y§ i^^i i^^^l ^^^<^i "^miWDJO^ ^(f/OJIIVDJO^^ ms//j •soi^"^ %a3AiNn]\\v rs' ^OFCALIFO/?^ ^^AHvaan-^^J^ ^ VER% -^HIBRARYOr ^if/OJIlVDJO'^ ^^^lllBRARYQ^ 2 V ^/^ ^ ^5 ^omm^'^ -^1 UNIVER5'//. ^vWSANCELfj;^ bjITVDJO"^ ^(f/OJIWDJO"^ ^OPCALIF0% AWEUNIVERVa ^VlOSANCElfj-^ 6 %a3AiNn]WV^ -^HIBRARYQ/r ^•OFCAIIFO/?^ ^^Ayvaaii-^'^ POEMS. WILLIAM HENRY LEATHAM. A TRAVELLER'S THOUGHTS. THE VICTIM. SANDAL IN THE OLDEN TIME. HENRIE CLIFEORDE AND MARGARET PERCY. SIEGE OF GRANADA. EMILIA MONTEIRO. STRAFFORD. A Tragedy. OLIVER CROMWELL. A Drama. LONDON : LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN AND LONGMANS AND ILLINGWORTH AND HICKS, WAKEFIELD. MDCCCXLIII. A TRAVELLER'S THOUGHTS; OR, LINES SUGGESTED BY A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, IN THE SUMMER OF 1835. BY WILLIAM HENRY LEATHAM. A NEW EDITION. LONDON. LONGMAN, ORME, AND Co. 184L THIS, AND OTHER EARLY PRODUCTIONS OF THE AUTHOR'S MUSE ARE DEDICATED TO HIS MOTHER, AS A 'fUKEN OF FILIAL LOVE AND REGARD ADVERTLSExMENT. All that the Author of these Stanzas has attempted, is to lay before his reader a rough Sketch of those objects with which he felt himself the most interested, and at the same time, to convey the train of Thoughts they severally awakened in his mind. Five years have now elapsed since the Author (then a minor) visited the Continent, and he is fully aware, that during this period of time, not only many objects herein des- cribed may have changed their aspect and character, but that his own views have also imdergone considerable alteration. Notwithstanding Ihis, he prefers incurring the charge of puerility in thought and ex- pression, to attempting anything like such a revision of the Poem, as would render it an index of his present tone of mind and feel- ing, were the same objects again presented to his view. 865979 iv. ADVERTISEMENT. With this determination, his efforts have been chiefly directed to effect some Httle im- provement in the versification and general arrangement of the Poem : but even in this respect, the Author is fully aware of the dif- ficulty, if not the impossibility, of giving a finish to what was originally intended as a mere outline ; and he must therefore request the reader will bear in mind, that " a rough sketch" is all he must look for in the "Travel- ler's Thoughts/' CONTExVTS. FRANCE. Introduction — Thoughts on leaving home and landing in France — Paris — a spirit of War and rebellion lurking there — Napoleon — the memory of his greatness — H6tel« des-Invalides — Sceurs-de-Charire — the Cemetery ofPere- la-Chaise — the tombs of Cuvier auJ his daughter Cle- mentine, of Ney, Massena, David, Abelard, and Heloise. SWITZERLAND AND ITALY. A distant view of the Alps — the Perte-du-Rbone — Geneva — Clarence — Julie — the Castle of Chillon at mid- night — Mont Blanc — Mer-de-glace — Maria-de-Mont- Blanc — Song — the daughters of Switzerland — the Pass of the Simplon — Castle-la-Bathia — Sion [the ancient Sidunum] — the cascade of Turtraann — the town of Brieg and the valley of the Rhone — the gallery of Gondo — the Doveria and Frassinone— the first view of Italy by moon- light — the valley of Fontana and Val-d'-Ossola — Lago Maggiore — Isola- Bella — the colossal statue of St. Carlo Baromio, Milan — Napoleon's triumphal arch — the Aus- trian Guards — the beauty of the women — the Cathedral — St. Carlo Baromio's shrine — the Course — the great Theatre of Seala — the Ambroseau College — Como — Queen Caroline's villa — a Sabbath Eve — Lugano — Silk worms — the Pass of St. Golhard — Funeral— the traveller SuMiighted between Giornico and Faido, vi. CONTENTS. The Summit— tlie Avalunclie gallery — bridge of siiovv tlie Reuss— the c-hulets perched among tlie rocks — KiirgltMi the birth place of Tell — Altdorf, where be shot the apple from !iis son's head — Lucern — storms frequent there — Tell's Chapel — Stauffacher, Furst. and Arnold, where they nightly met — Gessler's ruined Castle — K\i»s- nacht where Gassier was shot — the great beauty of the lake — Mount Pilatus — the Rhigi — a thunder storm — its echoes — the chiming of bells — Tell's Shade — the sun-rise — thoughts on Switzerland — her beauty — her indepen- dence — Morgarten — Sempach — the monument to the Swiss Guards at Lucern — the Rossberg — the villages de- stroyed by the falling of part of that mountain — Stanzas — tbe lakes of Sarnen and Lungern — the glacier of Ro- senlaui — its beautiful colour — the Wetterborn — Wengan Alp — Jungfrau — the waterfalls — the Staubbach — the cas- cades of the Reichenbach — the rainbow — Lake of Brientz — tbe cascade of Giesbacb — the traveller passes bebind one of its falls—song to Switzerland and Liberty — fare- well to the Alps— a Sun-set from the ramparts at Bern — tbe last blush on the mountains — thoughts on leaving,' Switzerland. THE RHINE, BELGIUM, ike. Tut; fulls of the Rhine at Shaffbausen — Baden— the Nfckar -— Ileydelberg — the Rhine — its vineyards and ruined fastles— Aix-la-Chapelle — Charlemagne— His throne and tomb — the Meuse— Napoleon and Waterloo —PicTON— Howard— Wellington— Thoughts on war —Antwerp— Rubens— his picture of the "ascent and descent from the cross" in the Cathedral— tbe Citadel— Chassf— Conclusion. FRANCE. INTRODUCTION— THE CHANNEL-«= FRANCE— PARIS. I. In days of yore, when Harold crossed the seas,* Satiety had turned his mirth to woe ; He found the wine of pleasure on the lees. And Riot's maddening race was run below ; Moody — with quickened pulse, and fevered glow, He seized his harp, and dashed the cup away, No sigh was heard, no tear was seen to flow, As homeless, reckless of a home to stray, Climates afar he sought, where scorching sun-beams play. II. Not so, a youth, who leaves his cherished home, To scan the varied form of nature's face ; Where'er the truant's steps may idly roam. His soul in fancy still will fondly trace That home, which distance never can eflface ; Nor quits his hearth through dull satiety, But longs to traverse o'er a wider space. 8 THE CHANNEL. Mankind to contemplate with curious eye, Or, gaze on spots enfamed in olden History. III. Nor his the eagle's wing that Harold knew, Sky-borne, to soar aloft, and seek the light ; A short horizon must content his view, He wends his course with slow, unsteady flight ; And like Minerva's moping bird of night, Now jaded lags ; now drooping seeks the shade ; Now dazzled shuns the noon-day's sunbeam bright. And loves to brood where nature has decayed, And Time hath ruthless been, tho' spoiler's hand* have stayed. IV. Farewell, thou Poet's Cliff! we meet again l'^ Ah ! if thy Muse would deign to follow me, Would leave her classic hill, and plough the main, Yes — wake her silent harp of minstrelsy — But why lament, since this may never be ? Alas ! 'twere vain to sue the sacred Nine, Since Fate has e'er decreed that none but he, The child of Nature, born of her to shine, Can wreaths of deathless bays around his browh entwine. V. My country fades ! the faintest streak appears ! Ah, now 'tis gone ! but Hope forbids to weep ; One pleasing thought my drooping spirit cheers. My homeward bark shall hail thy vanished steep ! * : ; * * * # 'Tis now a stranger's shore, whereon we leap ; Though constant novelty the mind enthrals, FRANCE. y This land awakes a sense that cannot sleep, Bright deeds of valour back to life recals, For liere there dwells untamed the spirit of the Gauls ! VI. Behold the blood-stained chronicles of France ! The wondrous scenes your latest record tells, Rise like the o'erwrought fictions of romance. On which the mind amazed — bewildered dwells. How many a rankling- breast in secret swells With deadly hate, yon fickle crowd among. And stifled Treason, lurkiufr there, rebels Against a Monarch's sway, ay — thousands long To join in open arms, the reckless, maddening throng ! VII. Oh, that the past a lesson still might be ! That past had proved instruction to the wise ; A deeper tide of blood must gush from thee, Before thy restless, warring spirit dies, Ere Peace dare quit her mansion in the skies : Though Pleasure holds her court within thy walls, I hear a harsher note than her's arise, The drum's dull beat in sullen accent falls, Hark ! louder than the drum, the brazen trumpet calls.-'^ VIII. Far o'er the deep arose a flaming star, Which lit the frighted world with lurid light, Big with the destinies of direful war, It waxed in splendour with each bloodier fi<>ht, Till blazin.f^ forfli from its meridian height, A 2 10 FRANCK. HMK, BROWN, (. .. „ .1, v i\ ', ^^fCrMANS: MDCCCXLI. TH IS, AND SOME OTHER OF THE AUTHOR'S EARLY PRODUCTIONS, ARE DEDICATED TO HIS MOTHER, AS A TOKEN OF FILIAL LOVE AND REGARD. ADVERTISEMENT- The moral that the following Tale contains, will, it is hoped, compensate in some degree for its fictitious character. No precise date is affixed to this story, beyond being pos- terior to the great struggle for liberty, in which Tell gained his immortality, and Switzerland her independence. The unreserved confidence which "Constance" places in her lover, is in perfect accorda with the great purity and simplicity of manners, which peculiarly characterize the Swiss, and on that ground she may be fairly acquitted of any breach of decorum. THE VICTIM PART I ARGUMEN T. FLUELEN, the home of CONSTANCE— her virtue and beauty — GRUTLI, MEINRAD'S abode— his bravery and high spirit— kin- dred spirits— MEINRAD'S Courtship— CONSTANCE accepts him — the perils of his Hunter's life — his feats — his occupation when watching on the snow — his description of Alpine Scenery — evening, night and morning — he gathers flowers and gems — CONSTANCE watches his promised bark — MEINRAD'S foim — they sail on the lake — their conversation — she sings — the echoes— the night approaches — they return and And the Old Man on the watch — he blesses them — MEINRAD takes his leave for the last time before they are to be married. Deep in Fluelen'S shady bower, i There bloomed a lone and lovely flower, Sole daughter of an aged sire, Whose soul was touched with freedom's fire : To him was naught to] glad the earth. Save Constance and a life of worth; Here, Virtue formed, in Beauty's mould, A second Eve, as once of old, Sent like an angel from above, To light an Eden with her love. II. In Grutli's wave-worn— deathless town, « A Hunter dwelt— high his renown Amid his native ice-bound steeps, Where Avalanche in thunder leaps. B 2 THE VICTIM, A braver wariior iu lier host, All rocky Uri could not boast; Her Alpine sons of liberty, A man more fearless, and more free, Than da-'ntless Meixrad ot Grutli ! The eagie trembled at bis tread ; The chamois knew him we'l and fled ; To d^e, and tempt it were the same. So withering fell bis deadly aim. There dwe't enthroned upon his brow, The man-like sp'rit of the free ; Save God to none his knee would bow, He owned no tyrant's sovereignly. Within, the SPARTAN'S spi'-it burned : Without, the badge MORGARTEN earaed, Vowed " ONE FOR ALL, AND ALL FOR ONE, And stamped him bold HELVETIA'S son. III. Some Bards have said, divinely wise ! (And sure 'tis sweet to think it so I) That as each spirit quits the skies. To dwell on earth in mortal guise, A kindled spirit leaves them too, That twain below one bliss may find, The union of their wedded mind. So Meinrad deemed, and so it proved. For Constance was the maid he loved. She seemed to him that brighter pait. Which yet was wanting to his heart ; That tender, blissful, loving thing, Careering but on rapture's wh)g, And doubling all that joy coa bring, To fill, and waim, and light the breast- Bearing that gentle offering, W'hich woman's love alone can give, To bid the heart's long morrow live, To set it s aching void at rest ! IV. I ween, he knew no dextrous art, Nor played the crafty suitor's part. To gain an entrance to her heart ; He knew the thought that dwelt in his, THE \ I C T I M . Nor ilcemed amiss tliat thought were hei's, Their souls were cue— at least in this, The ken that purity confers. Nor mingled he amid the crowd, Who prattle lies with flattering tongue ; The love he owned was scarce avowed, A chain unseen around him hung ; But love will spy the chords that draw The captive heart, how fine so e'er, Though none might see, yet CONSTAXCE saw, She felt the link that reached to her. V. Too artless was Fluelen'S maid, When Meixrad once had owned love's smart, To think affection can be paid, Too cheaply by a woman's heart. Oh — no ! she framed no lying tale. Of feelings shocked — or feigned surprise — The blush that mantled 'neath her veil, The love that darted from her eyes. Too plainly told the pleading swain. His earnest suit was not in vain. VI. Such was the man that CONSTANCE loved ; Each day with hunter's perils rife, A source of new affection proved, And twined a charm around his life— To welcome home that fearless youth, Was more than happiness in sooth ! Oh ! when they met, 'twas doubly dear, Beatitude enhanced by fear ! Then MEIXRAD spoke of gulphs that yawn, Insatiate round each icy Horn ; Of gulphs his dauntless footsteps crossed, Where many a hardy Swiss was lost ; And how he scaled the giddy crest. Where Liimmergheyer her aerie placed, 4 And how he bearded in her nest. The sovereign of the frozen waste ; Of nights he spent on some lone rock, That hourly trembled with the shock Of Avalanche that rushing by, Like midnight thunder rent the sky ! THE V I C T I M » Fair CONSTANCE shuddered as he spake, Yet loved to hear for Meixrad'S sake. VII. Then, as to chase away her fear, He told how softly charmed his ear. When wakeful on the frozen fell, The tinkling of her Tillage bell ! That sound he knew was speaking then, From out his CONSTANCE' lowly glen. It reached his icy couch above. To tell him of his sleeping love ! How too, at eve, he watched the sun, First gild FlueLEN'S spii-e, Then, ere his glorious course was run, Light CONSTANCE' roof with fire ; Yes ! how he watched the trembling light, M'ax fainter, till it vanished quite, And spire, and cot were lost to sight ! How, as the mist curled up the glen. From out the slowly-purpling lake, It veiled the calm abodes of men, 'Jill fire-light gleams, would fitful break, Ev'n thi-ough the gloaming's stealthy path, To point each freeman's ruddy-hearth; 'Ihen turned his eye to GOTHARD'S brow. To catch his dying ruby glow ; Then hailed each star, that gathered light, And twinkled at approaching night ; Till Cjnihia clomb the icy wall, And shone upon his raptured eye. As darker grew the nightly pall. The deep — deep azure of the sky ! Then hoary scalp, and calm lagoon. Waxed bright beneath the radiant Moon, And silvered every glittering Horn, In paly splendour to adora. As seeming guardians of the deep. Their peaceful, midnight hours of sleep f Whilst far beneath, the lunar-bow. Was arched with cold and faded ray. It seemed so ilickering, faint, and low, The ghost of beams that shone by day ! Oh ! then his spirit glowed with love, He knelt, and breathed a prayer above, THE VICTIM. A prayer for her, who dwelt below, While he was watching on the snow. Then slowly to his crag he crept, To dream of CONSTANCE as he slept. VIII. But Oh ! the light— the blaze of morn ! By man too dazzling to be borne — That soaring, lofty-pinioned one, The eagle, only greets the sun ! The diamond sheen of glacier's host, With crystal pinnacle and spire, An icy world in glory lost. With Alp on Alp, engulphed in fire ! None but the hunter sees the world, In such a flood of light unfurled ! Then bur-st a thousand waterfalls, Which darkness' icy spell enthrals, From noon till sunset, joyous melt, ■* Gushing adown the mountain's belt. Such tales would glad the maiden's ear, While Meinrad spake she loved to hear. IX. Oft as the hunter's footsteps roam, He stays to pluck the Alpine rose, And brings a lovely garland home, Entwined with that sweet flower that blows, 5 In regal purple— queen of snows ! Full many a gem, and crystal too, 7 The wandering _ Meinrad finds the while, And when they meet his CONSTANCE' view, Oh ! what repayment in her smile ! But more than all, he joys to sail, Alone with her before the gale ; Borne on the bosom of the deep. To glide beneath each beetling steep. Recounting deeds her sires have done, And how, and where the strife befel. Pointing the path of Freedom's son, Tracing the deathless steps of Tell. X. To GRUTLI'S shore how oft she gazed, Where Seelisberg'S grey brow upraised, THE VICTIM, Looks back on her sweet peaceful vale, To catch her lover's promised sail, Oh ! when it came— what joy to find That sail was spread before the wind ! How slow ;he gale that brought his bark, Love-laden on her silent way, But when 'twas nigh enough to mark, The form she loved— 't%vas fond delay! 'Tis Meixrad'S form— yes ! none but he. The dauntless MEINRAD OF Grutli ! His song— his smile— his slalworth mien— His plume— his belt— his garb of green— His raven locks— his eagle eye, Where soul breaks forth triumphantly— His lofty brow where Honor shines, And Tnith is writ in open lines— His bronzed cheek by watchings wan,— His every aspect— speaks ihe man I XI. One eve, 'twas thus, from off the pier, That Constance watched his vessel near — Whilst hei fond youth, saw well that face That beamed with innocence and love, So sweet — so fair — he seemed to ti"ace, A smile descending from above. To light him on his love-bound vay, Wiih something more than mortal ray ! Yes ! that soft lip— that azure eye — Were melting into ecstacy ! They told of rapture felt by none, Save by that fond, admiring one; Of thoughts, they spake, that burned within. Yes i thoughts unuttered save by them ! Sure, such a smile from her to win, Was worth a prince's diadem. Lo I there she stood, her tresses fair, Hung floating in the balmy air, A moment's blush was mantling spread Upon her cheek, as he drew nigh, By fits it deepened, and it fled, That lovely cheek — how womanly ! Xll- His bark has touched the shore ; A moment sleeps his oar ; THE \ I C T I xM . A moment fled— his destined bride, Is seated by her JVlEINRAU'S side. The white sails swell before the breeze, That whispers through the mulberry trees, That whispers round Fluklen's bower. And seems to sigh in this soft hour. An hour so full of rapturous joy, Another such might fear to cloy ! XIII. While gently stealing down the lake, The words were these young Meinrad spake— " COXSTANCE ! 1 roam once more the snows, But then return — to leave thee never — How bright the thought within me glows, For death alone our love can sever ! The day I seek thy happy strand, Us twain shall link in Hymen's band; To night we part — but 'tis the last Sad parting here below. Yes 1 Constance, when those hours are passed. We shall no parting know I I'll leave no more ray lovely bride, I'll never — never quit thy side I" CONSTANCE. " And wilt thou roam no more from here, " But dwell within thy village bourn ? "Then ne'er shall CONSTANCE shed a tear— " Nor o'er her absent MeinRAD mourn !" MEINRAD. " Away — then evei-y woman's fear ! Thou canst not be but happy here — From every ill to keep thee free, My daily — hourly, task shall be — A chalets hearth shall glad thine eye, When winter's blast howls dismally ; Full many a kid shall know thy voice, Capering round thy fold rejoice ; Yes ! Constance, seated 'neath the shade. Of walnut, vine, and mulberry, Where choristers have perched and played, Where oft has hummed the tuneful bee — How joyous will the moments flow ! My life— iny light— mine idol, thou !" 10 THE VICTIM. CONSTANCE. « If this may be— as sets the sun, When hours of cheerful toil are done, Our little bourn we'll roam about, To spy some unseen beauty out, Some charm, new-bom shall then arise, To glad our earthly paradise." MEINRAD. Aye— Constance ! doubly sweet with thee— To watch each favorite flower or tree; And doubly sweet, as sabbath bell, Peals deeply from our lowly dell. To hie to GRUTLI'S house of prayer. To pour our joint petition there — For angel-like to thee 'twas given, To point my pathway ,'up to heaven ; from thee I learnt to prize, A mansion in the skies ! CONSTANCE. "Nay — Hush! we're moulded in one frame, We both adore our Maker's name — Ah yes ! on earth, we're one in soul, And, one in heaven our destined goal ! A brighter— better— purer world. Is virtue's blissful destiny — Where Love's white banner waves unfurled- There waves through all eternity !" XIV. Awhile she ceased— her azure eye, Met MeinRAD'S gazing pensively— Ev'n as their native, purple lake, Whose waves around Fluelen break, Their boundless love seemed little less— So pure — so deep — so fathomless ! "Say, MeinRAD ! can this ever be— Such bliss were sure denied ? I'd rather live — and die with thee, A freeborn hunter's bride, Than aught on earth beside! Though lowly be our lot. There reigns within a cot, A peace that pure contentment brings, Too pure to glad the throne of kings I" THE VICTIM, ME [N RAD. " It is that peace— that pure delight, Which rises on my raptured sight, Of joy it tells in store for me, Could but that joy be shared by thee ! Ah yes \ 'twere sweet to live beiow, With one whose every wish I know, Whose every thought, I feel is mine. My soul is wedded now with thine 1" CONSTANCE. "But ev'n this dream of joy, My woman's fears alloy ; It is a dream— thou dost not know, What strange mishap may wake in woe !" MEINRAD. " Away ! sweet CONSTANCE, with that thought, It clouds the joy so dearly bought— It dims the hour, whose moments glow The brightest in our walk below. Away ! with every thought of ill— Another's breast such fears might fill— They must not— shall not rest with thee— Thy heart should beat too happily ! Come— glad me with thy wonted lay. Perchance 'twill chase thy fears away." XV. A smile around her soft lip played. As Constance joyous, thus obeyed. SONG. 1. Baron Henry was wedded in Toggenberg's Hall, ^ To the beauteous Ida, the flower of St. Gall ; Weary hours that erst lingered in Toggenberg's Tower, Gaily danced in the Eden of Ida's soft bower ; Day and Night chased each other so quickly away. With the fulness of pleasure, the warbling of song ; Was there ever a rapture, ye lovers 1 Oh say ! But it stayed there to glad ye in passing along ? 2. Baron Henry to Ida had given a dove, All the down on its bosom was pure as her love, 11 12 T H E V I C T I M . When her Hem-y was absent, she fondled his bird, Perching on her white shoulder, 'twould quit its warm nest ; All the soft things she whipered that little one heard, Oh ! how sweetly it nestled, and cooed in her breast ! And oft in her pastlmf she gave him her ring, Which he bore round her chamber on frolicsome wing. 3. In a moment, uuthinhing, to greet the blithe day , Ida opened her lattice— her pet flew away ! Soon his soft wings returned, but they brought not wiLh them, Any gladness to Ida, she mourned for her gem ; 'Twas the gem of all others, the gift of her lord, Yes ! his last dearest token, the seal of his lore, 'Twas the signet of Hymen, that plighted his word ; Then think how she chided that sly, wanton dove ! 4- Ah ! the fate of a stripling may hang on a ring ! There's a magical power in that glittering thing ! Baron Heni-y was hunting, as homeward he hied, from his castle to greet him there came a fair page, On his lily-white hand. Baron Henry espied, Ida's pledge that he gave her, and trembled with rage . Not a word — it is done, and that fair youth is bound To the fiercest of chargers that pranced o'er the ground ! 5. Oh ! 'twere well had his anger been sated with ill, Fiercest jealousy burned in his hot bosom still : Henry flew like an ai'row to Toggenberg's tower, Never chieftain so frantic, so blinded with ire, For he hmled his young bride from her green-mantled bower, Like the hurricane's blast, or a whirlwind of fire I But she clung to the ivy that grew round the pile. Like the sea-gull that builds on a lone, rocky isle ! 6. Like a dreamer from sleep, Baron Henry awoke, How deathlike the sadness that over him broke I When he gazed on the Eden his Ida had made, Alas : with her beauty that Eden h id sped ! When he gazed on the harp, that his Ida had played. How her innocence spoke, now its music had fled! " Gentle Ida ! my Ida ! what then have I done ? " Ah ! how fearful the moment that finds me alone ! 1 H E V I C T I M . 13 7. "See! a phantom is walking the dim-lighted hall I "Oh God ! 'tis her spirit that speaks from the wall !" " Henry ! ne'er shalt thou see me, I leave thee for ever ! " Seek me not in the wide world, I go far away, "Yet know I foi'give thee — thy Wiong cannot sever " The hearts that we.e one in the morn of their day !" Ida spoke — and then vanished like mist on the hill, And the voice that she uttered is deathlike and still. 8. She was seen ne'er again by the Lord of St. Gall, Though she dwelt in an abbey beneath his high hall. Like a blessing from heaven, when the lost bosom clings, To the dawnings of hope, as they shine through the tearj Like the voice of an angel with balm on its wings, Ida's pardon breathed comfort, and fell on his ear ; For the deed of his jealousy wrongfully done, Henry spent all his lifetime in penance alone. XVI. She ceased to sing— but still there played, The echo of her melody, And many a low response was made, Repeated by the listening sky. Or melted by the tranquil lake. Like fleecy cloud, or snowy flake; Around the shore the last note creeps, Then dies away among the steeps j Where'er they floated on the tide, The softest whispers still replied ; Along the coast each rocky cove, Or asked, or answered of their love. All fear had fled, and all alloy, To mar the fulness of their joy — An hour it was of heavenly bliss — A brighter world that shone in this I XV[I. The sun had sunk the hills below ; The i-uby paled on Gothard'S brow ; Then, star by star lit up the sky. And twinkling spoke of worlds on high ; Had tolled full many a vesper bell, That Day had bid his world farewell ; 14 THEVICTIM, Huge, bleak, and dim, the giants grew, That brooded o'er the deep ; Murkier waxed the shadowy hue, That mantled all in sleep, Each darkling spire like warning ghost, Stood bending o'er the fading coast ; The shore around, and on the heights, There shone a thousand flickering lights ,- A thousand such were on the sea, But pictured there more tremblingly ! XVIII. 'Tis night— the bark has found her way, Again to deep Fluelen'S bay ; An aged man awaits her sail The children of his love to hail — Lo ! now their voices greet his ear — Full soon the dim white sails appear — They come— they come — a moment more — They leap upon the rocky shore ; The old man clasped his child, And gazed on both, and smiled. He blessed the twain with trembling hands, But part they must— the hour commands — Yet not as erst when MeinRAD sailed, For tho' the future's face was veiled. They parted now with scarce a sigh I If ever Life had power to bless, She smiled on their futurity. With youth — health— hope and happiness! END OF PART PART II. ARGUMENT An old suitor of CONSTANCE' described, whom she had rejec- ted — his mysterious and wicked character — ^jealousy brings him back in disguise to FLUELEN — he meditates revenge — the approaching F^te atEINSIEDELN— the troop of Pilgrims— their song— they em- bark for BRUNNEN — their song renewed — a storm comes on — rages, and rolls away — CONSTANCE sets out for the F^te — she passes various objects on the lake — sees her MEINR AD'S abode — her bracelet falls into the water — she remarks for the first time her pilot — his deadly gaze — she recognizes him as her old suitor — he vows to drown her if she will not be his bride — she refuses — kneels — he hurls her into the lake — she sinks, and prays for her murderer — her lover away on the hills — MEINRAD feels a sudden fear, which causes him to stagger and fall as he crosses a gulf— his spirit joins that of CONSTANCE in a better world — a sick man is brought to the Convent at ALTORF — he speaks to none — refuses all Christian communion— his convulsed and agitated state — he raves — is haunted by a vision of CONSTANCE — cui'ses and dies — the FRIAR'S terror at the awful spectacle — the peaceful death of CONSTANCE' aged sire— the general lamentation for CON- STANCE— her grave unknown— reflections and moral of the story. I. A man there was, unknown by name, Who once had sued for CONSTANCE' hand, But unrequited was his flame. He wandered in a foreign land. Unkenned his birth — his rank to all, Or whence he came — or where he went : Tho' deemed by some a son of Gaul, That thitherward a spy was sent — Yet this was disavowed by none, Helvetia, owned him not her son ! But who he was— time yet may bring To light the strange, and hidden thing, If Constance knew — she ne'er revealed — When asked of him, her lips were sealed. 