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 ^V^ vX.
 
 ROKEBY; 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 IN SIX CANTOS.
 
 It O K E B Y; 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER SCOTT, Esq. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 JOHN BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH ; 
 
 AND 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, LONDON 
 
 By James Ballantyne ayid Co. Edinburgh, 
 
 1813.
 
 ^ PR 
 
 A I 
 /8/3 
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN B. S. MORRITT, Esq. 
 
 THIS POEM, 
 
 THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE 
 
 OF ROKEBY, 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 41 f^-r^^. n'O^-Ci
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokehy, near Greta- 
 Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjacent fortress of 
 Batmard- Castle, and to other places in that vicinity » 
 
 The Time occujned by the Action is a space of Five Days, 
 three ofzvhich are supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth 
 and beginning of the Sixth Canto. 
 
 The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to 
 the great Battle of Marston'Moor,Sd July, 1644. This period 
 of public confusion has been chosen, xdthout any purpose of com- 
 bining the Fable with the Military or Political Events of the 
 Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the 
 Fictitious Narrative noiv presented to the Public.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CANTO 1 1 
 
 II 53 
 
 III 99 
 
 IV 151 
 
 V 203 
 
 VI. ; ^ 269 
 
 Notes to Canto I t i 
 
 Canto II XXV 
 
 Canto III , xli 
 
 Canto IV Ivii 
 
 Canto V. Ixvii 
 
 Canto VI cxiii
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO FIRST.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO FIRST, 
 
 The Moon is in her summer glow, 
 
 But hoarse and high the breezes blow, 
 
 And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
 
 Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 
 
 On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream, 
 
 She changes as a guilty dream, 
 
 When Conscience, with remorse and fear. 
 
 Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career.
 
 4 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Her light seem'd now the blush of shame, 
 Seem'd now fierce anger's darker flame, 
 Shiftmg that shade to come and go. 
 Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
 Then sorrow's livery dims the air, 
 And dies in darkness, like despair. 
 Such varied hues the warder sees 
 Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
 Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth, 
 Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 
 Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, 
 By fits the plashing rain-drop fall^ 
 Lists to the breeze's boding sound. 
 And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 
 
 H. 
 
 Those towers, which in the changefiil gleam 
 Throw murky shadows on the stream, 
 
 9
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 
 
 Those towers of Barnard hold a guest, 
 The emotions of whose troubled breast, 
 In wild and strange confusion driven. 
 Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
 Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied, 
 Oft had he changed his weary side, 
 Composed his limbs, and vainly sought 
 By eflbrt strong to banish thought. 
 Sleep came at length, but with a train 
 Of feehngs real and fancies vain. 
 Mingling, in wild disorder cast. 
 The expected future with the past. 
 Conscience, anticipating time, 
 Already rues the unacted crime, 
 And calls her furies forth, to shake 
 The sounding scourge and hissing snake ; 
 While her poor victim's outward throes 
 Bear witness to his mental woes.
 
 6 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 And shew what lesson may be read 
 Beside a sinner's restless bed, 
 
 IIL 
 Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace 
 Strange changes in his sleeping face, 
 Rapid and ominous as these 
 With which the moon-beams tinge the Tees* 
 There might be seen of shame the blush. 
 There anger's dark and fiercer flush, 
 While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
 Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 
 Relax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh, 
 The tear in the half-opening eye. 
 The pallid cheek and brow, confessed 
 That grief was busy in his breast ; 
 Nor paused that mood — a sudden start 
 Impelled the life-blood from the heart ;
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 7 
 
 Features convulsed, and mutterings dread, 
 Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead ; 
 That pang the painful slumber broke. 
 And Oswald with a start awoke. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He woke, and feared again to close 
 His eye-lids in such dire repose; 
 He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 
 From hour to hour the castle-bell. 
 Or listen to the owlet's cry. 
 Or the sad breeze that whistles by, 
 Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
 With which the warder cheats the time, 
 And envying think, how, when the sun 
 Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
 Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free. 
 He sleeps like careless infancy.
 
 8 ROKEBY. CANTO I, 
 
 V. 
 
 Far town-ward sounds a distant tread, 
 And Oswald, starting from his bed, 
 Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
 Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear, 
 Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, 
 Until it reached the castle-bank. 
 Now nigh and plain the sound appears, 
 The warder's challenge now he hears, 
 Then clanking chains and levers tell, 
 That o'er the moat the draw-bridge fell, 
 And, in the castle-court below, 
 Voices are heard, and torches glow, 
 As marshalling the stranger's way 
 Straight for the room where Oswald lay ; 
 The cry was, — " Tidings from the host, 
 Of weight — a messenger comes post." —
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 ROKEBY. 9 
 
 Stifling the tumult of his breast, 
 His answer Oswald thus expressed — 
 " Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
 Admit the stranger, and retire." — 
 
 VI. 
 
 The stranger came with heavy stride, 
 The morion's plumes his visage hide, 
 And the buff* coat, in ample fold. 
 Mantles his form's gigantic mould. 
 Full slender answer deigned he 
 To Oswald's anxious courtesy, 
 But marked, by a disdainful smile, 
 He saw and scorned the petty wile. 
 When Oswald changed the torch's place, 
 Anxious that on the soldier's face 
 Its partial lustre might be thrown, 
 To shew his looks, yet hide his own. 
 
 B
 
 10 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 His guest, the while, laid slow aside 
 The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide, 
 And to the torch glanced broad and clear 
 The corslet of a cuirassier ; 
 Then from his brows the casque he drew, 
 And from the dank plume dashed the dew, 
 From gloves of mail relieved his hands, 
 And spread them to the kindling brands, 
 And, turning to the genial board, 
 Without a health, or pledge, or word 
 Of meet and social reverence said, 
 Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ; 
 As free from ceremony's sway, 
 As famished wolf that tears his prey. 
 
 VII. 
 With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
 His host beheld him gorge his cheer.
 
 CANTO r. KOKEBY. 11 
 
 And quaff the ftill carouze that lent 
 
 His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
 
 Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
 
 Now paced the room with hasty stride. 
 
 In feverish agony to learn 
 
 Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
 
 Cursing each moment that his guest 
 
 Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. 
 
 Yet, viewing with alarm, at last, 
 
 The end of that uncouth repast. 
 
 Almost he seemed their haste to rue. 
 
 As, at his sign, his train withdrew, 
 
 And left him with the stranger, free 
 
 To question of his mystery. 
 
 Then did his silence long proclaim 
 
 A strviggle between fear and shame.
 
 12 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 VIII. 
 Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
 To justify suspicious fears. 
 On his dark face a scorching cKme, 
 And toil, had done the work of time, 
 Roughened the brow, the temples bared, 
 And sable hairs with silver shared. 
 Yet left — what age alone could tame — 
 The lip of pride, the eye of flame. 
 The full-drawn lip that upward curled, 
 The eye, that seemed to scorn the world. 
 That lip had terror never blanched ; 
 Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quenched 
 The flash severe of swarthy glow. 
 That mocked at pain, and knew not woe ; 
 Inured to danger's direst form, 
 Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, 
 
 12
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 13 
 
 Death had he seen by sudden blow, 
 By wasting plague, by tortures slow, 
 By mine or breach, by steel or ball. 
 Knew all his shapes, and scorned them all. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But yet, though Bertram's hardened look. 
 
 Unmoved, could blood and danger brook. 
 
 Still worse than apathy had place 
 
 On his swart brow and callous face ; 
 
 For evil passions, cherished long. 
 
 Had ploughed them with impressions strong. 
 
 All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
 
 Light folly, past with youth away, 
 
 But rooted stood, in manhood's hour. 
 
 The weeds of vice without their flower. 
 
 And yet the soil in which they grew. 
 
 Had it been tamed when life was new,
 
 14 ROKEBY. CANTO I, 
 
 Had depth and vigour to bring forth 
 The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
 Not that, e'en then, his heart had known 
 The gentler feehngs' kindly tone ; 
 But lavish waste had been refined 
 To bounty in his chastened mind, 
 And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
 Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
 And, frantic then no more, his pride 
 Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 
 
 X. 
 
 Even now, by conscience unrestrained. 
 Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained, 
 Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
 And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
 For meaner guilt, or heart less hard. 
 Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard.
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 
 
 And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
 He strove, by many a winding train, 
 To lure his sullen guest to show, 
 Unasked, the news he longed to know, 
 While on far other subject hung 
 His heart, than faultered from his tongue. 
 Yet nought for that his guest did deign 
 To note or spare his secret pain. 
 But still, in stern and stubborn sort. 
 Returned him answer dark and short, 
 Or started from the theme, to range 
 In loose digression wild and strange. 
 And forced the embarrassed host to buy, 
 By query close, direct reply. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Awhile he glozed upon the cause 
 Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws,
 
 16 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 And Church reformed — ^but felt rebuke 
 
 Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. 
 
 Then stammered — " Has a field been fought ? 
 
 Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 
 
 For sure a soldier, famed so far 
 
 In foreign fields for feats of war, 
 
 On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 
 
 Until the field were won or lost." — 
 
 " Here, in yovu' towers by circling Tees, 
 
 You, Oswald Wycliff, rest at ease ; 
 
 Why deem it strange that others come 
 
 To share such safe and easy home, 
 
 From fields where danger, death, and toil. 
 
 Are the reward of civil broil ?" — 
 
 — " Nay, mock not, friend ! — since well we know 
 
 The near advances of the foe. 
 
 To mar our northern army's work, 
 
 Encamped before beleaguered York ;
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. n 
 
 Thy horse with vahant Fairfax lay, 
 
 And must have fought— how went the day ?" 
 
 XII. 
 
 « Wouldst hear the tale ?— On Marston heath 
 Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 
 Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now 
 Fired was each eye, and flushed each brow ; 
 On either side loud clamours ring, 
 « God and the Cause !— God and the King !" 
 Right English all, they rushed to blows, 
 With nought to win, and all to lose. 
 I could have laughed— but lacked the time- 
 To see, in phrenesy sublime. 
 How the fierce zealots fought and bled, 
 For king or state, as humour led ; 
 Some for a dream of pubHc good. 
 Some for church-tippet, gown, and hood,
 
 18 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Draining their veins, in death to claim 
 A patriot's or a martyr's name.— 
 Led Bertram Risingham the hearts, 
 That comitered there on adverse parts. 
 No superstitious fool had I 
 Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 
 Chili had heard me through her states, 
 And Lima oped her silver gates, 
 Rich Mexico I had marched through, 
 And sacked the splendours of Peru, 
 Till sunk Pizarro's daring name. 
 And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame." 
 — " Still from the purpose wilt thou stray ! 
 Good gentle friend, how went the day?" 
 
 XIIL 
 
 — " Good am I deemed at trumpet-sound, 
 And good where goblets dance the round,
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 19 
 
 Though gentle ne'er was jomed, till now, 
 
 With rugged Bertram's breast and brow. — 
 
 But I resume. The battle's rage 
 
 Was like the strife which currents wage. 
 
 Where Orinoco, in his pride, 
 
 Rolls to the main no tribute tide. 
 
 But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 
 
 A rival sea of roaring war ; 
 
 While, in ten thousand eddies driven, 
 
 The billows fling then- foam to heaven, 
 
 And the pale pilot seeks m vain. 
 
 Where rolls the river, where the main. 
 
 Even thus, upon the bloody field, 
 
 The eddying tides of conflict wheeled 
 
 Ambiguous, till that heart of flame, 
 
 Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came, 
 
 Hurling against our spears a line 
 
 Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 
 
 12
 
 20 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal, 
 
 In zeal's despite began to reel. 
 
 What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult tost, 
 
 Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 
 
 A thousand men, who drew the sword 
 
 For both the Houses and the Word, 
 
 Preached forth from hamlet, grange, and down. 
 
 To curb the crosier and the crown. 
 
 Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched in gore. 
 
 And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 
 
 Thus fared it, when I left the fight, 
 
 With the good Cause and Commons' right." — 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Disastrous news !" dark Wycliffe said ; 
 Assumed despondence bent his head. 
 While troubled joy was in his eye. 
 The weU-feigned sorrow to belie. —
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 21 
 
 " Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 
 
 Told ye not that your chiefs were lost ? — 
 
 Complete the woeful tale, and say, 
 
 Who fell upon that fatal day ; 
 
 What leaders of repute and name 
 
 Bought by their death a deathless fame. 
 
 If such my direst foeman's doom. 
 
 My tears shall dew his honoured tomb. — 
 
 No answer ? — Friend, of all our host 
 
 Thou knowest whom I shoidd hate the most ; 
 
 Whom thou too once Avere wont to hate. 
 
 Yet leavest me doubtful of his fiite." — 
 
 With look unmoved, — " Of friend or foe. 
 
 Aught," answered Bertram, " wouldst thou know, 
 
 Demand in simple terms and plain, 
 
 A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; 
 
 For question dark, or riddle high, 
 
 I have nor judgment nor reply." 
 
 8
 
 22 
 
 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The wrath his art and fear suppressed, 
 Now blazed at once in WyclifFe's breast ; 
 And brave from man so meanly born, 
 Roused his hereditary scorn. 
 — " Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ? 
 Philip of Mortham, lives he yet ? 
 False to thy patron or thine oath, 
 Trait'rous or perjured, one or both. 
 Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise plight, 
 To slay thy leader in the fight ?" — 
 Then from his seat the soldier sprung. 
 And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ; 
 His grasp, as hard as glove of mail. 
 Forced the red blood-drop from the nail — 
 " A health !" he cried ; and, ere he quaffed. 
 Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laughed.
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 23 
 
 — " Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart ! 
 
 Now playest thou well thy genuine part ! 
 
 Worthy, but for thy craven fear, 
 
 Like me to roam a buccaneer. 
 
 What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 
 
 If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine ? 
 
 What carest thou for beleaguered York, 
 
 If this good hand have done its work ? 
 
 Or what though Fairfax and his best 
 
 Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, 
 
 If Philip Mortham with them lie. 
 
 Lending his life-blood to the dye ? — 
 
 Sit then ! and as mid comrades free 
 
 Carousing after victory, 
 
 When tales are told of blood and fear, 
 
 That boys and women shrink to hear, 
 
 From point to point I frankly tell 
 
 The deed of death as it befell.
 
 24 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " When purposed vengeance I forego, 
 
 Term nie a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 
 
 And when an insuh I forgive, 
 
 Then brand me as a slave, and live ! — 
 
 Philip of Mortham is with those 
 
 Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes; 
 
 Or whom more sure revenge attends. 
 
