mirth;

Rather he would have seen the earth
Give to ten thousand spectres birth
Than venture to awake to flame
The deadly wrath of Risingham.
Submiss he answered, 'Mortham's mind,
Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined.
In youth, 't is said, a gallant free,
A lusty reveller was he;

But since returned from over sea,
A sullen and a silent mood

Hath numbed the current of his blood.
Hence he refused each kindly call
To Rokeby's hospitable hall,

And our stout knight, at dawn or morn
Who loved to hear the bugle-horn,
Nor less, when eve his oaks embrowned,
To see the ruddy cup go round,
Took umbrage that a friend so near
Refused to share his chase and cheer;
Thus did the kindred barons jar
Ere they divided in the war.
Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair
Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir.'

520

530

540

550

And rose, as men with us must rise,
By scorning life and all its ties.
On each adventure rash he roved,
As danger for itself he loved;
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine
Could ere one wrinkled knot untwine;
Ill was the omen if he smiled,
For 't was in peril stern and wild;
But when he laughed each luckless mate
Might hold our fortune desperate.
Foremost he fought in every broil,
Then scornful turned him from the spoil,
Nay, often strove to bar the way
Between his comrades and their prey; 560
Preaching even then to such as we,
Hot with our dear-bought victory,
Of mercy and humanity.

XXIII

'I loved him well-his fearless part, His gallant leading, won my heart. And after each victorious fight, 'Twas I that wrangled for his right, Redeemed his portion of the prey That greedier mates had torn away, In field and storm thrice saved his life, 570 And once amid our comrades' strife.Yes, I have loved thee! Well hath proved My toil, my danger, how I loved! Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. Rise if thou canst !' he looked around And sternly stamped upon the groundRise, with thy bearing proud and high,

Even as this morn it met mine eye,
And give me, if thou darest, the lie!' 5
He paused-then, calm and passion-freed,
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed.

XXIV

'Bertram, to thee I need not tell, What thou hast cause to wot so well, How superstition's nets were twined Around the Lord of Mortham's mind; But since he drove thee from his tower, A maid he found in Greta's bower Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway To charm his evil fiend away. I know not if her features moved Remembrance of the wife he loved, But he would gaze upon her eye, Till his mood softened to a sigh. He, whom no living mortal sought To question of his secret thought,

590

610

?

'Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train These iron-banded chests to gain, Else wherefore should he hover here Where many a peril waits him near For all his feats of war and peace, For plundered boors, and harts of greese Since through the hamlets as he fared What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, Or where the chase that hath not rung With Denzil's bow at midnight strung?' 'I hold my wont-my rangers go, Even now to track a milk-white doe. By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, In Greta wood she harbors fair, And when my huntsman marks her way, What think'st thou, Bertram, of the ? Were Rokeby's daughter in our power, We rate her ransom at her dower.'

XXVI

prey

620

"T is well!—there's vengeance in the thought,

Matilda is by Wilfrid sought;

And hot-brained Redmond too, 't is said, 630 Pays lover's homage to the maid. if met by chance

Bertram she scorned

She turned from me her shuddering glance, Like a nice dame that will not brook On what she hates and loathes to look; She told to Mortham she could ne'er Behold me without secret fear, Foreboding evil:- she may rue To find her prophecy fall true! The war has weeded Rokeby's train, Few followers in his halls remain; If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, We are enow to storm the hold, Bear off the plunder and the dame, And leave the castle all in flame.'

640

A while thy hasty taunt forbear: In sight of road more sure and fair Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold

He turned his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore,

He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said, 'Adieu for evermore,
My love!

And adieu for evermore.'

XXIX

'What youth is this your band among The best for minstrelsy and song? In his wild notes seem aptly met A strain of pleasure and regret.' 'Edmund of Winston is his name; The hamlet sounded with the fame Of early hopes his childhood gave, Now centred all in Brignall cave! I watch him well- his wayward course Shows oft a tincture of remorse. Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, And oft the scar will ache and smart. Yet is he useful; - of the rest By fits the darling and the jest, His harp, his story, and his lay, Oft aid the idle hours away: When unemployed, each fiery mate Is ripe for mutinous debate.

He tuned his strings e'en now - again He wakes them with a blither strain.'

XXX

SONG

ALLEN-A-DALE

700

710

cry:

He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye,

And she fled to the forest to hear a lovetale,

And the youth it was told by was Allen-a

dale !