16 T H E \ I C T IM. II The wide world he had roamed about, In learning's highest walk bad trod, Eut madly wise, bad leam'd to doubt, The very being of a (Jod ! From that same hour, his tainted heart, From peace and Tiruie seem"d to part ; He owjed nor law— nor creed. His lawgiver his deed ; The wayward passions of his breast, Tbe only guides his soul confessed ; Through every change of good or ill, He sought to sate his lordly will; Forgiveness fled his selfish heart ; Revenge for mercy took tbe part; Unhallowed was his lip by prayer, Instead, a curse seemed breathing there ; Sabbath was stranger to bis sou' ; And year by year unheeded stole. Unheeded, save as each might bring, Its cup of joy, or scorpion's sting. III. For pleasure's sake, he cared to live, For aught beside, he willed to die ; For all the joyance life can give, He sought — but sought it wrongfully. Each word — each look he had at will, No wonder then they worked for ill — Yet such the man, who sought to win A maid — so pure — so meek — so lowly — As pure as mortal maid from sin — If angels dwelt on earth — as holy ! The force he tried of every while. Her youthful bosom to beguile ; Yet art on art was vain — Her love he ne'er could gain ; So, hopeless, parted but to roam, All recklessly without a home. IV. No longer was the world to him, A sunny world— its light gi-ew dim; A blasted— hapless man he strayed There dwelt within his breast, THE VICTIM. 17 A canker worse than sin had made, A torment ne'er at rest ! " What ! foiled by one, poor, lowly maid 1" " His joyance fled— his hopes betrayed !" Revenge, and Death— broke o'er his dream, " Revenge ! Revenge !" his only theme ! V. In fit disguise he gained the spot, Where love had cursed his wayward lot. That heart he saw resigned to one, A holier — purer flame had won ; He heard the lover's parting vow, He saw them meet, he saw them sever And twice he muttered, deep and low, " They shall not meet again ! no, never 1" VI. One radiant moon had waned away, Since Meinrad left Fluelen'S bay : At length approached the rite divine, When CONSTANCE vowed at " MARY'S" shrine j Right godly Anchorites await. At EiNSIEDELN, the holy fete ; 9 And pilgrims gather far and wide. To cross to Brunnen on tlie tide. But list } their hymn adown the vale,. Steals wildly on the morning gale! And clearer still, and louder grown. As troop on troop are seen afar ; Awhile their lengthened march is shown. Then lost where winding gorges are — PILGRIM'S HYMN. 1. « St Mary ! we thy pilgrims are, " Journeying from afar ; " The hill — the vale — the mead along, " Re-echoes to our song .' 2. " Our march began with morning's star, " Wakes like the tramp of war, "Till vesper bell has died away, "Ev'n at the close of d.iy^ ]S TH E V I CTIM, 3. « The field our camp— the svvaid our bed— "And there our meal is spread ; "Ave Maria ! shield fiom scathe ! — " Oh, shield our Father's faith ! They throng Fluelen'S woody glen, Each with an offering, maids and men ; Both old and young, and poor and great, Are journeying to the solemn fete. Nor taiiy they, round LUCERN'S shore Is quickly roused, each slumbering oar. VII. Oh ! »tis a joyous sight to see ! Yon crowded barks are gliding by. So gay with pilgrim company ! Their coiffeurs, beads, embroidery ; Their costumes all of rainbow dye ! They sail — they sail — how wild and high, Breaks the full chorus to the sky — A thousand tongues in symphony ! 4. " Our bark is trimmed— and fair the gale, " We stretch our oar and sail ; "Our shallop light, from swell to swell, " Bounds like a wild gazelle ! 5. "Are Maria! greets our skiff, " Answering from each cliff "Ave Maria! shield from scathe, " Oh, shield our Father's faith ! Their song grows faint, their bright hues fade. The pageant dwindles into shade ; Yet siill a lingering echo plays. And oft a flash of silvered rays, In fitful gleams is seen to break, Far — far away upon the lake. While tracing thus their distant oar. Kindling yon sparks along the shore, Receding still, how sweet to hear, Their hymn expire upon the ear 1 T H E V I C T I M . 19 Vlll. The sky grows dark, and darker still The swarthy bosom of the lake ; Deep silence sits on every hill ; The linden durst not wave or shake. Murkier — deadlier the gloom ; Fluelex seems a tomb; Fair Lucern'S lake, a sepulchre, Wherein are swept all things that were. A horrid pause — a time of dread — For every living thing hath fled ! Now streams athwart the tempest's night, A hideous flash of sulphur-light; Anon — the thunders break ! (So wUd— so deafening was the stroke, Aghast each giant mountain shook !) And hark ! around the lake, How dread the echoes wake ! The rampart-rocks seem rent asunder, By every fitful burst of thunder ! The battle roars, from height to height, Filling with wild amaze each glen, The peel— the crash — the din of fight, Which Alp on Alp flings back again ! IX. But few, and big the drops that fell Upon the water's sullen swell ; . Yet long and loud the tempest's roar, Deep volleyed round the trembling shore. Now gathering here-— now gathering there— It cast a moment's fearful glare, Till rolling down the darkened sea, lO It left Fluelen still, and free. X. The threatening storm, and tempest's ire. Were seen by CONSTANCE' aged sire; Fearful he bade her bark delay, Till cloud and thunder passed away. All now were gone, and none but she, Remained of pilgrim-company. Joyful that all seemed hushed again, She peeped from out her locky glen ; c 2 20 T H E V I C T I M . A bark she saw within her reach, Moored on Fluelen's stony beach, An only bark — and one with her, Who seemed the shallop's mariner. Then CONSTANCE' sire, albeit late, Would have her join the morrow's fete. The future's face he little knew, But blessed and bade his child adieu. XL The sun shines bright, but in the air, There dwells a chill the tempest leaves. For Brunnen'S town, the breeze blows fair; The loosened bark now gently heayes ; She bounds with joy o'er yon blue tide. Which erst so deadly dark was djcd. Now proudly tower on either hand. The ACHSEXBERG, and Seelisberg, " Two giant crags, that beetling stand. Triumphant o'er the circling surge. And when they reached the shrine of Tell, Fair CONSTANCE knew, and marked it well — But Oh ! how fondly dwelt her eye, When Grutli'S spire was seen on high .' Oh ! then how bright that soft eye glowed, (Alas, Love's vision errs !") She deemed she saw his blest abode — Yes ! MeinraD'S home— and her's! ♦' Ah ! where is he ? His footsteps tread, "O'er many a frozen torrent's bed. "Far o'er the Alps his swift feet roam, "Away from that sweet, peaceful home! She turned— and fondly gazed her last Till spire, and town, and coast were passed I XII. Lo ! as she stretched her soft, white ann, Her dazzled eye to shield from harm, Her faithless bracelet fell, Plashing it sank into the lake, — And much she mourned for MEINRAD'S sake. The gift she loved so well. 'Twas then she chanced to mark, The man that steered her bark ,- Fixed was his gaze, like venomed snake, THE VICTIM. 21 Erect, his fatal spring to take — On ber lie gazed so piercingly, She quailed beneath his deadly eye ! . But why yon glance so fiercely shot, A glance once seen, and ne'er forgot? Back o'er the past her memory ran, Had she not seen — not known the maa ? Of all men most she feared to see — Oh heavens ! and could it then be he ;' That form, alas I — she knows it now I The chill of death comes o'er her brow — "'Tis he!" she shrieks, "Oh God ! 'tis he !" *' Protect a maid fi'om infamy!" xai. " COXSTAXCE ! thou know'st my suit," quoth he, " A suit, for SDOth denied, "This lake — I vow, thy grave shall be, Or, swear to be my bride ."" " Never ! Oh never ! Let me die 1" She shrieked in fearful agony — "Rash maid! and wilt thou brave me no\yi' " See'st thou the yawning gulph below ? "\ye— see'st thou not yon chilly wive? "Thy word revoke — or 'tis thy grave!" XIV. Down knelt the maid, her tearful eye, To Heaven she raised imploringly — " Great God ! my Meixrad is not nigh — « If such thy will— I die! I die!" What fiend so fell, so foul, as stand. And mark yon maiden's brow. Wrung in her bitter woe, In youth, in bloom, in loveliness, Nor feel one pang at her distress ? And durst thou lift thine impious hand, Lest Hell should blight thee with its curse ; Ay ! sear thee with a withering brand, Like murderous CAIN, for thou wert worse ? Or, was it Heaven's all-righteous will, That thou should'st fill thy meed of ill ? XV. Ev'n as she weeping knelt in prayer, Ruthless he siezed her silken hair, 2-2 THE ^' I C T I M . iS'or stayed Iter prayerful lip to mark, But hurled her from the quivering bark '. One heavy plunge— one woman's shriek— Her life's last, ebbing struggles speak— Her look now ^xcd on that fierce brow ; As o'er her lips the chill waves flow, Her gurgling voice, that ceased to live, Still faintly muttered,— " I forgive !" And as she sank, her tranquil eye But gazed on his more wistfully 1 XVI. Where now that maid — the pure — the fail" ? A moment saw her seated there, A moment more, her form is fled ; So softly sealed above her head, The waters leave no trace tehind, Save one that haunts the guilty mind 1 XVII. Ah ! where the lover of the dead ? That widow'd one— and yet unwed ! The sslf-same hour that CONSTANCE died. The chain was snapped, that bound his side '. Say— was it .«ome unwonted start, niat thrilled a dagger to his heart ? A sudden fear ? — than fear — 'twas more — An anguished pang unfelt before ;— A dread that flashed across his brain, Like deathbolt on the battle-pl^iu ; A chilling, withering blast, That told him hope was passed; A voice that whispered in his ear, So sad — so ghostly— and so clear — " Thy Constance calls thee to her bier !" But one false step — and all is oer ! The widowed Meinrad lives no more ! And wert thou called, young MeinRAD, say. To share a brighter world of love ? Thy kindred spirit winged its way, 'Jo seek thy ransomed bride above. To taste of bliss without alloy, Still kindred in eternal joy'. r Jl K \" I C T 1 M . -3 XVII I. Hu.l waxed tlie moon, and waned again, Since pil,i;rims thronged FLUELEn'S glen ; The nightly wind with dreary wail, Blew shrill down ALTORF'S darkened vale; When loudly shook the convent's gate, >« But who were they who knocked so late ? A sick man in their arras they bore, Then laid him at the holy door, Full many a friar thionged to see, The man they left thus hastily. They queried of his home , and name, Then how the sickness o'er him came j Away he turned from every one, Or sign, or answer, made to none. Nor Christian symbol would he own, Although by sainted palmer shown ; His hand he waved to those who held Before him Jesus' sign of eld. The friars crossed themselves, for well They might, to see an infidel ! XIX. Yet paler grew, and yet more wan, The visage of that dying man ; He lay awhile, as still as death, So feebly seemed to draw his breath ; He hid, anon , his ghastly head, Then rolled convulsed upon his bed ; Anon — up-started from his couch, As though he feared a phantom's touch ; Not one amid that company, Could brook the fierceness of his eye; It rolled— it glared— it struck the sight, V, ith more than mortal— lurid light, To blast as 'twere with fire from Hell, The brow whereon its lightnings fell ! Like one that dies a murderer's death. He gasped with clenched teeth for breath ; Anon, sovne wild r-nearthly sound, Would break the antique chamber round, S.) loud the shrieks, the mingled rout, Trembled to hear, that stood without ! Accents they were, that all might fear, THE VICTIM. Though few interpret what they hear. Yet were there some, that knew them well, He spake, said they, of Death, of Hell, Of judgment day— of righteous ire. Of deathless worm, of quenchless fire ! XX. But once his rolling eye was fixed, Intent the holy men betwixt, And then broke forth his stifled cry— " She gazes still— yon silent eye " Beneath the wave, is fixed on me 1^ " On me — on me — so wistfully I" Back starting then, he hid his head, As paralyzed with inward dread ; Then rose again, as one in death, With gurgling throat and struggling breath ; The sweat stood chill upon his brow ; His eye grew glazed, and ceased to glow ; On Satan's name he called, and cursed. Then sank, for death had done its worst ! XXI. The holy brethren stood aghast, They feared to think that breath his last— They ne'er had seen so dread a sight, As lay before their eye that night ; The visage of the dead was writhed, More fiendlike seemed than when he breathed I A death so dread amid the gloom. Must haunt each witness to the tomb ! Full many a prayer uprose on high ; Full many a bead was told ; All looked, and longed for morning nigb. Its sunshine to behold 1 XXII. \Miilesunk in rest, that self same night, A sainted spirit took her flight Fair CONSTANXE' sire, an aged man, His finished course in calmness ran. He breathed no sigh — no sign be made ; The morrow found him softly laid. As one who took his peaceful sleep. In slumber more profound and deep ; THEVICTIM. 25 So gently passed away his breath, On him so light the hand of death. Oh I had he known his daughter's fate, Had sank his hoary head in tears. But on his furrowed brow there sate, Contentment, with her ripened years ! Old age to him brought no alloy, But sunset seemed of all his joy i In death, by faith in ONE, 'twas given. The sire should meet his child in Heaven. XXIll. Fair CONSTANCE slept beneath the wave, Though none there were that knew her grave , Full many a widow's tear was shed, Full many an orphan mourned the dead ; For oft had glowed the widow's eye , And orphan's, with her chaiity. XXIV. Just Heaven ! 'twas thy all- wise decree, No bliss on earth should perfect be ; Their cup of wrath the wicked fill. For Hell,— but worth and purity. On Earth, meet oft what seemeth ill, In Heaven full recompence shall be! THE END NOTES THE VICTIM \ " Deep in Flueleii's shady bower," Fluelen, a small port on the lake of Lucern, in the canton of Uri. 2 "/re GrutlV 8 wave-worn, deathless town," Grutli, a small village in an angle of the lake of Lucern, and opposite the port of Brunnen, The locality is rendered " death- less", from having been the nightly rendezvous of the Swiss Con- federates. They met at the foot of the rock of Seelisberg, in a lonely strip of ground, surrounded by thickets, called the Mea- dow of Grutli. 3 " Vowed, • One for all, and all for one'." The Confederates, after their victory over Duke Leopold of Austria, in 1315, at Morgarten, renewed their ancient bond of union, as expressed in the above comprehensive motto. 4 " Where Lammergheyer her aerie placed," The lammergheyer is the great vulture of the Alps- He wages a continual warfare with the chamois, and has been known even to attack oxen in some parts of the canton of Uri. After wearying his prey by a long chase, he at length drives him to some isola- NOTES. 27 ted rock, where the chamois has no alternative, but that of facing his adversary; in putting himself in a posture of defence, his equilibrium becomes very critical— and the lammergheyer, after making several feigned swoops, succeeds at length, by one pow- erful stroke of his wing, in hurling his victim over the precipice. Dropping down after him, with all the air of a conqueror, he dis- patches the unhappy creature with a stroke of his beak, and en. joys the feast at leisure, ( See Dr Beattie's " Switzerland," ) 5 " Fro7n noon till sunset joyous melt," The generality of Swiss waterfalls begin to flow on the first melting of the snow, early in the month of May, and cease to- wards the end of September; but some run only during the day- time, and one, the Griesen-bach, that rises at the foot of Mount Blake, runs only from mid-day to the setting sun. ( See Cox's "Switzerland.") 6 " Entwined with that sweet flower that blowsi''' The gentiana-major grows in profusion within a few paces of the glaciers. 7 *' -Full many a gem and crystal too,'''' Fine specimens of agate and crystal are found among the Alps, and those of St. Gothard are generally superior. 8 SONG, " Baron Henry was wedded in Toggenberg\s hall,'^ The facts related in this song are historically authentic, and may be met with in that admirable work, Dr. Beattie's " Switzer- land." The only liberty taken with the narrative, is the meta- morphosis of a raven into a dove. 28 NOTES. The ancient fortress of the Counts of Toggenberg crowned a rock Bot far from the present convent of Fischingen. { Canton i>t. Gall ) It was in one of the cells of this convent, that the beauti- ful Ida ended her life, 9 " At Einsiedeln the holy /e/e,'" The abbey of Einsiedeln is romantically situated in the valley of Sil, (Canton Schwyz.) A great annual fete is held there on the 14th of September. An immense number of pilgrims flock to this anniversary from all the cantorLS of Switzerland, the Rhenish provinces, and various parts of Germany. They appear in their native costume; many of them bringing offerings from those who are prevented from joining the pilgrimage. 10 " Till rolling down the darkened sea," The lakes in Switzerland are called " seas-" II " TJie Achsenberg, and Seelisberg,^'' Between Sissigen and Fluelen are two mountains, the greater and lesser Achsenberg, whose rocky sides rise perpendicularly out of the lake of Lucern to a prodigious height. They afford no landing place, except one small tabular rock level with the water, on which is erected a chapel, in commemoration of Tell's Leap from the boat in which Gessler was conveying him, Avilh the intent of placing him in perpetual imprisonment. 12 " JVhen loudly shook the convent's gate,''' The Capuchin convent at Altorf. The market place of this town is celebrated as being the spot Avhere Tell, at the inhuman command of Gessler, shot the apple from his son's head. The village of Burglen, the birth place of Tell, is not far distant. Altorf is about half a league from Fluelen. CHARLES NICHOLS, TYPOGRAPHER, WAKEFIELD. SANDAL IN THE OLDEN TIME HISTORICAL POEM. BY WILLIAM HENRY LEATHAM. A NEW EDITION. LONDON: LONGMAN, ORME, AND Co. 1841. THIS AND SOME TIARLIER PR0DUCTI0N> OF THE AUTHOR'S MUSE ARE DEDICATED TO HIS MOTHER, AS A TOKEN OF FILIAL LOVE AND REGARD. ADVERTISEMENT. Should the Author of " Sandal in the Olden Time" have succeeded in interweav- ing a wholesome moral with the narrative therein contained, and, at the same time, have proved instrumental, in raising from an unmerited obscurity, or in vesting with an addi- tional interest, the neglected ruin in his own immediate neighbourhood, he will have per- formed more than his most sanguine expec- tation could have led him to anticipate. CONTENTS. PART I. THE LAST OF THE WARRENS. PAGE. CANTO I The Prophecy 7 CANTO H— The Harper's Tale 18 CANTO HI The Conflagration 32 PART 11. THE WARS OF THE ROSES. CANTO 1. — The Battle-Eve, and Morn 47 CANTO n.— The Battle of Wakefield 54 PART III. THE PARLIAMENTARY WARS. CANTO L— The Siege 65 CANTO H Sandal Castle in Ruins 70 Historical Notes , 77 PART L THE LAST OF THE WARRENS CHRONJCLE. 'TWAS in the second Edward's reign. That John-de-Warren's wide domain. (Beside his southern lands) Stretched from Calder's Bank to Trent, And all throughout their vast extent. He owned no fairer tenement, Than Sandal's site commands : For there uprose, with turrets tall. With circling moat, and massive wall. The Castelet of Sammerhall. CANTO L ARGUMENT. Morning thoughts — the scene described — a fit season for praise — the joyful recurrence of mora and eve — the world refreshed hy the varying seasons of the year — man's immortality and salvation, a cause of devout thanksgiving — SA^'DAL Castlk described — .Toan- de-Barr approaches in tears — she enters the court- yard — seeks Father Hugh — the Earl returns from the chase — Joan proffers her boon — Warren re- jects her claims — Hugh's remonstrance and pro- phecy — Joan and Hugh are dismissed the castle on pain of death — she seeks the retirement of a convent —Warren alone — his soliloquy — shelters himself in a divorce — rejoices in the dismissal of Father Hugh — ruminates on his prophecy — contemns it — , the King's consent to his illegitimate children in- heriting his estates and titles — expects San-Martin by night — the rude age described. THE LAST OF THE WARRENS. TTTF, PROPHECY. I. How richly clad yon hills of green, In Nature's summer livery seen ! Ye hoary oaks, in verdure flight, How gay ye wave in morning's light ! Thou Fount of Heaven, when Day wa«; born. Not brijjhter blazed thine orh at morn ; 8 SANDAL IN THE Nor tamed hath Time thy steeds of fire. Nor dimmed one sparkle of thine ire. How gladdened by thy glorious beam, Are hill and valley, rock and stream ; There's not a creature high or low, But feels thine universal glow. What Sj)irit bright of hues and shades The many-coloured scene pervades — Sits on each mountain's tinted peak — Flickers on high in golden streak ! On lowly cot, on lofty spire, On water's mirror gleaming fire, On wood, on mead, on copse, on fell. What rainbow-dyes of sunrise dwell ! There's not a leaflet on the trees, Down to the margin of yon river. That flutters not in Morning's breeze : All in the pulse of gladness quiver ! The earth throughout, with one acclaim. Blithe Nature hails thy birth of flame. For hark ! from yon melodious brake, A thousand choristers awake ! A thousand grateful warblers pay Their orisons at peep of day ! How fresh ou Zephyr's pinions borne. The cool, untainted breath of morn ! Oh ! with that breath let praise arise, A welcome morning sacrifice : For haply now, their vigils o'er, As guardian Angels heaven -ward soar. They'll bear thine incense to the skies -, Then kneel ! and pay thy vows aright. For blessings whispering peace by night. For mercies new-born with the light, *' Glory to God !'' is nature's voice, And shali not man with cause rejoice? OLDEN TIME. Oh ! blest return ot day and night ; For rest the shade — tor toil the light ; Thus these a varied charm create, And all creation renovate. Nor less the Seasons as they roll. Refresh the world from pole to pole. Frail man ! tho' nature's form be drest, Year after year, in verdant vest ; Tho' Morn and Eve renew her face. With sweeter smile, and softer grace, Tho' thine be hastening to decay ; Oh ! think, when systems melt away, When Times shall cease with night and day ; Oh ! think, by Jesu's power divine, Thy sinful heart may spotless shine. And realms of endless bliss be thine ! II. 'Twas morn — a summer's sun shone bright, O'er Sandal's green and thick-set wood ;^ The Castle, bathed in floods of light, High o'er the forest proudly stood ; The chequered flag of Warren's Earl, Drooped, listless, in the stilly air ; The dubious smoke, with gentle curl. Uprose in sky, and lingered there ; Deep in her leafy bower of love, Distant cooed the woodland dove ; Vocant, the rooks wheeled round and round Turret and tower, in rapid flight ; Mellowed and mingled was the sound Of murmuring streams — now gleaming bright, In sunshine o'er smooth pebbles spread — Now eddying in their deeper bed. Full thickly gemmed with glittering dew, Was tangled fern, and waving yew ; 10 SANDAL IN THK The yellow i'miv, the scented thorn, Breathed incense to the healthtiil morn ; A light rohe hung o'er Calder's stream, And veiled his winding source, S^ive, where by tits, a strugoling beam ()i' light pursued its course, Sparkling around some shallop's oar, Despite the mist that dimmed the shore. 111. Such was the morn, when through the glade A palfrey hied, whereon there lode, One, who might seem as bride or maid, So young, so fair — twin pages strode Her steed beside, and in her eye Stood tears, and oft she heaved a sigh, And fearful glanced at Sandal's tower. Ye might, in gazing on her face, A more than common sadness trace ; ' Fwas not the grief of one short hour ; But haply years of wrong and scorn. From one she loved, and loves, had worn That outward stamp of inward woe None but the broken-hearted know ! But who is she, whose humble train Approach De VVarken's proud domain ? Whose tearful eye, and suppliant mien, And pall ill brow of beauty rare. So sweetly sad, so passing fair. Would melt an adamant, I ween : Say, who is she — and w hence her tears ? 'Tis Joan-de-Bark, Earl Warren's bride," Though wed, has known but widowed years Now seeks her lord ; too long denied, f laims once again his plighted love : Nor wrongs — nor threatti — =nor fears removt I OLDEN TIME. H Her troth self-pledged — unchanged through life. Through weal and woe, De Warren's wife, IV. Where full in sight the castle lay, Her steed has clomb the winding way ; They halt before the massive gate ; The pages knock, and as he sate. The warder scans with wistful eyes That face — that form in mute surprise. Till he, by age bedimmed, descries His long-lost mistress — scarce, for glee. His trembling hand unfolds the bar — " God bless ray lady Joan !" quoth he, " Gramercye, Richard !" answers she, "In sooth, we're travellers from afar.'' — The portal passed — the draw-bridge gained. And reached the court — her steed is reined. A crowd of menials stepping through. She straightway asks for father Hugh. ( Now Father Hugh was saint and priest, A man by all obeyed. Save by De Warren — he at least, A dubious reverence paid,) V. It happ'd the Earl with hounds and men, To chase the wild-roe from her glen. Had sallied forth at dawn. With slaughtered red-deer, side by side. Jaded the Baron homeward hied, And briskly wound his horn. VI. With bugle-blast, and wild halloo, A comely sight is seen, B 2 12 SANDAL IN THE Earl Warren's huntsmen, two and tw When woodland songsters tune their matin lay. OLDEN TIME. 27 And start to music in their bridal bower ; Oh ! Earth looks heavenly in her waking hour ! 26. The Earl goes forth to rouse his sluggish hinds, And takes his wonted stroll 'iieath Kirby's tower, And marvels much, that dangling in the winds, Twisted, and knotted, hang from Laura's bower. Mantles and scarfs, of varied hues and kinds. Waving alike 'mid trellis, fruit, and flower ; But soon he sees small footprints on the ground. And Truth leaps through the mesh with frantic bound I 27. He rushed into her bower — but found her not — He called — but Echo answered him again — He summoned all his menials to the spot, He queried — swore — and threatened them in vain, For none were traitors in the dark-laid plot. " To horse ! to horse ! away ! and scour the plain !" Then steeds rushed clattering through the portal wide. All Kirby's huntsmen thronged their master's side. 28. The Earl rode foremost on his gallant grey. Wild as a tempest in its mad career ; Steed after steed dashed on his headlong way, While many a shrill neigh broke upon the ear, As one by one, they joined the bright array, Swifter and swifter, as the huntsmen cheer ; Old Kirby's walls fling back the stirring sound Of tramping courser, and deep-baying hound. 29. They're gone — but who is she who gazes yet, 28 SANDAL IN THE Thouoh horse and hound have vanished from her view Her cheeks are pale, her soft hlue eyes are wet With tears that sparkle as the cypress' dew^, Wringing her little hands in sorrow set, The sweetest victim Anguish ever knew, Too still for passion, and too mild for hate. How eloquent thy grief, alas ! poor Kate ! 30. She turned, and hid her face, and wept aloud. The tears fell trickling through lier close-pressed hands, The while her golden ringlets o'er them flowed, In clusters breaking from their ribbon bands ; Her grief grew full — upon the earth she bowed, Like some lone captive in barbaric lands ; Her thoughts too sad for infant lips to tell ; Her heart seemed bursting in its narrow cell. 31. Awhile she knelt till Sorrow found a vent. And then breathed forth her agony in prayer ; Kind Heaven had pity as she lisping sent Her child's petition for a Father's care ; Her sobs were hushed, her very tears were blent With looks more placid ; and a tranquil air Dwelt on her pallid features as she rose, Like flowers that blossom 'mid the Alpine snows. 