 If numbered with ungrateful friends. 
 
 As was his wont, ere battle glowed, 
 
 Along the marshalled ranks he rode. 
 
 And wore his vizor up the while. 
 
 I saw his melancholy smile. 
 
 When, full opposed in front, he knew 
 
 Where Rokeby's kindred banner flew. 
 
 " And thus," he said, " will friends divide !" — 
 
 I heard, and thought how, side by side. 
 
 We two had turned the battle's tide.
 
 cAivfTO I. ROKEBY. 25 
 
 In many a well-debated field, 
 
 Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 
 
 I thought on Darien's desarts pale, 
 
 Where death bestrides the evening gale. 
 
 How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 
 
 And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 
 
 I thought on Quariana's cliff. 
 
 Where, rescued from our foundering skiff, 
 
 Through the white breakers' wrath I bore 
 
 Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 
 
 And when his side an arrow found, 
 
 I sucked the Indian's venomed wound. 
 
 These thoughts like torrents rushed along, 
 
 To sweep away my purpose strong. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 '' Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent ; 
 Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 
 
 D
 
 26 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 When Mortliam bade me, as of yore, 
 
 Be near him in the battle's roar, 
 
 I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 
 
 I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 
 
 Lost was the war in inward strife, 
 
 Debating Mortham's death or life. 
 
 'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come 
 
 As partner of his wealth and home. 
 
 Years of piratic wandering o'er. 
 
 With him I sought our native shore. 
 
 But Mortham's lord grew far estranged 
 
 From the bold heart with whom he ranged ; 
 
 Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears. 
 
 Saddened and dimmed descending years ; 
 
 The wily priests their victim sought. 
 
 And damned each free-born deed and thought. 
 
 Then must I seek another home. 
 
 My license shook his sober dome; 
 
 10
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 27 
 
 If gold he gave, in one wild day 
 I revelled thrice the sum away. 
 An idle outcast then I strayed, 
 Unfit for tillage or for trade, 
 Deemed, like the steel of rusted lance. 
 Useless and dangerous at once. 
 The women feared my hardy look, 
 At my approach the peaceful shook ; 
 The merchant saw my glance of flame, 
 And locked his hoards when Bertram came ; 
 Each child of coward peace kept far 
 From the neglected son of war. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " But civil discord gave the call. 
 And made my trade the trade of all. 
 By Mortham urged, I came again 
 His vassals to the fight to train.
 
 28 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 What guerdon waited on my care ? 
 I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 
 Sour fanatics each trust obtained, 
 And I, dishonoin-ed and disdained, 
 Gained but the high and happy lot, 
 In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 
 All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell ; 
 Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well. 
 'Tis honour bids me now relate 
 Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Thoughts, fi'om the tongue that slowly part, 
 Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 
 As my spur pressed my courser's side, 
 Philip of Mortham's cause was tried. 
 And, ere the charging squadrons mixed, 
 His plea was cast, his doom was fixed. 
 
 2
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 29 
 
 I watched him through the doubtful fray, 
 
 That changed as March's moody day, 
 
 Till, like a stream that bursts its bank, 
 
 Fierce Rupert thundered on our flank. 
 
 'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 
 
 Where each man fought for death or life, 
 
 'Twas then I fired my petronel, 
 
 And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
 
 One dying look he upward cast, 
 
 Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last. 
 
 Think not that there I stopped to view 
 
 What of the battle should ensue ; 
 
 But ere I cleared that bloody press, 
 
 Our northern horse ran masterless , 
 
 Monckton and Mitton told the news. 
 
 How troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse, 
 
 And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 
 
 Spurring his palfrey northward, past,
 
 30 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
 First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. 
 Yet Avhen I reached the banks of Swale, 
 Had rumour learned another tale ; 
 With his barbed horse, fresh tidings say 
 Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day : 
 But whether false the news, or true, 
 Oswald, I reck as light as you," — 
 
 XX. 
 
 Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, 
 How his pride startled at the tone 
 In which his complice, fierce and free, 
 Asserted guilt's equality. 
 In smoothest terms his speech he wove. 
 Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 
 Promised and vowed in courteous sort, 
 But Bertram broke professions short.
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 31 
 
 " WycUfFe, be sure not here I stay, 
 No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
 Warned by the legends of my youth, 
 I trust not an associate's truth. 
 Do not my native dales prolong 
 Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
 Trained forward to his bloody fall, 
 By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall ? 
 Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side. 
 The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
 And near the spot that gave me name. 
 The moated mound of Risingham, 
 Where Reed upon her margin sees 
 Sweet Woodburn's cottages and trees, 
 Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
 An outlaw's image on the stone ; 
 Unmatched in strength, a giant he. 
 With quivered back, and kirtled knee.
 
 32 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 
 The tameless monarch of the wold, 
 And age and infancy can tell. 
 By brother's treachery he fell. — 
 Thus warned by legends of my youth, 
 I trust to no associate's truth. 
 
 XXL 
 
 " When last we reasoned of this deed, 
 Nought, I bethink me, was agreed. 
 Or by what rule, or when, or where, 
 The wealth of Mortham we should share ; 
 Then list, while I the portion name. 
 Our differing laws give each to claim. 
 Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne. 
 Her rules of heritage must own ; 
 They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
 Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair.
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. Z5 
 
 And these I yield : — do thou revere 
 The statutes of the buccaneer. 
 Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
 To all that on her waves are borne. 
 When falls a mate in battle broil, 
 His comrade heirs his portioned spoil; 
 When dies in fight a daring foe, 
 He claims his wealth who struck the blow; 
 And either rule to me assigns 
 Those spoils of Indian seas and mines, 
 Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark, 
 Ingot of gold and diamond spark, 
 Chalice and plate from churches borne, 
 And gems from shrieking beauty torn, 
 Each string of pearl, each silver bar, 
 And all the wealth of western war ; 
 I go to search, where, dark and deep. 
 Those trans-atlantic treasures sleep. 
 
 E
 
 34 llOKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Thou must along — for, lacking thee, 
 The heir will scarce find entrance free ; 
 And then farewell. I haste to try 
 Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 
 When cloyed each wish, these wars afford 
 Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 An undecided answer hung 
 On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
 Despite his craft, he heard with awe 
 This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
 AVhile his own troubled passions veer 
 Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear ; — 
 Joyed at the soul that Bertram flies, 
 He grudged the murderer's mighty prize, 
 Hated his pride's presumptuous tone, 
 And feared to wend with him alone.
 
 CANTO I. 11 K E B Y . 3 
 
 At length, that middle course to steer. 
 
 To cowardice and craft so dear, 
 
 " His charge," he said, " would ill allow 
 
 His absence from the fortress now ; 
 
 WiL^EiD on Bertram should attend, 
 
 His son should journey with his friend." — 
 
 XXHI. 
 
 Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 
 
 And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 
 
 " Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me, 
 
 Which ever bears the golden key. 
 
 Yet thmk not but I mark, and smile 
 
 To mark thy poor and selfish wile ! 
 
 If injury from me you fear, 
 
 What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here ? 
 
 I've sprung from walls more high than these, 
 
 I've swam through deeper streams than Tees.
 
 36 ROKEBY. CANTO T. 
 
 Might I not stab thee, ere one yell 
 
 Could rouse the distant centinel ? 
 
 Start not — it is not my design, 
 
 But, if it were, weak fence were thine ; 
 
 And, trust me, that, in time of need. 
 
 This hand hath done more desperate deed. — 
 
 Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; 
 
 Time calls, and I must needs be gone."— 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Nought of his sire's ungenerous part 
 Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 
 A heart, too soft from early life 
 To hold with fortune needftil strife. 
 His sire, while yet a hardier race 
 Of numerous sons were WyclifTe's grace, 
 On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand. 
 For feeble heart and forceless hand ;
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 37 
 
 But a fond mother's care and joy 
 Were centered in her sickly boy. 
 No touch of childhood's frolic mood 
 Shewed the elastic spring of blood ; 
 Hour after hour he loved to pore 
 On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore, 
 But turned from martial scenes and light, 
 From FalstafFs feast and Percy's fight, 
 
 To ponder Jaques' moral strain. 
 
 And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain ; 
 
 And weep himself to soft repose 
 
 O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 In youth, he sought not pleasures found 
 By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound, 
 But loved the quiet joys that wake 
 By lonely stream and silent lake ;
 
 38 ROKEBV. CANTO I. 
 
 In Deepdale's solitude to lie, 
 Where all is cliff, and copse, and sky ; 
 To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak, 
 Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 
 Such Avas his wont ; and there his dream 
 Soared on some wild fantastic theme, 
 Of faithful love, or ceaseless Spring, 
 Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
 The enthusiast could no more sustain, 
 And sad he sunk to earth again. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 He loved — as many a lay can tell. 
 Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell ; 
 For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 
 The art unteachable, untaught ; 
 He loved — ^liis soul did natvire frame 
 For love, and fancy nursed the flame;
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 39 
 
 Vainly he loved — for seldom swain 
 Of such soft mould is loved again ; 
 Silent he loved — in every gaze 
 Was passion, friendship in his phrase. 
 So mused his life away — till died 
 His brethren all, their father's pride. 
 Wilfrid is now the only heir 
 Of all his stratagems and care, 
 And destined, darkling, to pursue 
 Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
 Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight. 
 To love her was an easy hest, 
 The secret empress of his breast ; 
 To woo her was a harder task 
 To one that durst not hope or ask ;
 
 40 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Yet all Matilda could, she gave 
 In pity to her gentle slave ; 
 Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, 
 And praise, the poet's best reward ! 
 She read the tales his taste approved, 
 And sung the lays he framed or loved ;. 
 Yet, loth to nurse the fatal flame 
 Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
 In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
 The favouring glance to friendship due, 
 Then grieved to see her victim's pain. 
 And gave the dangerous smiles again. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 So did the suit of Wilfrid stand, 
 When war's loud summons waked the land. 
 Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
 The woe-foreboding peasant sees ;
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 41 
 
 In concert oft they braved of old 
 The bordering Scot's incursion bold ; 
 Frowning defiance in their pride, 
 Their vassals now and lords divide. 
 From his fair hall on Greta banks, 
 The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks, 
 To aid the valiant northern Earls, 
 Who drew the sword for royal Charles ; 
 Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 
 His sister had been Rokeby's bride, 
 Though long before the civil fray 
 In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 
 Phihp of Mortham raised his band. 
 And marched at Fairfax's command ; 
 While WyclifFe, bound by many a train 
 Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
 Less prompt to brave the bloody field. 
 Made Barnard's battlements his shield,
 
 42 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 Secured them with his Lunedale powers, 
 And for the Commons held the towers. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The lovely heir of Rokeby's knight 
 Waits in his halls the event of fight ; 
 For England's war revered the claim 
 Of every unprotected name, 
 And spared, amid its fiercest rage. 
 Childhood and womanhood and age. 
 But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 
 Must the dear privilege forego 
 By Greta's side, in evening grey. 
 To steal vipon Matilda's way, 
 Striving, with fond hypocrisy. 
 For careless step and vacant eye ; 
 Calming each anxious look and glance. 
 To give the meeting all to chance.
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 
 
 Or framing as a fair excuse, 
 
 The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
 
 Something to give, to sing, to say. 
 
 Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 
 
 Then, while the longed-for minutes last,— 
 
 Ah ! minutes quickly over past ! — 
 
 Recording each expression free. 
 
 Of kind or careless courtesy. 
 
 Each friendly look, each softer tone, 
 
 As food for fancy when alone. 
 
 All this is o'er— but, still unseen, 
 
 Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green. 
 
 To watch Matilda's wonted round. 
 
 While springs his heart at every sound. 
 
 She comes !— 'tis but a passing sight, 
 
 Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
 
 She comes not — He will wait the hour, 
 
 When her lamp lightens in the tower ;
 
 44 ROKEBY. CANTO T. 
 
 'Tis something yet, if, as she past, 
 Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
 « What is my hfe, my hope ?" he said ; 
 " Alas ! a transitory shade." — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
 For mastery in vain with love. 
 Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
 Of present woe and ills to come, 
 While still he turned impatient ear 
 From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
 Gentle, indifferent, and subdued. 
 In all but this, unmoved he viewed 
 Each outward change of ill and good : 
 But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
 
 Was Fancy's spoiled and wayward child ; 
 
 7
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 45 
 
 In her bright car she bade him ride, 
 With one fair form to grace his side, 
 Or, in some wild and lone retreat, 
 Flung her high spells around his seat. 
 Bathed in her dews his languid head. 
 Her fairy mantle o'er him spread ; 
 For him her opiates gave to flow. 
 Which he who tastes can ne'er forego, 
 And placed him in her circle, free 
 From every stern reality, 
 Till, to the Visionary, seem 
 Her day-dreams trvith, and truth a dream. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains, 
 Winnins" from Reason's hand the reins, 
 Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
 Is soft, contemplative, and kind ;
 
 46 ROKEBY. CANTO I. 
 
 And woe to those who train such youth, 
 And spare to press the rights of truth, 
 The mind to strengthen and anneal, 
 While on the stithy glows the steel ! 
 O teach him, while your lessons last. 
 To judge the present by the past ; 
 Remind him of each wish pursued. 
 How rich it glowed with promised good : 
 Remind him of each wish enjoyed, 
 How soon his hopes possession cloyed ! 
 
 Tell him, we play unequal game. 
 
 Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ; 
 
 And, ere he strip him for her race. 
 
 Shew the conditions of the chace. 
 
 Two Sisters by the goal are set, 
 
 Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
 
 One disenchants the winner s eyes. 
 
 And strips of all its worth the prize, 
 
 12
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 47 
 
 While one augments its gaudy show. 
 More to enhance the loser's woe. 
 The victor sees his fairy gold 
 Transformed, when won, to drossy mold, 
 But still the vanquished mourns his loss, 
 And rues, as gold, that glittering dross, 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 More wouldst thou know — yon tower survey. 
 Yon couch unpressed since parting day, 
 Yon un trimmed lamp, whose yellow gleam 
 Is mingling with the cold moon-beam, 
 And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 
 On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 
 The head reclined, the loosened hair, 
 The limbs relaxed, the mournful air. — 
 See, he looks up ; — a woeful smile 
 Lightens his woe-worn cheek a while, —
 
 48 ROKEBY. CANTO 1. 
 
 'Tis Fancy wakes some idle thought, 
 To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 
 For, like the bat of Indian brakes, 
 Her pinions fan the wound she makes, 
 And, soothing thus the dreamer's pain, 
 She drinks his life-blood from the vein* 
 Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 
 Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
 The moon with clouds is still o'ercast, 
 Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
 Another hour must wear away, 
 Ere the East kindle into day, 
 And, hark ! to waste that weary hour, 
 He tries the minstrel's magic power.
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 ROKEBY. 49 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 SONG, 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 
 
 Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
 Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream 
 
 Lend to thy brow their sullen dye ! 
 How should thy pure and peaceful eye 
 
 Untroubled view our scenes below, 
 Or how a tearless beam supply 
 
 To light a world of war and woe ! 
 
 Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 
 
 As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
 Each little cloud that dimmed thy brow 
 
 Did then an angel's beauty hide.
 
 50 ROKEBY. CANTO I, 
 
 And of the shades I then could chide, 
 Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 
 
 For, while a softer strain I tried, 
 
 They hid my blush, and calmed my fear. 
 
 Then did I swear thy ray serene 
 
 Was formed to light some lonely dell, 
 By two fond lovers only seen. 
 
 Reflected from the crystal well ; 
 Or sleeping on their mossy cell. 
 
 Or quivering on the lattice bright. 
 Or glancing on their couch, to tell 
 
 How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 He starts — a step at this lone hour ! 
 
 A voice ! — his father seeks the tower, 
 
 8
 
 CANTO I. ROKEBY. 51 
 
 With haggard look and troubled sense. 
 
 Fresh from his dreadful conference. 
 
 " Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep addressed ? 
 
 Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
 
 Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor ; 
 
 Bertram brings warrant to secure 
 
 His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 
 
 For the state's use and public good. 
 
 The menials will thy voice obey ; 
 
 Let his commission have its way, 
 
 In every point, in every word." — 
 
 Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword ! 
 
 Bertram is — what I must not tell. 
 
 I hear his hasty step — farewell !" 
 
 END OF CANTO FIEST.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO SECOND.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Far in the chambers of the west, 
 The gale had sighed itself to rest ; 
 The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
 But pale, and soon to disappear. 
 The thin grey clouds waxed dimly light 
 On Brusleton and Houghton height ; 
 And the rich dale, that eastward lay, 
 Waited the wakening touch of day,
 
 56 ROKEBY. canto ir. 
 
 To give its woods and cviltured plain, 
 And towers and spires, to light again. 
 But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell. 
 And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
 And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
 And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
 While, as a livelier twilight falls, 
 Emerge proud Barnard's bannered walls. 
 High crowned he sits, in dawning pale, 
 The sovereign of the lovely vale. 
 
 IL 
 
 What prospects, from his watch-tower high, 
 Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! — 
 Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
 Down his deep woods the course of Tees, 
 And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
 Of summer vapours from the stream ; 
 
 2
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 57 
 
 And ere he pace his destined hour 
 
 By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower, 
 
 These silver mists shall melt away, 
 
 And dew the woods with glittering spray. 
 
 Then in broad lustre shall be shewn 
 
 That mighty trench of living stone, 
 
 And each huge trunk that, fi'om the side, 
 
 Reclines him o'er the darksome tide, 
 
 Where Tees, full many a fathom low. 
 
 Wears with his rage no common foe; 
 
 For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, 
 
 Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career, 
 
 Condemned to mine a channelled way, 
 
 O'er solid sheets of marble grey. 
 
 III. 
 
 Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright. 
 Shall rush upon the ravished sight ; 
 
 H
 
 58 ROKEBY. " CANTO II. 
 
 Bvit many a tributary stream 
 
 Each from its own dark dell shall gleam : 
 
 Staindrop, who, in her sylvan course, 
 
 Beholds proud Raby's battled force ; 
 
 The rural brook of Eglistone, 
 
 And Balder, named from Odin's son ; 
 
 And Greta, to whose banks ere long 
 
 We lead the lovers of the song ; 
 
 And silver Lune, from Stanemore wild, 
 
 And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring child, 
 
 And last and least, but loveliest still. 
 
 Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 
 
 Who in that dim- wood glen hath strayed, 
 
 Yet longed for Roslin's magic glade ? 
 
 Who, wandering there, hath sought to change 
 
 Even for that vale so stern and strange, 
 
 Where Cartland's crags, fantastic rent. 
 
 Through her green copse like spires are sent ? 
 
 12
 
 CANTO II. HOKE BY. 59 
 
 Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, 
 
 Thy scenes and story to combine ! 
 
 Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays, 
 
 List to the deeds of other days ; 
 
 'Mid Cartland's crags thou showest the cave. 
 
 The refuge of thy champion brave ; 
 
 Giving each rock its storied tale, 
 
 Pouring a lay for every dale, 
 
 Knitting, as with a moral band, 
 
 Thy native legends with thy land, 
 
 To lend each scene the interest high 
 
 Which genius beams from beauty's eye. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bertram awaited not the sight 
 Which sun-rise shews from Barnard's height, 
 But from the towers, preventing day, 
 With Wilfrid took his early way.
 
 eo ROKEBY. CANTO II. 
 
 While misty dawn, and moon-beam pale, 
 
 Still mingled in the silent dale. 
 
 By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, 
 
 The southern bank of Tees they won ; 
 
 Their winding path then eastward cast. 
 
 And Eglistone's grey ruins past. 
 
 Each on his own deep visions bent. 
 
 Silent and sad they onward went ; 
 
 Well may you think that Bertram's mood 
 
 To Wilfrid savage seemed and rude ; 
 
 Well may you think bold Risingham 
 
 Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 
 
 And small the intercourse, I ween, 
 
 Such uncongenial souls between. 
 
 V. 
 
 Stern Bertram shunned the nearer way. 
 Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay,
 
 CANTO ir. ROKEBY. 61 
 
 And, skirting high the valley's ridge, 
 They crossed by Greta's ancient bridge, 
 Descending where her waters wind 
 Free for a space and vmconfined, 
 As, 'scaped fi'om Brignal's dark wood glen, 
 She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 
 There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound, 
 Raised by that Legion long renowned. 
 Whose votive shrine asserts their claim. 
 Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 
 '' Stern sons of war !" sad Wilfrid sighed, 
 " Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
 What now of all vour toils are known ? 
 A grassy trench, a broken stone !" — 
 This to himself; for moral strain 
 
 To Bertram were addressed in vain. 
 
 7
 
 62 ROKEBY. CANTO II. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
 Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high 
 Were northward in the dawning seen 
 To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
 O then, though Spenser's self had strayed 
 Beside him through the lovely glade. 
 Lending his rich luxuriant glow 
 Of fancy, all its charms to show, 
 Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 
 As captive set at liberty. 
 Flashing her sparkling waves abroad, 
 And clamouring joyful on her road; 
 Pointing where, up the sunny banks. 
 The trees retire in scattered ranks. 
 Save where, advanced before the rest. 
 On knoll or hillock rears his crest,
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 63 
 
 Lonely and huge, the giant Oak ; 
 As champions, when their band is broke, 
 Stand forth to guard the rearward post, 
 The bulwark of the scattered host — 
 All this, and more, might Spenser say, 
 Yet waste in vain his magic lay, 
 Wliile Wilfrid eyed the distant tower. 
 Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower^ 
 
 VIL 
 
 The open vale is soon past o'er, 
 Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ; 
 Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
 A wild and darker course they keep, 
 A stern and lone, yet lovely road. 
 As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode ! 
 Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, 
 Deeper and narrower grew the dell ;
 
 64 ROKEBY. CANTO ir. 
 
 It seemed some momitain, rent and riven, 
 A channel for the stream had given, 
 So high the cliffs of limestone grey- 
 Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, 
 Yielding, along their rugged base, 
 A flinty footpath's niggard space. 
 Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, 
 May hear the headlong torrent rave, 
 And like a steed in frantic fit. 
 That flings the froth from curb and bit. 
 May view her chafe her waves to spray, 
 O'er every rock that bars her way. 
 Till foam-globes on her eddies ride. 
 Thick as the schemes of human pride, 
 That down life's current drive amain, 
 As frail, as frothy, and a$ vain !
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 ROKEBY. 65 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The cliffs, that rear the haughty head 
 High o'er the river's darksome bed, 
 Were now all naked, wild, and grey. 
 Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
 Here trees to every crevice clung. 
 And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
 And there, all splintered and uneven, 
 The shivered rocks ascend to heaven; 
 Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast, 
 And wreathed its garland round their crest, 
 Or from the spires bade loosely flare 
 Its tendrils in the middle air. 
 As pennons wont to wave of old 
 O'er the high feast of Baron bold, 
 When revelled loud the feudal rout. 
 And the arched halls returned their shout,
 
 66 ROKEBY. CANTO ii. 
 
 Sucli and more wild is Greta's roar, 
 And such the echoes from her shore, 
 And so the ivied banners gleam. 
 Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now from the stream the rocks recede, 
 
 But leave between no sunny mead, 
 
 No, nor the spot of pebbly sand, 
 
 Oft found by such a mountain strand, 
 
 Forming such warm and dry retreat. 
 
 As fancy deems the lonely seat. 
 
 Where hermit, wandering from his cell, 
 
 His rosary might love to tell. 
 
 But here, 'twixt rock and river grew 
 
 A dismal grove of sable yew. 
 
 With whose sad tints were mingled seen 
 
 The blighted fir's sepulchral green.
 
 ROKEBY. 67 
 
 Seemed that the trees their shadows cast 
 The earth that nourished them to blast, 
 For never knew that swarthy grove 
 
 The verdant hue that fairies love ; 
 
 Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower. 
 
 Arose within its balefid bower ; 
 
 The dank and sable earth receives 
 
 Its only carpet from the leaves, 
 
 That, from the withering branches cast, 
 
 Bestrewed the ground with every blast. 
 
 Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 
 
 In this dark spot 'twas twilight still, 
 
 Save that on Greta's farther side 
 
 Some straggling beams through copse-wood glide. 
 
 And wild and savage contrast made 
 
 That dingle's deep and funeral shade, 
 
 With the bright tints of early day. 
 
 Which, glimmering through the ivy spray, 
 
 On the opposing summit lay.
 
 68 ROKEBY. CANTO II. 
 
 X. 
 
 The lated peasant shunned the dell, 
 
 For Superstition wont to tell 
 
 Of many a grisly sound and sight, 
 
 Searing its path at dead of night. 
 
 When Christmas logs blaze high and wide. 
 
 Such wonders speed the festal tide, 
 
 While Curiosity and Fear, 
 
 Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near, 
 
 Till childhood's cheek no longer glows. 
 
 And village maidens lose the rose. 
 
 The thrilling interest rises higher, 
 
 The circle closes nigh and nigher, 
 
 And shuddering glance is cast behind, 
 
 As louder moans the wintry wind. 
 
 Believe, that fitting scene was laid 
 
 For such wild tales in Mortham glade ;
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 69 
 
 For who had seen on Greta's side, 
 
 By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 
 
 In such a spot, at such an hour, — 
 
 If touched by Superstition's power, 
 
 Might well have deemed that Hell had given 
 
 A murderer's ghost to upper heaven, 
 
 While Wilfiid's form had seemed to glide 
 
 Like his pale victim by his side. 
 
 XL 
 
 Nor think to village swains alone 
 Are these unearthly terrors known ; 
 For not to rank nor sex confined 
 Is this vain ague of the mind. 
 Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
 'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barred. 
 Have quaked like aspen leaves in May, 
 Beneath its universal sway.
 
 70 ROKEBY. CANTO ii. 
 
 Bertram had listed many a tale 
 
 Of wonder in his native dale, 
 
 That in his secret soul retained 
 
 The credence they in childhood gained ; 
 
 Nor less his wild adventurous youth 
 
 Believed in every legend's truth, 
 
 Learned when beneath the tropic gale 
 
 Full swelled the vessel's steady sail, 
 
 And the broad Indian moon her light 
 
 Poured on the watch of middle night, 
 
 When seamen love to hear and tell 
 
 Of portent, prodigy, and spell ; 
 
 What gales are sold on Lapland's shore. 
 
 How whistle rash bids tempests roar. 
 
 Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite. 
 
 Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ; 
 
 Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form 
 
 Shoots like a meteor through the storm.
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 71 
 
 When the dark scud comes driving hard^ 
 And lowered is every topsail yard. 
 And canvass, wove in earthly looms, 
 No more to brave the storm presumes ! 
 Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky, 
 Top and top-gallant hoisted high, 
 Full-spread and crowded every sail, 
 The Daemon-frigate braves the gale ; 
 And well the doomed spectators know 
 The harbinger of wreck and woe. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then too were told, in stifled tone. 
 Marvels and omens all their own ; 
 How, by some desart isle or key, 
 Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty. 
 Or where the savage pij^ate's mood 
 
 Repaid it home in deeds of blood, 
 
 12
 
 72 ROKEBY. CANTO II. 
 
 Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
 Appalled the listening buccaneer, 
 Whose light-armed shallop anchored lay 
 In ambush by the lonely bay. 
 The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
 Ring from the moon-light groves of cane ; 
 The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
 Who wearies memory for a prayer, 
 Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
 Of early morning lifts the sail. 
 To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
 A legend for another bay. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus, as a man, a youth, a child, 
 Trained in the mystic and the wild. 
 With this on Bertram's soul at times 
 Rushed a dark feehng of his crimes ;
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 73 
 
 Such to his troubled soul their form, 
 
 As the pale death-ship to the storm. 
 
 And such their omen dim and dread, 
 
 As shrieks and voices of the dead. 
 
 That pang, whose transitory force 
 
 Hovered 'twixt hon'or and remorse; 
 
 That pang, perchance, his bosom pressed, 
 
 As Wilfi'id sudden he addressed. 
 
 " Wilfrid, this glen is never trod 
 
 Until the sun rides high abroad. 
 
 Yet twice have I beheld to-day 
 
 A form that seemed to dog our way; 
 
 Twice from my glance it seemed to flee, 
 
 And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 
 
 How think'st thou ? — is our path way-laid. 
 
 Or hath thy sire my trust betrayed ? 
 
 If so" — Ere, starting from his di'eam, 
 
 That turned upon a gentler theme.
 