XXXI

750

'Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay,
Love mingles ever in his lay.
But when his boyish wayward fit
Is o'er, he hath address and wit;
O, 't is a brain of fire, can ape
Each dialect, each various shape!'-
Nay then, to aid thy project, Guy-
Soft! who comes here?'-'My trusty

spy.

Speak, Hamlin hast thou lodged our deer?'.

'I have

but two fair stags are near.

For the light fairies' lively feet.
Yon tufted knoll with daisies strown
Might make proud Oberon a throne,
While, hidden in the thicket nigh,
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly;
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings
Round ash and elm in verdant rings,
Its pale and azure-pencilled flower
Should canopy Titania's bower.

III

Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade;
But, skirting every sunny glade,
In fair variety of green

The woodland lends its sylvan screen.
Hoary yet haughty, frowns the oak,
Its boughs by weight of ages broke;
And towers erect in sable spire
The pine-tree scathed by lightning-fire;
The drooping ash and birch between
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green,
And all beneath at random grow
Each coppice dwarf of varied show,
Or, round the stems profusely twined,
Fling summer odors on the wind.
Such varied group Urbino's hand
Round Him of Tarsus nobly planned,
What time he bade proud Athens own
On Mars's Mount the God Unknown!
Then gray Philosophy stood nigh,
Though bent by age, in spirit high:
There rose the scar-seamed veteran's spear,
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear,
While Childhood at her foot was placed,
Or clung delighted to her waist.

IV

'And rest we here,' Matilda said,
And sat her in the varying shade.
'Chance-met, we well may steal an hour,
To friendship due from fortune's power.
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend;
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest,
No farther urge thy desperate quest.
For to my care a charge is left,
Dangerous to one of aid bereft,
Wellnigh an orphan and alone,

40

50

60

70

Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown.' 80
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced,
Beside her on the turf she placed;
Then paused with downcast look and eye,
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh.
Her conscious diffidence he saw,
Drew backward as in modest awe,

And sat a little space removed, Unmarked to gaze on her he loved.

V

90

Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair Half hid Matilda's forehead fair, Half hid and half revealed to view Her full dark eye of hazel hue. The rose with faint and feeble streak So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek That you had said her hue was pale; But if she faced the summer gale, Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved, Or heard the praise of those she loved, Or when of interest was expressed Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 100 The mantling blood in ready play Rivalled the blush of rising day. There was a soft and pensive grace, A cast of thought upon her face, That suited well the forehead high, The eyelash dark and downcast eye; The mild expression spoke a mind In duty firm, composed, resigned; "T is that which Roman art has given, To mark their maiden Queen of Heaven. 110 In hours of sport that mood gave way To Fancy's light and frolic play; And when the dance, or tale, or song In harmless mirth sped time along, Full oft her doting sire would call His Maud the merriest of them all. But days of war and civil crime Allowed but ill such festal time, And her soft pensiveness of brow Had deepened into sadness now. In Marston field her father ta'en, Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain,

While every ill her soul foretold

From Oswald's thirst of power and gold,
And boding thoughts that she must part
With a soft vision of her heart,
All lowered around the lovely maid,
To darken her dejection's shade.

120

130

140

But chief arose his victor pride
When that brave Marshal fought and died.
And Avon-Duff to ocean bore
His billows red with Saxon gore.
'T was first in that disastrous fight
Rokeby and Mortham proved their might.
There had they fallen amongst the rest,
But pity touched a chieftain's breast;
The Tanist he to great O'Neale,
He checked his followers' bloody zeal,
To quarter took the kinsmen bold,
And bore them to his mountain-hold,
Gave them each sylvan joy to know
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could
show,

Shared with them Erin's festal cheer,
Showed them the chase of wolf and deer,
And, when a fitting time was come,
Safe and unransomed sent them home,
Loaded with many a gift to prove
A generous foe's respect and love.

VII

150

159

Years speed away. On Rokeby's head Some touch of early snow was shed; Calm he enjoyed by Greta's wave The peace which James the Peaceful gave, While Mortham far beyond the main Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. It chanced upon a wintry night That whitened Stanmore's stormy height, The chase was o'er, the stag was killed, In Rokeby hall the cups were filled, And by the huge stone chimney sate The knight in hospitable state. Moonless the sky, the hour was late, When a loud summons shook the gate, 170 And sore for entrance and for aid A voice of foreign accent prayed. The porter answered to the call, And instant rushed into the hall A man whose aspect and attire Startled the circle by the fire.

VIII