32. Sweet mourner ! where the sister of thy tears ? Say, where is Laura ? where her heart's true knight ? Fair Eve her aarb of solemn twilight wears. Yet Kirby's fleet steeds come not back with night ; 'Tis strange — 'tis sad — not hound, or horse appears : OLDEN TIME. 29 Is Love too swift to be o'erta'en in flight ? Alas ! say who lies bleeding on the ground ? Who strives in vain to staunch yon bitter wound ? 33. Her steed fell headlong in his full career, And dashed his hoof on Laura's tender breast ; And yet she lived awhile in pain and fear, Her cold cheek trembling, to her lover's pressed ; Her eyes were fixed, and burnt without a tear, The deep abstraction of her heart confessed ; No wonder, did ye know what scorpions throng The heart upbraided by a father's wrong ! 34. But as she lay upon the soft, green swerd, Borne on the blast, a bugle sounded near ; By fits, a blood-hound's deep-mouthed bay was heard. And Godfrey's courser pricked his listening ear. " He comes ! thy sire!'* when Laura heard that word. As aspens quiver, so she shook with fear ; Her eye awaking from its deadly trance, Shot restless lightnings in its liquid glance, 35. " My daughter !*' and he saw the welling blood. Gush from life's fountain in her slender ^-cle ; " My bleeding daughter !" and transfixed he stood. To mark the ebbing of that purple tide : But all seemed spoken in the wider flood, Wherein her steed in death lay gasping wide. "My dying daughter ! freely I forgive !' The word but uttered, and she ceased to live, c 30 SANDAL IN THE 36. But ere her spirit passed, her Sire's last word Kindled her features in a smile of love ; She died in peace ; and though her spirit erred, Pardon was her's in this world and above ; Although no prayer upon her sealed lip stirred, Her eye waxed bright, and eloquent, to prove Her heart's soft language had not breathed in vain, For death seem'd reft of terror, doubt, and pain. 37. Pardon was her's — the longing of her soul. Its last sweet solace ere it soared above ; Through death and pain, what gleams of brightness stole. And hailed forgiveness, and a father's love ! As lightnings speed them to their distant gaol, So Laura cast one parting glance, to prove Her heart was his, on whom her cold cheek lay. Her last kiss breathing as she passed away. Father and lover stand — amazed — transfixed — Godfrey hangs speechless o'er his perished all — His love is passion — and his woe unmixed With one sweet drop to drug the bitter gall ; On him the curse — the guilt — the deed is fixed — On him — for ever ! vainly dost thou call — " Speak but this once !" she answers not ! again His grief grows wild, and phrenzy sears his brain- 39. Remorse has chains that Penitence may wear, But love is life, and when its hope is gone. The heart has nought to cling to — but despair, OLDEN TIME. 31 'Till crazed, and then its shattered form drifts on, A wreck, that none can save, and none repair. Such was young Godfrey ere the morning shone, And such he lingered to his latest breath, Then sank a maniac in the arms of death. 40. The Earl survived — for Kate was his support : Oft would they scatter flowers on Laura's tomb ; Day after day, her grave was their resort, 'Till time by slow degrees wore off his gloom ; And though his aspect seemed of graver sort, There was too much of fragrance in her bloom Shed o'er his path, to leave his soul in tears ; Kate's playful fondness soothed his sinking years in. The minstrel ceased, and round the wall His last faint echoes, feebly fall ; With harp in hand, he rose to go, Obeisance made, then tottering, slow He^bent his way from out the hall. END OF CANTO SECOND. 32 SANDAL IN THE CANTO III. ARGUMENT. The hush of Eve — Guardian Angels descending — the angelic dreams of Infants — the early deformity of Sin — Sandal by moonlight — a world at rest — Sin ever vigilant — the Earl walks at midnight — he has taken prisoner the Countess of Lancaster — in re- venge hei husband dispatches an armed force to lay waste Sandal — Richard San Martin, and a troop of Horsemen enter the Castle — they feast — they un- arm — the Countess of Lancaster throws off her disguise — the Earl pledges her — a cry of fire is heard — the Castle beset by an armed force — War- ren arms — the flames increase — the crash of beams, and the shouts of Lancaster's men — to remain within as hopeless as to sally forth — the retreat by a subterranean way — Warren lingers to the last — curses Lancaster, and vanishes in the smoke — he leads Alice through vaults and dungeons — they escape — the fire rages on — towers fell — steeds and hounds perish — the besiegers grow impatient, and disperse to spread the work of desolation — the Vil- lages are fired from Calder to Trent — hard fate that Serf should bleed for Noble's crimes — the rude- ness of the age may plead some excuse — our happier age contrasted — years roll on — Sandal re-built — Warren an old and childless man — the prophecy fulfilled — the Omniscience of God — a sealed record above — Hell or Heaven certain — the necessity of making peace with God. THE CONFLAGRATION. I. When Vesper bell has tolled, and all Is hushed, or breeze, or waterfall ; OLDEN TIME! 33 The lover's lute, the songster's lay, The Curfew-bell, tlie watch-dog's bay, In distant notes have sighed away ; When star by star on high. Gleams like a seraph's eye, A gentle sound that Evening brings, More soft than all beside, A fluttering pulse of angel's wings, Descending from their realms of light, To sentinel the live-long night, Is heard in summer tide. And save that soft and stilly sound. And save the dew-gems dropped around, Scant trace of heavenly guest were found < IL But mothers read in infants' eyes, When first they ope to morning's skies, And wreath on wreath, their smiles arise Fresh on the cheek of youth, Then mothers tell, in sooth, What company, they ween. Their children's guests have been ; Still in each wakening cherub's face, A more than mortal radiance trace. And in their softly beaming eyes, A melting dream of paradise ! Too busy, Sin ! 'tis thine to shroud The dawning mind in Error's cloud- To taint life's earliest, purest breath With thoughts unholy — breeding death ! For scarce, from toy to toy, the child Has fondly gazed, and prattling smiled, And by thy fatal snare beguiled, (The serpent coil with roses red !) His spotless temples are defiled — c 2 34 SANDAL IN THE When, lo, the heavenly liglit has fled, Which glimmer'd round his infant head, And all, save Earth's pale lustre, sped ! III. Noon beckoned Eve, and Eve called Night, And night brought stars like diamonds bright. And set them round the fading sky, A blest — a countless company. Disrobed of fleecy shroud, Of halo, mist, or cloud. Rearing her crescent pale on high, The chaste-eyed Moon stood glittering by. And gazed in rapture — silently. Oh ! 'twas a rare — a heavenly sight, To watch the clear, unearthly light Re-mantle, in that peaceful hour. Or hill, or dale, or stream, or tower ; In fainter glories half revealed, A world at rest, in slumber sealed — A world at rest — for Care and Pain Had fled to sleepless climes again, Till morrow's dawn, and slumber's flight, Dissolve the magic trance of night. Oh ! why should Sin still linger where There's not a home for Pain and Care ? Oh ! why should Sin alone remain, Of all earth's dark and deadly train, To work,'jbeneath^so fair a face, Man's lasting ruin and disgrace ? IV. So shone the moon — so Dian's crest Gleamed in her circuit to the west, Upon one fiery — restless breast. See'st thou yon form with ghostly air. OLDEN TIME. 35 Like some unquiet spirit there, Whose grave denies him sleep, Flit on the turret's topmost height, Vexing the slumbering noon of night, His ceaseless vigils keep ? High on the tower De- Warren stood, And peered into the dusky wood ; Then wildly glanced his eye around, But yet no sense of rapture found ; He only gazed on Sandal's bowers, To curse the slowly fleeting hours ; His heart unmoved by scene so fair. No glow of hallowed thought could share, For sin was rife, and ripening there, V. Amidst his various deeds of ill, By force or fraud of San Martin, ( A subtle man and near of kin) And seemingly against her will, The Earl had ta'en with ruffian hands The mistress of De Lacy's lands, The Countess fair of Lancaster. But scandal told a fouler tale, That vows were weak, and virtue frail, And she a willing prisoner. Howe'er — the insult to resent, Her lord dispatched by night, A chosen band for fight, De- Warren's Earldom north of Trent, To devastate ; nor deemed he near The vengeance of that haughty Peer. VL Hark ! slowly peals from Sandal's tower, The midnight chimes — the signal hour. 36 SANDAL IN THE And list ! the tread of steds — and rings The portal, and the drawbridge swings : And lo, ten horsemen, gleaming bright In polished cuirass, quick alight. But who yon youth, that scans the ground, And shuns all converse from without, His step betraying fear, or doubt ? A stranger he to all around. But one there is, whose hideous mien, Whose crooked shank, and savage grin. And form distorted, hunch-back, lean, Proclaims him Richard san Martin, VII. The lamps shone bright, and either guest, With choicest wines, and viands pressed, By Warren's bounty inly pleased, His whetted appetite appeased ; As Bacchus circled round the feast. With every cup, constraint decreased. Nor young, nor old, had doffed as yet. His iron mail, or burnished helm, Whose massive weight might well o'erwhelm. San Martin first example set, Unarmed — his visage gaunt and grim, So foully writhed — so rudely scarred — His grizly chin, like bearded pard — His neck awry — and tortured limb, Till now in greaves and morion steeled. Stood forth in open guise revealed. The stranger knight looked wistful round. Then cast his armour on the ground ; When lo ! instead of youthful knight, A youthful dame confessed the light ! Her hair fell dangling, curled, and bright. O'er glowing cheeks, with blushes dight ; OLDEN TIME. 37 The Earl look'd pleased, and told the dame, Her fence of steel but ill became A form so soft — a face so fair, Such witchin*^ grace, such beauty rare ; Then vvhisperino; words for none save her, Drank to the " Countess Lancaster." VIIL The goblet raised, when wild and high, Rung through the hall the warder's cry ! As dread unhid took place of mirth, The cup, scarce tasted, sank to earth ; And guest and host, awhile in fear, Astounded heard those accents drear, Till shriek on shriek rose higher and higher, Proclaimed at length the pile on fire. With breathless haste, the news is brought, That tower and battlement are wrought In fierce, devouring flames ; And round about the circling moat. As breaks each wild, exulting note, A countless crowd proclaims ; There, pictured in the lurid light, A thousand spears are gleaming bright ; In serried ranks on every hand, A mighty host of foemen stand ; And louder still night's element. With shouts of" Lancaster !" is rent, IX. " Arm ! Arm !" cries Warren — round the hall, Plucks down his black-mail from the wall ; Then one and all obey their lord. And gird on buckler, helm, and sword , Ev*n Alice, 'mid her wild surprise, Trembling assumes her false disguise. 38 SANDAL IN THE Meanwhile, the tumult overhead, Waxes more loud, and clear, and dread ; The timber crash — the crackling flame, The falling, ponderous beam proclaim ; But as each burning rafter fell, The foe sent forth a fiercer yell ; As tower and battlement give way, Throng round, expectant of their prey. X. How scant his force the Baron knew. Though none more valiant, stout, and true ; To sally forth were death to all ; Grown tenantless the burning wall ; The garrison, as last resort. Assemble in the inmost court. All hope of safety now is gone, All chance of flight denied, but one. Beneath the dungeon-keep there lay" A winding, subterranean way. Explored by none for many a day. By this Earl Warren gives command. To seek an exit, torch in hand, And strive to reach the town hard by. Where friendly arms and steeds are nigh, XL Uprose the flames — but fiercer fire Swelled in high waves of baffled ire Within De- Warren's haughty breast. By many an outward sign confessed : Vengeance he called — but Vengeance fled, While Death inglorious mocked instead ; The strugi^de long, 'twixt love of life And wounded pride — for slaughter rife. Reckless of all save hopeless strife. OLDEN TIME. 39 XII. 'Twas he — the last, in grim array, Who sought the subterranean way ; The last, that lingered for awhile, With arm upreared, and bitter smile, And gazed upon his ruined pile ; ( Whilst every topling turret shook, And spiral wreaths of eddying smoke, Like Sirocco's fiery storm, Swept around his giant form,) De- Warren stood — like thunder stroke, The din above his accents broke — " I swear bold Lancaster shall pay His head for Sandal's burial day 1" — Then vanished with the curse he spoke. Nor idly lost those sounds in air, For when that Noble stood arraigned'' For trepson, in an after year. And Warren sat in judgment there, Upon his luckless, brother Peer, 'I'oo soon the headsman's axe was stained, Too soon was Sandal's ransom gained ! XIIL The Baron led the shrinking dame Through dreary vaults, by torches' flame. As, one by one, the yeomen sped, The archway rang with heavy tread. And thundering rolled each massive door, Which none repassed, that passed before. But all around the cold, dank floor, Their mouldering bones in heaps were spread, Where some, in fetters hung, tho* dead ; And some alive, wliose sunken eye Glared furious as the Earl passed by, 40 SANDAL IN THE Tugged at their chains with frenzied air, Then shrunk back howling in despair. The gates are closed with dreary sound, Shaking the dfjngeons underground, Till arch, and vault, and cell rebound. Fainter still, and still more low, Their steps receding, come and go ; As wending on, the torchlight gleams A down the rock in paler streams, Till all is passed — or sound or sight. To tell the story of their flight ; And thus escape revenge in store, Alice and her dark paramour. XIV. Lo ! Night's dread pinion fans the fire. Each instant waxing broader — higher ; Reveals each distant cot and spire, And reddens all the midnight air By yon far-shining, hellish glare ; Lo ! Calder rolls from shore to shore, His crimsoned tide like waves of gore ; Yon blazing faggots hissing float Like dragons round the circling moat ; Yon melted lead adown the mount. Pours like Hecla*s fiery fount; Yon tottering tower — yon crumbling wall, One by one in thunder fall. Full many a war-steed stifled there, And courser swift, and gallant hound. Lies dead within the burning mound, Whose death-shriek rent the troubled air. As darkly rolls the smoke away. The slow-unfurling wreaths display A spark-bespangled, starry way ! OLDEN TIME 41 XV. Thirsty of blood, the countless throng, Impatient grown, had marvelled long, That none of all De- Warren's train, Escaped the fire-engulphed domain ; Till weary grown — they part in bands, Where'er their vengeful Lord commands, To desolate the Baron's lands. Full many a cot, ere break of day. Fell to devouring flames a prey ; The land with thousand such was sprent, From Calder's stream to banks of Trent. Full many a wanderer knew not where To couch, save in the roebuck's lair ! Alas ! hard fate, in lawless times, { Where Might makes Right — sole, sovereign lord !) That serf should bleed for noble's crimes, And bear the brunt of fire and sword. But just the price Earl Warren paid. For broken vows, and hopes betrayed ; He paid meet forfeit there and then, For crime accursed of God and men. XVL Such was the age — and such the man. Nor he more ruthless than his clan ; Nor harshly blame — his ruder day, Tempted to wield a lawless sway ; Revenge deemed Virtue ; Vice a Lord ; Man's every title won by sword ; His peaceful hours by war disturbed ; Passions unchecked, and pride uncurbed ; When scarce Religion lit her lamp. Save in the cloister's charnel damp, Nor broadly blazed in face of day. 42 SANDAL IN THE To point the crowd their heaven-ward way. Since — (praised be God !) a gentler smile, Has beamed o'er Albion's favoured isle ; Freedom and Justice, Truth and Peace, Have bid proud Rapine's plunder cease ; Commerce and art, and arms victorious. Have made a Briton's birthright glorious ! xvn. Years rolled on — till stone on stone Restored the wreck that fire had made ; But ere the tedious work was done, De Warren's strength began to fade :^ And when his cheek grew cold and wan, He was an old — a childless man ; Bereft of all, he lived to rue. And own the prophecy too true, In anger spoke by Palmer Hugh. What end was his, or bad or good, Is not for mortal man to know, The record is not writ below, 'Twixt God and him the reckoning stood. XVIII. Bethink thee, mortal ! for an eye. Thou canst not see, is gazing nigh ; Nor Hell's abyss, nor Heaven's expanse, Nor silent darkness of the tomb, Nor midnight's deepest, sable gloom, Can shun Jehovah's sleepless glance. Bethink thee, mortal ! for a pen Records above all deeds of men ; And thine are writ in deathless page. Where good or bad alike are sealed. Till the Archangel's blast hath pealed, OLDEN TIME. 43 And woke the dead of every age. Bethink thee, mortal ! of thy state, Or Heaven or Hell on thee await ; Thy life hangs trembling at the nod Of Him, who gave thy clay its breath, Worm that thou art ! and heir of Death ! Oh ! haste, and make thy peace with God. END OF PART PART II. THE WARS OF THE ROSES. CHRONICLE. For lack of heir, the Earl's domain Devolved to Britain's crown again. As time rolled on, each royal guest Of Sammerhall became possessed ; And thither kings, whilom, repaired, In chase a lordly pastime shared, Till civil war brought butcher-work, 'Twixt house of Lancaster and York. CANTO I. ARGUMENT. Address to the Rose — Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, with his Forces intrenched at Sandal — Queen Margaret and her Nobles besiege the Duke with a four-fold Army — the Christmas Festi- vities in the Camp and Castle — the Christmas Carols are heard at midnight — the dawn— the Duke in Council— Sir David Hall in vain attempts to dis- suade him from an engagement till his Son Edward arrives with fresh troops — he is bent on fighting — the call to Arms — various Knights prepare for Battle — they march out into the Camf — the Queen's Forces under Arms— the Nobles and Squires pass before her, and receive the Red Rose — both Armies pause for the signal of Battle. WARS OF THE ROSES. THE BATTLE — EVE, AND MORN. I. If fabled story speak aright, And Philomel in Eastern bowers, Attune his lay to thee by night, Love-sacred rose ! fair queen of flowers ! And thou wert reared in Paradise, 48 SANDAL IN THE And robed in pure, unearthly dyes, To glad not men's, but angels' eyes, And perfume, with ambrosial scent, A spirit's joyous element ; When deadliest feud — when fiercest hate, In mortal strife o'erwhelmed the State, Why didst thou plume War's bloody crest, Or smile upon each foeman's breast ? Why yield thy blossoms, red or white, To mark twin rival hosts in fight, And fill with death thy roseate bower V Alas ! beneath thy spotless flower, Amid fell battle's mingled roar, How many a chieftain sank in gore, And stained the bloodless badge he wore ! Or, if the red-rose decked his side. In deeper shades of blood was dyed ! II. Rallying round Plantagenet,^^' Five thousand valiant swords were met ; Their tents were pitched in open ground, Old Sandal's friendly walls around ; And glancing scorn on four-fold foes, The cry for battle fiercely rose. III. Queen Margaret, trusting in her might, Accepts with joy the proffered fight. On either hand, in copse-wood shade. Lay Wilts and Clifford's ambuscade. Whilst Somerset commands her force. For main attack, or foot, or horse ; And thus arrayed, the royal host, Assail the Duke with taunt and boast, To lure him from his sheltered post. OLDEN TIME. IV. Hark ! how the revel reigns within, How wild yon trumpet note ! Yon lancet-windows, tall and thin, Are gleaming in the moat ; The yule-log blazes bright, And thaws the wint'ry night ; Plantagenet in banquet-hall. Is holding Christmas festival. Full many a gallant knight is there, Full many a soldier peer ; They quaff the bowl to banish care, Nor stint the goodly cheer ; But many a youthful cheek grows pale, Amid that company. And Laughter's lips are seen to quail, Ev'n in their revelry : Young Rutland's brow is death-like wan, And dimly shines his eye ; Nor marks the purple-stream flow on. And pass him heedless by. Alas ! it is the morrow's fight, That rising fills his vacant sight, A spectre ever nigh ! V. But hark ! what peals of merriment, "Where groom and henchmen be. The wassail -bowl will scarce content Their most ungodly glee : •In antick garb, the mummers prank An uncouth masquerade. And reeling Frolic shakes the rank Of yeoman, page, or maid. The homely jest — the coarse reply, Season their rustic revelry ; 49 50 SANDAL IN THE Lo, there, what circles gaping gaze At conjurer in dumb amaze ; And here, where song and wassail fail, List to the goblin-teller's tale. VL Without, the watch-fire's ruddy blaze The widely spreading camp displays. The pressage dire of bloody fight, Robs the young soldier of delight, And but the ruflSan revels there, Or he grown phrensied by despair, Void of a secret conscious fear. That Death in ghastly guise is near. But list ! adown the midnight gale, Above the hoarse din pealing. From infant lips, yon tender wail, The Saviour's hymn is stealing 1" Like seraph's band, 'Mid demons, stand Yon choral company ; The revel stays ; The sinner prays. And bows to earth his knee. For wild and high, yon anthems tell Of God-babe born to Israel ! VIL *Twas morn, and dimly broke the day, With chilly breath and feeble ray, Piercing December's wint'ry shroud Of gathering storm and murky cloud ; And cold, bleak gusts with boding sound, Old Sandal's turrets swept around, And shook sharp icicles to ground. Each watchman closer drew his cloak. OLDEN TIME. 51 And smote his breast with brisker stroke,^ And paced his round in quicker time ; Then quenched his torch, and brushed the rime From off" his matted locks and eye, And strained his drowsy sight to spy The camp, where friend and foeman lie ; But mantling thick the night's robe lay, Where all was still, and cold, and grey. VII. Plantagenet within the pile, In lengthened council sate meanwhile ; And there Sir David sued in vain,^^ The Duke's rash prowess to restrain. Nor battle risk gainst four-fold foes, But safely mured, his host enclose, Till Edward's arms, and martial train, With succour Sammerhall could gain. *' What ! hast thou loved me long, Davy ! " And will'st that I dishonoured be, " And linger here a coward's life ? *• Vouch it, ye plains of Normandy ! •• Say, did I skulk in fortress there, " Though thrice outnumbered in the strife ? " No ! manlike sallied on the foe — *• And how he fled, ye well do know, " My sword found little left to spare ! " To-day I'll fight ere day be gone, " Let cowards flee ! I'll fight alone !" Ev'n as the shallop whirled. In dark Charybdis' toils, Swifter, and swifter hurled, More near her vortex boils. Just so the man, the Fates foredoom, More headlong rushes to his tomb ! Deaf to all prayers the Duke remained ; 52 SANDAL IN THE By force of speecli his purpose gained, Or old, or young, deemed iionour stained To shrink from fight, how great so e'er The hazard of defeat appear. IX. The council o'er — the trumpet's clang Throughout the spacious area rang ; The summons loud and quick obeyed, For horse and man were fast arrayed : Full many a knight of high degree. Scions of South and West Country, Nevill, and Hall, and Harrington, Young Rutland, Richard's tender son, March with the brave Earl Salisbury. On jetty steed, Plantagenet -, Pennache he wore, and grim basenet ; Gorget of steel — surcoat of blue ; His charger housed in azure hue ; With glittering lance upreared in rest. His buckler dight with blazoned crest. A goodly show, eke Salisbury, For none more knightly geared than he ; His jupon, trappings, belt, and plume. Vied with the damask rosebud's bloom ; His golden casque was fenced with steel ; And gold, the spurs that tipped his heel ; In brazen armour clad for fight, He pranced along on steed milk-white. X. The tread of hoofs on frozen ground, Echoes the castle's walls around ; Arrayed for fight in costly gear, A hundred youthful squires appear ; What varied crests of knighthood rare ! OLDEN TIME. 53 What plumes — what banners float in air ! From out the court — through darkened glade, Their burnished steel illumes the shade. And flings o'er stem — and rock — and stream, A moment's strange, and war-like gleam. Till lost amid the thickening glen, Vanish from sight or horse or men. XI. The neigh of steeds, and coursers' tramp, Was heard, meanwhile, in Margaret's camp. With odds that number four to one. The conquest seemed already won. The Queen beheld with joy and pride Each noble knight to battle ride ; For each equipped, in -duty went. To pay his homage at her tent ; And thence took up his several post, Throughout the widely scattered host. Dukes Somerset, and Exeter, Earls Devon, Wilts, Northumberland, Receive the red rose from her hand, The loyal badge of Lancaster, Lords Clifford — Nevill — Dacre — Ross, With quaint device, or saint or cross. Before their royal mistress pass : And knights, and squires of varied class, The flower of Northern chivalry, In gorgeous suits, and trappings seen, Doffing their morions, greet the queen. The trumpet sounds — they march — on high The Scots' jet plume nods gracefully ; They wheel — disperse to loft — to right — Where'er their troops lie ranged for fight ; Then rank on rank, in dread array, Pause breathless for the coming fray, END 01:' CANTO FIRST. D 54 SANDAL IN THE CANTO II. ARGUMENT. The Sun breaks forth — the Trumpet sounds — the Bat- tle opens fiercely — Salisbury and Plantagenet in the thickest of the fight — Clifford and Wilts quit their ambuscade and charge the rear — the York- ists are routed — the Duke taken Prisoner — no Quarter asked or given — Rutland flies — is pursued by Clifford — overtaken at Wakefield Bridge, and stabbed — the Murderer dips his scarf in Rut- land's blood, and bears it to his Father — the Duke is seated on a mound — crowned in mockery — taunted by Clifford, and stabbed — the body beheaded — Wilts takes possession of Sandal — the Queen and her victorious Nobles hold a Feast there — Clifford presides — the Yorkists lie unburied — the heads of the Duke — Salisbury — and Rutland exposed on York Gateway — Vengeance slumbers awhile on the Dead's deserted heap — she flies to Towton — the Battle rages through the Night — the Lancastrians overthrown — Clifford slain — his Head exposed in the place of those of Rutland, York, and Salisbury, who obtain burial — Roses still growing on Towton Battle-field — Sandal re- ceives Edward as King — he erects a Cross where the Duke was slain — and re-endows the Chapel on Wakefield Bridge — the present occupation of the Chapel — God's own Temple is the heart — thoughts on lawless Ambition — its bloody annals — the stamp of Vengeance, and the curse of War still dwell on Sandal's shattered brow. THE BATTLE OF WAKEFIELD. 1. As day broke forth o'er helm and shield, Throughout the waving, crested field ; OLDEN TIME. 55 War's glittering pageant stood revealed ; Then hearts throbbed high for victory. Beneath their close-pent panoply, And fiercely roll'd each wakeful eye. Hark ! loud and dread the clarion peels ! The horrid front of battle reels ! On — on they rush — like steeds of fire ! Hell-armed, and barbed with quenchless ire ! The fluttering plume — the brandished lance, Awhile in tattered ether dance. Then clash with courser's deadliest speed, Where sternest foemen toil and bleed. Halbert and sword, and battle axe, Gory and hot in slaughter wax ; Where archer bends his yew-tree bow, There winged destruction smites the foe ; Where gun and matchlock, peel on peel, Hurl bolt and ball, the stoutest reel ; The hurtling storm of iron hail, Pelts pitiless on rattling mail ; The din of arms, the frantic bound, Of blood-stained hoof on icy ground, The shriek of death — the victor's yell, Mingling, in one wide tumult swell. II. Where'er the thickest — deadliest fray, Salisbury's red falchion cleaves its way ; Where'er his crimson plume arose, Back scattered fell his vanquished foes, And triumph hailed the spotless rose. Plant AGENET beholds with pride, How deep in blood his glaive is dyed ; And dealing round his mortal blows, Strives hard with Exetek to close ; 5H SANDAL IN THE Or, if to meet in field they chance, To break with Somerset a lance, III. But whose yon war- shout, scattering fear ? 