 74 ROKEBY. CANTO ii. 
 
 Wilfrid had roused him to reply, 
 Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 
 " Whatever thou art, thou now shalt stand !" 
 And forth he darted, sword in hand. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 As bursts the levin in its wrath, 
 
 He shot him down the sounding path 
 
 Rock, wood, and stream, rung wildly out, 
 
 To his loud step and savage shout. 
 
 Seems that the object of his race 
 
 Hath scaled the cliffs ; his frantic chace 
 
 Sidelong he turns, and now *tis bent 
 
 Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 
 
 Straining each sinew to ascend. 
 
 Foot, hand, and knee their aid must lend. 
 
 Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay. 
 
 Views from beneath his dreadful way ;
 
 CANTO ij. ROKEBY. 75 
 
 Now to the oak's warped roots he dings. 
 Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 
 Now, hke the wild goat, must he dare 
 An unsupported leap in air; 
 Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 
 You mark him by the crashing bough, 
 And by his corslet's sullen clank, 
 And by the stones spurned from the bank, 
 And by the hawk scared from her nest^ 
 And ravens croaking o'er their guest. 
 Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 
 The tribute of his bold essay. 
 
 XV. 
 
 See, he emerges ! — desperate now 
 
 All farther course — yon beetling brow, 
 
 In craggy nakedness sublime. 
 
 What heart or foot shall dare to climb ?
 
 76 ROKEBY. canto ir. 
 
 It bears no tendril for his clasp^ 
 
 Presents no angle to his grasp ; 
 
 Sole stay his foot may rest upon, 
 
 Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
 
 Balanced on such precarious prop, 
 
 He strains his grasp to reach the top. 
 
 Just as the dangerous stretch he makes, 
 
 By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes ! 
 
 Beneath his tottering bulk it bends, 
 
 It sways, it loosens, it descends ! 
 
 And downward holds its headlong way. 
 
 Crashing o'er rock and copse- wood spray. 
 
 Loud thunders shake the echoing dell ! — 
 
 Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 
 
 Just on the very verge of fate. 
 
 The hardy Bertram's falling weight 
 
 He trusted to his sinewy hands, 
 
 And on the top unharmed he stands !
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 77 
 
 XVL 
 
 Wiljfrid a safer path pursued, 
 At intervals where, roughly hewed. 
 Rude steps ascending from the dell 
 Rendered the cliffs accessible. 
 By circuit slow he thus attained 
 The height that Risingham had gained, 
 And when he issued from the wood. 
 Before the gate of Mortham stood. 
 'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 
 On battled tower and poital grey, 
 And from the grassy slope he sees 
 The Greta flow to meet the Tees, 
 Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
 She caught the morning's eastern red. 
 And through the softening vale below 
 Rolled her bright waves in rosy glow.
 
 78 ROKEBY. CANTO u. 
 
 All blushing to her bridal bed, 
 Like some shy maid in convent bred, 
 While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay^ 
 Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 
 
 XVII. 
 'Twas sweetly sung that roundelay. 
 That summer morn shone blithe and gay ; 
 But morning beam, and wild bird's caU, 
 Awaked not Mortham's silent hall. 
 No porter, by the low-browed gate, 
 Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
 To the paved court no peasant drew. 
 Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 
 The maiden's carol was not heard, 
 As to her morning task she fared ; 
 In the void offices around. 
 Rung not a hoof, nor bayed a hound,
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 79 
 
 Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh, 
 Accused the lagging groom's delay ; 
 Untrimmed, undressed, neglected now. 
 Was alley'd walk and orchard bough ; 
 All spoke the master's absent care, 
 All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
 South of the gate an arrow-flight. 
 Two mighty elms their limbs unite, 
 As if a canopy to spread 
 O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
 For their huge boughs in arches bent 
 Above a massive monument. 
 Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise. 
 With many a scutcheon and devise : 
 There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
 Bertram stood pondering by the tomb.
 
 80 ROKEBY. CANTO II. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " It vanished, like a flitting ghost ! 
 Behind this tomb," he said, " 'twas lost — 
 This tomb, where oft I deemed, lies stored 
 Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoard. 
 'Tis true, the aged servants said 
 Here his lamented wife is laid ; 
 But weightier reasons may be guessed 
 For their lord's strict and stern behest, 
 That none should on his steps intrude. 
 Whene'er he sought this solitude. — 
 An ancient mariner I knew. 
 What time I sailed with Morgan's crew, 
 Who oft, 'mid our carousals, spake 
 Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake ; 
 Adventurous hearts ! who bartered bold 
 Their English steel for Spanish gold.
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 
 
 Trust not, would his experience say, 
 Captain or comrade with your prey ; 
 But seek some charnel, when, at full, 
 The moon gilds skeleton and skull. 
 There dig and tomb your precious heap, 
 And bid the dead your treasure keep; 
 Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
 Their service to the task compel. 
 Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a slave, 
 Or prisoner, on the treasure-grave ; 
 And bid his discontented ghost 
 Stalk nightly on his lonely post. — 
 Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween, 
 Is in my morning vision seen." — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Wilfrid, who scorned the legend wild, 
 In mingled mirth and pity smiled, 
 
 81
 
 82 ROKEBY. CANTO II. 
 
 Mucli marvelling that a breast so bold 
 
 In such fond tale belief should hold ; 
 
 But yet of Bertram sought to know 
 
 The apparition's form and show. — 
 
 The power within the guilty breast, 
 
 Oft vanquished, never quite suppressed, 
 
 That unsubdued and lurking lies 
 
 To take the felon by svirprise, 
 
 And force him, as by magic spell. 
 
 In his despite his guilt to tell, — 
 
 That power in Bertram's breast awoke; 
 
 Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke : 
 
 " 'Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head ! 
 
 His morion with the plume of red, 
 
 His shape, his mien — 'twas Mortham right. 
 
 As when I slew him in the fight."— 
 
 — " Thou slay him? — thou?" — With conscious start 
 
 He heard, then manned his haughty heart. —
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 83 
 
 — " I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot, 
 Thou, stripHng, knewest not of the plot. 
 But it is spoken — nor will I 
 Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 
 I slew him, I ! for thankless pride ; 
 'Twas by this hand that Mortham died." — 
 
 XX. 
 
 Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 
 
 Averse to every active part. 
 
 But most averse to martial broil, 
 
 From danger shrunk, and turned fi'om toil ; 
 
 Yet the meek lover of the lyre 
 
 Nvu'sed one brave spark of noble fire ; 
 
 Against injustice, fraud, or wrong, 
 
 His blood beat high, his hand waxed strong. 
 
 Not his the nerves that could sustain. 
 
 Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain ;
 
 84 ROKEBY. CANTO ir. 
 
 But when that spark blazed forth to flame, 
 He rose superior to his frame. 
 And now it came, that generous moodi 
 And, in full current of his blood, 
 On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 
 Placed firm his foot, and drew his brand. 
 " Should every fiend to whom thou'rt sold, 
 Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 
 Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 
 Attach the murderer of your Lord !" — 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A moment, fixed as by a spell. 
 Stood Bertram — it seemed miracle. 
 That one so feeble, soft, and tame. 
 Set grasp on warlike Risingham. 
 But when he felt a feeble stroke, 
 The fiend within the ruffian woke !
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 85 
 
 To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand, 
 
 To dash him headlong on the sand, 
 
 Was but one moment's work, — one more 
 
 Had drenched the blade in Wilfrid's gore ; 
 
 But, in the instant it arose, 
 
 To end his life, his love, his woes, 
 
 A warlike Form, that marked the scene, 
 
 Presents his rapier sheathed between. 
 
 Parries the fast-descending blow. 
 
 And, steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 
 
 Nor then unscabbarded his brandy 
 
 But, sternly pointing with his hand, 
 
 With monarch's voice forbade the fight, 
 
 And motioned Bertram from his sight. 
 
 « Go, and repent,"— he said, " while time 
 
 Is given thee ; add not crime to crime." —
 
 S6 KOKEBY. CANTO ir. 
 
 XXIL 
 
 Mute and uncertain and amazed, 
 
 As on a vision Bertram gazed ! 
 
 'Twas Mortliam's bearing bold and high, 
 
 His sinewy frame, his falcon eye, 
 
 His look and accent of command, 
 
 The martial gesture of his hand. 
 
 His stately form, spare-built and tall, 
 
 His war-bleached locks— 'twas Mortham all. 
 Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 
 A thousand thoughts, and all of fear; 
 His wavering faith received not quite 
 The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 
 But more he feared it, if it stood 
 His lord, in living flesh and blood — 
 What spectre can the charnel send, 
 So dreadM as an injured friend ?
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 87 
 
 Then, too, the habit of command, 
 
 Used by the leader of the band, 
 
 When Risingham, for many a day, 
 
 Had marched and fought beneath his sway. 
 
 Tamed him — and, with reverted face, 
 
 Backwards he bore his sullen pace. 
 
 Oft stopped, and oft on Mortham stared, 
 
 An^dark as rated mastiff glared ; 
 
 But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 
 
 Plunged in the glen, and disappeared. 
 
 Nor longer there the Warrior stood, 
 
 Retiring eastward through the wood ; 
 
 But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 
 
 -' Tell thou to none that Mortham lives." — 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Still rimg these words in Wilfi^id's ear, 
 Hinting he knew not what of fear,
 
 88 ROKEBY. CANTO ir. 
 
 When nearer came the coursers' tread, 
 
 And, with his father at their head, 
 
 Of horsemen armed a gallant power 
 
 Reined up their steeds before the tower. 
 
 "Whence these pale looks, my son?" he said: 
 
 ^^ Where's Bertram ? why that naked blade ?' - 
 
 Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 
 
 (For Mortham's charge his honour tied) 
 
 " Bertram is gone— the villain's word 
 
 Avouched him murderer of his lord ! 
 
 Even now we fought — ^but, when your tread 
 
 Announced you nigh, the felon fled." — 
 
 In WyclifFe's conscious eye appear 
 
 A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 
 
 On his pale brow the dew-drop broke, 
 
 And his lip quivered as he spoke.
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY, 89 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " A murderer ! — Philip Mortham died 
 Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
 Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you ! 
 Yet grant such strange confession true, 
 Pursuit were vain — let him fly far — 
 Justice must sleep in civil war." — 
 A gallant Youth rode near his side, 
 Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
 That morn, an embassy of weight 
 He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
 And followed now in WyclifFe's train, 
 An answer for his lord to gain. 
 His steed, whose arched and sable neck 
 An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck. 
 Chafed not against the curb more high 
 Than he at Oswald's cold reply; 
 
 M
 
 90 ROKEBY. CANTO II. 
 
 He bit his lip, implored his saint, 
 
 (His the old faith) — then burst restraint. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Yes ! — I beheld his bloody fall, 
 
 By that base traitor s dastard ball. 
 
 Just when I thought to measure sword, 
 
 Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
 
 And shall the murderer 'scape, who slew 
 
 His leader generous, brave, and true ? 
 
 Escape ! — ^while on the dew you trace 
 
 The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
 
 No ! — ere the sun that dew shall dry. 
 
 False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
 
 Rino' out the Castle larum bell ! 
 
 Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
 
 Meantime, disperse — ride, gallants, ride ! 
 
 Beset the wood on every side. 
 
 12
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 91 
 
 But if among you one there be, 
 That honours Mortham's memory, 
 Let hhn dismount and follow me ! 
 Else on your crests sit fear and shame, 
 And foul suspicion dog your name !" — 
 
 • XXVI. 
 
 Instant to earth yovmg Redmond sprung ; 
 
 Instant on earth the harness rung 
 
 Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band, 
 
 Who waited not their lord's command. 
 
 Redmond his spurs from buskins drew, 
 
 His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
 
 His pistols in his belt he placed. 
 
 The green wood gained, the footsteps traced, 
 
 Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
 
 " To cover, hark !" — and in he boimds.
 
 92 ROKEBY. CANTO IT. 
 
 Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry, 
 " Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly — 
 But venture not, in useless strife. 
 On ruffian desperate of his life. 
 Whoever finds him, shoot him dead ! 
 Five hundred nobles for his head," — 
 * ' 
 
 XXVIL 
 The horsemen galloped, to make good 
 Each pass that issued from the wood. 
 Loud from the thickets rung the shout 
 Of Redmond and his eager route ; 
 With them was Wilfi'id, stung with ire, 
 And envying Redmond's martial fire, 
 And emulous of fame. — But where 
 Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir ? 
 He, bound by honour, law, and faith, 
 Avenger of his kinsman's death ? —
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 93 
 
 Leaning against the elmin tree, 
 
 With drooping head and slackened knee, 
 
 And clenched teeth, and close-clasped hands, 
 
 In agony of soul he stands ! 
 
 His downcast eye on earth is bent, 
 
 His soul to every sound is lent. 
 
 For in each shout that cleaves the air^ 
 
 May ring discovery and despair, 
 
 xxvni. 
 
 What Vailed it him, that brightly played 
 The morning sun on Mortham's glade ? 
 All seems in giddy round to ride. 
 Like objects on a stormy tide, 
 Seen eddying by the moon-light dim, 
 Imperfectly to sink and swim. 
 What Vailed it, that the fair domain, 
 Its battled mansion, hill, and plain,
 
 94 ROKEB-Y. CANTO II, 
 
 On which the sun so brightly shone. 
 
 Envied so long, was now his own ? 
 
 The lowest dungeon, in that hour. 
 
 Of Brackenbury's dismal tower, 
 
 Had been his choice, could such a doom 
 
 Have opened Morthani's bloody tomb ! 
 
 Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 
 
 To each surmise of hope or fear, 
 
 Murmured among the rustics round, 
 
 Who gathered at the larum sound, 
 
 He dare not turn his head away, 
 
 Even to look up to heaven to pray. 
 
 Or call on hell, in bitter mood, 
 
 For one sharp death-shot from the wood ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 At length o'erpast that dreadful space, 
 Back straggling came the scattered chace;
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 95 
 
 Jaded and weary, horse and man, 
 Retvirned the troopers, one by one. 
 Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, 
 All trace was lost of Bertram's way, 
 Though Redmond still, up Brignal wood, 
 The hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 
 O fatal doom of human race ! 
 What tyrant passions passions chace ! 
 Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone. 
 Avarice and pride resume their throne ; 
 The pang of instant terror by. 
 They dictate thus their slave's reply. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Aye — let him range like hasty hound ! 
 And if the grim wolfs lair be found, 
 Small is my care how goes the game 
 With Redmond or with Risingham. —
 
 96 ROKEBY. canto ii. 
 
 Nay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 
 
 Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
 
 To thee, is of another mood 
 
 To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 
 
 Thy ditties will she freely praise, 
 
 And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ; 
 
 In a rough path will oft command^ — 
 
 Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 
 
 His she avoids, or, urged and prayed. 
 
