860

As thick a smoke these hearths have given
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.
Stand to it yet! renew the fight
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right!
These slaves! they dare not hand to hand
Bide buffet from a true man's brand.'
Impetuous, active, fierce, and young,
Upon the advancing foes he sprung.
Woe to the wretch at whom is bent
His brandished falchion's sheer descent !
Backward they scattered as he came,
Like wolves before the levin flame,
When, mid their howling conclave driven,
Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven.
Bertram rushed on - but Harpool clasped
His knees, although in death he gasped,
His falling corpse before him flung,
And round the trammelled ruffian clung.

Just then the soldiers filled the dome, 870
And shouting charged the felons home
So fiercely that in panic dread

They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled,
Bertram's stern voice they heed no more,
Though heard above the battle's roar;
While, trampling down the dying man,
He strove with volleyed threat and ban
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite,
To rally up the desperate fight.

XXXIV

Soon murkier clouds the hall enfold Than e'er from battle-thunders rolled, So dense the combatants scarce know To aim or to avoid the blow. Smothering and blindfold grows fight

880

the

But soon shall dawn a dismal light!
Mid cries and clashing arms there came
The hollow sound of rushing flame;
New horrors on the tumult dire
Arise the castle is on fire!
Doubtful if chance had cast the brand 890
Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand,
Matilda saw-for frequent broke
From the dim casements gusts of smoke,
Yon tower, which late so clear defined
On the fair hemisphere reclined
That, pencilled on its azure pure,
The eye could count each embrasure,
Now, swathed within the sweeping cloud,
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud;
Till, from each loop-hole flashing light, 900
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright,
And, gathering to united glare,
Streams high into the midnight air;
A dismal beacon, far and wide
That wakened Greta's slumbering side.
Soon all beneath, through gallery long
And pendent arch, the fire flashed strong,
Snatching whatever could maintain,
Raise, or extend its furious reign;
Startling with closer cause of dread
The females who the conflict fled,
And now rushed forth upon the plain,
Filling the air with clamors vain.

XXXV

910

But ceased not yet the hall within
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din,
Till bursting lattices give proof
The flames have caught the raftered roof.
What! wait they till its beams amain
Crash on the slayers and the slain?

HE

T

940

And where is Bertram ? - Soaring high, The general flame ascends the sky; In gathered group the soldiers gaze Upon the broad and roaring blaze, When, like infernal demon, sent Red from his penal element, To plague and to pollute the air, His face all gore, on fire his hair, Forth from the central mass of smoke The giant form of Bertram broke ! His brandished sword on high he rears, Then plunged among opposing spears; Round his left arm his mantle trussed, Received and foiled three lances' thrust; Nor these his headlong course withstood, Like reeds he snapped the tough ashwood. In vain his foes around him clung; With matchless force aside he flung Their boldest, -as the bull at bay Tosses the ban-dogs from his way, Through forty foes his path he made, And safely gained the forest glade.

950

960

The ready palfreys stood arrayed For Redmond and for Rokeby's maid; Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, One leads his charger by the rein. But oft Matilda looked behind, As up the vale of Tees they wind, Where far the mansion of her sires Beaconed the dale with midnight fires. In gloomy arch above them spread, The clouded heaven lowered bloody red; Beneath in sombre light the flood Appeared to roll in waves of blood. Then one by one was heard to fall The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. Each rushing down with thunder sound A space the conflagration drowned; Till gathering strength again it rose, Announced its triumph in its close, Shook wide its light the landscape o'er, Then sunk and Rokeby was no more!

CANTO SIXTH

I

THE summer sun, whose early power
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower
And rouse her with his matin ray
Her duteous orisons to pay,

That morning sun has three times seen
The flowers unfold on Rokeby green,
But sees no more the slumbers fly
From fair Matilda's hazel eye;
That morning sun has three times broke
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak,
But, rising from their sylvan screen,
Marks no gray turrets glance between.
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower,
That, hissing to the morning shower,
Can but with smouldering vapor pay
The early smile of summer day.
The peasant, to his labor bound,
Pauses to view the blackened mound,
Striving amid the ruined space
Each well-remembered spot to trace.
That length of frail and fire-scorched wall
Once screened the hospitable hall;
When yonder broken arch was whole,
'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole;
And where yon tottering columns nod
The chapel sent the hymn to God.
So flits the world's uncertain span !
Nor zeal for God nor love for man
Gives mortal monuments a date
Beyond the power of Time and Fate.

970

980

10

20

30

ears,

Or prowling by the moonbeam cool Watches the stream or swims the pool; Perched on his wonted eyrie high, Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied eye, That all the day had watched so well The cushat dart across the dell. In dubious beam reflected shone That lofty cliff of pale gray stone Beside whose base the secret cave To rapine late a refuge gave. The crag's wild crest of copse and yew On Greta's breast dark shadows threw, Shadows that met or shunned the sight With every change of fitful light, As hope and fear alternate chase Our course through life's uncertain race.