'TwiKt York and Sandal's tower appear The ambush foe — they charge the rear ! Clifford and Wilts pour rank on rank, From copse and brake, on either flank ; In vain ! alas ! yon gallant band. Confront grim death on every hand ; They meet — their glittering spears are crossed, The tide is turning — wavering — lost ! Anon, the war-horse breaks aloof, Wounded, and riderless away, The sear leaves scattered by his hoof, The forest startled by his neigh ; Feebler, and feebler, bound on bound, His blood-trace dabbled many a rood ; Deep in the thicket's solitude, He shudders — staggers — sinks to ground ! IV. In vain ! alas ! York's battle shout Rallies no more his liegemen stout! The bloody Clifford, sword in hand, Purples with gore the cumbered land ; Down sinks Plantagenet — his steed Lies gasping 'neath him on the mead ; On every hand stern foemen strive, To take the rebel Duke alive ; Overcome at length, and wounded sore, His feeble frame they captive lead, Alas ! a darker fate in store I I OLDEN TIME. 57 V. When Richard's azure plume went down, The last, faint, flickering hope was flown : But few there were who recked to fly, They fought to conquer, or to die ; And none for life were heard to crave, No quarter sued — no quarter gave ; They deemed the battle sweeter tomb. Than meet the headsman's sterner doom. VI. But one there was — alack-a-day !'" By priest led forth from out the fray, Whose flight caught Clifford's wary eye. He marked his vest's emblazonry, Most like what Richard's self possessed. Then pricked his steed, and hotly pressed, The fleeing youth. Alas ! too late, To shun thy father's coming fate ! Away! Away! thou gentle dove, The falcon's wings are swift above ! Oh ! ruthless deed beyond compare 1 What, coulds't thou not a stripling spare ? The archway gained — where chantry stood,'^ On buttress based, and rolled the flood, Of Calder's tide with foaming crest, Full soon their clattering steeds abreast — Vile coward's blow ! the vengeful lord, Plunges in Rutland's heart his sword ! The deed is done — mortal the wound — The shrieking victim sinks to ground. VII. The silken scarf the stripling wore. The murderer dipped in Rutland's gore, Then straightway to his father bore. 58 SANDAL IN THE The Duke was seated on a mound, VVith paper crown, and robe arrayed, Whilst nobles scoffing, circled round. With bloody scarf, and reeking blade, Clifford a seeming reverence made ; " Hail : prince without a people — hail ! " King Richard ! kingdomless — all hail ! " Rebel, and traitor to the State ! •' Thy foulest treason expiate I " Sweet sight ! thy Rutland's fresh, warm blocd : " And sweet, thy tears — most welcome flood ! " False murderer of my sire !'^ " To glut an orphan's ire, " I bid thee thus expire !" He slabs — as sinks Plantagenet, Beholds unmoved Queen Margaret ; And fiercely shout the rabble rout Of vulgar souls, that stand without ; Then heaping insult on the dead. The prostrate body they behead. But ere another sun had set, Three bloody heads in insult met On Ebor's gate ; Plantagenet, Rutland and Salisbury, side by side,''^ Looked down, all ghastly, gaping wide ! VIIL Sandal, meanwhile, unguarded lay, And fell to Wilts an easy prey. As day declined, from out her port, Sounded strange mirth within, As wild and high, through hall and court. Arose the festive din. The Queen and Nobles bold, A royal banquet hold ; r OLDEN TIME. 59 And hands witli slaughter crimsoned o'er. Goblets of wine all heedless pour ; Lord Clifford fills the chair of state, Tlie murderer where the murdered sate, And rules the noisy fete. But they who walked yon halls at morn, Lie on the battle-field forlorn, Limb from limb, convulsed and torn ! Upon the cold and senseless clay, York's headless corse unburied lay, And scared the moonbeam's timid ray, Which glanced on him, and thousands roun d For whom no winding sheet was found. No bier, save Sandal's grassy mound ! But Vengeance only sleeps awhile Upon the dead's deserted pile, She holds her darkest deeds of power. Against wrath's swiftly coming hour. With wilder rage, and deadlier doom, With reeking sword and crimsoned wings, Lo ! now she shakes her morion's plume, And back to ten -fold slaughter springs. IX. But thrice the wintry moon had waned,'^ Since Sandal's plain was carnage-stained, Ere Towton's fiercer fight was gained. 'Mid mingled storm of snow and sleet. At eve the rival armies meet ; So frantic closed the fiendish fight, Unheeded passed the faded light ; Unbroken through the dismal night, The combat raged, and deathblows clashed. As steel with steel, in darkness, flashed ; The stroke — the shriek — the curse — the groan — The heavy plunge of steed o'erthrown — 60 SANDAL IN THE Man grappling man — the foe unknown, Or half revealed where torches shone — Till morn beheld the ceaseless fray Unquelled — unquenched with dawn of day. Nor York, nor Lancaster gave way. O'ercast for leagues the purpled plain, In gory pools — with heaps of slain. Amid the crimsoned snow-wreaths lain. X. Soon singled forth from out the dead, Where vengeance loved to brood. The bloody Clifford's severed head,'® On Ebor's gateway stood : Whilst honored burial gained the three First victims of his cruelty, Rutland, and York, and Salisbury ; Young Edward shed a warrior's tear O'er a loved sire, and brother's bier. Lo ! still on Towton's battle-field,'^ And round her streamlet's grassy bed, Ev'n now, the blood-stained meadows yield The fairest roses, white and red ! For as each warrior sank to earth. To these his gory badge gave birth ; And cultured there by hand unknown, In circles some, and some alone Luxuriant rise and deck the plain. And blossom o'er the slumbering slain ; How few would deem their fragrant bloom Was shed o'er fellest foemen's tomb ! XII. Now Sandal's gates, thrown open, ring. To greet their young, victorious King. OLDEN TIME. Full soon a stately cross he built,"^^^ To mark where Richard's blood was spilt. Full soon yon chantry rare, (Impinjring midway C alder's flood, Saint Mary's chapel fair,) Besprinkled o'er with Rutland's blood. He re-endowed, that priest might pray For such as fell in bloody fray. On Sandal's slaughter-sickening day. Yes, oft, whilom, some pilgrim here, Journeying through the night, Would sheath his sword, or rest his spear. Hailing yon turret's light ; Full oft, by day, the passer by, Who chanced yon goodly fane to see, And heard the requiem steal on high, Would stay his foot, and entering there, With reverend mien, and bended knee, Pour forth a solitary prayer ! Who now beholds that crumbling fane. Might deem devotion on the wane j Nor priest, nor votary enter where Nor anthem breathes — nor voice of prayer. But busy Commerce plies her care. And daily seeks her wonted gain. Devoiion owns a purer shrine Than reared by man — a work divine ; The holy oracles impart. That God's sole temple is the heart. XIII. Oh \ lust of Empire, could'st thou tell The yet unnumbered host that fell. In each protracted strife unknown, 'Twixt nobles warring for a throne. Oh ! say, what boots a despot's sway, d 2 61 62 SANDAL IN THE When crime and blood have paved his way ; Have dimmed his crown — his sceptre stained, The laws of God and men profaned ? Go — ask the widow's weeds — the hearse — Go — ask the raven croaking hoarse — Go — view the slaughter-covered field, By morrow's rising sun revealed — Go — ask each mangled — bleeding corse, What is ambition ? — " Hell's own curse !'' Oh ! tale of blood, how full of woe Thy purpled streams of carnage flow ! The mother's tear — the orphan's sigh, Speak of their speechless agony. How tainted by the breath of war The loveliest spots in nature are ! Lo ! Sandal ! on thy shattered brow. There dwells the stamp of vengeance now Ambition's scourge, the curse of war, Has fixed thereon his deadliest scar! ENI> or VART II. I PART IlL THE PARLIAMENTARY WARS, CHRONICLE. Age after age, grey Sandal's tower Confessed each reigning Monarch's power, Edwards, and Henrys, one by one, Bequeathed the pile from sire to son. Till House of Stewart held by right The proud and venerable site. When Cromwell sought with bloody hand, To grasp the sceptre of our land, Resistless rebel I Sandal's wall Was doomed with Charles' throne to fail. CANTO I ARGUMENT. Sandal's antiquated style compared to the traveller's toil-worn aspect — Sandal is held by Bonivant for King Charles — Overton besieges — opens a furi- ous Cannonade — the fire returned with equal spirit from the Castle — the Birds are silent — Nature is awe-struck by the sound of Cannon — the besieged sally with varied success — Sandal impregnable by assault — Famine appears among the Garrison — they still hold out undismayed — their hopes supported by good-tidings from the King — they kindle fires on the high tower — the Garrison shout as if the King were come to raise the siege — succour comes not — the Garrison are dwindled by famine and sword — Boni- vant calls a truce — obtains an honourable capitula- tion — marches out amid the plaudits of the enemy — Sandal is demolished, and shrinks into a ruin. THE PARLIAMENTARY WARS. THE SIEGE. I. Ev'n as the brow of him estranged. Whose wayward steps have widely ranged, Since youth's or manhood's prime, Brings home the furrows of hot tears 66 SANDAL IN THE Sickness, and woe, and wasting jears — Or, may be, dim, unsightly scars, A shattered relic of long wars ! Back to his native clime ; So, many a stain on Sandal's tower Proclaims the time-destroying power ; Full many a sapling-oak grown grey, Tells of an earlier, greener day ; And on yon dial's antique face, The lapse of centuries ye trace ; Yon pointed arch — you fretted wall, Yon oaken-raftered banquet hall. With much beside, within, without, Are Chroniclers ye may not doubt. II. Hark ! hark ! the foe is at her gate,-' A| Brave Bonivant this day, ' But vainly shields the blow of fate, From Sandal's tottering sway. Stout Overton in Cromwell's cause Lays siege — his circle nearer draws, Hems in the castle's rising ground ; The Roundheads raise on every side, Trench, foss, and fortress high and wide ; And, lo, where stands yon Danish mound,^^ From cannon's mouth. War's tempest lowers ; Then pours amain his deadly showers, With thundering voice on Sandal's towers, Till hill, and dale, and plain rebound. With each tumultuous burst of sound. , I A double moat encircling all. Four fathoms deep beneath the wall, Lavp *'ie broad, massive hold ; OLDEN TIME. 67 And frowns each mural line along, Wars' horrid engines, stout and strong, And fearful to behold ; Loop-hole, and keep, and battlement, Robed in dense, sulph'rous element, Indignant hurl their death-bolts blent With fiercer fire, and louder shock. Till dungeons reel, and turrets rock. As peal on peal, the echoes wake. Answers each distant hill ; And trembles every startled lake. And hushed within her woodland brake, The songster's note is still : Betwixt the cannon's thundering stroke, No voice is breathing there, But wreaths of ever thickening smoke Hang awe-struck in mid -air. IV. Anon, from out the portal rush, Like ocean's tide, or torrent's gush, A chosen band of Cavaliers ; Where'er their serried rank appears. The foe retires — or stands his ground, Sheltered by trench, or swelling mound, And stubborn fight strews death around ; Till bleeding, foiled, by numbers riven. The gallant band is backward driven. V. In vain ! ye shake — but cannot raze Yon massive pile of bygone days ! Onset by day — assault by night, Disclose no yawning breach to sight War's iron tempest vainly falls On Sandal's adamantine walls. 68 SANDAL IN THE But tliougli no outward trace appears Of slackened nerve — f)r wasted strength, Within, a secret canker wears, For Famine's form stalks forth at length ; More deadly is her silent thrall, Within the close beleaguered wall, Than where war's thickest death-bolts full. VI. As hourly carnage strewed her slain, The moon waxed full, and waned again : But Sandal's loyal guard within Beheld, though undismayed, Their ranks grow thinner and more thin, As greedy Famine preyed ; Yet lurkincT Treason was not heard o To breathe throughout one traitorous word. When fortune smiled, and when there came Good tidings from King Charles, a flame On Sandal's tower burned nightly bright, And quickly answered was the light. From Pomfret's distant turret's height :" As fiercely rose the wild acclaim. The Roundheads trembled in their camp. And ran to arms — the distant tramp Of royal steeds seemed drawing near, Whilst joyful cried each Cavalier, " A Prince ! A Prince !" as hill and tower Woke to their shout at midnight hour. VII. Day by day, and night by night, Brave Bonivant prolongs the fight ; Famine and sword have triumphed o'er His little band of men ; Succour come= not — till hope no more I OLDEN TIME. Glows in his breast, and then He calls a trace — and treats for life, But vows to perish in the strife, Save liberty be granted all Within old Sandal's leaguered wall. Life — fame, and liberty are won ; Yon veteran band, in stately file, Pass through the portal one by one ; Ev'n Cromwell's warriors laud the while The Cavaliers march out ; Whilst gazing on their dauntless brows. From rank to rank, the plaudit grows To one accordant shout ! VIIL But they are gone ! — and Sandal's walls Crumble beneath the iron hand, That raised a scaffold for a king, And dared in regicide be great. To curb the sceptre of our State. For Fate ordained her princely halls Should melt as by enchanter's wand. Quick as the thought's imagining ! Bastion and turrets, where are they ? Gone like the dreams of yesterday ! And Sandal's feudal pride is gone. Or shrunk into yon mouldering stone ! end of canto first. 69 70 SANDAL IN THE CANTO II. ARGUMENT. An invocation to Poesy — the dreamer of by-gone hours — the memory of the dead poetical — the dreams of poesy described — some bright and momentary — some heavenly — some impious and daring — the Bard craves not these, but a parting gleam of other days — a pensive dream — the vale of the Calder, as seen from Sandal — the ruins — the deathlike stillness of the place — wishes for a Bard of the Olden Time, to sing of happier days — all is hushed in sleep — the graves covered with grass — an adder glides by — glitters and disappears — twilight — darkness — the rents of time are effaced — the ruins grow gigantic — Glory inhabits her tenement anew — Fancy restores all things — past ages recalled — a crowd of Phantoms rise — Warren, Alice and Joan — York and Rut- land — the besiegers — they vanish — the wreck alone might inspire the Muse — War leaves Grandeiu* deso- late — the Bard turns from perishable things, to the contemplation of things that perish not — hails his spirit's destiny. SANDAL CASTLE IN RUINS. I. Hail, Poesy ! immortal power ! Fair dreamer of a by-gone hour ! Oh ! lull thy bard in tranquil bower ; Sit watching o'er his slumbering head, OLDEN TIME. 71 And softly wliisper of the dead. Of olden time, of joyance fled. Oh ! 'tis a sacred love thou hast For all that was, but now is past ; Though they be sped, whose footsteps wore The paths they now may tread no more, Yet these thou wouldst explore ; Ah, yes ! by Fancy's aid, Fly back to days of yore, And raptured live them o'er. Wild, visionary maid ! But these are not thine only dreams ; Some less beloved, yet brighter far. Thou hast, which flit like sunny gleams, Like lightning's flash, or falling star ; They soar aloft on seraph's pinion. And rear them palaces on hi^h, Fantastic halls of rainbow dye, Till Fancy spurns dull earth's dominion. Till Reason's steps are turned awry ; 'Tis then thy wild imaginings Will dare, rash maid ! forbidden things, Too bright for earth — too frail for heaven, Yet deemed by inspiration given. Vague visions such as ne'er can be Embodied in reality — Then impious grown — thine eye will pry The thresholds of eternity ! But these thy bard craves not of thee, Oh ! grant to him a parting gleam Of other days — a pensive dream ! IL Look down on C alder's tranquil vale, Her waters reddening in the sun ; 72 SANDAL IN THE And mark yon barge's glowing sail, Catch evening's glories one by one ; Behold how burns yon distant spire, Tinged with vesper's fading fire : And far beyond, the purpled hills, Slope softly melting in the gleam Of daylight's faint, expiring beam, Which quivers still in Calder's stream, And welkin's West with radiance fills — Then turn, and bend thine eye in tears, Where Sandal's ruined arch appears : Sole remnant of her kingly pile ! Gaze on yon arch, and mark the while, Of all her feudal glory shared. How War has reft what Time had spared ! Sandal ! alas ! thy voice is still — Nor wakes as erst from grass-grown hill, The lute's soft strain in lady's bower ; Oh ! for a bard of olden time, To yield thee back thy life in rhyme, And sing afresh thy glorious prime, When wassail-rout convulsed thy tower, And banquet shook thy festive halls ! But all is still — thy crumbling walls No more shall echo back the tread Of prancing steed — no more shall War Roll at thy feet his iron car ; Nor trumpet's clang, nor clashing swords, Nor prisoner's sigh, nor love's last words, Whisper amid thy voiceless dead ! How still is death ! and thou — how still ! I fear to climb thy turf-clad hill, Or wander o'er thy hidden graves ; Where'er I gaze, the green-sward heaves In hillocks, and the dark bough waves I OLDEN TIME. 73 Itfe funeral plume of dusky leaves So gently o'er the sleepers here, I would not trample on their bier ! III. But — see ! how soft yon adder glides, In silent course the hill besides ; And now her venomed head she hides ; Anon — pursues her noiseless way, And doubling shuns each rustling spray ; How bright her streaks of silver-grey ! Like tracks of light at break of day A down a mountain's rugged sides — 'Tis passed — her arrowy form hath fled, Where yon dark thicket's shades are spread. IV. The wings of night are brooding now. Above — around — beneath ; the gloom Of yon deep elms, that shade the tomb Of Grandeur, shrouds the haughty brow Of Sandal's triple-vaulted tower ; The rents of time, the wrecks of war. Grow less and less distinct, and are Effaced, as Darkness veils the hour ; Yon loftier pile of massive stone Shoots up into the dusky air, By Eve's wan light gigantic grown. And wakes the pride that slumbered there ! And yon rude walls resume their reign By night, and Glory dwells again, Ev'n in her hoary tenement ; And Fancy's spell creates anew Buttress, and arch, and battlement, Rising in splendour on the view, As erst they stood in grim array. High towering in the face of day. 74 SANDAL IN THE V. Dim-peeiiug through the veil of night, Yon murky forms bring back a crowd Of images, that seek the light, And leap from out the misty shroud Of ages — picturing as they glide Athwart the tablet of my thought, What did of good or ill betide These walls, and all the deeds here wrought. VI. And Lo ! twain spectres robed ia air, Muffled, and still, are gliding by, Stealing along so warily ! And ever gazing on yon pair. And beckoning still, a phantom fair, Follows them aye with tearful eye : He sees thee, hears thee not ! His early vow forgot ; Alas ! thou love-lorn Joan-de-Barr, Thy Warren bends his brow of war On yon false dame of Lancaster, And ever gazes but on her ! They pass — but mark yon file of dead, Rise from their cold, ensanguined bed, York's bleeding corse, and severed head ! And he, the young Plantagenet, Stabbed to the heart — in order set, Range 'neath their roses, white or red, Horsemen and footmen, grim as death, Pause for the spectre-trumpet's breath ; Rally, and wheel, and charge in fight, Then plunge into the gloom of night — And now, a dread, beleaguering host, Compass the fortress round ; With rank to rank, and pos>t to post, They darken all the ground ; OLDEN T1.ME And riash on Hash of lurid light Reveals the dim, unearthly fight ; Tho' hushed the cannon's roar, Yet tower and keep in silence tall, And silent sinks the crumbling wall, And Sandal is no more ! VII. And now, the phantom-crowd is gone, And yon rude remnants stand alone. Sandal ! thy wreck might well inspire,^* In glowing breasts — a poet's fire — And cold the heart — and strange the eye, That could unheeded pass thee by, Nor read thereon the hest of Fate, How War leaves Grandeur desolate ! VIII. What, if the bard from out thy wreck Of grey and moss-grown stone. May gather strength his lay to deck, With strain of loftier tone ? May turn from earthly potentate. Whose tottering crown, and crumbling state, Are whelmed by time, by war, by fate, To things which perish not, nor die, Changeless in their eternity ? Yes, turn from earth, and earthly toys, To brighter hopes — unfading joys ; Then heavenward raise his glistening eye To unseen mansions in the sky, And hail his spirit's destiny f THE END. 75 < N O T E 8 TO SANDAL IN THE OLDEN TIME. 1. O'er Sandars green and thick-set wood." The castle of Siiiulal, or Sammerhall, is situated about two miles south of Wakefield. It stands on a consider- able eminence, coinmanding a beautiful and extensive prospect, and once formed part of the vast possessions ol John, last Earl of Warren and Surrey. The castle was probably built at a much earlier period, and we are in- tormed that it was destroyed by Thomas, Earl of Lan- caster, out of revenge for an insult committed on his wife by the said Earl of VVarren, who, however, afterwards res- tored Sandal to its original grandeur. The inhabitants of Wakefield will easily recognise the origin of the street called " Warren-gate," or " Wrengatc," which led to one of the Parks of the Earl of Warren. " Park Hills" was ano- ther chase belonging the said Earl. The Earls of Warren appear to have had " Furcse," or gallows, at Wakefield, and the right of punishing offenders thereby. The axe and gibbet are still in the custody of the Lord ot the Manor, by whom they are preserved as relicsof the feudal times. 2. '*'Tis Juan-de-Barr, Earl Warrens bride." Joan-de-Barr, daughter of Ileiny. Earl of Barr, and grand- daughter to Edward L, married John, Earl of War- ren, by whom she was divorced, the Earl settling upon her 740 murks per annum. She went abroad, and died A.D. 1361. 3. " Tlieij ivcre not born in wedlock, they.'' The Earl's cbildicii hv Maud-de-Nerford, M'ere John 78 NOTES. and Thoraas-de- Warren, also by her, or some other mis- tress, he bad William — Joan — Catherine, and Isabel-dc- Warren. Maud-de-Nerford appears to have generally re- sided at Sandal, and at the Earl's death, is said to have retained possession of the Manor, and to have held Courts at Wakefield till her decease, about the year 1350. 4. " To-night San Martin comes — to-nightS' Richard San Martin, a deformed knight, and relative of the Earl of Warren, was concerned in the capture of Alice- de-Lacy, the wife of Thomas, Earl of Lancaster ; which circumstance occasioned her divorce from her husband, when she afterwards married the said Richard, who en- deavoured, but without effect, to lay claim to the Earl- doms ot Lincoln and Salisbury. 5. *' From Coningshurg, by covert way.'' Coningsburg Castle, (now Conisbro') near Doncaster, formerly one of the possessions of the Earl ot Warren, probably built soon after the Conquest, on the site of a Saxon fort. Here it was that the Earl, and his sworn enemy, Thomas Earl of Lancaster, were both born. 6. '* ' 77s night, soft night, and Kirbys feudal walls." Though hardly needful, it may be well to state, that the " Harper's Tale" is a mere fiction ; the story, how- ever, is not more improbable than many related in history. 7. " Beneath the dungeon-keep there lay " A winding subterranean way." There still exists a tradition among the inhabitants of Sandal, that formerly there was a subterranean way, leading from the castle to the cellars of the Great Bull Inn, Wakfield, and consequently passing under the river Calder. The author is informed that the said Inn was formerly a monastery. 8. " For when that noble stood arraigned." Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, was brought a prisoner to his own castle of Pomfret, by Sir Andre w-de-Harcley, NOTES. 79 March 21 (15 Eilward II.), and being arraigned before the King, in the presence of the Earlot Warren and other Barons, was sentenced to death for liigh treason, and ex- ecuted immediately afterwards. 9. *' De Wan ens strength began to fade." John, Earl of Wan en, died, without issue, June 30, 1347, on his 61st birthday. He was buried in the abbey church of Lewes, in Sussex. His life was one of great activity. He appears to have taken part in all the principal events which characterise the reigns in which he lived. He attended Edward I. in his last expedition into Scotland. He formed part of the retinue of Edward II. when he went over to marry the King of France's daughter. He attended that mo- narch in his Scotch expedition. He, together with other powerful barons, besieged Piers-de-Gaveston in Scar- borough Castle, and took him prisoner. Soon after he refused to attend the king to Scotland, on account of several grievances lemaining unredressed. 10 Edward II., however, he joined the army against the Scots. 13 Edward II. he was similarly employed, 18 Edward II. he was appointed Captain-general of the forces sent into Gascoign. 20 Edward II. he was made one of the twelve lords, who were to govern the kingdom during the prince's minority. 1 Edward III. he was again in the expedition against Scotland. 7 Edward III, he was at the Battle of Halidown, and assisted Baliol, who is said to have re-^ sided in Sandal Castle for six months. 9 Edward III., Warren was again in Scotland. 13 Edward III. he was chosen one of the sureties of the King of England, for the completion of the marriage of the Black Prince, with the Daughter of the Duke of Brabant. 20 Edward III. he married Isabel-de-Houland, who survived him. For further particulars, see " Memoirs of the ancient Earls of Warren and Surrey. By Rev. J. Watson, M. A., F.A.S." 10. *' Rallying round Plantagenet, " Five thousand valiant swords were met.'' The narrative of Sandal is again resumed after the lapse of 113 years fiom the death of the Earl of Warren, with which Part I. concludes. — It may be well to state the events which preceded, and occasioned the Battle of 80 NOTES. Wakefield. — An Act of Settlement having been drawn up, it was agreed, that Henry VI. should keep the crowii for life, but that the Duke of York and his family should succeed him at his death. The Queen, disdaining an-y arrangement which dethroned her child, joined her friend's in the north, who had raised an army in the King's name — among these w^ere the Earls of Northumberland — Lord Clifford — the Duke of Somerset — the Earl of Devon, &c., with an army of 20,000 men. The Duke of York, leaving Warwick and Norfolk with the King, and directing his eldest son Edward to ibllow with the rest of his forces, set out with Rutland and the Earl of Salisbury towaids the north, and arrived at his castle of Sandal on 21st December, with 5,000 or 0,000 men The Duke spent bis Christmas at Sandal, and the Queen's forces lay some time at Pomftet — Ed- ward was still at Shrewsbury. On 30th Dec, 1460, the Battle of Wakefield was fought. For a full account of the Battle of Wakefield, see Sharon Turner's History of England — Allen's History of Yorkshire — Speed's History of Great Britain — Henry's History of Great Britain — Pictorial History of England, also Shakspere's King Henry VI., 3rd Part. The reader will observe that the Duke of York is dis- tinguished by the various appellations of " Richard," — " Plantagenet," — " York," — " the Duke," &c. 11. " The Saviour's hymn is stealing," The Author, on account of the Battle of Wakefield being in suspense for several days previous to the 30th December, on which day it actually took place, will hardly be considered guilty of an anachronism, in representing the Christmas carols as occurring on the eve of the en- gagement. 12. " And there Sir David sued in vain," Sir David Hall, an old and faithful knight of Richard, Duke of York slain in the Battle of Wakefield. 