 Unwilling takes his proffered aid, 
 
 While conscious passion plainly speaks 
 
 In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 
 
 Whene'er he sings will she glide nigh. 
 
 And all her soul is in her eye, 
 
 Yet doubts she still to tender free 
 
 The wonted words of courtesy. 
 
 These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore sigh. 
 
 And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ?
 
 CANTO II. ROKEBY. 97 
 
 Thine shall she be, if thou attend 
 The counsels of thy sire and friend. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light 
 Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 
 Brave Cromwell turned the doubtftd tide, 
 And conquest blessed the rightful side ; 
 Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
 Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ; 
 Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 
 Must fine for freedom and estate. 
 Of these committed to my charge, 
 Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 
 Redmond, his page, arrived, to say 
 He reaches Bernard's towers to-day. 
 Right heavy shall his ransom be. 
 Unless that maid compound with thee !
 
 98 ROKEBY. canto ii. 
 
 Go to her now — be bold of cheer, 
 
 While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear : 
 
 It is the very change of tide, 
 
 When best the female heart is tried — 
 
 Pride, prejudice, and modesty. 
 
 Are in the current swept to sea, 
 
 And the bold swain, who plies his oar, 
 
 May lightly row his bark to shore." — 
 
 END OF CANTO SECOND.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO THIRD.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 The hunting tribes of air and earth, 
 Respect the brethren of their birth ; 
 Nature, who loves the claim of kind, 
 Less cruel chase to each assigned. 
 The falcon, poised on soaring wing. 
 Watches the wild-duck by the spring ; 
 The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair, 
 The greyhound presses on the hare ;
 
 102 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 The eagle pounces on the lamb, 
 The wolf devours the fleecy dam ; 
 Even tyger fell, and sullen bear, 
 Then' likeness and their lineage spare. 
 Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan. 
 And turns the fierce pursuit on man ; 
 Plying war's desultory trade, 
 Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, 
 Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son, 
 At first the bloody game begun. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Indian, prowling for his prey. 
 Who hears the settlers track his way, 
 And knows in distant forest far 
 Camp his red brethren of the war ; 
 He, when each double and disguise 
 To baffle the pursuit he tries.
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 103 
 
 Low crouching now his head to hide, 
 
 Where swampy streams through rushes gUde, 
 
 Now covering: with the withered leaves 
 
 The foot-prints that the dew receives ; 
 
 He, skilled in every sylvan guile, 
 
 Knows not, nor tries such various wile, 
 
 As Risingham, when on the wind 
 
 Arose the loud pursuit behind. 
 
 In Redesdale his youth had heard 
 
 Each art her wily dalesmen dared. 
 
 When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high. 
 
 To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry. 
 
 Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear. 
 
 And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 
 
 And well his venturous life had proved 
 
 The lessons that his childhood loved. 
 
 9
 
 104 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oft had he shewn, in cHmes afar. 
 Each attribute of roving war ; 
 The sharpened ear, the piercing eye, 
 The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 
 The speed, that, in the flight or chase. 
 Outstripped the Charib's rapid race ; 
 The steady brain, the sinewy limb, 
 To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 
 The iron frame, inured to bear 
 Each dire inclemency of air. 
 Nor less confirmed to undergo 
 Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 
 These arts he proved, his life to save, 
 In peril oft by land and wave. 
 On Arawaca's desart shore, 
 Or where La Plata's billows roar.
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 105 
 
 When oft the sons of vengeful Spam 
 Tracked the marauder's steps m vain. 
 These arts, in Indian warfare tried, 
 Must save him now by Greta's side. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Twas then, in hour of utmost need, 
 
 He proved his courage, art, and speed. 
 
 Now slow he stalked with stealthy pace, 
 
 Now started forth in rapid race, 
 
 Oft doubling back in mazy train. 
 
 To blind the trace the dews retain ; 
 
 Now clombe the rocks projecting high, 
 
 To baffle the pursuer's eye. 
 
 Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 
 
 The echo of his footsteps drowned. 
 
 But if the forest verge he nears, 
 
 There trample steeds and glimmer spears ; 
 
 o
 
 106 ROKEBY. CANTO iir. 
 
 If deeper down the copse he drew, 
 He heard the rangers' loud halloo, 
 Beating each cover while they came, 
 As if to start the sylvan game. 
 'Twas then, — like tyger, close beset 
 At every pass with toil and net. 
 Countered, where'er he turns his glare, 
 By clashing arms and torches' flare. 
 Who meditates, with furious bound, 
 To burst on hunter, horse, and hound,— 
 'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, 
 Prompting to rush upon his foes : 
 But as that crouching tyger, cow'd 
 By brandished steel and shouting crowd. 
 Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 
 Bertram suspends his purpose stern, 
 And couches in the brake and fern. 
 Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 
 The sparkle of his swarthy eye.
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 ROKEBY. 107 
 
 V. 
 
 Then Bertram might the bearing trace 
 Of the bold yovith who led the chace, 
 Who paused to list for every sound, • 
 
 Climbed every height to look around, 
 Then rushing on with naked sword, 
 Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 
 'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ; 
 'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 
 Disordered from his glowing cheek ; 
 Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak. 
 A form more active, light, and strong. 
 Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 
 The modest, yet the manly mien. 
 Might grace the court of maiden queen. 
 A face more fair you well might find. 
 For Redmond's knew the sun and wind.
 
 ]CS ROKEBY. CANTO Tir. 
 
 Nor boasted, from their tinge when free. 
 
 The charm of regularity ; 
 
 But every feature had the power 
 
 To aid the expression of the hour : 
 
 Vv^hether gay wit, and humour sly. 
 
 Danced laughing in his light-blue eye ; 
 
 Or bended brow, and glance of fire. 
 
 And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 
 
 Or soft and saddened glances show 
 
 Her ready sympathy with woe ; 
 
 Or in that wayward mood of mind, 
 
 When various feelings are combined. 
 
 When joy and sorrow mingle near, 
 
 And hope's bright wings are checked by fear. 
 
 And rising doubts keep transport down, 
 
 And anger lends a short-lived frown ; 
 
 In that strange mood which maids approve, 
 
 Even when they dare not call it love, 
 
 12
 
 CANTO III. IIOKEBY. 109 
 
 With every change his features played, 
 As aspens shew the Hght and shade, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Well Risingham young Redmond knew ; 
 And much he marvelled that the crew, 
 Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, 
 Were by that Mortham's foeman led ; 
 For never felt his soul the woe, 
 That wails a generous foeman low, 
 Far less that sense of justice strong, 
 That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. 
 But small his leisure now to pause ; 
 Redmond is first, whate'er the cause : 
 And twice that Redmond came so near. 
 Where Bertram couched like hunted deer. 
 The very boughs his steps displace. 
 Rustled against the ruffian's face,
 
 no ROKEBY. canto iii. 
 
 Who, desperate, twice prepared to start 
 And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 
 But Redmond turned a different way, 
 And the bent boughs resumed their sway. 
 And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 
 Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
 Thus, circled in his coil, the snake. 
 When roving hunters beat the brake. 
 Watches with red and glistening eye, 
 Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, 
 With forked tongue and venomed fang 
 Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
 But if the intruders turn aside. 
 Away his coils unfolded glide. 
 And through the deep savannah wind, 
 Some undisturbed retreat to find. 
 
 6
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. Ill 
 
 VII. 
 
 But Bertram, as he backward drew, 
 And heard the loud pursuit renew, 
 And Redmond's hollo on the wind, 
 Oft muttered in his savage mind — 
 " Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I 
 Alone this day's event to try. 
 With not a second here to see, 
 But the grey clifF and oaken-tree, — 
 That voice of thine, that shouts so loud, 
 Should ne'er repeat its summons proud ! 
 No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
 
 Again in maiden's summer bower." 
 
 Eluded, now behind him die. 
 Faint and more faint, each hostile cry ; 
 He stands in Scargill wood alone. 
 Nor hears he now a harsher tone
 
 112 ROKEBY. CANTO m. 
 
 Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry, 
 Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 
 And on the dale, so lone and wild. 
 The summer sun in quiet smiled. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He listened long with anxious heart, 
 Ear bent to hear, and foot to start, 
 And, while his stretched attention glows. 
 Refused his weary frame repose. 
 'Twas silence all — he laid him down, 
 Where purple heath profrisely strown, 
 And throatwort with its azure bell. 
 And moss and thyme his cushion swell. 
 There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 
 The course of Greta's playful tide. 
 Beneath her banks now eddying dun, 
 Now brightly gleaming to the sun,
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 113 
 
 As, dancing over rock and stone, 
 
 In yellow light her currents shone, 
 
 Matching in hue the favourite gem 
 
 Of Albin's niountain-diadein. 
 
 Then, tired to watch the current's play. 
 
 He turned his weary eyes away, 
 
 To Avhere the bank opposing shew'd 
 
 Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood. 
 
 One, prominent above the rest. 
 
 Reared to the sun its pale grey breast ; 
 
 Around its broken summit grew 
 
 The hazel rude, and sable yew ; 
 
 A thousand varied lichens dyed 
 
 Its waste and weather-beaten side, 
 
 And round its rugged basis lay. 
 
 By time or thunder rent away, 
 
 Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, 
 
 Were mantled now by verdant thorn.
 
 114 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 Such was the scene's wild majesty, 
 That filled stern Bertram's gazing eye. 
 
 IX. 
 
 In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
 Revolving, in his stormy mind, 
 The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, 
 His patron's blood by treason spilt ; 
 A crime, it seemed, so dire and dread, 
 That it had power to wake the dead. 
 Then pondering on his life betrayed 
 By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, 
 In treacherous purpose to withhold. 
 So seemed it, Mortham's promised gold, 
 A deep and full revenge he vowed 
 On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud; 
 Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 
 Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire ! —
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 115 
 
 If, in such mood, (as legends say. 
 And well believed that simple day,) 
 The Enemy of Man has power 
 To profit by the evil hour, 
 Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
 His soul's redemption for revenge ! 
 But, though his vows, with such a fire 
 Of earnest and intense desire 
 For vengeance dark and fell, were made, 
 As well might reach hell's lowest shade, 
 No deeper clouds the grove embrowned. 
 No nether thunders shook the ground ; 
 The daemon knew his vassal's heart, 
 And spared temptation's needless art. 
 
 X. 
 
 Oft, mingled with the direful theme. 
 Came Mortham's form — was it a dream ?
 
 116 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 Or had he seen, in vision true, 
 
 That very Mortham whom he slew ? 
 
 Or had in hving flesh appeared 
 
 The only man on earth he feared ? — 
 
 To try the mystic cause intent. 
 
 His eyes, that on the cliff were bent. 
 
 Countered at once a dazzling glance. 
 
 Like sunbeam flashed from sword or lance. 
 
 At once he started as for fight, 
 
 But not a foeman was in sight ; 
 
 He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse. 
 
 He heard the river's sounding course. 
 
 The solitary woodlands lay. 
 
 As slumbering in the summer ray. 
 
 He gazed, like lion roused, around. 
 
 Then sunk again upon the ground. 
 
 'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam, 
 
 Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream ;
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 117 
 
 Then plunged him in his gloomy train 
 Of ill-connected thoughts again, 
 Until a voice behind him cried, 
 " Bertram I well met on Greta-side." — 
 
 XL 
 
 Instant his sword was in his hand, 
 
 As instant sunk the ready brand ; 
 
 Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 
 
 To him that issued fi'om the wood : — 
 
 " Guy Denzil ! — is it thou ?" he said ; 
 
 " Do we two meet in Scargill shade ? — 
 
 Stand back a space ! — ^thy purpose show, 
 
 Whether thovi comest as friend or foe. 
 
 Report hath said that DenziFs name 
 
 From Rokeby's band was razed with shame." — 
 
 " A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 
 
 Who told his knight, in peevish zeal.
 
 118 R O K E BY. CANTO iii. 
 
 Of my marauding on the clowns 
 
 Of Calverley and Bradford downs. — 
 
 I reck not. In a war to strive, 
 
 Where, save the leaders, none can thrive, 
 
 Suits ill my mood ; and better game 
 
 Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same 
 
 Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, 
 
 Who watched with me in midnight dark, 
 
 To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 
 
 How think'st thou ?" — " Speak thy purpose out ; 
 
 I love not mystery or doubt" — - 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Then list. — Not far there lurk a crew. 
 Of trusty comrades staunch and true. 
 Gleaned from both factions — Roundheads, freed 
 From cant of sermon and of creed ;
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 119 
 
 And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine. 
 Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 
 Wiser we judge, by dale and wold, 
 A warfare of our own to hold, 
 Than breathe our last on battle-down. 
 For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 
 Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 
 A chief and leader lack we yet. — 
 Thou art a wanderer, it is said. 
 For Mortham's death thy steps waylaid. 
 Thy head at price- — so say oiu' spies. 
 Who ranged the valley in disguise — 
 Join then with us ; though wild debate 
 And wrangling rends our infant state, 
 Each, to an equal loth to bow. 
 Will yield to chief renowned as thou. ' —
 
 120 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 " Even now," tliouglit Bertram, " passion-stirred. 
 
 I called on hell, and hell has heard ! 
 
 What lack I, my revenge to qviench, 
 
 But such a band of comrades staunch ? 
 
 This Denzil, vowed to every evil. 
 
 Might read a lesson to the devil. 
 
 Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 
 
 Shall serve as my revenge's tool." — 
 
 Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy, 
 
 But tell me where thy comrades lie ?" — 
 
 " Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said ; 
 
 " Descend and cross the river's bed. 
 
 Where rises yonder cliff so grey" — 
 
 " Do thou," said Bertram, " lead the way." 
 
 Then muttered, " It is best make sure ; 
 
 Guy Denzifs faith was never pure." —
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 121 
 
 He followed down the steep descent, 
 Then through the Greta's streams they went, 
 And, when they reached the farther shore, 
 They stood the lonely cliff before. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With wonder Bertram heard within 
 
 The flinty rock a murmured din ; 
 
 But when Guy pulled the wilding spray, 
 
 And brambles from its base away, 
 
 He saw, appearing to the air, 
 
 A little entrance low and square. 
 
 Like opening cell of hermit lone, 
 
 Dark winding through the living stone. 
 
