With his own crimes reproaching Heaven;
While Bertram showed amid the crew
The Master-Fiend that Milton drew.

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 stamped 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,
Embowered upon the banks of Tees;
He views sweet Winston'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 stirred the rest.
On him they call, the aptest mate
For jovial song and

merry

feat: Fast flies his dream with dauntless

air,

380

As one victorious o'er despair,
He bids the ruddy cup go round
Till sense and sorrow both are drowned;
And soon in merry wassail he,
The life of all their revelry,
Peals his loud song!-The muse has

'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen.' 'If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town,

3:30

400

CHORUS

'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 450
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen.'

When Edmund ceased his simple song,
Was silence on the sullen throng.
Till waked some 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 designed,
While still on Bertram's grasping mind
The wealth of murdered Mortham hung;
Though half he feared his daring tongue,
When it should give his wishes birth,
Might raise a spectre from the earth!

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460

At length his wondrous tale he told;
When scornful smiled his comrade bold,
For, trained in license of a court,
Religion's self was Denzil's sport;
Then judge in what contempt he held 470
The visionary tales of eld!

His awe for Bertram scarce repressed
The unbeliever's sneering jest,

480

''T were hard,' he said, "for sage or seer
To spell the subject of your fear;
Nor do I boast the art renowned
Vision and omen 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 hold,
When Rokeby castle hath the gold
Thy patron won on Indian soil
By stealth, by piracy and spoil?'-