13. " £ut one there was — alack-a-day ! " By priest led forth from out the fay," The name of the Earl of Rutland's tutor was, Sir Robert A spall, a priest. NOTES. 81 14. " The archway gained — irhere chantry stood. See *' Whitakev's Loidis inul Elmete" — wliich speaks ot" the very early existence of a chantry on WaketieUl bridge. Since the first edition of this poem was printed, the author has perused Mr. Scatchard's "Dissertation," &c., which throws considerable light on the early history of the chapel on Wakefield bridge. The impression on the author's mind remains, in the main, the same as before his perusal of Mr. Scatcherd's interesting work. The author had no difficulty in un- derstanding the meaning of Dr. Whitaker, with reference to the early existence of a chapel, or chantry, on Wake- field bridge — and with regard to its prior endowment of £8, 10s. 3d., in the reign of Edward III., without any pretensions to antiquarian research, there appears to him, no inconsistency in there having been a re-endowment by Edward IV. ot £14, 15s. 3|d., together with considerab)e repairs in the edifice, as probably additional service, in the form of masses for the dead, was required of the offi- ciating priests at that period. Mr. Scatcherd's remarks on the west front of the cha- pel, as being of much earlier date than the reign of Ed- ward IV., are very satisfactory ; in fact, if any enlarge- went of the chapel took place at the period of its second endowment, the proximity of the bridge to the west front, would alone prevent much alteration in that quarter; whilst the building might have been more easily enlarged at the eastern extremity. The most difficult point really appears to be, to ascer- tain what was the exact amount of repairs, alterations, or enlargement, which took place in the reign of Edward IV., to give rise to the general, but mistaken idea, that the Chapel was originally founded by that Monarch. From Mr. Scatchard's work there is abundant evidence that this chapel was founded by the townspeople of Wake- field, certainly not later than the year 1357, when they appear to have presented it to King Edward III., in re- turn for his protection of the trade of the town. Mr. Scatcherd mentions that in the *' Gents. Mag." for Dec, 1756, an account is given of the discovery ot a number ot antique figures in wood and alabaster found concealed in the roof of the chapel. One of these figures is said to re- present St. William, 30tb Archbishop of York. The rest, Scripture characters — and in nowise illustrative of the Battle of Wakefield. 82 NOTES. In the XVI. century, this beautiful building was occu- pied as the Excliange, or general resort of" merchants. Subsequently, it has been used as a warehouse — an old clothes shop — a flax-dresser's shop — a news room — a cheese-cake house — a dwelling house — and a cornfactor's office, 15. *' False murderer of my site." Thomas, Lord Clifford, slain at the first Battle of St. Albans, May 22nd, (33rd Henry VI.) by the Yorkists, was father to John, Lord Cliffoid, who slew the Duke of York, and young Rutland, at the Battle of Wakefield. -, ^^• " Rutland and Salisbury, side by side.'^ The Earl of Salisbury, being taken prisoner after the Battle of Wakefield, was sent to Pontefract Castle by Queen Margaret, and beheaded there : his head was after- wards exposed on the gates of York, together with many others, 17. *' But thrice the wintry moon had waned, " Since Sandal's plain was carnage stained" Towton, a village three miles S. E. of Tadcaster. The celebrated battle between the houses of York and Lancaster, and so fatal to the latter, was fought there on Palm Sunday, 1461. 18. " The bloody Clifford's severed head" John, Lord Clifford, was slain the day before the Bat- tle of Towton ; having put off his gorget, he was struck in the throat by an arrow, and immediately expired. 19. " Lo ! still on Towton s battlefield" The author is informed by a gentleman who has visited the field of battle at Towton, that roses of a peculiar kind still grow there, some in distinct circles in the centre of the pasture ground. Many of the inhabitants of the village believe, that these roses have sprung from the pits in which the slain were buried after the battle. 20. •* Full soon a stately cross he built." This cross was destroyed by the Parliamentary army at the siege of Sandal Ca&tle. ' NOTES. 83 Nothing now remains to mark the site, but a ditch, which cuts off a small triangular piece of ground, said to be the exact spot where the Duke of York was slain. 21. " Hark ! hark ! the foe is at her gate." Richard III. made use of Sandal as a royal residence. Subsequently it was employed as the Manor House, where the Courts were held, and was occupied by the Saviles for many generations in the capacity of Manor Stewards, The reader should bear in mind the lapse of 184 years since the Battle of Towton, the last prominent event with which Part II. closes. During the Parliamentary wars, Sandal Castle was held by Colonel Bonivant for King Charles, and after a siege of three weeks surrendered to Colonel Overton, Sep- tember 30, 1645. The castle was dismantled about a year afterwards, by order of the Parliament. In the reign of James II, the ruined castle and park adjoining belonged to Sir Richard Beaumont ; by him it was conveyed to Neviles of Chevet, and from them it found its way into the Pilkington family, and thus, to its present possessor. Sir W. Pilkington, Be. of Chevet. There is a drawing ot Sandal Castle preserved in the Duchy Office of Lancaster, made in the reign of Eliza- beth, from which the engraving now extant, has been executed. 22. " And, lo, where stands yo7i Danish mound." Lowe Hill may have a Roman origin, but at present it bears the marks of a Danish mount, surrounded with a double ditch. If a watch tower formerly stood here, it may have given name to the town of Wakefield, called in Domesday Book, Wachfeld. John-de- Warren is said to have attempted to build a castle on Lowe Hill, but was necessitated to relinquish the undertaking from the violence of the winds. The distance of Lowe Hill from Sandal, makes it less probable that Overton should have planted his chief bat- tery there, when the hill, facing the opposite, and least defensible part of the castle, stands much nearer. How- over, so speaks tradition. 23. " From PomfreCs distant turret's height." Pomfret Castle being besieged at the same time with 84 NOTES Sandal, ihli expedient was hit upon by the goveniois of both castles, for the purpose of keeping up the spirits of their garrisons — and whichever first received the good tidings, was to signify the same by kindling a fire on the highest tower of his castle. .See Boothroyd's History of Pom fret. 24. •' Sandal ! thy wreck might well inspire." The author has pleasure in transcribing the following spirited verses, which were written by a gentleman on his first visit to the ruins of Sandal Castle, inasmuch as they will evince, that the author has asserted the truth, and that as regards Sandal — " The wreck might well inspire, " In glowing breasts — a poet's fire." ODE TO SANDAL. " Reltc hoar of ancient days ! " How scant, and scattered is the wreck, " That serves to mark the sacred place, " Which erst thy towers were wont to deck. " Thy spacious courts no more are trod ; '' Thy warriors sleep beneath the sod ; " Thy bastions dark, no longer crown, " Those mounds from which they once did frown. " But stately hall, and vaulted keep, " And light throv/n arch, and turret steep, " And citadel of loftiest pride, " And treble-gate, and draw bridge wide, " Are gone, are sunken from our sight, " Soon lost amid the misty, darkling night, " Which ever follows close on Time's oblivious ilight ! " Gone! is the Baton's feudal state; " Gone ! is the fame of the mighty and great ; " Gone! is the prowess of martial knight ; " Gone ! are the charms of his lady bright ; " Gone ! is the pomp of thy chivalry, " Of thy pageants gay, and thy healdry ; " But though lost thy state, and shrunk thy form,. " Thou yet hast power our hearts to warm ; " Whilst pitying thee, and musing still, ^' We slowly turn from Sandal Hill." FlllJJTliD BY &\ T, HALL, laHErflELD. |^3ENM532 eCECdFdF(93tl?0 3H %im i«grM0^aMCJC j^@3^ec¥, % ^aUatr. W. H. LEATHAM. LONDON; LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN AND LONGMANS, MDCCCXLL PREFACE The Scenery of Bolton Abbey is too familiar to the Tourist to need any illustration— and many persons who have not travelled to that romantic spot, will probably have become acquainted with it through the admirable notice in " Howitt's Visits to Remarkable Places", in " Montague's Glean- ings in Craven," — in Dr. Whitaker's valuable " History and Antiquities of the Deanery of Craven", or through the poetry of Wordsworth and Rogers. To render the subsequent poem intelligible, and to obviate the necess- ity for notes, the author will proceed to give a brief historical sketch of the personages who figure therein. The subject of the following ballad, Henry, Lord Clifford, 1st. Earl of Cumberland, and Xlth Lord of the Honor of Skipton, born 1493, was son of Henry, Lord Clifford, surnamed "the Shepherd Lord", and grandson of John, Lord Clifford, surnamed " the bloody Clifford", or " the black-faced Clifford", who was killed the day before the battle of Towton — and whose history is too well known to need any comment here — sufficeitto say thathis son, on the accession of Henry VH, emerged from the fells of Cumberland, where he had been principally concealed, in the guise of a Shepherd, for 25 years. The restoration of the Shepherd Lord to the estates and honours of his ancestors has been celebrated by Wordsworth in his "Song of the Feast of Brougham Castle," &c. also the characters and virtues of this nobleman have been set forth in his " White Doe of Rylstone." In the notes to these poems will be found considerable extracts from Dr. Whitaker's History of Craven, which fully introduce the reader to the history of this personage. He appears to have preferred the solitude of Barden, where he enlar- ged the Tower out of a Keeper's Lodge, to the grandeur of his castle at ?kipton. B 2 IV. PREFACE. His intimacy with the Canons of Bolton afforded him an opportanify of pursuing his favorite studies, Asti'onomy and Alchemy. Richard Moyne, (or Moone) -who was the last Prior of Bolton, and who built the base of the unfinished tower which now forms the west front of the abbey, was among his intimate friends. There was, however, one circTrmstance -which conspired to interrupt the happy retirement of this venerable nobleman, the disgraceful conduct of his son Henry. Dr. Whitaker presents us with a copy of a curious let- ter written by the Shepherd Lord to a privy councellor, complaining of this " mad-cap Hairy", in which he speaks of the " ungodly and ungudely" disposition of his son " Henrie Clifforde" despising his commands and threatening his servants, and striking with his own hand his " pore ser- vaunt Henrie Popeley in peryl of dethe, w'ch so lyeth, and is lyke to dye"; moreover he complains of his son's thefts, committed to support " his inor- dinate pride and rvot", " apparellying himself and his horse in cloth of golde, and goldsmyth's wark, more lyk a duke, than a pore Baron's sonne, as bee ys." The old Lord proceeds to inform us, that notwithstanding he had given Henry £15, " and over that his blessying upon his gude and lawful de- meanour", desiringhim to forsakethe council of certain evil disposed persons "as wel yonge gents as oth's," lest " he sholde bee utterlie undone for ev'r, as wel bodilie as ghostlie", yet that he continued his course of disobedience " and trobled divers housys of religioun, to bring from them their tythes, shamefully betyng ther tenaunts and s'vants, in such wyse as some whol townes were fayne to kepe the churches both nighte and daye, and dare not come att ther own housys". This complaint appears to have met with no attention from a young monarch like Henry VHI, with whom Henry Clifford had been educated. Dr. Whitaker fixes the date of this letter about 1512. or 1513 ,— it must therefore have been written when Henry was 20 years old, and about the time that the Old Lord signalized himself at the age of 60, by marching with a large body of men from Craven and elsewhere, to take a principal command in the army which fought under the Earl of SuiTey at Flodden, and where the gallant conduct of the Shepherd Lord won him great renown. Supposing then that his son was at this time keeping company with outlaws, it may not be too improbable a conjecture that he was also enga- ged in this battle, tho' perhaps he fought in disguise. In support of this supposition, it is remarkable that the success of that engagement commen- ced by the vigorous charge of the Bastard Heron, with a band of outlaws, upon the left wing of the Scots, commanded by Lord Home, who had pre- viously driven back the right wing of the English vanguard — ; but thus rallied by the bravery of Heron and his outlaws until Lord Dacre came up PREFACE. V. with loOD horse, the English eventually iliove Lord Home off the field. The other particulars of the Battle of Flodden are too familiar to the reader to need repetition. There remains only one circumstance, in connexion with this young nobleman, which requires some further notice, his marriage with the Lady Margaret Percy, daughter of the Earl of Northumberland. Dr. Whitaker, to whom the Author is indebted for the conjecture respecting the way in Avhich Hexry became acquainted with Lady Margaret, has boldly surmised, that the beautiful Ballad of the "Not- browne Mayde" contains the history of this acquaintance, of course varied sufficiently from the precise facts of the case, "in order to throw a decent veil of poetical fiction over a recent and well known fact." It seems indeed highly probable, that Hexry became acquainted with his future bride, when lurking in the garb of an outlaw in the huge forests that suiTounded Alnwick Castle and its neighbourhood. Whatever the truth may be, we hear no complaint against him after his marriage, and he appeal's to have been a second prodigal son reclaimed. It seems probable, that he took up his residence forthwith at Skipton Castle, and he is said to have built, at an after period, in the short space of four or five months, the whole of the eastern gallery of that Castle, terminating in the octagonal Tower, for the reception of his high-born daughter-in-law, the Lady Eleanor Brandon. Having completed his sketch of the personages introduced in the fol- lowing poem, the Author may be permitted to make a few inti'oductory re- marks on the style and versification he has thought fit to adopt. There is one anomalous feature in the present day which every one will obseiTC, a hankering after the decorations, costumes, pastimes, &c., of a bye-gone age. We have just beheld a revival of Tilts and Tournaments at Eglinton Castle ; we daily see some new elevation in the Gothic style springing up around our populous towns ; we observe the dress of our fashionable ladies gradually assimilating to the costume pourtrayed in our Vandykes and Sir Peter Lelys ; we cannot but acknowledge how much of our lighter lit- eratui'e is descriptive of a past age — how many of our most popular paint- ers are for ever pencilling some scene in " the olden time''; — and lastly, we have lately witnessed the formation of the "Percy Society" for the express purpose of republishing the ancient poetry of our country. These are facts which speak of our encreasiug fondness for an age antecedent to our own. Whether it be that this our day is so full of railroads, of manufactories, .■ind of other innovations, as to disgust the more sensitive amongst us, the Author cannot say ; but, if this be the case, it is no wonder that the higher classes seek refuge in the more congeni;vl regions of " the Olden Time." VI. PREFACE. Seeing, however, that this love of Antiquity does exist to a large ex- tent, the Author may need less apology for having imitated in the narrative parts of the following poem the Old Ballad style, so generally admired by all true Englishmen ; and though he has scattered a few obsolete words here and there, as a matter of course, yet he has avoided, as much as pos- sible, making this practice general, finding that in many parts of the Poem, he was obliged to depart from the old style altogether, as unfit for other than the nanative portions. With these remarks, the Author begs to add the following list of the obsolete words which he has introduced in the sub- sequent pages ; together with the particular meaning in which he has used them, according to the glossary attached to " Percy's Reliques." An— if. Busk— prepare. Bedone — wrought. Baleful — sorrowful. Chiding — noise. Certes — certainly. Chanticleer— a cock. Cankaidly — peevishly. Cushat — dove. Deftly— skilfully. Eke— also. Eftsoon — in a short time. Featly — nimbly. Fayne — glad. fytte- a canto of a poem. G uerdon — reward . Glaive — sword. Gear— clothing. Gripped — grasped. Gramercye ! — thank you 1 Hawberk — lesser coat ol mail. Hooly— slowly. Ilka — each Kirtle— kilt— petticoat. Kith and kin— friends and relations. Lithe— hear— listen. Losel— an idle fellow. Mote— might— may. Moil— to labour. Pricked— spurred on. Pardie 1 — pardieu ! Roode— cross. Sooth— truth. Syth— since. \Mthouten— without. M'ot— to know. "Woe worth !— exclamation. Waly ! — do. of griefL AV h i I om— form erly . M hute— to whistle. Weet— to kuow. Y— wis— truly. Y— prefixed to words. l^nric CUfforDc ant( J^Jtargavct ^erc». Now, list, ye Lords and Ladyes fair 1 Ye sturdy Hinds as well ! Now, lithe of ClifiForde's outlaw'd heir, ** Young Han? of the dell." Now, hearken! how that graceless boy, Became his father's pride ; Eftsoon, he worked him mickle joy, Eke, how he won his bride. The moral, then, ye'li find, y-wis, " Right godly sorrow yieldeth bliss ;" And more, as heaven hath will'd below, ^' What proveth weal, oft seemeth woe.'' im 3E. It happ'd, whilom, in Bolton's dell, When silent hung the convent's bell, There glimmer'd forth one lonely light, That trembled in the stream ; Buttress, and mullion's dusky height. Rose faintly in that gleam ; And far beyond, the eye might trace. The stars between, a darkened space, Where towered the wondrous pile ; HEN RIE CLIFFORDE Close on the maigin of the flood, Mystic, and giantlike, there stood Chancel, and nave, and isle. Anon, some meteor, silently, Career'd athwart the midnight sky, As 'twere n. tear-drop big and bright, It trickle d down the cheek of night, Yet seem'd to greet that ancient place. And light each window's faded face, As with a ghastly smile ! JS'or died away till VVharfe's hoarse stream,^ Had multiplied each transient beam. Their beads were told, their prayers were saitl, The Monks of Bolton were a-bed, Save Prior Moyne, whose lamp was lit, For his was many a studions fit, And oft he vex'd the drowsy night, In hours from slumber stole, To pour by this unhallow'd light, O'er mystic page, and scroll. But hark ! as thus he sits so late, A stranger knocks at Bolton's gate. " Alacke ! a most uncourteous guest! " What, ho ! what news ? at whose behest, " Dare travellers break our godly rest ?"^ " I come a way worn Pilgrim h ere, '< And fayne would stay till mom"— "Now, by our Ladye, if thy gear, "Bespeak the truth forlorn, "Thy tongue were not forsworn, " And Bolton's gate shall ope to thee, " In christian love and courtesy !" He spake, and straightway entrance gave : The Pilgrim thrust his sturdy stave Within the opening door, Then turning, whuted loud and shrill, Till answering from the woodland hill,. Rose laughter's frantic roar; And troop, on troop, came hurrying down ; But ill conceal 'd by Palmer's gown, With staff and scallop shell : Then wilder still the chiding broke. Till ilk ■ affrighted Friar woke ^Vithin the peaceful dell. AND MARGARET PERCY. " How, now? good Father Moyne ! quoth they, " One hundred marks of thee, " Or thou shalt wend with us away, " Under the green-wood tree !" Then one by one, with haggard mien, Each sleep-awaken'd Monk was seen, ' With ghost-astounded air ; For when he vievvM the burly knaves. Bearded and bronz'd, with secret glaives, Stand with uplifted, oaken staves. He mote, in sooth, despair ! Full well he marked each Pilgrim's face, Was writh'd in many a foul grimace To see his woeful plight ; For Father Moyne was sorely tried. Which way to turn the thieves aside. Or punish them outright. " Now Prior Moyne ! we must away, " To the green wood, ere break of day, " And thou with us shalt go ! The priest is loath, but yield he must, Or pay one hundred marks on trust. With mickle wrath and woe. The bag is brought— the coin is told, And doubly curst the sinners bold. Who rob'j'd the church, and filch'd her gold ! Then swift as lightning, while 'tis night. Each losel takes his hasty flight. But one there was that troop among, Tho' banded with their guilty throng, Was with them not in heart. And stealing forth from out the crowd, Was heard discoursing thus aloud, In secret and apart " Oh, that my soul had words to tell, " The charm of Midnight's spell ! " What time the dew on leaf, and flower, " Descending in such tender shower, " So gladden's summer's sultry bower, " That Earth awakes at morning tide, " Alljewell'd as a bride ! " What time Titania calls her court, " To Vead the mazy dance, and sport, " Round and round, in fairy ring, " Wooing thus her fickle King. « What time the owl will screech aloud " To meet a dead's man shroud: 10 HENRIE CLIFFORDE "For now the spirits of the dead, " Rise fiom their earthly hed^ , " And steal abroad in misty guise, " Fearing to meet all eyes ; "But at the church bell's solemn sound, " Each shrinking ghost sinks underground, " And elf, and goblin disappear, " At crow of chanticleer. " But more unhallow'd things, I ween, " Than fay or ghost were seen, " Walking abroad at this lone hour, " Save aw'd by holy power ; " For now throughout al! earthly bounds, " Heaven's angels walk their rounds. " Yes ! there's a world we cannot pry, " Where spirits dwell continually, " And haply some throng round me now, " To gaze upon my fever'd brow ! " Oh ! that my soul had words to tell, " The power of Midnight's spell ! " What time the silent stars on high, " Wandering through the moonless sky , " Gaze on Night's solemn witchery ! " When Heaven and Earth unconscious seem, " Wrapp'd in a stilly dream ! " When scarce an acorn quits the wood, " But falling, starts the solitude, " Rousing the stag, or cushat-dove, "That sleeps beneath, or roosts above; " But tho' 'tis still on fell, and moor, " O'er hill and dale, o'er tara and brake, " Yon tonent's voice is heard to roar, " HuiTying to some unkno^vn shore ; "She alone throughout the dell, " Ow^ns no Midnight spell ! " Her leaping waters are awake I " As if their chiding cunent spake, " Thus in the slumbering ear of Niglit, " Of Times' oblivious flight. - " Ay ! 'tis a strange— a solemn hour, " The guilty soul hath felt its power ; " He who hath done some deed of ill, , " Must tremble when all flesh is still ! " There is a pause, so like to deati). I AND MARGARET PERCY. H ii The silence of the grave, < ' I feel the chillness of her breath, " Whene'er yon dark boughs wave " There comes a hollow voice within, " Whispering of each secret sin ; " And Memory calls her dreaded power, " And years come back in one short hour ; '• Then Conscience owns each guileful part, " And deeds and thoughts in long array, " Throng around my lonely heait, " In semblance of the judgment day ! " I wot not how the murderer's eye, " Can brook to meet the midnight sky, " Nor know even there the glance of God, " Beholds the blood-stain'd paths he trod ! " Yes ! Midnight breathes a holier hour, " The sainted death-bed owns her power ; " Oh ! then the hush of all around, " Scares not the Spirit in her bound, " From earth to heaven, and entering there, " Holds fast her hope in faith and prayer ! " And they, whose hearts with God are right, " Will know no fears descend with night, " Their souls will then more fitly rise, "In adoration to the skies ! " Is Clifibrde's heart so foul, so fell, " As own no dread in Midnight's spell ? *' Then hear my vow, thou silent sky, " Harken ! ye quenchless fires on high, " Bright with man's mortal destiny ! " Oh ! aid a holier path to win, " And cast away this sting of sin ! " Great God ! from this time forth, 1 pray " My stony heart may melt away, "And thine be all my manlier day !" TEw-Q of dFutte E. 12 HENRIE CLl FT ORDE dF^tteBE. Oh! mom! thou art a glorious birth, Re-kindling light and life on earth ! How blithely crows the wild heath-cock, Shaking his plumage grey, Eull in the face of day ; Then up, o'er hill and gorse-clad rock, • In steady pinion flies, Close where his moor-hen lies; Lo ! she too mounts on speckled wing, Sweeping aloft o'er tarn and ling; Most innocent and joyous thing ! But see ye not yon fallow-deer, From out the feniy covert peer, Rous'd with the blush of dawn? The meek Does mincing as they tread, The Stags, with gallant antlers spread. Stalking afield, with lordly head ; They cross the dewy upland near, Mith watchful eye and wakeful ear, Snuffing the breath of mom ! Now round about old Barden's towers, Round ivied wall and leafs bowers. Light mists are hovering thin, Or falling soft, in silver showers, The Wharfe's deep vale within ; Now walks abroad the glorious Sun, Scattering away the dawn-clouds dun ; Hark ! with the birth of day is heard The piping of each minstrel bird. AND M A II G A R E T PERCY. Where stately oaks in forest pride , Rise from yon river's bed, Mantling the hills on either side, In one broad covert spread, Old Clifforde's Hall and Chantry's isle, Lattice and solemn tiacery. Basking like Youth in Love's first smile, Glow red beneath the golden sky ! " Now, busk thee ! busk thee ! Hal Popeley — " Saddle thy master's steed, " He will ride to the Priory, " Busk thee, man, with speed !" And Clifforde's Shepherd Loi"d is gone, An aged man, alone. To Bolton Abbey wends his way, Thus early in the day. And as he wound his path along, It did his old heart good, To lithe the merry throstle's song, In the cool, green wood ; And when he s&w each wild cascade, Like liquid amber foam, From rock to rock, adown the glade, Fresh from its mountain home — Now here a chalice trickling o'er, With crystal waters fiU'd, Now leaping there, with mimic roar, Disporting as a child. The Shepherd Lord in sooth was pleas'd. He felt his care-worn spirit eas'd. But when he viewed the rocky cleft, By the chaf'd river rudely reft, Where perish'd Adeliza's boy, The boy of Egreraond, her joy ! Oh I then bold Clifforde's heart was sad, He thought of his own wayward lad. His Henrie, leagued with fierce outlaws, Track'd like a hunted deer ! Certes, his aged eye had cause. To shed that secret tear ! But Lo 1 the abbey's walls appear, In solemn, sacred shade, The matin bell hath charm'd his ear. Stealing adown the glade : Each arch, each window, towering higher, Grow in the gleam of light. 13 14 H ENR IE CLIFFORDE Till northern transept, nave and choir, Stand perfect in his sight ! Lo ! here, a crystal cascade gleams, Athwai-t a purple crag, Like thread of burnished silver seems, On some emblazon'd flag ; Lo ! there, the Wharfe's meandering streams , Wind round the Abbey's feet, Rekindling morning's glorious beams, From out their foaming sheet ; Yon bleak, blue belt of Romellis'*-moor, Southward, forbids the eye explore ; North, east, and west slopes stately wood, To screen the Prior's solitude. Fencing round the peaceful dell. Like a forest citadel. Now Prior Moyne comes fonh to gi'eet. His lordly guest as seems him meet. But woe-begone, and cancardly — " Father ! how now ? what aileth thee"? And then the holy Prior told. How thieves had filch'd his hoaided gold, " And by this dagger found at mom, " Which thou wast wont to bear, " But, certes, syth by Henrie worn, " I know thy son was there !'' In sooth, was Clifforde's Baion sad, To think what graceless son he had — " Alacke ! Alacke ! that reckless boy "Was erst his Father's boast and joy, " But now he works him sore annoy, " In wanton deeds of ill ! " Whene'er 1 sought to curb his pride, " Or word or council he defied, " So stubborn was his will ; " And thrice my henchman sore abus'd, " In sorry sort to tell ; " Him grieving thus to see misus'd _ " W' ho served his Lord full well, " The youth to task I straightway took. " For such ungodly deed, " But wise reproof he would not brook, " But mounted his hot steed, " And left his Father's house and home, " Banded with outlawed men to roam ! * Romellis, pronounced Rumbles, AND iM A U G A R E T PERCY. 