 Here entered Denzil, Bertram here. 
 
 And loud and louder on their ear. 
 
 As from the bowels of the earth. 
 
 Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 
 
 Q
 
 122 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 Of old, the cavern strait and rude 
 In slaty rock the peasant hewed ; 
 And Brignal's woods, and ScargiU's, wave 
 E'en now o'er many a sister cave, 
 Where, far within the darksome rift. 
 The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 
 But war had silenced rural trade, 
 And the deserted mine was made 
 The banqviet-hall, and fortress too, 
 Of Denzil and his desperate crew. 
 There Guilt his anxious revel kept ; 
 There on his sordid pallet slept 
 Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drained 
 Still in his slumbering grasp retained ; 
 Regret was there, his eye still cast 
 With vain repining on the past; 
 Among the feasters waited near, 
 Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear,
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 123 
 
 And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, 
 With his own crimes reproaching heaven ; 
 While Bertram shewed, amid the crew, 
 The Master-Fiend that Milton drew. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Hark ! the loud revel wakes again, 
 
 To greet the leader of the train. 
 
 Behold the groupe by the pale lamp. 
 
 That struggles with the earthy damp. 
 
 By what strange features Vice hath known, 
 
 To single out and mark her own ! 
 
 Yet some there are, whose brows retain 
 
 Less deeply stamped her brand and stain. 
 
 See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 
 
 A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 
 
 Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined. 
 
 An early image fills his mind :
 
 124 ROKEBY. CANTO iii. 
 
 The cottage, once his sire's, he sees, 
 
 Embowered upon the banks of Tees ; 
 
 He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, 
 
 And shares the dance on Gainsford-green. 
 
 A tear is springing — but the zest 
 
 Of some wild tale, or brutal jest. 
 
 Hath to loud laughter stirred the rest. 
 
 On him they call, the aptest mate 
 
 For jovial song and merry feat ; 
 
 Fast flies his dream — with dauntless air, 
 
 As one victorious o'er despair. 
 
 He bids the ruddy cup go round. 
 
 Till sense and sorrow both are drowned, 
 
 And soon in merry wassail he. 
 
 The life of all their revelry, 
 
 Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found 
 
 Her blossoms on the wildest ground,
 
 GANToiii. ROKEBY. 125 
 
 'Mid noxious weeds at random strewed, 
 Themselves all profitless and rude — 
 With desperate merriment he sung, 
 The cavern to the chorus rung ; 
 Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
 Remorse's bitter agony. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 SONG. 
 O Brignal banks are wild and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green. 
 And you may gather garlands there, 
 
 Would grace a summer queen. 
 And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 
 
 Beneath the turret high, 
 A Maiden on the castle wall 
 
 Was singing merrily.
 
 126 ROKEBY. canto hi. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 " O Brignal banks are fresh and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green; 
 I'd rather range with Edmund there, 
 
 Than reign our Enghsh queen. " — 
 
 " If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 
 
 To leave both tower and town, 
 Thou first must guess what Hfe lead we, 
 
 That dwell by dale and down. 
 And if thou canst that riddle read, 
 
 As read full well you may. 
 Then to the green wood shalt thou speed, 
 
 As blithe as Queen of May." — 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yet sung she, " Brignal banks are fair, 
 And Greta woods are green ;
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 127 
 
 rd rather range with Edmund there, 
 Than reign our Enghsh queen. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " I read you, by your bugle-horn, 
 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 I read you for a ranger sworn, 
 
 To keep the king's green wood." — 
 " A ranger, lady, winds his horn 
 
 And 'tis at peep of hght ; 
 His blast is heard at merry morn. 
 
 And mine at dead of night." — 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yet sung she, " Brignal banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are gay, 
 I would I were with Edmund there. 
 
 To reign his Queen of May !
 
 128 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 " With burnished brand and musquetoon, 
 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold dragoon, 
 
 That lists the tuck of drum." — 
 " I list no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 No more the trumpet hear ; 
 But when the beetle sounds his hum, 
 
 My comrades take the spear. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And O ! though Brignal banks be fair, 
 
 And Greta woods be gay, 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 
 
 Would reign my Queen of May ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 '• Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 
 A nameless death I'll die ;
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 129 
 
 The fiend, whose lanthorn lights the mead, 
 
 Were better mate than I ! 
 And when I'm with my comrades met. 
 
 Beneath the greenwood bough. 
 What once we were we all forget, 
 
 Nor think what we are now. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there, 
 
 Would grace a summer queen." — 
 
 When Edmund ceased his simple song, 
 Was silence on the sullen throng. 
 Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
 With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
 But, far apart, in dark divan, 
 Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 
 
 R
 
 130 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 Of import foul and fierce, designed. 
 While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
 The wealth of murdered Mortham hung ; 
 Though half he feared his daring tongue, 
 When it should give his wishes birth, 
 Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 At length his wondrous tale he told, 
 
 When scornful smiled his comrade bold ; 
 
 I or, trained in license of a court, 
 
 Religion's self was Denzil's sport. 
 
 Then judge in what contempt he held 
 
 The visionary tales of eld ! 
 
 His awe for Bertram scarce repressed 
 
 The unbeliever's sneering jest. 
 
 " 'Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seer 
 
 To spell the subject of your fear ;
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 131 
 
 Nor do I boast the art renowned, 
 Vision and omen to expound. 
 Yet, faith if I must needs afford 
 To spectre watching treasured hoard, 
 As bandog keeps his master's roof, 
 Bidding the plunderer stand aloof, 
 This doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt 
 Hath chosen ill his ghostly haimt ; 
 For why his guard on Mortham hold, 
 When Rokeby castle hath the gold, 
 Thy patron won on Indian soil. 
 By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ?" — 
 
 XX. 
 
 At this he paused — for angry shame 
 Lowered on the brow of Risingham. 
 He blushed to think that he should seem 
 Assertor of an airy dream, 
 And gave his wrath another theme.
 
 132 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 " Denzil," he says, " though lowly laidj. 
 
 Wron^* not the memory of the dead ; 
 
 For, while he lived, at Mortham's look 
 
 Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 
 
 And when he taxed thy breach of word 
 
 To yon fair Rose of AUenford, 
 
 I saw thee crouch like chastened hound, 
 
 Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. 
 
 Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 
 
 The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 
 
 He won it bravely with his brand, 
 
 When Spain waged warfare with our land. 
 
 Mark too — I brook no idle jeer. 
 
 Nor couple Bertram's name with fear ; 
 
 Mine is but half the daemon's lot, 
 
 For I believe, but tremble not. — 
 
 Enough of this. — Say, why this hoard 
 
 Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored ;
 
 CANTO III. HOKE BY. 133 
 
 Or think'st that Mortham would bestow 
 His treasure with his faction's foe ?" — 
 
 XXL 
 
 Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-timed mirth ; 
 
 Rather he would have seen the earth 
 
 Give to ten thousand spectres birth. 
 
 Than ventured to awake to flame 
 
 The deadly wrath of Risingham. 
 
 Submiss he answered, — " Mortham's mind, 
 
 Thou knowest, to joy was ill inclined. 
 
 In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 
 
 A lusty reveller was he ; 
 
 But since returned from over sea, 
 
 A sullen and a silent mood 
 
 Hath numbed the current of his blood. 
 
 Hence he refused each kindly call 
 
 To Rokeby's hospitable hall,
 
 134 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 And our stout Knight, at dawn of morn 
 
 Who loved to hear the bugle-horn. 
 
 Nor less, when eve his oaks embrowned, 
 
 To see the ruddy cup go round. 
 
 Took umbrage that a friend so near 
 
 Refused to share his chace and cheer; 
 
 Thus did the kindred barons jar, 
 
 Ere they divided in the war. 
 
 Yet trust me, friend, Matilda fair 
 
 Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Destined to her ! to yon slight maid ! 
 The prize my life had well nigh paid. 
 When gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave, 
 I fought my patron's wealth to save ! — 
 Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er 
 Knew him that joyous cavalier,
 
 CANTO iir. R O K E B Y. is5 
 
 Whom youthful friends and early fame 
 
 Called soul of gallantry and game. 
 
 A moody man he sought our crew, 
 
 Desperate and dark, whom no one knew; 
 
 And rose, as men with us must rise, 
 
 By scorning life and all its ties. 
 
 On each adventure rash he roved. 
 
 As danger for itself he loved ; 
 
 On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
 
 Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
 
 111 was the omen if he smiled, 
 
 For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
 
 But when he laughed, each luckless mate 
 
 Might hold our fortune desperate. 
 
 Foremost he fought in every broil. 
 
 Then scornful turned him from the spoil ; 
 
 Nay, often strove to bar the way 
 
 Between his comrades and their prey ;
 
 136 ROKEBY. CANTO in. 
 
 Preaching, even then, to such as we, 
 Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
 Of mercy and humanity ! 
 
 xxiir. 
 
 " I loved him well — his fearless part. 
 His gallant leading, won my heart. 
 And after each victorious fight 
 Twas I that wrangled for his right. 
 Redeemed his portion of the prey 
 That greedier mates had torn away. 
 In field and storm thrice saved his life, 
 And once amid our comrades' strife. — 
 Yes, I have loved thee ! well hath proved 
 My toil, my danger, how I loved ! 
 Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
 Ingrate in life, in death ingrate.
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 137 
 
 Rise, if thou canst !" he looked around, 
 And sternly stamped upon the ground — 
 " Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
 Even as this morn it met mine eye. 
 And give me, if thou darest, the lie I" — 
 He paused — then, calm and passion-freed, 
 Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Bertram, to thee I need not tell. 
 What thou hast cause to wot so well, 
 How superstition's nets were twined 
 Around the lord of Mortham's mind ; 
 But since he drove thee from his tower, 
 A maid he found in Greta bower. 
 Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway, 
 To charm his evil fiend away.
 
 138 ROKEBY. CANTO m. 
 
 I know not if her features moved 
 
 Remembrance of the wife he loved ; 
 
 But he would gaze upon her eye, 
 
 Till his mood softened to a sigh. 
 
 He, whom no living mortal sought 
 
 To question of his secret thought, 
 
 Now every thought and care confessed 
 
 To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 
 
 jVor was there aught of rich and rare, 
 
 In earth, in ocean, or in air. 
 
 But it must deck Matilda s hair. 
 
 Her love still bound him unto life ; 
 
 But then awoke the civil strife, 
 
 And menials bore, by his commands, 
 
 Three coffers with their iron bands, 
 
 From Mortham's vault at midnight deep, 
 
 To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep,
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 139 
 
 Ponderous with gold and plate of pride, 
 His gift, if he in battle died." — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, 
 These iron-banded chests to gain ; 
 Else, wherefore should he hover here, 
 Where many a peril waits him near, 
 For all his feats of war and peace. 
 For plundered boors and harts of greece ? 
 Since through the hamlets as he fared, 
 What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, 
 Or where the Chace that hath not rung 
 With Denzil's bow at midnight strung ?"— 
 — " I hold my wont — my rangers go 
 Even now to track a milk-white doe. 
 
 * 
 
 * Deer in season. See Note.
 
 140 llOKEBY. CANTO iir. 
 
 By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
 
 In Greta wood she harbours fair, 
 
 And when my huntsman marks her way, 
 
 What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 
 
 Were Rokeby's daughter in our power, 
 
 We rate her ransom at her dower !" — • 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " 'Tis well ! — there's vengeance in the thought ! 
 
 Matilda is by Wilfrid sought. 
 
 And hot-brained Redmond, too, 'tis said. 
 
 Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
 
 Bertram she scorned — if met by chance, 
 
 She turned from me her shuddering glance. 
 
 Like a nice dame, that will not brook 
 
 On what she hates and loathes to look ; 
 
 She told to Mortham, she could ne'er 
 
 Behold me without secret fear.
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 141 
 
 Foreboding evil : — she may rue 
 To find her prophecy fall true ! — 
 The war has weeded Rokeby's train, 
 Few followers in his halls remain ; 
 If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, 
 We are enow to storm the hold, 
 Bear off the plunder and the dame. 
 And leave the castle all in flame." — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Still art thou Valour's venturous son ! 
 
 Yet ponder first the risque to run ; 
 
 The menials of the castle, true. 
 
 And stubborn to their charge, though few; 
 
 The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 
 
 The wicket-grate — the inner fosse" — 
 
 — " Fool ! if we blench for toys like these, 
 
 On what fair guerdon can we seize ? 
 
 10
 
 142 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 Our hardiest venture, to explore 
 
 Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 
 
 And the best prize we bear away, 
 
 The earnings of his sordid day." — 
 
 — " Awhile thy hasty taunt forbear : 
 
 In sight of road more sure and fair, 
 
 Thou wouldst not chuse, in blindfold wrath. 
 
 Or wantonness, a desperate path ? 
 
 List then : — -for vantage or assault. 
 
 From gilded vane to dungeon-vault. 
 
 Each pass of Rokeby-house I know : 
 
 There is one postern dark and low. 
 
 That issues at a secret spot, 
 
 By most neglected or forgot. 
 
 Now, could a spial of our train 
 
 On fair pretext admittance gain. 
 
 That sally-port might be vinbarr'd ; 
 
 Then, vain were battlement and ward !" —
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 143 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 '^ Now speak'st thou well ; — to me the same. 
 
 If force or art shall urge the game ; 
 
 Indifferent if like fox I wind, 
 
 Or spring like tyger on the hind. — 
 
 But hark ! our merry-men so gay 
 
 Troll forth another roundelay. 
 
 SONG. 
 " A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 
 
 A weary lot is thine ! 
 To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 
 
 And press the rue for wine ! 
 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 
 
 A feather of the blue,
 
 144 KOKEBY. CANTO iir. 
 
 A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 My love ! 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 " This morn is merry June, I trow, 
 
 The rose is budding fain ; 
 But she shall bloom in winter snow, 
 
 Ere we two meet again." — 
 He turned his charger as he spake, 
 
 Upon the river shore. 
 He gave his bridle reins a shake, 
 
 Said, " Adieu for evermore, 
 
 My love ! 
 
