Claiming respect, yet waving state,
That marks the daughters of the great.
Yet not, perchance, had these alone

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown;
But while her energy of mind
Superior rose to griefs combined,
Lending its kindling to her eye,
Giving her form new majesty,—
To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'd
The very object he had dream'd;
When, long ere guilt his soul had known,
In Winston bowers he mused alone,

Taxing his fancy to combine

The face, the air, the voice divine,
Of princess fair, by cruel fate

Reft of her honours, power, and state,1

Till to her rightful realm restored

By destined hero's conquering sword.

XXVI.

"Such was my vision!" Edmund thought;
"And have I, then, the ruin wrought
Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er
In fairest vision form'd her peer?
Was it my hand that could unclose
The postern to her ruthless foes?
Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith,
Their kindest mercy sudden death!

1 [MS." Of some fair princess of romance,
The guerdon of a hero's lance."]

Have I done this? I! who have swore,
That if the globe such angel bore,

I would have traced its circle broad,

To kiss the ground on which she trode !—
And now-O! would that earth would rive,
And close upon me while alive !—
Is there no hope? Is all then lost ?———
Bertram's already on his post!

Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door,

I saw his shadow cross the floor!

He was to wait my signal strain—
A little respite thus we gain:
By what I heard the menials say,

Young Wycliffe's troop are on their way—

Alarm precipitates the crime!

My harp must wear away the time."

And then, in accents faint and low,

He falter'd forth a tale of wo.1

XXVII.

BALLAD.

"And whither would you lead me then?" Quoth the Friar of orders gray;

And the Ruffians twain replied again, "By a dying woman to pray."

"I see,” he said, "a lovely sight, A sight bodes little harm,

1 [The MS. has not this couplet.]

A lady as a lily bright,

With an infant on her arm.'

"Then do thine office, Friar

gray,

And see thou shrive her free!1

Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night,
Fling all its guilt on thee.

"Let mass be said, and trentrals read,
When thou'rt to convent gone,

And bid the bell of St. Benedict
Toll out its deepest tone."

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,
Blindfolded as he came

Next morning all, in Littlecote Hall
Were weeping for their dame.

Wild Darrell is an alter'd man,
The village crones can tell;

He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray,
If he hears the convent bell.

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way,
He'll beard him in his pride-
If he meet a Friar of orders gray,
He droops and turns aside.2

1 [MS" And see thy shrift be true,

Else shall the soul, that parts to-day,
Fling all its guilt on you."]

2 See Appendix, Note P,-[to which the author in his in terleaved copy has made considerable additions.-ED.]

XXVIII.

"Harper! methinks thy magic lays,"
Matilda said, " can goblins raise !
Wellnigh my fancy can discern,
Near the dark porch, a visage stern;
E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook,
I see it!-Redmond, Wilfrid, look!-
A human form distinct and clear-
God, for thy mercy!—it draws near!"
She saw too true. Stride after stride,
The centre of that chamber wide
Fierce Bertram gain'd; then made a stand,
And, proudly waving with his hand,
Thunder'd-" Be still, upon your lives!—
He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives."
Behind their chief, the robber crew
Forth from the darken'd portal drew.
In silence-save that echo dread
Return'd their heavy measured tread.1
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave

Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave;

File after file in order pass,

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass.

Then, halting at their leader's sign,

At once they form'd and curved their line, Hemming within its crescent drear

Their victims, like a herd of deer.

1 [MS.-"Behind him came his savage crew, File after file in order due;

Silent from that dark portal pass,

Like forms on Banquo's magic glass."]

Another sign, and to the aim

Levell❜d at once their muskets came,
As waiting but their chieftain's word,
To make their fatal volley heard.

ΧΧΙΧ.

Back in a heap the menials drew;
Yet, even in mortal terror, true,
Their pale and startled group oppose
Between Matilda and the foes.

"O, haste thee, Wilfrid!" Redmond cried; "Undo that wicket by thy side!

Bear hence Matilda -gain the wood-
The pass may be awhile made good-
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh—
O speak not-dally not-but fly!"
While yet the crowd their motions hide,
Through the low wicket door they glide.
Through vaulted passages they wind,
In Gothic intricacy twined;

Wilfrid half led, and half he bore,

Matilda to the postern-door,

And safe beneath the forest tree,

The Lady stands at liberty.

The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, Renew'd suspended consciousness;— "Where's Redmond?" eagerly she cries: "Thou answer'st not-he dies! he dies!

1 [MS." Conduct Matilda," &c.]

i