15 " May Goil in mercy, as of old, " Bring back this lost sheep to his fold ! " But now, sage Father, I have need " Of thy best blessing, with all speed, " For Scotland's king has cross'd the Tweed, " And dares our arms in fight ; " The brave Earl Surrey marches north, " With England's valour, flower and worth, " To prove proud James's might ; " Faith ! 1 must prick through moor and glen, " To rouse my sternest mountain men ; " Full few, I ween, there be will lag " Behind old Clififorde's sword and flag ! " These aged limbs shall shine in mail, " This hoary head in steel, " And gripp'd for England's weal " This sword shall with God's grace prevail " 'Gainst all who dare assail !'' " Adieu ! the Church's prayers be thine, " She prays thy guerdon be divine ; " Heav'n shield thy head, and speed thine arras, " And bring thee safe from war's alarms : " May conquest deck thy hoary crest, " And yield thee glory, peace and rest." ^nti of Jijtlc M. 16 H£NR[E CLIFfORDE iFmtc lES. Now Hemie fayne would homeward hie, But durst not brook his sire, Yet deem'd some feat in chivalry, Mote 'swage his parent's ire ; Right well he knew old Clifforde'S breast, Would leap to greet a warrior's crest, Nor deeds in arms a pathway vain, Back to his father's heart again. Then he, the young, the brave outlaw, Thus bent on valorous deed, Full tidings heard of Scotland's war. And hied him North with speed ; But ever joumey'd covertly. Upon his own ti-ue steed, And bound him to the green-wood tree, Of rest when he had need. Alacke ! it was a weary way. Still forward, forward night and day ! At length, he rode nigh Alnwick's wall, Where rises Percy's ancient hall. And there in forest shade. His bow er and bed were made. It happ'd at mom, on palfrey gay, Withouten groom or squire, Fair Margaret PERCY rode that way, In maidenly attire ; But as she hied where CLIFFORDE lay, Who fayne would hidden be, Her steed sprang backward, and away AND >1 A R G A R E T PERCY. Dash'd with the fair ladye ! Eftsoon, he heard a piercing cry, What way the steed had stray'd, A lid rushing from his covert nigh He hasten'd up the glade — " Woe worth thy steed ! thou fair ladye, " For lowly art thou laid ; " I prithee, say, what frighteth thee , " Thou young and winsome maid ?'' Nor sign, or answer maketh she, For in a swoon she lies. Her pallid cheeks are sad to see, Her meekly closed eyes ! But he has sought the cooling spring, Whose fountain trickleth near, That he might o'er her pale brow fling, Its waters crystal clear; And he her drooping head has laid. Besprinkled on his knee, Then marvels much so blithe a maid, Should thus unconscious be. Now first he bares her snowy breast. To greet the gent'.e bi-eeze ,- And opes her gold-embroider'd vest To give her bosom ease — When lo ! her dove-like eyes unclose ! Her cheeks are mantling like the rose ! " What meaneth this ? am I the jeer Of outlaws in the wood ? " Then know 1 am an Fail's daughter, " Of Percy's gentle blood !" " Fair ladye thou hast naught to fear, " I swear by holy roode, " An beest thou an Earl's daughter " I'll prove thy liege-man good ! " And tho' an out-law here I roam, " I have a courtly steed, " Shall bear thee to thy house and home, " O'er flood, and fell, and mead." " Gramercye ! stranger, for thine aid," Full soon was Henrie's steed array'd, And light on croup, the winsome maid, The outlaw at her side ; And thus they journey'd through the wood, Where gnarled oaks gigantic stood, 17 18 HENRIE CLIFFORD And beeches tall and wide ; With fit discourse they wiled the way, Conversing of the Border fray, What fate might there betide. Oft gazing thus on Henrie's brow, Blithe Margaret felt a conscious glow, Suffuse her maiden face ; His brow was fair as hers, in sooth. And he, in mien, a peerless youth, Replete with manly grace ; And his, methinks, a peerless eye, So bright 'twould make a damsel sigh. Then smile, in changeful mood — Despite his garb, she deem'd she saw, Little to mark the bold out-law. But much of gentle blood: Y-wis, she sought to quench the flame, Which prompted much to kuow his name, Who had ber liege-man stood ; But when she ween'd her wish to win, And queried of his kith and kin, Ev'n Margaret vainly pray'd — " I may not tell an Earl's Daughter, " My kith and kin, or else 1 were, '• By wicked men betray'd ; " But syth I am thy liege-man sworn, " An outlaw, yet not basely bom, " Oh ! turn thou not away in scorn, "When this small boon 1 crave ; " Yon golden band that binds thy hair, " Oh ! give me in my helm to wear, " (No coward's hand shall soil it there) '* The Percy's blood is brave, " 'Twill fire my heart,— 'twill sharp my glaive, " To think, high dame, on thee ! " Well mote 1 fight for her who gave, " Such golden braid to me .' " Nay list ! I swear by holy roode, " Should conquest grace my plume, "• If thou wilt meet me in the wood, "^ Withouten squire or groom, " I'll yield thee back thy shining braid, " And eke disclose my kin ; " But if in battle low I'm laid, " I dieunkenn'd therein I" AND iMARGARET PERCY Now she has pledq'd that outlaw M man, And granted him his boon ; As forth to kiss her hand he ran , And bent him lowly down, All suddenly athwart the way, Rode troop on troop in dense airay , A mighty, martial train ; But as they met young Clifforde's eye, He rose from ground full speedily, And gaz'd thereon amain ! Then dresv fair Margaret's steed aside, To screen her from the sight Of bearded men in soldier pride, Marching in armour bright. Ilk' badge, ilk' crest young Henrie knew ; Upborne round Clifforde's chief, But when his Father rode in view, His heart was stirr'd with grief; He tum'd away from horse and men, And sought to hide from Margaret's ken, But maids are quick of eye, Eftsoon, she mark'd his pallid brow j When queried whence his teardrops flow. He mote not tell her why ; But when that sudden grief was pass'd, And she drew nigh to home, " Godspeed !" he bid her, at the last, For he must onwai'd roam ; Then she went thoughtful on her way, And reach 'd her Father's Hall, But spake not of the Gallant gay. Who held her heart in thrall. lEntJ of jFptte MIL 19 20 HENRIE CLIFrORDE jFotte SU. Stern Alnwick's Tower, so fiU'd of late, With chidings of loud War, Was emptied of her pomp and stat^*, The Battle raged afar: And hooly, hooly pass'd the day, And hooly pass'd the night, The brave Earl Percy was away, Away was Margaret's Knight, Lo ! she sits watching in her bower, For tidings of the fight, And heavy treads each weary Hour, Which erst had stept so light ; As o'er the past her memory strays. Some comfort there to find ; Like ages seem those baleful days. By absence made unkind. But Lo ! yon pennon's sheen afar, Tells of the ebbing tide of war ! " Oh ! flee they shatter'd, spent, and strown ? " Or come they back with Conquest's crown :■ SL George ! a steed, a winged steed A steed draws nigh apace ! Nor spur, nor reign can haste his speed ; He runs a headlong race ! Ye know full well yon feather high, Ye ken yon cloke of yore, " A herald, ho ! and victoiy," And he is seen no more ; AND MARGARET PERCY. No man may stay his journeying, Who beareth tidings to our king. But list ! along the woodland come The distant notes of trump and drum ; Lo ! hawberks gleam, and banners dance, In long and close array, Or basenet grim, or plume, or lance, Bespeak their winding way ; The brave Earl Surrey, horse and men, Are marching up the forest glen, And Percy's Earl is there. Now Margaret forth will ride to greet Her sire's return, as seems her meet. But with a tre nbling air. Lest they who come in triumph back. For her should come in vain. Lest they her heart's true Knight should lack, In battle sorely slain. But mark how Margaret's mantling cheek, Kindles like morning's purple streak ! How glow yon burning eyes ! for scarce have sire and daughter met, Up-borne in some unknown basenet. Her fillet she espies ! Now do>vnward steps yon comely Knight, Who wears that golden fillet bright. And doffs his helm before her sight, And sinks upon his knee ; " I yield thee back, thou peerless maid ! " A soldier's thanks, with this thy braid, " A talisman to me 1 " For when the Scots, with brave Earl Home , " Bore down upon our wing, " The Bastard Heron, wreath'd in foam , " Then charg'd for England's king, "And this fair braid in Clifforde's crest, " So hotly on the Northerns press'd, « We turn'd the tide of war, " Till Dacre's horsemen back'd our fight, " With many a yeomen, squire and knight, " Advancing from afar ; " But syth Sir Knight his spurs hath won, " The danger past, the strife bedone, " He, faithful to his vow of old, « Now yields thee back thy braid of gold I" 21 2-2 HENRIECLirFOllDE Then reacli'd she forth her lily hand, And clasp'd with grace the proffer'd band ; But as uprose the youth, A father's eye in wild delight, Was fix'd upon that comely Knight, "Oh, wonderment 1 in sooth, " And was that gallant youth my son, " Whose spurs on bloody Flodden won, " Enraptured mine old eye ? " Right well I mark'd how boldly press'd ; " That golden, fillet- wreathed crest, " Where danger was most nigh ! ' ' Little 1 ween'd to see the day, " When Henrie's swox'd should win its way, " To deeds of martial pride, " When outlaw's kirtle cast away, " Yon limbs should shine in stem array, " Like Knight of olden tide : " " Sir Knight 1" quoth Percy's Earl, " pardie" " A double welcome give I thee, " An be'est thou Clifford's son ,- " I bid thee to my Castle's Hall, " That of this wond'rous braid we all " May hear from thee anon 1" Then forward ! forward ! horse and men, Forwai'd ! with ti'ump and drum. Now up the winding forest glen, To Alnwick's Towers they come. Full many a heart high beats with glee, Where brimming goblets shine. No heart amid that company. Blithe Margaret ' beats like thine ! Ye dames! who ween our ladye fair, In green-wood seal'd her fate. Will deem the Minstrel may forbear, Of courtship now to prate ; But ye who think with mickle speed, The high-born maiden won, Have cause, y-wis, to take good heed. Ye meet no Clifforde's son. Lest ye too find some lover's eye, With spell empower'd, ye weet not why, To make a dainty damsel sigh I Now wake ! my harp ! awake ! and sing Of Henrie's wedded bliss ! AND MARGARET PERCY. Old Skiptou's walls where wont to ring With no such mirth as this ! For bride and bridegroom eke are here ; Young Love is fresh as May ; Fair Margaret wears her silken gear, The groom his doublet gay ; In sooth a comely pair they are, Her kirtle trimm'd with gold ; All shining in her raven-hair, Twines Henrie's braid of old. His carriage has a princely mien, Which comes of gentle blood, That doth a peasant's garb outshine, And speak of lineage good ; Buttho' so princely is his port. Right subti'lely moves each limb ; He mickle loves ilk' manly sport, To hunt, to joust, to swim ; Faith ! he can cleave the willow wand, Right deftly strike the roe. So featly moils his connynge baud. With aiTow, and with bow. Tho' blithely shines the bridal day, It glimmers 'oft through tears. Ye cannot tear young hearts away From all their childish years ! Yes, Bridals have their sorrowing, Tho' gentler than the dove, For plighted hearts will fondly cling. To all their girlish love ! Then " waly !" cries the bower- woman, Then " waly .'" cries the page, Tho' teardrops flow, tho' cheeks be wan, All grief will Love assuage ! Then may both health and happiness, With all true lovers be, And may they have of joy no less, Then MARGARET and HenRIE ! ^1)1£ IE MB. 23 CHARLES NICHOLSj TYPOGRAPHER, WAKEFIELD. 4 I THE SIEGE OF GRANADA DRAMATIC POEM. LONDON* LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN AND LONGMANS, MDCCCX LI. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. MOORS. I Abdallah, C King of Granada, ) Alfakah, ( Mother of Abdallah, ) Z I N G A, (a Moorish Lady. ) ) ^ mj , j, j A s P A s I A , C a Greek. ) \ ^^'^'' ^/ ^^dallah, C A z I M , ( Vizier.^ El-Ronga, (^Conspirator.) SPANIARDS. Ferdinand, C King of Aragon.) Isabella, ( Queen of Castile. ) Cardinal Mendoza. RoDRiGO, Marquis Cadiz. G o N s a L V o - D E - C o R D o V A , {" thc Grcut Captain^''} Employed as Secret Ambassador. Other Lords Soldiers, etc. HISTORICAL NOTES. The siege of Granada was commenced April 2Gtb, 1491, and termina. ted in the surrender of the city, January 2nd, 14^2. The Spaniards encamped with an army of 50,000 (or according to some Historians, 80,030) men at the fountain of Ojos-de-Huescar, two leagues from the city. The Marquises of Cadiz and Villena, the Counts Tendilla, Cabra, Urena, Gonsalvo-de-Cordova and his Brother AloHso-de-Aguilar, and the flower of Spanish Chivalry attended the camp of Ferdinand and Isabella. Granada contained at this time a population swelled to the amount of 200,000 including 20,000 of the best Moslem troops devoted to Abdallah, the King. The city, fenced on the East by the Sierra Nevada covered with snow, presented most formidable fortifications on the side of the Vega, where the Spaniards were encamped, the river Xenil winding be- tween the besieger and the besieged. Isabella frequently rode through the camp superbly mounted, and enlivened the tedium of the siege by the presence of her ladies, and a succession of festivities and tournaments. One day whilst the King and Queen were watching the progress of the siege from an open window, a most formidable sally was made by the flower of Abdallah's troops: the Marquis of Cadiz, who was mounting guard at the time, after a desperate resistance, succeeded in driving back the Moors with a loss of 2000 men. On another occasion, whilst the Queen was occupying a splendid tent belonging to the said Marquis, the pavilion took fire, and the conflagration becoming general was rendered more appalling by the darkness of the night; the trumpets sounded to arms and Ferdinand, apprehending a sally from the city, posted a strong body of troops over against Granada. The Queen however sustained no injury, but the loss of property consumed by the fire was immense. To prevent the recurren2e of a similar disaster, the Spaniards, in the short space of three months, erected a town in the form of a cross, which was appropriately named " Santa Fe." The Moors became dispirited at the permanent en- campment which their enemies had made, and being completely hemmed in from all succour from without, whilst the Spaniards could scour the country for provisions in all directions, began to suffer the extremities of hunger. Abdallah, seeing but one termination to the struggle, commen- ced making, through his Vizier— Abul-Cazim-Abdelmalic, secret overtures to Ferdinand for the surrender of the city. These conferences were conducted on the part of the Spaniards by Ferdinand's secretary, Fernandode-Zafra, and by the renowned Gon- salvo-de-Cordova, who afterwards obtained the title of " the Great Cap- B tain." Tliey were carried forward with the utmost secrecy and finally ■ completed, November 2oth, 1491 : Abdallah engaging that his Capital should be surrendered within sixty days. The terms of Capitulation •were in every way favorable to Granada. The Moors were to keep possession of their moschs ;— their religion, together with its rites and ceremonies— their dress— customs— property— laws, &c to be inviolate— they were to retain their civil authorities, but subject to a Castilian Go- vernor—they were to pay no taxes for three years— during which time, all who were desirous of leaving their country, might be transported together with their property, free of expense to the shores of Africa— at the expiration of that period they were to pay the same tax to the crown of Castile as had formerly been exacted by their Arabian Sovereigns. The King, Abdallah, was to reign over a specific territory in Alpuxarras and do homage to the Castilian crown. These were the favorable terms on which the capitulation was made. Terms which, in after years, were cruelly violated by Ferdinand and Isabella. Although the conference had been conducted with the utmost secrecy on both sides, yet notwithstanding, some of the terms of the capitulation became known in the city— a rebellion broke out, and Abdallah was ob- liged to anticipate the day of surrender by fixing January 2nd, 1492— on which day it actually took place. The transactions of the last day of the siege and the final surrender of Granada form the subject of the following Poem Abdallah, like his unfortunate uncle, El-Zagal, after pining some time in obscurity, passed over to Fez, and died fighting for an African Prince. Had the Moors acted in concert, instead of allowing their kingdom to be wrested from them piecemeal— they would, in all probability, have retained possession of Gra- nada to a much later period in the annals of Spain. (See Prescott's " Fe rdinand and Isabella." NOTES. CALCD. The foremost leader of the Saracens OMAR, ditto. BAZA, ALMERIA, VELEZ AND MALAGA. Moorish cities taken by the Spaniards. See Lewis's " Sketches of the Alhambra'' and. Roberts's " Span- ish Sketches." ALPUXARRAS. A monntanous di.strict stretching southeast of Granada and sending arms to the sea. AZRAEL. Angel of death. JERREED. A javelin. ATaGHA N. Long dagger worn in a scabbard at the belt. AL-SIRAT. The bridge of breath leading into Paradise— Hell flows beneath it. EBIIS. Prince of darkness. The Hill of Padul is still designated by the poetical title of "El Ultimo Sospiro del Moro" the' last sigh of the Moor. The Moors had possessed Granada 741 years. COMARES' TOWER in the Alhambra contains "The Hall of the Ambassadors.'' THE SIEGE OF GRANADA. ACT SCENE I, C Balcony in the Alhambra — enter Zlnga, Aspasia, Alfakah and Abdallah —Sunset. J Zlnga Cloaking toicards the city) Beautiful city of Abdullah's power 1 How like a bride thou meetest Evening's hour, Crowned with gieen chaplets from thine orange bowei Beautiful city 1 how the rosy light Kindles thy blushes at the fall of night 1 Deep Xenil girds thee like a golden zone, And proud Nevada's mountains rear thy throne 1 Lo i high in air, thy crescent meets all eyes, Like her fair sister of the pathless skies 1 Methinks, it ill beseems thine hour of woe, To wear bright jewels on thy radiant brow; It ill beseems thee, daughter of the West 1 To shroud thy sorrows in such gorgeous vest; ft ill beseems thee on the brink of fate. To wave thy banner and unfurl thy state — Who knows, fair city 1 but, ere morrow's dawn, Castile may wed thee with a conqueror's scorn ? Aspasia— Hark 1 the loud booming of the sun-set gun Hath woke Siena in his shroud of snow. And from yon craggy summit wild and dun. Day's last farewell bath peeled o'er friend and foe 1 And now there rises o'er the city's hum The Tmkish tambour and the Moorish dnira 1 And list! the camp beneath, yon silver bell Calls forth to vesper prayers the infidel 1 And now 'tis hushed-"my timid eye shall rest Upon this gorgeous picture's troubled bre.ist— B 2 THE SIEGE OF GRANADA. Death-still the camp — the leaguered lines along Or dusky Moor or fierce Castilian throng — Death-still, save as some straggler from the host Mutters low watchword, at the senti7's post— Alfakah. {looking toivards the camp J Proud foe 1 thy foe, Grauada, Allah, thine ! Great Caled 1 where thy might ? great Omar ! where Thy arm puissant and thy wrath divine ? Sons of the Caliphs ! is there none to wear The Moslem's sword that conquered lands and seas From blood-dyed Indus, to the PjTenees? Ahl none! Baza is fallen — Almeria lost, Velez surrendered — Malaga betrayed — The last proud city of our Moorish host, Granada! thou must fall, thy grave is made! Oh, thou fair city! whose imperial sway Yon wild Sierras and rich plains obey, Seven hundred years have owned thy pomp and power- Seven hundred years look down from yon red tower— (Fortress and palace of unnumbered kings i Gorgeous Alhambra !) and their glory clings To arch and battlement and dungeon fell, VVliere oft has pined the pallid Infidel ! Abdallah—Prond foe! how vigilant ! his bristling spears Now point as ever at Granada's gate; And tho' no outward ciy of wail he hears Yet knows the silent tortures that await The crowded city with her emptied store, Fell Famine's canker gnawing at her core ! Alas ! no help from Tunis or Algiers ? Eight tedious moons have waned and none appears; Eight tedious moons, as daily from her port Granada's horsemen, with a Prophet's shout. Rush on the Infidel— the foe without Drives back our sally to the leaguered fort ; Out-numbered thus, more bloody than before, Each day quaffs deeper drafts of Islam gore! Zinga—AWah I great Allah ! shall " The Faithful" lie Unburied — unrevenged before thine eye i Thy will be done 1 it is thine own decree, Or Spain had perished and our home were free! Aspasia—There is an ebb and flow in Fortune's tide, Now circling empire's in her billows wide, Receeding now, she leaves them reft and bare With wrecks and ruins scattered evei\ where! THE SIEGE OF GRANADA. Renowned Granada! is it thus with thee ? And has thy tide of splendour ebbed so far, Henceforth a desert islet thou must be, Lashed by the bloody surges of the sea Of Spanish Conquest and undying war? Followers of Jesus 1 is it thus ye fight To prop your creed— for there, if read aright, Ye are forbid to bare the conqueror's sword And blood-stained, combat for your Holy Word ; If read aright — the very doom that waits The revolution of Earth's potentates, The very doom which shakes Granada's wall, Altho' perchance ye know it not, shall fall On Rome's proud Pontiff; and his throne down hurled, Shall mark God's vengeance on an ingrate world! Ctiirning to Abdallah) 'Twere shame, Abdallah, should we linger here. Our vow were bootless and unmeet our tear — The solemn stillness of the evening air Woke by Muezzin calls us hence to prayer— Abdallah— 1 fain would to the mosch— but 'tis the horn- That Cazim meets me in Comares' tower— I must away— but with a heavy heart, Linked by such woes it is a grief to part : Business dispatched, I will the harem seek ; Attend me there my Zinga and my Greek, And thou, my mother— for I've much to tell That boots Granada and the Infidel. Cexeunt Abdallah, Zinga} Aspasia and Alfakah.J SCENE II. (Hall of the Ainiassadors in the Alhambra—entev Abdallah and Cazim— afterwards EURonga—and Gonsalvo-de-Cordova, disguised as a Moor. J Cazini'-'Most giacious king ! much people are in arms, And call thee Traitor to the public weal ; The city's heart is rife with strange alarms. And foul suspicions Cazim would conceal ; Thy purpose of surrender has got breath, Ten thousand Moors have sworn an oath of death, That ere to-morrow's sun shall sink to rest, A dagger shall transfix Abdallah's breast I THE SIEGE OF GRANADA. And be, the foiumost of this rebel band, I have arrested yt 6 Ja/Za/t— Straightway give command That he appear— CazJm— Without, the guards await [Cazim makes a signal, and ElRonga enters surrounded by the Guard) Abdallah—EURonga.*. hast thou sworn to slay thy King ? El-Ronga — I have— he is a Traitor to the state 1 Abdallah— [aside) — Alasl his words are like a scorpion's sting- ( aloud) Wherefore a Traitor ? is he not a Moor ? El-Ronga — By Allah ', no ! or else he would have died Moor-like in battle at Granada's side— Nor looked at life---or foul, Castilian hire, Bat slept in glory with a name to live 1 But now Abdallah's name accurst shall be, Accurst— a by-word for all treachei7 ! No fouler name a Moslem tongue shall give Than thine, Abdallah!— I had sworn thy life. And vowed to perish if in vain the strife, N'or I a'.one-'-ten thousand Arab swords Are bared for Scc.) J. G. Smtth, Esq., and Hexby Lumb, Esq., the author has obtained the following particulars of the history of Heath HaU. Heath Hall was built by Joiix Kate, (usudly described, of Oakeushaw, a son of the heu-ess of Dodsworth) in the reign of Ehzabeth. His wife's anns, quiutered with those of Kaye. lUid carved in stone, may still be seen over the principiU entnuice. The Hall, and Lands adjacent, were purchased of the Kates by Ladt Bolles, and at her death, descended by her daughter, Axx. (who manied Sir William Dalstox, bait.) to die family of that name, and became tlieir cheif seat for many generations. Finally, tlieir heiress, Elizabeth, miUTied Captaix Theobald Diltov. who thus became possessed of the property. At her decease, leaving no issue, and agreeably with liu- \mii <•! her father, Sir George Dalstox, bart.. it came to bis nephew. Fraxcis Fauquier, Esq., luul bis heirs mide, in default of sucli, to William Fauquieb, Esq., of whose sou, of the siuue nauu\ the Hall and Lands were purchased by tbe Uox. John Smyth, the gi-andfather of tbe present possessor. John GEoniiF. Smyth. Esq. STRAFFORD STRAFFORD ; ^ ^rage% W. H. LEATHAM LONDON : LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS: ILLINGWORTH A.Nd'hICKS, WAKEFIELD. MDCCCXLIT. WAKEFIELD: .MXGWORTn AM) HICKS, PRINTERS, MARKET-PLAfE, (successors to RICHARD NICHOLS.) PREFACE. The fate of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, is one of the most memorable and instructive on record. On this account alone, the Author of the accompanying Dramatic Fragment entertains a hope, that the subject he has selected from English history, may not prove without interest to the reader. To condense into the narrow compass of dramatic action, the eventful period which elapsed between Strafford's impeachment and his execution, has proved no easy task. If the reader should observ'e any chronological errors, he must be willing to excuse them on the ground above stated. Wherever history has suppKed the words and argu- ments of the gi-eat men who figured on the political stage, during this memorable epoch, the author has not scrupled to appropriate them, if thought suitable to his undertaking. For the events he has described and v-i PEEFACE. much of the language he has adopted, he must refer to numerous authorities of celebrity : amongst these he may mention, " Clarendon's History of the Rebellion," " Lingard's History of England," and " Forster's States- men of the Commonwealth." DRAMATIS PERSONiE, parUametttan'ans. Earl of Bedford. Lord Say. Lord Kimbolton, Viscount Max- DEViLLE, afterwards Second Earl of Manchester. Earl of Rothes, ] Scotch Commis- LoRD LowDEN, / sioners. Pym, Leader of the House of Commons. Hampden. St. John. ' "Vane the Yoimger. I Fiennes, Second Son of Lord Say. Secretary Vane. Sir "Wm. Balfour, Lieutenant of the Toicer. IaETITIaHampdev , Hampden s Seco7id Wife. Citizens, Trainbands, and Execu- TIONEB. i^ogaltsts. King Charles I. Queen Henrietta, Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury. Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford. Earl of Arundel, Hijh Steward. Lord Lindsay, Hic/h Constable. JuxoN, Bishop of London. "Williams, Bishop of Lincoln. Secretary "Windebank. Secretary Carleton. Sir George "W'entworth, Brother to the Earl of Strafford. Lord Clare, Brother-in-law to the Earl of Strafford. Bishops, Ladies, and Messengers of Court. STliAFFORl). ACT I. SCENE I.— HAMPDEN'S TOWN HOUSE. Enter Pym, St. John, Hampden, and Vane (the yoinu/er.) PYM. The Earl's iinpeachmeut is drawn up. HAMPDEN. Read the articles. PYM. ^s President of the North, He stands accused of many acts and words Subversive of all law. As Governor of Ireland, Charpjed with counsellnii^ his royal master To rule her people like a conquered realm — With various acts of malice, fraud, and guilt T'wards Cork, Mountnorris, Loftus, and Kildarc — With wan-ants of seizure, quartering of troops — With foul embezzlement of customs, dues — With gross monopolies, tobacco, fia.\, It) STRAFFORD. [act i. Imijorts and exports, raised to fill his purse ; With fostering popery in court and camp ; With oaths illegal forced on subject- Scots. As Chief Minister of England, Accused of stirring up the Scottish war ; Of giving e\i\ counsel to the king, To raise, by stretch of his prerogative, The sums by Parliament withheld; and more. Of tendering his Irish troops to force England's obedience — and of dictating The royal censure passed on Parliament ; Of seizing public moneys in the Tower, Of purposing an issue of base coin, A fresh levy of ship-money, new loans. Grievous to the subject ; and of foul threats Against the city : arbitrary acts IVroiKjht to subvert all fundamental laws ! HAMPDEN. Good, how many articles P PYM. Twenty-eight, (i) HAMPDEN. Have we proof for each ? PYM. Ay — more than sufficient. ST. JOHN. To-moiTow we will debate the matter. VANE. To-morrow we will impeach the tyrant. PYM. To-moiTow — or we stand impeached by him Of treasonable correspondence with The Scots. SCENE I.] STIUFFORI). U HAMPDEN. 