 And adieu for evermore." —
 
 CANTO III. R O K E B Y.' 1 45 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " What youth is this, your band among, 
 The best for minstrelsy and song ? 
 In his wild notes seem aptly met 
 A strain of pleasure and regret." — 
 " Edmund of Winston is his name ; 
 The hamlet sounded with the fame 
 Of early hopes his childhood gave, — ^ 
 Now centred all in Brignal cave ! 
 I watch him well — his wayward course 
 Shews oft a tincture of remorse. 
 Some early love-shaft grazed his heart. 
 And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
 Yet is he useful ; — of the rest, 
 By fits the darling and the jest, 
 His harp, his story, and his lay, 
 Oft aid the idle hours away :
 
 146 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 When unemployed, each fiery mate 
 Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
 He tuned his strings e'en now — again 
 He wakes them, with a blither strain. 
 
 XXX, 
 
 SONG. 
 ALLEJf-A-DALE. 
 
 AUen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, 
 AUen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
 Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning. 
 Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
 Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 
 And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 
 
 The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, 
 And he views his domains upon Arkindale side.
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 147 
 
 The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 
 The chace for the wild, and the park for the tame ; 
 Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
 Are less free to Lord Daere than AUen-a-Dale ! 
 
 Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, 
 
 Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright ; 
 
 Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 
 
 Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; 
 
 And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail. 
 
 Who at Rere-eross on Stanemore meets Allan-a-Dale. 
 
 Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 
 
 The mother, she asked of his house and his home : 
 
 " Though the Castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, 
 
 My hall," quoth bold Allen," shews gallanter still ; 
 
 'Tis the blue vavdt of heaven, with its crescent so pale, 
 
 And with all its bright spangles !" said Allen-a-Dale. 
 
 10
 
 148 ROKEBY. CANTO III. 
 
 The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
 They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; 
 But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry ! 
 He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye. 
 And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale. 
 And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay. 
 
 Love mingles ever in his lay. 
 
 But when his boyish wayward fit 
 
 Is o'er, he hath address and wit; 
 
 O ! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 
 
 Each dialect, each various shape." — 
 
 " Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy — 
 
 Soft ! who comes here ?" — " My trusty spy. 
 
 Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our deer ?" — 
 
 '' I have — but two fair stags are near ;
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 149 
 
 I watched her as she slowly strayed 
 From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade ; 
 But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side, 
 And then yovmg Redmond in his pride 
 Shot down to meet them on their way ; 
 Much, as it seemed, was theirs to say : 
 There's time to pitch both toil and net. 
 Before their path be homeward set." — 
 A hurried and a whispered speech 
 Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach, 
 Who, turning to the robber band, 
 Bade four the bravest take the brand. 
 
 iEND OF CANTO THIRD.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 W^HEN Denmark's Raven soared on high, 
 Triumphant through Northumbrian sky, 
 Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
 Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke, 
 And the broad shadow of her wing 
 Blackened each cataract and spring. 
 Where Tees in tumult leaves his source. 
 Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force ; 
 
 u
 
 154 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
 Fixed on each vale a Runic name, 
 Reared high their akars' rugged stone, 
 And gave their Gods the land they won. 
 Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine, 
 And one sweet brooklet's silver line ; 
 But to the Monarch of the Mace, 
 That held in fight the foremost place. 
 To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse. 
 Near Startforth high they paid their vows. 
 Remembered Thor's victorious fame, 
 And grave the dell the Thunderer's name. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet Scald or Kemper erred, I ween. 
 Who gave that soft and quiet scene. 
 With all its varied light and shade, 
 And every little sunny glade.
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 ROKEBY. 155 
 
 And the blithe brook that strolls along 
 Its pebbled bed with summer song, 
 To the grim God of blood and sear, 
 The grisly King of Northern War. 
 O better were its banks assigned 
 To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
 For, where the thicket-groupes recede, 
 And the rathe primrose decks the mead, 
 The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
 For the light fairies' lively feet. 
 Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown. 
 Might make proud Oberon a throne, 
 While, hidden in the thicket nigh. 
 Puck should brood o'er his frolick sly ; 
 And where profuse the wood-veitch clings 
 Round ash and elm in verdant rings, 
 Its pale and azure-pencilled flower 
 Should canopy Titania's bower.
 
 156 KOKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 III. 
 
 Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade. 
 
 But, skirting every sunny glade, 
 
 In fair variety of green 
 
 The woodland lends its sylvan screen. 
 
 Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak, 
 
 Its boughs by weight of ages broke ; 
 
 And towers erect, in sable spire. 
 The pine-tree scathed by lightning fire ; 
 The drooping ash and birch, between, 
 Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, 
 And all beneath, at random grow 
 Each coppice dwarf of varied show, 
 Or, round the stems profusely twined, 
 Fling summer odours on the wind. 
 Such varied groupe Urbino's hand 
 Round Him of Tarsus nobly planned,
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 157 
 
 What time he bade proud Athens own 
 On Mars's Mount the God Unknown ! 
 Then grey Philosophy stood nigh, 
 Though bent by age, in spirit high ; 
 There rose the scar-seamed Veteran's spear, 
 There Grecian Beauty bent to hear, 
 While Childhood at her foot was placed. 
 Or clung delighted to her waist. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " And rest we here," Matilda said. 
 And sate her in the varying shade. 
 " Chance-met, we well may steal an hour, 
 To friendship due from fortune's power. 
 Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
 Thy counsel to thy sister friend ; 
 And, Redmond, thou, at my behest. 
 No farther urge thy desperate quest.
 
 158 ROKEBY. canto iv. 
 
 For to my care a charge is left, 
 Dangerous to one of aid bereft, 
 Well nigh an orphan, and alone. 
 Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown." — 
 Wilfi-id, with wonted kindness graced, 
 Beside her on the turf she placed, 
 Then paused, with downcast look and eye, 
 Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh. 
 Her conscious diffidence he saw. 
 Drew backward as in modest awe, 
 And sate a little space removed, 
 Unmarked to gaze on her he loved. 
 
 V. 
 
 Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 
 Half hid Matilda's forehead fair, 
 Half hid and half revealed to view 
 Her full dark eye of hazel hue.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 159 
 
 The rose, with faint and feeble streak. 
 So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 
 That you had said her hue was pale, 
 But if she faced the summer gale, 
 Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved, 
 Or heard the praise of those she loved. 
 Or when of interest was expressed 
 Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 
 The mantling blood in ready play 
 Rivalled the blush of rising day. 
 There was a soft and pensive grace, 
 A cast of thought upon her face. 
 That sviited well the forehead high. 
 The eye-lash dark and down-cast eye ; 
 The mild expression spoke a mind 
 In duty firm, composed, resigned ; — 
 'Tis that which Roman art has given, 
 To mark their maiden Queen of heaven.
 
 160 ROKEBY. CANTO IV 
 
 In hours of sport, that mood gave way 
 
 To Fancy's Hght and froHc play, 
 
 And when the dance, or tale, or song, 
 
 In harmless mhth sped time along, 
 
 Full oft her doating sire would call 
 
 His Maud the merriest of them all. 
 
 But days of war, and civil crime. 
 
 Allowed but ill such festal time. 
 
 And her soft pensiveness of brow 
 
 Had deepened into sadness now. 
 
 In Marston field her father ta'en. 
 
 Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain, 
 
 While every ill her soul foretold, 
 
 From Oswald's thirst of power and gold. 
 
 And boding thoughts that she must part 
 
 With a soft vision of her heart, — 
 
 All lowered around the lovely maid, 
 
 To darken her dejection's shade. 
 
 10
 
 CANTO rv. ROKEBY. 161 
 
 VI. 
 
 Who has not heard — while Erin yet 
 Strove gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 
 Who has not heard how brave O'Neale 
 In English blood embrued his steel, 
 Against St George's cross blazed high 
 The banners of his Tanistry, 
 To fiery Essex gave the foil, 
 And reigned a prince in Ulster s soil ? 
 But chief arose his victor pride, 
 When that brave Marshal fought and died. 
 And Avon-DufFto ocean bore 
 His billows, red with Saxon gore. 
 'Twas first in that disastrous fight, 
 Rokeby and Mortham proved their might. 
 There had they fallen amongst the rest, 
 But pity touched a chieftain's breast ; 
 
 X
 
 162 ROKEBY. CANTO IV 
 
 The Tanist he to great O'Neale, 
 He checked his followers' bloody zeal, 
 To quarter took the kinsmen bold, 
 And bore them to his mountain-hold, 
 Gave them each sylvan joy to know, 
 Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could show, 
 Shared with them Erin's festal cheer, 
 Showed them the chace of wolf and deer. 
 And, when a fitting time was come, 
 Safe and unransomed sent them home, 
 Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
 A generous foe's respect and love. 
 
 VII. 
 Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 
 Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
 Calm he enjoyed, by Greta's wave. 
 The peace which James the Peaceful gave,
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. ^ 163 
 
 While Mortham. far beyond the main. 
 Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. — 
 It chanced, upon a wintry night, 
 That whitened Stanemore's stormy height, 
 The chace was o'er, the stag was killed, 
 In Rokeby-hall the cups were filled, 
 And, by the huge stone-chimney, sate 
 The Knight, in hospitable state. 
 Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 
 When a loud summons shook the gate. 
 And sore for entrance and for aid 
 A voice of foreign accent prayed. 
 The porter answered to the call, 
 And instant rushed into the hall 
 A Man, whose aspect and attire 
 Startled the circle by the fire.
 
 164 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 His plaited hair in elf-locks spread 
 
 Around his bare and matted head ; 
 
 On leg and thigh, close stretched and trim. 
 
 His vesture shewed the sinewy limb ; 
 
 In saffron dyed, a linen vest 
 
 Was frequent folded round his breast ; 
 
 A mantle long and loose he wore, 
 
 Shaggy with ice, and stained with gore. 
 
 He clasped a burthen to his heart, 
 
 And, resting on a knotted dart, 
 
 The snow from hair and beard he shook, 
 
 And round him gazed with wildered look : 
 
 Then up the hall, with staggering pace, 
 
 He hastened by the blaze to place, 
 
 Half lifeless from the bitter air. 
 
 His load, a Boy of beauty rare.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 165 
 
 To Rokeby, next, he louted low, 
 
 Then stood erect his tale to show, 
 
 With wild majestic port and tone. 
 
 Like envoy of some barbarous throne. 
 
 " Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear ! 
 
 Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 
 
 He graces thee, and to thy care 
 
 Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 
 
 He bids thee breed him as thy son, 
 
 For Turlough's days of joy are done ; 
 
 And other lords have seized his land. 
 
 And faint and feeble is his hand, 
 
 And all the glory of Tyrone 
 
 Is like a morning vapour flown. 
 
 To bind the duty on thy soul, 
 
 He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
 
 If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
 
 He bids thee think of Erin's steel.
 
 166 ROKEBY. 
 
 To Mortham first this charge was due, 
 But, in his absence, honours you. — 
 Now is my master's message by. 
 And Ferraught will contented die." — 
 
 IX. 
 
 His look grew fixed, his cheek grew pale, 
 He sunk when he had told his tale ; 
 For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
 A mortal wound was in his side. 
 Vain was all aid — in terror wild. 
 And sorrow, screamed the orphan child. 
 Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes. 
 And faintly strove to sooth his cries; 
 All reckless of his dying pain. 
 He blest, and blest him o'er again ! 
 And kissed the little hands outspread. 
 And kissed and crossed the infant head, 
 
 CANTO IV.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 167 
 
 And, in his native tongue and phrase, 
 Prayed to each saint to watch his days ; 
 Then all his strength together drew, 
 The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
 When half was faultered from his breast, 
 And half by dying signs expressed, 
 " Bless the O'Neale !" he faintly said, 
 And thus the faithful spirit fled. 
 
 X. 
 
 'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
 Upon the child to end the tale ; 
 And then he said, that from his home 
 His grandsire had been forced to roam. 
 Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
 Had but had strength to draw the brand, 
 The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
 That hung beside the grey wolfs head. —
 
 168 ROKEBY. CANTO IV, 
 
 'Twas from his broken phrase descried. 
 His foster-father was his guide, 
 Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
 Letters, and gifts a goodly store ; 
 But ruffians met them in the wood, 
 Ferraught in battle boldly stood, 
 Till wounded and o'erpowered at length. 
 And stripped of all, his failing strength 
 Just bore him here — and then the child 
 Renewed again his moaning wild. 
 
 XL 
 
 The tear, down Childhood's cheek that flows, 
 Is like the dew-drop on the rose; 
 When next the summer breeze comes by. 
 And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 
 Won by their care, the orphan child 
 Soon on his new protectors smiled,
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 169 
 
 With dimpled cheek and eye so fair, 
 Through his thick curls of flaxen hair. 
 But blithest laughed that cheek and eye, 
 When Rokeby's little maid was nigh ; 
 'Twas his, with elder brother's pride, 
 Matilda's tottering steps to guide ; 
 His native lays in Irish tongue. 
 To sooth her infant ear he sung, 
 And primrose twined with daisy fair, 
 To form a chaplet for her hair. 
 By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand, 
 The children still were hand in hand, 
 And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
 The early knot so kindly tied. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But summer months bring wilding shoot 
 From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit ;
 
 170 HOKE BY. CANTO IV, 
 
 And years draw on our human span. 
 
 From child to boy, from boy to man ; 
 
 And soon m Rokeby's woods is seen 
 
 A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
 
 He loves to wake the felon boar, 
 
 In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 
 
 And loves, against the deer so dun. 
 
 To draw the shaft, or lift the gun ; 
 
 Yet more he loves, in autumn prime, 
 
 The hazel's spreading boughs to climb. 
 
 And down its clustered stores to hail, 
 
 Where yovmg Matilda holds her veil. 
 
 And she, whose veil receives the shower. 
 
 Is altered too, and knows her power ; 
 
 Assumes a monitress's pride, 
 
 Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide. 
 
 Yet listens still to hear him tell 
 
 How the grim wild-boar fought and fell,
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 171 
 
 How at his fall the bugle rung, 
 Till rock and green-wood answer flung ; 
 Then blesses her, that man can find 
 A pastime of such savage kind ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But Redmond knew to weave his tale 
 
 So well with praise of wood and dale, 
 
 And knew so well each point to trace, 
 
 Gives living interest to the chace, 
 
 And knew so well o'er all to throw 
 
 His spirit's wild romantic glow. 
 
 That, while she blamed, and while she feared, 
 
 She loved each venturous tale she heard. 
 
 Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 
 
 To bower and hall their steps restrain,^ 
 
 Together they explored the page 
 
 Of glowing bard or gifted sage.
 