III

Gliding by crag and copsewood green, A solitary form was seen

To trace with stealthy pace the wold. Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, And pauses oft, and cowers dismayed At every breath that stirs the shade. He passes now the ivy bush,

The owl has seen him and is hush; He passes now the doddered oak, He heard the startled raven croak; Lower and lower he descends, Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends; The otter hears him tread the shore, And dives and is beheld no more; And by the cliff of pale gray stone The midnight wanderer stands alone. Methinks that by the moon we trace A well-remembered form and face!

60

70

80

That stripling shape, that cheek so pale, Combine to tell a rueful tale, Of powers misused, of passion's force, Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse! 'Tis Edmund's eye at every sound That flings that guilty glance around; 'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides The brushwood that the cavern hides; And when its narrow porch lies bare 'Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 90

IV

100

His flint and steel have sparkled bright, A lamp hath lent the cavern light. Fearful and quick his eye surveys Each angle of the gloomy maze. Since last he left that stern abode, It seemed as none its floor had trode; Untouched appeared the various spoil, The purchase of his comrades' toil; Masks and disguises grimed with mud, Arms broken and defiled with blood, And all the nameless tools that aid Night-felons in their lawless trade, Upon the gloomy walls were hung Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. Still on the sordid board appear The relics of the noontide cheer: Flagons and emptied flasks were there, And bench o'erthrown and shattered chair; And all around the semblance showed, As when the final revel glowed, When the red sun was setting fast And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 'To Rokeby treasure vaults!' they quaffed,

110

And shouted loud and wildly laughed,
Poured maddening from the rocky door,
And parted to return no more!
They found in Rokeby vaults their doom,―
A bloody death, a burning tomb!

Nor paused till deep beneath the ground
His search a small steel casket found.
Just as he stooped to loose its hasp
His shoulder felt a giant grasp;
He started and looked up aghast,
Then shrieked!-'T was Bertram held
him fast.

Fear not!' he said; but who could hear

That deep stern voice and cease to fear?

160

Fear not!- By heaven, he shakes as much
As partridge in the falcon's clutch:'
He raised him and unloosed his hold,
While from the opening casket rolled
A chain and reliquaire of gold.
Bertram beheld it with surprise,
Gazed on its fashion and device,
Then, cheering Edmund as he could,
Somewhat he smoothed his rugged mood,
For still the youth's half-lifted eye
Quivered with terror's agony,
And sidelong glanced as to explore
In meditated fight the door.

Sit,' Bertram said, from danger free:
Thou canst not and thou shalt not flee.
Chance brings me
I've sought for refuge-place in vain.
hither; hill and plain

170

My prisoner right?"-"At thy be

hest."

And long since had their union been
But for her father's bigot spleen,
Whose brute and blindfold party-rage
Would, force perforce, her hand engage
To a base kern of Irish earth,
Unknown his lineage and his birth,
Save that a dying ruffian bore
The infant brat to Rokeby door.
Gentle restraint, he said, would lead
Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed;
But fair occasion he must find

For such restraint well meant and kind,
The knight being rendered to his charge
But as a prisoner at large.

IX

230

His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore;
And then alas! what needs there more?
I knew I should not live to say
The proffer I refused that day;
Ashamed to live, yet loath to die,
I soiled me with their infamy!'
'Poor youth!' said Bertram, 'wavering
still,

Unfit alike for good or ill!

260

But what fell next?'-Soon as at large
Was scrolled and signed our fatal charge,
There never yet on tragic stage
Was seen so well a painted rage
As Oswald's showed! With loud alarm
He called his garrison to arm;
From tower to tower, from post to post,
He hurried as if all were lost;
Consigned to dungeon and to chain
The good old knight and all his train;
Warned each suspected Cavalier
Within his limits to appear
To-morrow at the hour of noon
In the high church of Eglistone.' -

X

'Of Eglistone! - Even now I passed,' Said Bertram, as the night closed fast; 270

Torches and cressets gleamed around,
I heard the saw and hammer sound,
And I could mark they toiled to raise
A scaffold, hung with sable baize,
Which the grim headsman's scene dis-
played,

Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid.
Some evil deed will there be done
Unless Matilda wed his son; -

She loves him not - 't is shrewdly guessed
That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 2
This is a turn of Oswald's skill;
But I may meet, and foil him still! -
How camest thou to thy freedom?'-—

'There

Lies mystery more dark and rare.
In midst of Wycliffe's well-feigned rage,
A scroll was offered by a page,
Who told a muffled horseman late
Had left it at the Castle-gate.

He broke the seal - his cheek showed change,

Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange; 29
The mimic passion of his eye
Was turned to actual agony;
His hand like summer sapling shook,
Terror and guilt were in his look.
Denzil he judged in time of need
Fit counsellor for evil deed;
And thus apart his counsel broke,
While with a ghastly smile he spoke:

XI

370

"As in the pageants of the stage The dead awake in this wild age, Mortham whom all men deemed decreed In his own deadly snare to bleed, Slain by a bravo whom o'er sea He trained to aid in murdering me, Mortham has 'scaped! The coward shot The steed but harmed the rider not." Here with an execration fell Bertram leaped up and paced the cell:Thine own gray head or bosom dark,' He muttered, may be surer mark!' Then sat and signed to Edmund, pale With terror, to resume his tale. 'Wycliffe went on:"Mark with what

flights

Of wildered reverie he writes:

THE LETTER

"Ruler of Mortham's destiny!

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee.

310