'Tis like that Strafford is apprised of this By Deiizil Hollis. PYM. No matter, Hollis wishes but his life. ST. JOHN. His life ! He hath already lived too long ! HAMPDEN. Patience ! we shall accomplish his sure death ; I would not have him fall as Buckingham, By foul assassination. British law, So wronged by him, will rid him from the earth ! ST. .TOHN. I will no other course. H.A.MPDEX. Who comes here ? Enier Earl of Bedford, Lord b.\y, and his son N. Fiennes, Lord Kimboltox and fJte Scotch Commissioners, Well met my lords ! EARL(»F BEDF0K1>. How fares the business ? PYM. The articles are here, read and approved : To-morrow, the im})eachment — else, too late. LORD SAY. Wherefore such haste ? PYM. Your lordships may not know, but we have news That you, your son, and many more, are doomed By Strafford to certain accusation. FIENNES. Then let us strike the foremost blow ! L^IRD KIMBOLTOX. Agreed ! 12 STRAFFORD. LORD LO^\'DE^^ Forth wilh. EARL OF ROTHES. In self defence. For Scotland's wrongs ! HAMPDEX. For England's lioerty ! PYM. For tyrannies impimished ! ST. JOHN. For crimes unnumbered ! EARL OF BEDFORD For our children's freedom ! VAXE. Av, for thousands yet unborn ! PYM. Farewell, my lords and gentlemen ! 'tis late ; The morrow will bring work enough for all. These tyrants rob us of our sleep. EARL OF BEDFORD. Fare ye well, patriots ! 1 will see the Lords, Their house shall not have risen ere ye come. VANE. Need I as yet produce my father's notes ? HAMPDEN. No, they will be after-proofs of treason. ST. JOHN. Holham and Clotworthy must be advised Of our proceedings ; I will seek them out. [Exit. [Exit. I Exit Vane. [Exit. LORD SAY. Adieu, gentlemen ! we will away. [To the COMMISSIOXERS. [Exeunt Lord Say, Fiennes, and the Scotch Commissioxebs. SCENE I.] STRAFFORD. i;{ LORD KIMBOLTON. Hampden ! this stroke will either rid the land Of tyranny, or strew it o'er with graves. HAMPDEX. That monster, tyranny, hath many heads. The Court is rank with tyrants as with slaves ! The work is well hegun. Heaven prosper it ! The Commons House can boast of fitting men For such an enterprise ; and yet, methinks. Those walls too strait a field for us to keep. The strife will soon be out of doors. The sword Alone can arbitrate such mighty wrongs. And then there'll be enow^ of graves for us To lie in ! LORD KIMBOLTOX. Well, come what may, I have a sword unsheathed ! Farewell, good Hampden, may God prosper thee ! [Exif. HAMPDEN. Farewell, my Lord ! [Crosses the room and places himself opposite to the picture of Eliot. Blest portraiture of my departed friend ! ^^) This was thy latest gift. Oh, what a change Did tyranny imprint upon thy brow ! Thy soul untouched ! yes, that thou gavest me When health was on thy brow — and this to show Thy sons the worst that tyrants can inflict. I fear them not, " The Monarchy of Man" Is of the mind, imperishably great. Enter Letitia Hampden unohserved. Rome, Athens, Sparta, boasted men of soul ! b2 14 STRAFFORD. [act i. Martyi'S and patriots cease not ! Ramus ! thou The greatest ! death, slow commg death, was nouij^ht To thee, and thou, my friend, hast conquered it I Oh ! how the hand of glorious names enrolled Swells ever. LETITIA. (Aside.) But yesterday a bride — forgotten now ! Oh ! how these uncouth times make war with love. He lives but for his country. HAMPDEN. Letitia ! pardon me, 'tis foul neglect ! Thou shouldst have spoken, I was deep in thought And saw thee not ; those tears I'll kiss away. [Kissing her, takes her hand. These loud long-talking men are gone. I love Thy gentle palm to press my heated brow. LETITIA. Dost thou, Hampden ? methought I might have stole Unvrelcome on thy business huurs ? HAMPDEN. Unwelcome ? never ! think not that of me, 1 love thee more than they. Alas ! if cares Did not oppress me, oftener should we meet. LETITIA. Alas ! these cares of Church and State increase. To-day and yesterday we scarce have met. To-morrow — HAMPDEN. To-moiTow will unload a weight of care. Perchance the last. LETITIA. Oft hast thou told me this — as oft untrue. SCENE II.] STRAFFORD. l-i HAMPDEN. Mark me ; to-moiTow is the day oiJaiiied For Strafford's fall, with hhn our fears will cease. This day hath wearied me, I will to rest. [Exeunt Hampden atnl Wife, SCENE II.— STRAFFORD'S APARTMENTS IN LONDON, STRAFFORD, f Sitting alone.) ]\ly soul is heavy and my body weak With foul disorders. Oh ! that vivid dream ! How strange that things gone by return in sleep. Twelve years ago we parted, and his words ^^^ And savage mien still haunt my waking hours ; But yester-night, I dreamed them o'er again, IVIethinks, they are a projihecy of death ! Oh, Pym ! we took sweet council once as friends. I left thee for a loftier road in life ; False glory beckoned me and lust of rule, And I have quaffed the luscious wine of power. And fed on dainties — yes, the highest state A subject can aspire to, I have shared. And made my fellow men my tools and baits. And now my sovereign holds his throne by me. My enemies are gathered to a host ; This parliament is compassing my death, Yet, lion-like, I rush into their toils ! I do defy them all ! I have a soul Can brook the worst these rebels dare to do. If I but stand amongst them they will quail. And yet there lurks a spirit in this land. 16 STRAFFORD. [act i. A hatred of the old and beaten track, A searching into all authority, No power can conquer. Soon 'twill swallow all. Church, throne, law, liberty itself, engulfed Will pass away ; the rapid march of mind ! Free thought will take its course, despite all rule ; The people, day by day, shake ofi' their chains, And armies mutiny ; what power is left ? Now, one by one, the stars of royalty Go out. The crown can boast no diadem ! Long have I seen the sky o'ercast with clouds That boded tempest ; they are red with blood. Perchance with mine, or with mine enemies'. 1 will strike first, it may ward off the blow Xow threatening. Up ! I will impeach Lord Say, Sir Harry Vane, Pym, and their rebel crew. Here comes a royal messenger. Enter Messenger. MESSENGER. My Lord, the King requires your presence. STKAFFORD. I will attend his Majesty forthwith. \^Exit Messexgeb. Poor worn-out servant ! badge of royalty ! Thou hast but little peace, thy master less. I would 'twere in my power to stem the tide Which sets against us ; Strafford's bark is wrecked. \Exit. SCENE III.] STRAFFORD. 1' SCENE III.— THE PALACE AT WHITEHALL. The King seated, Laud standiiifj by him. CHARLES. Of all past parliaments, sure, 'tis the worst. The most migracious to a royal ear. Daily some strange proceeding comes to light. The Non-conformists rise, the Papists fall ; Prynne, Burton, Bastwick are returned in state. The mob bedight with bay and rosemary ; Their Judges sorely fined, " Ship Money" lost, Escuage and fines, '' the Earl Marshall's Court," " Council of York," and that of "Stannary," And '' Marches of Wales," decreed illegal ; The " Coat and Conduct Money" deemed unjust. What next will follow, God Almighty knows ! I prithee. Laud, advise some remedy. LAUD. My liege ! these troublous times will brook no check ; The Commons fume and fret, they must have rein ; New creeds are springing up throughout the land Like mushrooms ; each will have its little day. Then rot into the soil. The Scottish war Hath taught a lesson we must ne'er forget. Ireland hath scarce been held by Straflbrd's arm ; England will own no master save your liege ; You must in patience wait a fairer gale. Enter Strafford. Kneels and kisses the King's hand. CHARLES. Strafford ! these times go hard with royalty ! We scarce know where to beg our morrow's meal ! 18 STRAFFORD. [act i STRAFFORD. If kings are beggars what must servants be ! An', please your Majesty, 1 had a scheme To mipeach the foremost of these rebel lords, And was, the hour your royal mandate came, Bent on this business. CHARLES. Delay not, or the season may be lost. So bold a stroke deserves our royal thanks ; When well accomplished, hasten back. STRAFFORD. I obey your Majesty in all things. CHARLES {to Lal-d.) Attend the Earl, his gait is feeble. LAUD. I crave no better company. [Exit. ^Exlt. CHARLES. Methinks, these men will find a hornet's nest ; The surly Commons sit with locked doors ; The Lords are still embroiled with Bedford's speech, And all the streets are filled with prating fools. [T7te KixG remains alone, pacimj the room. Enter the Queex. HENRIETTA. Your Majesty will pardon me, 'Tis said the Commons have broke up in haste. The Lords attend their message at the bar. Where Pym impeaches Strafford in their name. The Earl scarce left the palace when the news Arrived. CHARLES. Impossible ! and 3'et, methinks, he's safe ; SCENE III.] STIIAFFOED. 19 While there's a King in England not a hair Of Strafford's head by this rude Parliament Shall fall ! HENRIETTA. This Parliament will compass aught they please. Unless your Majesty have foreign help ; Your subjects, trait'rous grown, defy your power. Here comes a messenger. Enter Secretary Windebank. CHARLES. What news ? WIXDEBANK. Bad news, your Majesty, bad news indeed — The noble Earl of Strafford lies impeached ; He entered as the Commons thronged the bar. And made as towards his seat, but was rebuffed. Essaying to speak was silenced — bid begone. He bowed and strode away by Maxwell's side. Who asked his sword ; his air was dignified ; His courage never left him, till the coach. Wherein he stepped, soon hurried him away. Whilst thousands, shouting, stared — none capping him. CHARLES. And was there none to speak a word for him ? No friend in all the house that dared to speak ? WINDEBAXK. Scarce one, if any. CHARLES. This news I cannot stomach ; 'tis grievous ! Poor Strafford ! thou hast gained this sore rebuke For steadfast loyalty ! lExeunt King, Queen, and Wixdebaxk. STEAFFOED. L-t;T ii. ACT II. SCENE T.— PYM'S LODGINGS IN WESTMINSTER. Pym seated at a desk. PYM. 'Tis past — the master-stroke of policy • I scarcely dared belive the aim so good. 'Twas well hit, and bravely. Oh ! what a change hath twelve short years enwroiight In Strafford ; sickness, and care and riot. Each in its turn hath set a stamp on him ; Albeit, thus the body shrunk and bowed, The quenchless fire burns still in his fierce eye ; The pride of genius sits upon his brow. And his unbending soul rules over all. His fortunes, maybe, now have reached their goal. Yet, with such giant foe we have to cope. All guards are needful ! — What remains undone "^ The trial must be hastened ; Laud impeached. With Finch and Windebank ; this will paralyze The Court ; and Ratcliffe, Strafford's creature, bound In his master's toil; those servile Judges Roundly fined ; the new Church-Canons damned. scEXE I.] STRAFFORD, And Triennial Parliaments enforced ; The Scottish army still retained in check Of Com't intrigues, and Popish jDlots. Enter Hampden, St John and Lord Say. Pym rises. Welcome, my Lord and gentlemen, 'tis late, I have enough for each committee's work ; What think ye of our first success ? LORD SAY. 'Tis wonderful ! thou didst demean thyself To admiration. PYM. My Lord, we would entrust you with one thing — To move that all the Privy Councellors Be catechised, their oaths of secrecy Absolved. LORD SAY. Assuredly I will, HAMPDEN, And carry it. PYM. The deputies from Ireland are arrived With immerous accusations — here, at home. There have been divers schemes to slip the noose. But, thanks to Goring, he has peached the whole. ST. JOHN. What schemes ? PYM. A royal scheme to seize the Tower itself, And tamper with the Governor. HAMPDEN. The Commons shall be told of this. PYM. 'Twill aid the Earl's impeachment and his death. 2'2 STRAFFORD. [act. i Enter Lokd Lowdex and Eabl of Bedford. BEDFORD. How now, gentlemen ! pleasant news from Court ! The King will make us Privy Councellors ! We shall have offices assigned to us, Bristol and Essex, Hertford, Kimbolton, Savile, and you. Lord Say, and I myself. Sworn of the Privy Councel — my Office, Treasurer. PYM. And mine ? BEDFORD. Chancellor of the Exchequer ! ST. JOHX. And mine ? BEDFORD. Solicitor-General ! LORD SAY. And mine ? BEDFORD. Master of the Wards ! HAMPDEN. And mine ^ BEDFORD. Tutor to the Prince ! and Denzil HoUis, Secretary of State. PYM. My Lord ! what means this vein of humour ? BEDFORD. On oath, 'tis true ; I have it from the King. PY3I. Without conditions ? BEDFORD. None that are binding. LORD LO^VDEN. I shall crave your best semces for us. SCENE I.] STRAFFORD. 2^ BEDFORD. Scotland shall be our first care. PYM. I fear these offices will please our friends But little. BEDFORD. Essex, methinks, will not accept of place. HAMPDEN. I hope this royal favour will not cost Too dear ; this fiery race must be outrun ; No nerve be slackened till our judgment pass ; The Court would purchase Strafford at a price. PYM. Fear not, we vdW not blench our purpose. ST. JOHN. 'Twill give us greater ])ower if rightly used. LORD LOWDEN. The great " Incendiary" must not escape, The King has gracious grown to us of late, And made us large concessions. PYM [to Hampdex.) If thou be Tutor, let the Prince be schooled In our academy. HAMPDEN. Trust me, the word *•' prerogative" shall be Erased from his vocabulary ! PYM. Come, gentlemen, we'll sound the Connnons 'fore We take our new appointments. BEDFORD. And I will test the Lords. [Exeunt all. ■U STRAFFORD. [act ii. SCENE II.— THE TOWER. Strafford hohlUvj a letter from the Kino in his Juind. STRAFFORD. Thus much his Majesty assures me of. " You shall not suffer in life, fame, fortune." A royal pledge, " and but a mean reward For service such as mine !" This too is true ; If Strafford still were at thine elbow, then Thou might'st accomplish it ; but now bereft. Thy will is weak, thy means of action gone ! Poor Prince ! thou wilt be taught in sterner schools Than monarchy befit. Thy seiTant's fate Might serve thee as a fair ensample, yet Despair was never mine, there lives a hope. {_Lays down the letter, and tahes up a copy of the articles of impeachment. These articles I have perused with care ; Methinks, the charge hath nothing capital : I have assured my wife and children so ; I can disprove the chief ; the lesser, least. Though ne'er construed as treason, maybe, crime. I will be well advised in points of law. These are the turning points with skilful men : I will demean myself with such an air. That ev'n mine enemies shall think me clear. My noble caniage all men shall admire ; I will attune my speech to catch the ear Of listening thousands ; every cadence full, And fitly turned, shall reach their inmost soul. [A pause. SCENE II.] STRAFFORD. 25 Vain man ! this idle boast will serve thee not^ False, flattering hojDe ! naught but thy blood will serve Thy fierce accusers. Yes, " The Apostate's" blood ! Thy sentence now is passed, thy scaffold set, A few short hours and Strafford will be dust ! ISfartsfrom his seat. There's yet one course untried — these walls are proof 'Gainst all assault, but gold may loose the bars. [Rings the bell. I'll try the mettle of their Governor. Wakdeii enters. Here, {throwing him money,) tell thy master I would speak with him. [Exit Warder. If Balfour be what he was wont, 'tis vain ; And yet men change with wind and tide — good men Are sometimes wrought upon by promises. Enter Balfour, bowing. Good mon'ow, Balfour ; my cell is irksome, I fain would have thy company awhile. Wilt thou inform me who my neighbours are ? BALFOUR. My Lord, if that be all you crave, 'tis done ; His Grace of Canterbury on the left. And, on the ridit, Sir Robert Berkeley lies. STRAFFORD. Are these good men with treason charged ? BALFOUR. They are, my Lord. STRAFFORD. Thou hast a precious charge from Church and State ! What ransom dost thou ask for such as they f* c 2 26 STRAFFORD. BALFOUR. The Speaker's waiTant. STRAFFORD. Nay, wilt thou take no other quit than his r* BALFOUR. None, my Lord. STRAFFORD. I'll proffer thee ten thousand sterling pounds For mine. BALFOUR. I 'd sooner loose my head ! STRAFFORD. Nay, twice ten thousand, and a match to boot. Remember thou hast children, they must live As is befitting rank and station ! BALFOUR. I scorn thy paltr}^ pelf and proffered match ! My poverty is to mine honour, else I were not fit to hold the post I fill. STRAFFORD. Stay, Balfour, mine was but a jest ; think not I sought to tamper with thine honesty. I too have been a trusty servant, hence Can value faith in others. BALFOUR. My Lord, you will excuse my presence. STRAFFORD. This man is proof 'gainst all temptations — hope There's none of him ; where shall I find it else ? True, Heaven hath humbled me, but 'tis in wrath ! Long hath she lost my fealty for my King's, And now she may reject it, justly too. I'm but a weak and sinful man, God knows [Exit SCENE II.] STRAFFORD. My Strong temptations — seeking liberty But in the exercise of lawless power ! Unbridled appetite, and stubborn will. For ever working out my own resolve, Albeit at the hazard of my fame. Brooking no control, not ev'n my master's ; Foremost in every council, as in deed. And unsubdued by dangers, sickness, death ! Such Strafford was, and such he still will be ! This prison-house shall fetter me no more. The judgment hall shall be my banqueting ; Ev'n at the scaffold I will scorn my foes. And wear the calmest visage in the crowd ! [Exit. SCENE III.— WESTMINSTER HALL, FITTED UP FOR STRAFFORD'S TRIAL. The last day's trial. A splendid assembly of Lords, Judges, Commons, and Spectators, including the King, Queen, and Court. Enter Ladies in a gallery. FIRST LADY. Oh ! what a solemn pomp pervades this hall ! There sit the Scotch Commissioners, and there The Lords of Ireland, joint accusers they With these the Commoners ; in the centre Range the Peers enrobed. The Lord Keeper there. And Judges on the woolsacks further on. The throne stands empty, but yon gallery Contains the King, the Queen, and all the Court. [The King tears down the curtain of his box. 28 STEAFFOED. [act. ii. Its fellow here, the foreign nobles till; The Earl of Arundel jjre sides ; Lindsay, As High Constable. SECOND LADY. But where is Strafford ? Stiiafford enters, attended hy Balfour and Guards. FIRST LADY. N^ow thou may'st behold him as he enters. Wearing his George, and dressed in mourning clothes. His thick dark hair cut short from off his brow. [Strafford continues advancing. SECOXD LADY. Oh ! what a manly digiiity and grace ! And yet how worn and pale his visage seems. His stej) how feeble ! [Strafford arrives at his desk. FIRST LADY. See, thrice he makes obeisance to the Chair. IThe High Steward boics to him. SECOND LADY. And now he kneels. FIRST LADY. And now he bows to all his fellow Peers. [.Some of the Peers return the salutation. SECOND LADY. Who Stand beside him ? FIRST LADY. The Lieutenant of the Tower, and Strafford's Secretaries. Strafford converses icith his Lawyers. SECOND L.IDY. Now he is seated at the desk. Poor soul ! With all his crimes, I can but pity him ! [Strafford seats himself facing the C'Virt. SCENE II.] STRAFFOED. 29 FIRST LADY. Hark ! 'tis Pyin, the accuser, speaks ! [PYM?'/ses with his notes in his hund. PYM. My Lords ! By Secretary Vane these notes were writ At a junto of" the Privy Council, Held for the Scots' affairs last May. My Lords, This was Earl Strafford's language to the King — These words : — " You have an army in Ireland That you may use to reduce this kingdom To obedience.'"' And here lies our charge. [Turninf/ ^c» Vane the elder. Sir Harry Vane ! upon your oath, these notes Are in your hand-writing ? VANE steps forward and examines the document. My Lords, I'll swear to them. PYM. You'll swear the Earl made use of words to this Effect ? VANE. I will. [Vane takes his seat. LORD CLARE {rises.) My Lords ! suppose these be the very words, The junto met on Scotch affairs alone. " This kinf/dorn' could but refer to Scotland. [Lord Clare sits down. PYM. My Lords ! a brother may incline to screen His relative from accusation ; I do contend such forced construction false. This unhappy Earl hath used such cunning 30 STRAFFORD. [act. To set a countenance of honesty And justice on his actions, as he hath Been negligent in their performance ! Yes, He hath 2)ut on a vizard of fair truth. Of goodness, of uprightness. I have torn That vizard off, he stands unmasked, condemned ! Would God may change him for the time to come ! When will is set above all law 'tis crime I Behold, how many prisoners of rank Condemned and executed without law ! So many public rapines on the state ' Soldiers sent forth to make good his decrees ! So many whippings for monopolies. So many jurors fined in star-chamber, Disgi'aced, and set in 'pillory ! My Lords, Ye must condemn him for such tyranny ! We charge him with the breach of nature's law, The light of reason in our common souls ! INIy Lords, the intoxicating cup of power Hath poisoned his heart, and turned his councils. Acts, and deeds, to treason ! 'Tis God — and only God, subsists alone ; All other beings are amenable To laws this unhappy Earl hath broken. We hold our lives and liberties by law ; In Ireland these have been subverted. Why ? Because, forsooth, she's deemed a conquered realm. Pernicious council this for royal ears ! Shall it be treason to debase the coin, And not be greater treason to debase SCENE 11.] STRAFFORD. 3] The spirits of the subjects of the Kin^, And set a stamp of servitude on them P Strafford hath debased, by tyrannous acts. The sister kingdom ! true, he hath alleged A time of exigence ; the fault was his. His acts the cause ; his crime no transient one ; He sought to work perpetual treason ; Treason transmitted to our children's sons ! So many treasons hath this man performed. That life, honour and estate, tho' forfeit, Will leave him debtor to the Commonwealth ! Neither will this be a novel way of blood. The laiv doth lack in nothing, but the age Gone by, hath bred 710 man ivith crimes like his ! Pym looks at Stkapford, their eyes meet, and a moment an^ confusion overcomes the speaker. My Lords ! I'll say no more, these fourteen days Have brought you evidence enough of guilt, On which ye will condemn this wretched man Of dire attempts to change the ivholesome laws Of these joint realms to tyranny, [Pym sits down. EARL OF ARUNDEL. Strafford ! the Lords will hear thee in defence. STRAI'FORD (rishig slowly, and makiiij repeated obeisances.) My Lords ! the very title of the notes Adduced against me, must absolve my guilt. '' The junto held upon the Scofs affairs." " This kingdom" can but mean ''the Scottish realm."' The varied charges laid against me have Been fully answered. Mark — I did not frame 32 STRAFFORD. [act ii. Instructions for tlie council held at York ; They were decreed me, when I left that court For Ireland ; I could be no party there To actions not mine own. My words, my Lords, Have heen perverted ; still, I do contend That Ireland is a conquered kingdom, hence The King's prerogative far greater there. The judgments charged against me were not given In courts incompetent ; a single vote Was all I gave ; the ancient usages Of quartering troops, I can and will defend ; The trade in Jlax I have made prosperous ; Tobacco dues have tilled the public purse ; The oath on Scottish subjects was enforced By fretful times, and sanctioned by the state. My Lords, when war with Scotland was resolved I did but counsel means to haste its end. On such emergency as foreign war. To levy contributions is but jusf. Those in Yorkshire were but voluntary ; My threats against the city were but heard By one, and he a partial evidence ; Seizing the bullion, coining base money, I swear, my Lords, were not proposed by me ! As to certain words in council given. By duty of my oath I spoke my mind. Or else were perjured to Almighty God. Shall I be charged with treason hence ; thank Heaven ! I fear not them who kill the body ! If This be all my guilt, I leave the issue ! SCENE II.] STRAFFORD. 33 My Lords, if under oath of secrecy, A counsellor be thus with treason charged Who hath his honest judgment given — I ask. Who found so bold as be a counsellor P I solemnly conjure your lordships ne'er To break that trust your children claim from you — The charge of this great Commonwealth ! My Lords ! Opinions make a heretic, but not A traitor ! If words but spoken idly. In familiar discourse at board or bed. To gain a better apprehension. To gain more light and judgment, if these tvords Are brought against a man as treason, then. Farewell society ! most silent world ! A city will become a hermitage ! No man ivill dare iinpart his thoughts to friends ! \_A pause, and in a weak voice. Alone, and unsupported here, my Lords, Your better judgments, better memories Supply ; my own infirmities are great ! The King condemns not, his rule is mercy ; With reverence spoken, he's not my Judge, Nor yet the Commons ; you alone, my Lords, Thanks to the wisdom of our ancestors ! My Lords, the shedding of my blood will make \^His voice becomes earnest and sonorous. An easy way for yours, if learned men. As mine accusers, loose their tongues at you, If ojDen enemies be witnesses. If every ^vord, intent and circumstance .'J4 STEAFFOED. [act ii. Be sifted and alleged as treason ; if Your friends, your counsel be denied, ye may Foresee the issue of such precedent ! They speak against my arbitrary laws, 1, against their arbitrary treason ! This, my Lords, regards you and your children. For myself, were it not for your welfare. And for the interest of a saint in heaven, IVho left me here two pledges upon earth, [Btratto-rd falters, and tears trickle down his cheeks ; then, after a pause, he resumes his discourse, the Court greatly affected, the Ladies iveeping. And but for this, I should not take the pains To keep up this lorn tenement of mine ! I could not leave the world oX Jitter time Than now, with proof of my integrity To God, my king, and country ! My Lords ! somewhat more I would have spoken. My voice, my spirits fail me ! A j^haros May I be to keep you out of shipwreck ! Now, my Lords ! for myself I have been taught, Through God's good blessing, that the afflictions Of this, OMX present life, are naught compared To the eternal weight of glory hence ! And so, my Lords, ev'n so, with tranquil mind, I do await your judgment, life or death ! In te, Domirie, [looking towards heaven) confide, Non confundar in Sternum ! [Strapford slowly takes his seat, the Court remains greatly affected, all eyes rivetted upon him. SCENE II.] STRAFFORD. 95 THE EARL OF ARUNDEL (rising). My Lords, your verdict. Is Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, guilty or not guilty ? [^The Lords leave their f-cats and confer with the Judges. The Court remains in a state of strong excitement. FIRST LADY. Oh, God ! I pray he be acquitted ! SECOND LADY. Did ever man speak words more eloquent ? His fierce accusers must have stony hearts Indeed, to charge him with such hateful crimes ! [The Lords take their places, and the High Constable pro claims silence. The Eael of Bedfobd hands a paper to the President. EARL OF ARUNDEL Crises, all eyes are turned tovmrds him). Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, the Lords Have found thee guilty, on various charges. Of high treason to the Commonwealth ! [Strafford rises and hows, and is immediately led away by the Lieutenant of the Tower and two hundred Train Bands ; a general murmur and exclamation ru)is through the multitude. The curtain falls. 36 STKilTOED. [act hi. ACT III. SCENE I.— THE PALACE AT WHITEHALL. TJie King alone in a state of great excitement. CHARLES. My schemes are thwarted, every plan hath failed ! Bedford, on whom I most relied, is dead ; ("*) Lord Say's advice hath made the Commons mad ; Strafford's defence hath won him many friends, Too many, for this fearful hill is passed Both houses, lest the trial should have failed. And now they wait my signature. Hollis, His brother, hath wrought no relaxation Of their vengeance. [^Takesup a letter from Strafford. This letter breathes a noble spirit — sure. This man deserves to live — he pardons me. " My consent shall more acquit you, herein To God than all the world can do besides !" And then he prays protection for his son And daughters — can he absolve me ? never ! What will the world, my conscience, whisper me. If I consent that Strafford forfeit life ^ SCENE I.] STRAFFOED. 37 What can absolve me from the damning guilt F Are not my acts miputed to his charge ? Is he the scape-goat for his monarch's sins ? \_A Messenger announces the Bishop of London and others. Your Reverences come in fitting time, We crave your fatherl}^ advice hereon. What say'st thou, Juxon, shall we be absolved ITakes up the Bill of Attainder. From foul dishonour if we sign this bill ? JUXON. An' please your Majesty, my counsel is To shed no blood you deem is innocent ! CKAKLES. What say'st thou, Williams ? WILLIAMS. Whate'er opinion you may entertain As Charles Stuart, methinks, your Majesty, As King, is bound to give your royal seal To what hath passed both Lords and Commons. CHARLES (turning to the oilier Bishops;. What think your Reverences ? FIRST BISHOP, {pointing to Williams). An' please your Majesty, I think as he. SECOND BISHOP. I deem your Majesty in duty bound To act, tho', as an individual, You may dissent. CHARLES. I thank ye, good prelates, for your counsel. [Bishops retire. Unhappy Prince ! why did I bring to Court, At this fierce time, the man I could not shield. And drag him to the death his foes prepare P d2 38 STRAFFORD. [act hi, Enter the Queen abruptly, in much alarm. HENRIETTA. The Palace Yard is filled with multitudes — Their cries and threats of vengeance shake the Court — I fear they will break in and murder us. 'Tis said that Goring hath disclosed our plot ; '^) They sjDeak of foreign annies landing here^ Ascribing all to me — and most of all. They cry for Strafford's blood ! CHARLES. Peace, woman ! I am now resolved — 'tis done, This bill, by force, must be assented to. [Calh/or Secretaby Carleton. 'Tis but a question who shall bleed the first, I, or Strafford ! JEnter Secketart Carleton. CHARLES (taking the document in his hand, and greatly affected). Carleton ! thou'rt witness this hath cost me much. Thou know'st there hath not been a way untried To save my servant, be now my witness ; If one half ray kingdom would have saved him I would have parted with it. When Kings weep \^He sheds tears. Tis ominous ! \_Hc signs a commission to give his assent to the Bill of Attainder, and Carletox takes it away. There may be hope, to-morrow I will send A strong petition by the Prince of Wales, (^) To crave imprisonment for life, or aught But death, for Strafford. SCENE II.] STRAFFORD. 30 HENRIETTA. Hark ! how the rabble shout ! the news is spread That Strafford's death-warrant is signed ! CHARLES. Let us away, their cries are horrible ! lExeunt King and Queen. SCENE II.— THE TOWER. Strafford alone. STRAFFORD. Alas ! these speeches of the King are posts Which bring my death more swiftly on. They fret The Commons, chafing them on the old sore. The King's prerogative, and their just rights ! Mine hath been a strange and chequered life ; love, Hate, ambition, hitherto hath ruled me — The last the most ! thrice married, blest with heirs. Raised to great honours and emoluments. Trusted with greater power than any man, Abused it less than many ; when abused. To serve my king, for this I stand condemned. My private life hath many blots, God knows ; I have corrupted women less than men ; I trust to be forgiven. — Enter Secretary Carleton. CARLETON. My Lord, the King hath signed your death-warrant. [Strafford deeply moved, hut soon recovers his self-possession. STRAFFORD {laying his hand on his heart). Put not your trust in Princes ! 40 STRAFFORD. [act hi. Enter Lord Clare and Sir George Wentwobth. Weiitworth and Clare ! bring ye no reprieve ? CLARE. Faithful brothers, we come to comfort thee ! WE XT WORTH. Om' efforts have proved vain, the die is struck ! STRAFFORD. Kind brothers ! I thank you much, [ Weeping. I crave your pity on my orphan babes ; The sting of death is passed if they be safe. And cared for ; as for me, I am prepared To meet the worst ; God gives me strength to cope With death, this body is not worth a thought. And if, through mercy, I may keep my crown In heaven, what care I for this mockery ? Farewell, kind brothers, till my day of doom — You will be there to comfort me ? WEXTWORTH AND CLARE. We will ! \^Exeunt Clare and Sir G. Wentworth, weeping, and Carletox behind. SCENE III.— TOWER HILL. An ininiense concourse of people. A scaffold erected, and guards. Enter Citizens. FIRST CITIZEN. See how the crowd divides, he comes ! [Strafford approaches guarded. SECOND CITIZEN. i\Iark, how he moves his hat, and marches on With steady tread and cahn, undamited brow, SCENE III.] STRAFFORD. 41 More like a General, heading his troops, Than one for treason carried to the block ! FIRST CITIZEN. What friends are those that speak with him ? SECOND CITIZEN. His brother. Sir George Wentworth, the Bishop Of Armagh, and Earl of Cleveland. [Strafford ascends the Scaffold FIRST CITIZEN. Now they mount the scaffold. SECOND CITIZEN. See ! how he gazes on the crowd mimoved. FIRST CITIZEN. 'Tis strange that tyrants can meet death like this ! SECOND CITIZEN. Silence ! he's about to speak. STRAFFORD (boicinu/ at his garb. Stripped of my trappings, kingdom, wealth and crown. The veriest outcast in this ememld isle ! No peasant-churl hath more of poverty. No prince hath less of majesty than I ! Hark ! there are footsteps ! and a woman's voice. [A Milk-maid approaches andpasseshy under the oak, singing and carrying her j^ail on her head. SONG. I. To the green wood away ! At the bright d:iwu of day, When tlie east is all gold, And the sheep leave the fold, When the jewels of night Melt in dew-drops of light, "V^Tien the wood-larks are singing, And the brown copse is ringing With throstle and black bird, And bell of the stray herd. At the bright dawn of day. Let the milk-maid away ! CHARLES {aside). Well sung ! Ill drop an acorn in her pail. \_Acorn strikes the pail and rings. [Milk-maid sings. I SCENE v.] OLIVEB CROMWELL. 41 II. Brown filbert and acorn Start at the bugle -horn, Quitting their bowery nooks, Plash in the silver brooks, Frighting the finny race Out of their hiding-place ! . Oft fi'om the ferny brake Bounces the hare awake, Oft from the bough above Flutters the timid dove ! To the greenwood away At the bright dawn of day ! IMilh-maid disappears. CHARLES. A pretty carol, and a hapjiy heart ! Who would not be a peasant, and command A cherished home where war can never steal The blessings of a cheerful peaceful life ! That village-belle, too, hath her little Court, Her rustic pomp on INIay-day's eventide. Her champion bold to wrestle in the ring, And pour rude flatt'ry in her homely ear ! \_A whistle heard. 'Twas the signal — some troopers pass this way. [Troopers pass by and disappear. See, there's a red coat — there, and there ! this way,; And that they ride; the Roundheads are at fault; [A pause. Suspicion will not reach this old oak tree ; I'm Monarch here at least. Hark ! there's a voice, — 'Tis one of the Penderells' ! 42 OLIVER CROMWELL. [act iv. Enter Richard and William Penderell. WILLIAM. The troopers have passed by, — you may come down. We've heard from Boscobel ; they wait us there. [Charles comes down from the oak tree. CHARLES. Lead on, I'm more at home in this rude gaub. Than erst : good fellows, let's to Boscobel ! EICHAED. This way — the troopers are gone that. [Exeunt. SCENE VL— BOSCOBEL: RICHARD AND WILLIAM PEN- DERELL, CHOPPING STICKS. RICHARD. 'Tis good news, i'faith ; God bless him. WILLIAM. He's out of reach of treachery and knaves ! RICHARD. Poor soul ! this month hath passed but slowly on, Fiom one danger to another, — ever In fear of foes ; now riding servant-man. Now trudging like a hind. Thank God ! at length. He found a ship at Shoreham, and set sail For France. Our youthful King is safe ! WILLIAM. We shall be well rewarded for our part ; Some day his foes will lick the dust, and we Be lifted up ! RICHARD. Now let 's in to dinner. WILLIAM. Ay — and drhik the young King's health ! I Exeunt. SCENE I.] OLIVER CROMWELL. 43 ACT V. SCENE I.— CROMWELL'S PRIVATE APARTMENT IN LONDON. Cromwell alone, seated. CROMWELL. The fight at Worcester makes me king of all, So long as I retain the army's help. My way to London was one glorious march Of never-ceasing triumph ; people flocked To see the Hero of so many fights. Met by four Parliament-Commissioners At Aylesbury, I did demean myself With somewhat of the courtesy which gives To royalty a more becoming show. And deemed I saw the glittering pageant swell Into a kingly state — the brilliant troops — The ever-crowded streets — the plaudits loud — And spirit-stining music fired my blood. IRises from his chair. 'Twas then I thought what Cromwell might become, Not the poor General of the Commonwealth, But Sovereign absolute of these broad realms ! {_Slts down again. 44 OLIVEE CEOMWELL. [act v. And since that fatal moment I have played A double game ; under some false pretence Have sought to overthrow the Parliament; Then raise a mockery of servile fools To rejDresent the people — no — obey My voice alone. There was one sterling man Rebuked me oft — brave Ireton, now he's dead ! And I have bound my creature, Fleetwood, fast By mari'iage with my widowed daughter ; thus The plot is laid, and now I am resolved To drive the Parliament, by force of arms. Straight out of doors — then keep the key myself. Enter Lambert abruptly. LAMBERT. The Parliament is fiercely in debate ; The Act for a new rej^resentative Is nigh concluded. Vane, Marten, Sidney, Ha^'e spoken vehemently. Now's the time. Or 'lis too late to intercept their vote. Enter Ixgoldsby in disorder. INGOLDSBY. If decisive steps are meant, now's the time ! CIIOMWELL. Command the soldiers — 111 go forthwith. lExeunt. SCENE IL— HOUSE OF COMMONS.— IMEMBEES IN EAENEST DEBATE. Cno-MWELL enters unattended, and takes his seat by St. Johx. (Vaxe speaking at a distance.) CROMWELL {to St, John.) St. John, I'm come to do what grieves me sore, scfiXE 11.] OLIVER CROMWELL. 45 But God has laid necessity on me ; 'Tis for the nation's good. ST. JOIIX. What means the Lord General ? CROMWELL. Wait and see. [St. Johx leaves Ceomwell and crosses the House. — Cromwell beckons Harrison, tvho seats himself hi/ hint. Now's the time. I must do it. HARRISON. The work is great and very dangerous. CROMWELL. You say well. I'll not be over hasty ! [Vane sits down and the Speaker rises to put the question. Cromwell starts uj) and puts off his hat. CROMWELL {to the Speaker.) Sir ! this Parliament hath good deeds enough To boast of, more than any other House; Its former care and pains are praiseworthy, Its latter acts as blaraeable: delays. Injustice, and self-interest rule its steps. Its wonted heart to do the public good Is gone ; perpetuation is its aim ; This Act was never meant to be observed ; 'Tis but to blind the people's eyes. Hence learn A fitting time is come to make an end Of all our sittings! \_Greatly excited, turning to the Repuhlican party . Your time is come ! the Lord has done with you ! [Vane, Wentworth and Marten rise simultaneously, Cromwell turning towards them. You rise to order : you think this language Unparliamentary ? I know it ! [Wentworth makes himself heard j Cromwell remains standing. 46 OLIVER CROMWELL. [act v. WEXTWORTH {to the Speaker.) Sir ! till now I never heard such language Addressed to Parliament ! the greater crime From one — a servant of the Commonwealth — So trusted, so obliged ; one we have made All that he is ! [Cromwell thrusts on his hat and springs forward into the centre of the floor of the House. CROMWELL. Come^ come! I'll put an end to your prating ! [Cbomwell walks vp and down, chafing and stamping, and threatening the Members with violent gestures. — Vake rises unabashed and attempts to m/ike himself heard. Cromwell turns to him and speaks. ^^ane, you might have saved all this, you juggler ! Where is your common honesty ? The Lord Hath put me to this work. I say, begone ! {^Turning to the House. You are no Parliament ! no Parliament ! I'll put an end to your sitting — Begone ! Give way to men more honest than yourselves ! [He stamps with his fuot, the doors fly open, and five or six files of Musketeers enter under the command of Worsley, with arms pointed. A general consternu' Hon prevails, yet no one leaves his seat. Cromwell points to the Speaker, addressing Col. Harrison. Han'ison ! fetch him down ! [Harrison goes towards the Speaker, but he refuses to move. Fetch him down, there ! [Harrison pulls him down by the gown. [CnoMvrELL pointing to Sidney. Pull him down ! Put him out ! the hypocrite ! [Sidney refuses to move, and Harrison and Worsley drag him towards the door. SCENE III.] OLIVER CEOI\rWELL. 47 [Cromwell points to the mace. Take these baubles away ! [27te soldiers remove the mace. The generality of the Members retire. As Challoxer passes by, Crom- well insults him. Go, drunkard, go ! [Sir Peter Wentworth passes by. Cromwell point- ing to him. \_Ironicalhj, A foul adult'rer, fit to rule the state ! [Whitelocke passes out. There's the unjust steward ! [Martejt passes by. A whore-master ! [Sir Harry Vaxe, last of all, icalks by Cromwell, tvith a fierce countenance. The Lord deliver us from Sir Harry ! [Cromwell seizes the Journals, and the Act about to be passed, puts them under his cloak, and walks off, exclaiming — Lock the doors ! Hanison. Lock the doors ! SCENE III.— T\nESTMINSTER HALL SPLENDIDLY FITTED UP, AS SEEN FEOM A GALLERY, AND FILLED WITH SPECTATORS. AT ONE END A CHAIR OF STATE EMPTY. Enter Vane and Sidney. TJiey sit doivn in front of the stage. VANE. We'll view this spectacle, whate'er it prove. SIDNEY. As yet the grand procession waits without. To greet the Lord Protector. VANE. Ever since the day he did disperse us. 48 OLIVER CEO]\I^^ELL. [act v. Entitling us the " Rump," he hath gone on From less to more, until the " Barebone-rout" Made way for his acceptance of all power. Under the name of Lord Protector ! SIDNEY. Our splendid victories at sea have made Him feared throughout all Europe — whilst, of late. The mem'ry of his great achievements here, Has struck a teiTor through the land, which holds The people unresisting. VANE. The day that military power obtained Ascendancy, was fatal to the cause We love and cherish ! He holds the army Like a scorpion over us. SIDNEY. There's but one good, the Cavaliers are held As far removed as we from rule. TANE. Ay, they still remain the antipodes Of Cromwell's liking ! SIDNEY. Hark ! there's a stir about the entrance. TANE. The rabble shout ! the tyrant flatters them. Poor fools ! 'tis Cromwell's j:^ilded coach. [/4 procession enters the Hall. SIDNEY See ! the procession enters. VANE. The Aldermen — the Judges next. SIDNEY. The Lord- Commissioners of the Great Seal. SCENE III.] OLIVER CROMWELL. 49 VAXE. The Lord Mayor and Cromvveirs Council follow. — Cbomwell enters, dressed in a black vclret suit and cloak, with a broad gold band round his hat, and long boots. The spectators uncover. And Cromwell's self! We'll keej) our hats on. Cromwell takes his stand by Lono Commissioner Lisle, the various authorities stand round, and Lambert advances from the circle, and addresses Cromwell. LAMBERT. Sir ! the late Parliament is now dissolved ; The exigency of the times requires A strong and stable government — we pray Your Excellency, in the joint behalf Of the army and of the three nations. To accept the office of Protector, Or Chief Magistrate of the Commonwealth, Under a constitution newly made By the councils of Army and of State. Lambert turning to Jessop, one of the Clerks of the Council, requests him to read the Act in ivhich the neiv Constitution tvas embodied. Jessop stej^s for- ward and reads the document, which is inaudible to the stage. [Vane and Sidney continue listening with great attention. \_0n the conclusion of the reading of the Act, Lisle turns to Cromwell to administer the oath as Lord Pro- tector, Cromwell, aftei' some reluctance, raises his hands and eyes to Heaven with great solemnity, hold- ing the Act in his hand. CROMWELL, I solemnly swear to observe, and cause To be observed, all the articles Of this instrument — so help me God ! 50 OLIVEE CEOIMWELL. [act v. [Lambert falls on his hiees and offers Cromwell a civic sword in the scabbard, which he accepts, at the saine time laying aside his own. [Cromwell then sloivly seats himself in the Chair of State, and puts on his hat. The Hall resounds with accla- mation. {The Lord Commissioners present him ivith the Great Seal. The Lord Mayor offers him the Sword of State, both of which he formally delivers back. [He now rises from his chair, and the whole procession close in behind him, and sloicly file through the hall. YANE. There, the spectacle is past, vain pageant! If I were Cromwell, I'd be king at once, Not ape the pomp without the crown and name ! SIDNEY. 'Tis a sad spectacle ! a tyranny Begun, worse than the first ! — by him too wTOught Who gained our greatest victories ! VANE. So many years of blood for nought ? alas ! Alas ! for England ! SCENE IV.— CRO.ArU^ELL'S APARTMENTS IN WHITEHALL. Cromwell alone. CEOMWELL. My highest pitch of gTeatness now is gained. But 'tis a giddy height to look down from ! My old companions in the wars have left My side, and daily plots against my life, Republican and Royalist, declare A longing for my death. This potent chair, I feel will fall with me; no son of mine Can keep his hold on England's shaggy mane. I SCENE IV.] OLIVER CROMWELL. 61 True, this trust is made hereditary. But Richard will not sway these realms a year ! I had a son — but God hath taken him — Who would have filled my place with dignity. Henry hath can'ied affairs in Ireland Well, with earnest of ability, but He being second can't supplant the Jirst. The tender of a crown was cruel sport : So near, and yet with dire destruction fraught. Had I accepted it. It cost me much To push the glittering bauble quite aside ; And yet men say, 'twas done with such ill grace. The world hath marked my carriage thereupon Much to my hurt. The second solemn rite. Where jDurple robe and golden sceptre, formed A close approach to regal pomp, hath wrought Upon the public mind, and waked again The love of kingship in the rightful line. The daughter of my heart hath been estranged From me, since I decreed a House of Lords, And left the civic chair to ape a throne ! Domestic troubles thick 'n — my mother's death — My daughter's sickness — my suspicions waked Regarding Frances, all press heavily. My Mary's marriage with Lord Fauconberg, Should match her sister in the same high line — Mine eye hath marked young Rich with pleasure ; he Flutters round the tempting girl. This chaplain, White, must give way to aristocracy — lEi sin// from his chair. 52 OLIVER CROMWELL. [act t 111 see how White and Frances cany on — An unlooked for entrance may be useful [ Walks towards the door. To sift the matter through. lExit SCENE v.— LADY FRANCES CROMWELL'S APARTMENT. Enter Mr. Jeremy White, Lady Frances, and Maid-Senant Mr. White falls on his knees before Lady Frances, and takei her hand. WHITE. Of all true lovers, I'm the truest — [She takes her hand away as he attempts to kiss it Nay, My lady ! be not always cruel ! Cromwell enters abruptly, and observing Mr. White, goes up ti him in a fury. [Lady Frances terribly frightened CROMWELL. Villain ! what mean you on your knees — ? WHITE {with much confusion). May it please your Highness — I've a long time Courted that young gentlewoman there, IPointing to the Servant But Cannot prevail — I therefore humbly prayed Her ladyship to intercede for me — [Cromwell, turning to the Maid-Servaut with an expression of triumph. CROMWELL. What mean you, hussy ? why refuse my friend The honour he would do you — I expect You will obey my wishes — [Maid-Servant with a low courtesy I CENE VI.] OLIVER CEO^IWELL. 63 MAID. If Mr. White intends me that honour, I'll not deny him — CROMWELL. Say'st thou so, my lass ? Call Godwyn hither, \^Exit Servaut-Maid. This business shall be done before I leave — [White ajjpears in great consternation, and Lady Frances tittering. Enter Godwyx, ivith Maid- S errant. CEOMWELL. Come, Godwyn, many that girl to White ; see. Hussy, here's a portion for thee. \_Giving her £500 in money. [Godwyn proceeds to marry them. Cromwell and Lady Frances laughing in their sleeves. Wlien the ceremony is over. CROMWELL. A blessing on man and wife ! [The bride and groom quit the room, she delighted, he in dudgeon. {_To his Daughter, Come, Frances, Follow me : another lover tarries Below, more worthy the Protector's child ; You've long been intimate, conclude the match ; Young Rich will make a worthy husband ! ay ? FRANCES {after some hesitation). I will obey my father ! \_Exeunt. SCENE VI.— WHITEHALL— CROMWELL ALONE. {The marks of disease tipon his countenance. '\ These fierce Republicans are worse to quell Than all the Royalists of old. Again, 54 OLIVER CEOMWELL. [act v. I have recourse to old expedients. Of all exjDedients the most hurtful, A dissolution of the Parliament. — They seek to take my life, despite my guards. — Sleep flies from me ; strong suspicions ever Hover round my board and bed ; haunted thus. My life's a burthen ; beneath my doublet I wear a coat of mail, and cany aims Where'er I go ; and this poor trembling wretch Is the Cromwell of INIarston Moor ! How changed ! How fallen from his high estate, when JNIonarchs Trembled at his name — the stern old general Of the Commonwealth ! — Now a slow fever Burns alternately, then chills me; my strength Wears fast away, and there are those ^\ho wait, (Exulting at my sure decay,) to tread In triumph o'er my new-made grave ! lAttendant enters. ATTENDANT. An old man craves to see your Highness. CEOMWELL. Is he armed ? ATTENDANT. No, my Lord ! one foot seems in the grave ! CKOMWELL. Let him enter. [Exit Attendant. Ah ! one foot in the grave — Poor soul ! what business can be his so late ? Something, jDerchance, that frets his parting soul ; Some crime against the state he would disclose. {Enter ATTE^^DANT and Old Max. Ckomwell starts from his seat, but recovers himself, — the Attekdant u-ithdratos slowly. SCENE VI.] OLIVER CROMWELL. 55 Thou ? — speak ! what evil tidmgs dost thou bring ? Since Worcester-fight, 'tis scarcely six short years — We covenanted for seven. Why hast thou Come before thy time to scare me thus ? OLD MAN. Be calm — my errand is in mercy sent. I am not what thou thinkest, but a man As thou. I have deceived thee — done thee hurt — Haunted thy bed, thine hours of privacy ! And spoken evil things into thine ear. Playing the Devil, when I was but man. Enough — I have achieved the end I sought, Revenge. Thy sword hath wrought the most I craved. Blood of mine enemies. At Worcester-fight Thine arm was nerved with strong desire of rule ; Absolute rule, I promised should be thine ; And now I hear that sickness waits on thee, I come to bid thee turn to penitence. And seek for that forgiveness which thy crimes Stand much in need of ere it prove too late ! CROMWELL. Thanks, villain ! thanks. If this be true, and thou And I shall stand at one great judgment-seat. These practices of thine will find their meed — In the mean time we part — CuoMy^BLj^rises from his seat and takes a scroll of parch- ment out of a chest and flings it into the Jirc, then summons the Attendant xvho enters. — but, 'ere too late Seek thou the penitence thou counsel'st me ! OLD MAN. Forbear — my errand is in mercy — hence. 56 ' OLIVER CRO]MWELL. [act v. Farewell ! — my provocation none have known — Save God — may his compassion follow thee ! Thou doest well to bm-n that evil scroll. Adieu ! Attendant enters, and Old Man retires. CEOM^VELL. 'Tis maiTellous ! I know not what strange dreams And fancies sport with me — That villain's face Hath been familiar with my sleepless nights. When strange vagaries kept my vigils late. In years gone by — Methought I converse held With spirits — favoured thus with their approach, I did commune with them, as man to man — When all were sealed in slumber ! Was it but A gross deception practised on my sense By some forlorn and vengeance-seeking vn*etch — Who made my sword his own — to work his ends ? Never ! never could Cromwell thus be fooled By sorceries so foul ! — and yet what means This idle talk ? I know not — never shall ! Attendant enters. ATTEND AXT, My Lord ! a messenger from Hampton-Court, Brings tidings of the Lady Claypole's great And growing sickness. CROMWELL {greatly moved). Alas ! order my coach with speed ! I'll go {Exit Attendant To Hampton instantly ! Now bleeds my heart — My favourite child ! If God would spare but her ! scEXE VII.] OLIVER CROMWELL. 57 SCENE VII.— HAMPTON COURT. Lady Claypole on a sick Couch, her Husband and Cbomwell by her side. She takes her father s hand LADY CLAYPOLE. Father ! before I die, I must speak out — Excuse my freedom, 'tis a daughter's love — For thee 1 crav^e what God hath granted me. Repentance^ with forgiveness at the last ! If there be aught in thy past life amiss, A plague-spot left upon thine inmost heart. Oh ! seek for penitence, and pray for grace. Ere mercy's door be closed — for ever closed ! [Cbomwell appears greatly affected and trembles. Thy dying daughter craves this grace for thee ! [>S7te dies toith her hand inherfathefs. CLAYPOLE. Oh, is that death ? that gentle swoon ? — death ! death ! CROMWELL. Oh, God, my daughter ! CLAYPOLE. One more kiss — One last, fond kiss ! {^Kisses her — takes her hand ■ A\\ ! 'tis cold ; The chill of death is here ! CEOMWELL {putting his hand in his And here, at heart ! I soon shall follow her ! 58 OLIVER CROMWELL. [act v. SCENE YIIL— WHITEHALL. Ckomwell in bed, attended by ///s Physiciax, Wife, Sterry and GoDWYX, his Chaplains. —Richard Cromwell and other branches ofhisfamihj, besides Thurloe. CROMWELL Cto the Phtsician). What call ye my disorder ? PHYSICIAX. A double tertian, your Highness. CROMWELL. How bcalh my pulse ? PHYSICIAX. It intermits, my Lord. CR0:MWELL f turns pale). 'Twill soon be over then — raise me up — where's \_Tlicii raise him in bed. Sterry ? [Sterry advances. Now, tell me, is it possible To fall from Grace P STEERY. It is not possible. CROMWELL. Then / am safe — I know that I was once In grace. Xow let us j)ray for God's people. [He continues in i>raijer tcith STEBTiY,then fills into a doze. [Tlie wind is heard without, howling. THURLOE. How the wind howls ! — the old earth seems to shake By yon fierce hurricane, — 'twas such a storm As this the day King Charles upreared his flag At Nottingham. Oh ! 'twas a fearful storm ! The wind was full of lamentations dire. SCENE VIII.] OLIVER CROMWELL. bO Portentous of some evil to the land. And now this hurricane forehodes no good To England's Commonwealth. — September Third, Was Cromwell's day of fortune — September Third, his battles of Dunbar and Worcester ; The last he called his crowning mercy — now September Third — [Cromwell wakes. CROMWELL. God is good ! he will not leave me helpless ! [Physiciax offers him something to drink. I desire not to drink or sleep, but die ! \^He sinks again into a heavy shunhcr. LADY CROMWELL. Oh, God ! my poor husband needs thy help — oh, Give him an easy passage hence ! [STEKRYorwfZ GoDWYX lookeamcsthj into the heel and find him dead. Lady Crojiwell bursts into tears ; they all approach, iveeping. STERRY. Weep not ! nay, rather should we now rejoice ! He is with Christ ! THURLOE {to Richard Cromwell). On you the nation's hopes are fixed ! On you The Protectorship hath fallen. GODWYN. God bless the young Protector ! WAKEFIKLD : ILLIXGWORTH AND HICKS, TRINTERS, MARKET-PLACE. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. APR/ 2 11 DUE2WKSFR0Ml)A m-8,'71(P6347s4)-C-120 i 93 n^ '^'OTAiNd-iwv^ ^Wvyan'^ ^^ommv. iC.HDOADY/1. -^WF l'NIVFR.^/>, I Or %a3AINn I ^ 5 3 1158 00085 8562 UCLA-Young Research Library PR4879.L245 A17 1843 L 009 554 874 9 ^ so S 1 ir! UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY ^;OFCAIIFO%. <^^WEUNIVER% ^lOSAN ^<:?Aavaaii^^ ^Tii^oNVsm^ '^Aa]Al^ J '13DNVS01^ ^lOSANCElfj^^ "^AaaAINfl 3WV^ ^UIBRARYOc, ^^tllBR; ^ ^OFCALIF0/?;j[^ ^OFCAL ^ ^ "^/^aaAiNn-aw^ '^c'Aavaan-^^ ^