 172 llOKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 
 
 The minstrel art alternate tried, 
 
 While gladsome harp and lively lay 
 
 Bade winter-night flit fast away : 
 
 Thus from their childhood blending still 
 
 Their sport, their study, and their skill, 
 
 An union of the soul they prove^ 
 
 But must not think that it was love. 
 
 But though they dared not, envious Fame 
 
 Soon dared to give that vniion name ; 
 
 And when so often, side by side, 
 
 From year to year the pair she eyed. 
 
 She sometimes blamed the good old Knight, 
 
 As dull of ear and dim of sight. 
 
 Sometimes his purpose would declare, 
 
 That young O'Neale should wed his heir.
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 ROKEBY. 113 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
 And bandage from the lovers' eyes ; 
 'Twas plain that Oswald, for his son, 
 Had Rokeby's favour well nigh won. 
 Now must they meet with change of cheer, 
 With mutual looks of shame and fear ; 
 Now must Matilda stray apart, 
 To school her disobedient heart ; 
 And Redmond now alone must rue 
 The love he never can subdue. 
 But factions rose, and Rokeby sware, 
 No rebel's son should wed his heir ; 
 And Redmond, nurtured while a child 
 In many a bard's traditions wild, 
 Now sought the lonely wood or stream, 
 To cherish there a happier dream,
 
 1 74 R O K E B Y. CANTO iv 
 
 Of maiden won by sword and lance. 
 As in the regions of romance ; 
 And count the heroes of his Hne, 
 Great Nial of the Pledges Nine, 
 Shane-D) mas wild, and Geraldine, 
 And Connan-AIore, who vowed his race 
 For ever to the iight and chace, 
 And cursed him, of his lineage born, 
 Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn, 
 Or leave the mountain and the wold, 
 To shroud himself in castled hold. 
 From such examples hope he drew, 
 And brightened as the trumpet blew. 
 
 XV. 
 
 If brides were won by heart and blade, 
 Redmond had both his cause to aid.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 175 
 
 And all beside of nurture rare 
 That nii"*ht beseem a baron's heir. 
 Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife, 
 On Rokeby's Lord bestowed his life, 
 And well did Rokeby's generous knight 
 Young Redmond for the deed requite. 
 ivTor was his liberal care and cost 
 Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
 Seek the North Riding broad and wide, 
 Like Redmond none could steed bestride; 
 From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
 Like Redmond none could wield a brand ; 
 And then, of humour kind and free, 
 And bearing him to each degree 
 With frank and fearless courtesy, 
 There never youth was formed to steal 
 Upon the heart like brave O'Neale.
 
 176 ROKEBY. canto iv 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Sir Richard loved liim as his son, 
 And when the days of peace were done, 
 And to the gales of war he gave 
 The banner of his sires to wave, 
 Redmond, distingviished by his care, 
 He chose that honovu*ed flag to bear, 
 And named his page, the next degree 
 In that old time to chivalry. 
 In five pitched fields he well maintained 
 The honoured place his worth obtained, 
 And high was Redmond's youthful name 
 Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 
 Had fortune smiled on Marston fight. 
 The eve had seen him dubbed a knight; 
 Twice, mid the battle's doubtful strife, 
 Of Rokeby's lord he saved the life.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 177 
 
 But when he saw him prisoner made, 
 He kissed and then resigned his blade, 
 And yielded him an easy prey 
 To those who led the Knight away, 
 Resolved Matilda's sire should prove^ 
 In prison, as in fight, his love. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
 
 'Tis like a sun -glimpse through a shower, 
 
 A watry ray an instant seen 
 
 The darkly closing clouds between. 
 
 As Redmond on the turf reclined, 
 
 The past and present filled his mind : 
 
 " It was not thus," AiFection said, 
 
 " I dreamed of my retvu'n, dear maid ! 
 
 Not thus, when, from thy trembling hand, 
 
 I took the banner and the brand.
 
 178 E.OKEBY. CANTO IV 
 
 When round me, as the bugles blew, 
 
 Their blades three hundred warriors drew, 
 
 And, while the standard I unrolled, 
 
 Clashed their bright arms with clamour bold. 
 
 Where is that banner now ? — its pride 
 
 Lies whelmed in Ouze's svdlen tide ! 
 
 Where now these warriors ? — in their gore, 
 
 They cumber Marston's dismal moor ! 
 
 And what avails a useless brand, 
 
 Held by a captive's shackled hand. 
 
 That only would his life retain, 
 
 To aid thy sire to bear his chain !" — 
 
 Thus Redmond to himself apart. 
 
 Nor lighter was his rival's heart ; 
 
 For Wilfrid, while his generous soul 
 
 Disdained to profit by controul. 
 
 By many a sign could mark too plain. 
 
 Save with such aid, his hopes were vain. 
 
 10
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 179 
 
 But now Matilda's accents stole 
 On the dark visions of their soul, 
 And bade their mournful musing fly, 
 Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 
 
 XVIII. 
 " I need not to my friends recall, 
 How Mortham shunned my father's hall ; 
 A man of silence and of woe, 
 Yet ever anxious to bestow 
 On my poor self whate'er could prove 
 A kinsman's confidence and love. 
 My feeble aid could sometimes chace 
 The clouds of sorrow for a space, 
 But, oftener, fixed beyond my power, 
 I marked his deep despondence lower. 
 One dismal cause, by all unguessed. 
 His fearful confidence confessed,
 
 180 E-OKEBY. CANTO I Y. 
 
 And twice it was my liap to see 
 
 Examples of that agony, 
 
 Which for a season can o'erstrain 
 
 And wreck the structure of the brain. 
 
 He had the awful power to know 
 
 The approaching mental overthrow. 
 
 And while his mind had courage yet 
 
 To strviggle with the dreadfid fit, 
 
 The victim writhed against its throes, 
 
 Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 
 
 This malady, I well could mark, 
 
 Sprung from some direftd cause and dark; 
 
 But still he kept its source concealed, 
 
 Till arming for the civil field ; 
 
 Then in my charge he bade me hold 
 
 A treasure hvige of gems and gold. 
 
 With this disjointed dismal scroll 
 
 That tells the secret of his soul,
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 181 
 
 In such wild words as oft betray 
 A mind by anguish forced astray. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 mortham's history. 
 " Matikla ! thou hast seen me start, 
 As if a dagger thrilled my heart, 
 When it has happ'd some casual phrase 
 Waked memory of my former days. 
 Believe, that few can backward cast 
 Their thought with pleasure on the past 
 
 But I ! my youth was rash and vain, 
 
 And blood and rage my manhood stain, 
 And my grey hairs must now descend 
 To my cold grave without a fi'iend ! 
 Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 
 Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known.
 
 182 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 And must I lift the bloody veil, 
 
 That hides my dark and fatal tale ! 
 
 I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease ! 
 
 Leave me one little hour in peace ! 
 
 Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill 
 
 Thine own commission to fulfill ? 
 
 Or, while thou point' st, with gesture fierce, 
 
 Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse, 
 
 How can I paint thee as thou wert, 
 
 So fair in face, so warm in heart ! — 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou 
 Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
 But hers was like the sunny glow. 
 That laughs on earth and all below ! 
 We wedded secret — there was need — 
 Differing in country and in creed ;
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 183 
 
 And when to Mortham's tower she came, 
 We mentioned not her race and name, 
 Until thy sire, who fought afar. 
 Should turn him home from foreign war, 
 On whose kind influence we relied 
 To sooth her father's ire and pride. 
 Few months we lived retired, unknown, 
 To all but one dear friend alone, 
 One darling friend — I spare his shame, 
 I will not write the villain's name ! 
 My trespasses I might forget. 
 And sue in vengeance for the debt 
 Due by a brother worm to me, 
 Ungratefril to God's clemency. 
 That spared me penitential time. 
 Nor cut me off amid my crime. —
 
 184 ROKEBY. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " A kindly smile to all she lent, 
 But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 
 So kind, that, from its harmless glee. 
 The wretch misconstrued villainy. 
 Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 
 A vengeful snare the traitor wove. 
 Alone we sate — the flask had flowed, 
 My blood with heat unwonted glowed. 
 When through the alley ed walk we spied 
 With hurried step my Edith glide. 
 Cowering beneath the verdant screen, 
 As one unwilling to be seen. 
 Words cannot paint the fiendish smile. 
 That curl'd the traitor s cheek the while ! 
 Fiercely I questioned of the cause ; 
 He made a cold and artful pause,
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 185 
 
 Then prayed it might not chafe my mood — 
 
 '' There was a gallant in the wood !" — 
 
 We had been shooting at the deer ; — 
 
 My cross-bow (evil chance !) was near : 
 
 That ready weapon of my wrath 
 
 I caught, and, hasting up the path, 
 
 In the yew grove my wife I found, 
 
 A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 
 
 I marked his heart — the bow I drew — 
 
 I loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true ! 
 
 I found my Edith's dying charms 
 
 Locked in her murdered brother's arms ! 
 
 He came in secret to enquire 
 
 Her state, and reconcile her sire.— • 
 
 XXH. 
 
 " All fled my rage — the villain first. 
 
 Whose craft my jealousy had nursed ; 
 
 2 a
 
 186 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 He sought in far and foreign clime 
 To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
 The manner of the slaughter done 
 Was known to few, my guilt to none ; 
 Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
 I know not what— of shaft mis-aimed ; 
 And even from those the act who knew. 
 He hid the hand the dart that threw. 
 Untouched by human laws I stood. 
 But God had heard the cry of blood ! — 
 There is a blank upon my mind, 
 A fearful vision ill-defined. 
 Of raving till my flesh was torn. 
 Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn — 
 And when I waked to woe more mild. 
 And questioned of my infant child — 
 (Have I not written, that she bare 
 A boy, like summer morning fair ?)
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 187 
 
 With looks confused my menials tell, 
 
 That armed men in Mortham dell 
 
 Beset the nurse's evening way 
 
 And bore her, with her charge, away. 
 
 My faithless friend, and none but he, 
 
 Could profit by this villainy ; 
 
 Him, then, I sought, with purpose dread 
 
 Of treble vengeance on his head ! 
 
 He 'scaped me — bvit my bosom's wound 
 
 Some faint relief from wandering found, 
 
 And over distant land and sea 
 
 I bore my load of misery. 
 
 XXHI. 
 " 'Twas then that fate my footsteps led 
 Among a daring crew and dread, 
 With whom full oft my hated life 
 I ventured in such desperate strife.
 
 188 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 That even my fierce associates saw 
 
 My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 
 
 Much then I learned, and much can show. 
 
 Of human guilt and human woe, 
 
 Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known 
 
 A wretch, whose sorrows matched my own ! — 
 
 It chanced, that, after battle fray. 
 
 Upon the bloody field we lay; 
 
 The yellow moon her lustre shed 
 
 Upon the wounded and the dead. 
 
 While, sense in toil and wassail drowned, 
 
 My ruSian comrades slept around. 
 
 There came a voice — its silver tone 
 
 Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 
 
 " Ah wretch !" it said, " what makest thou here, 
 
 While unavenged my bloody bier, 
 
 While unprotected lives mine heir. 
 
 Without a father's name and care ?" —
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 ROKEBY. 189 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " I heard — obeyed — and homeward drew ; 
 
 The fiercest of our desperate crew 
 
 I brought, at time of need to aid 
 
 My purposed vengeance, long delayed. 
 
 But, humble be my thanks to heaven, 
 
 That better hopes and thoughts has given, 
 
 And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught, 
 
 Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 
 
 Let me in misery rejoice — 
 
 I've seen his face — I've heard his voice — 
 
 I claimed of him my only child — 
 
 As he disowned the theft, he smiled ! 
 
 That very calm and callous look. 
 
 That fiendish sneer his visage took,
 
 190 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 As when he said, in scornful mood, 
 " There is a gallant in the wood !" — 
 — I did not slay him as he stood — 
 All praise be to my Maker given ! 
 Long-sufferance is one path to heaven." — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Thus far the woeful tale was heai'd, 
 When something in the thicket stirred. 
 Up Redmond sprvmg ; the villain Guy, 
 (For he it was that lurked so nigh) 
 Drew back — he durst not cross his steel 
 A moment's space with brave O'Neale, 
 For all the treasured gold that rests 
 In Mortham's iron-banded chests. 
 Redmond resumed his seat ; — he said. 
 Some roe was rustling in the shade.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 19I 
 
 Bertram laughed grimly, when he saw 
 His timorous comrade backward draw : 
 " A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
 A single arm, and aid so near ! 
 Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
 Give me thy carabine — I'll show 
 An art that thou wilt gladly know. 
 How thou mayest safely quell a foe." — 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 
 The spreading birch and hazels through, 
 Till he had Redmond full in view. 
 The gun he levelled — mark like this 
 Was Bertram never known to miss. 
 When fair opposed to aim there sate 
 
 An object of his venomed hate. 
 
 10
 
 192 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 That day young Redmond's death had seen, 
 
 But twice Matilda came between 
 
 The carabine and Redmond's breast. 
 
 Just ere the spring- his finger pressed. 
 
 A deadly oath the ruffian swore, 
 
 But yet his fell design forbore : 
 
 *• It ne'er," he muttered, " shall be said, 
 
 That thus I scathed thee, havighty maid !" 
 
 Then moved to seek more open aim. 
 
 When to his side Guy Denzil came : 
 
 " Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 
 
 For ever, if thou fire the gun. 
 
 By all the fiends, an armed force 
 
 Descends the dell, of foot and horse ! 
 
 We perish if they hear a shot — 
 
 Madman ! we have a safer plot — 
 
 Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back ! 
 
 Behold, down vonder hollow track,
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 193 
 
 The warlike leader of the band 
 Comes, with his broad-sword in his hand." — 
 Bertram looked up ; he saw, he knew. 
 That Denzil's fears had counselled true, 
 Then cursed his fortune and withdrew, 
 Threaded the woodlands undescried, 
 And gained the cave on Greta-side. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 
 
 Doomed to captivity or death, 
 
 Their thoughts to one sad subject lent, 
 
 Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 
 
 Heedless and unconcerned they sate, 
 
 While on the very verge of fate ; 
 
 Heedless and unconcerned remained, 
 
 When Heaven the murderer s arm restrained ; 
 
 2b
 
 194 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 As ships drift darkling down the tide, 
 Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide. 
 Uninterrupted thus they heard 
 What Mortham's closing tale declared. 
 He spoke of wealth as of a load, 
 By Fortune on a wretch bestowed, 
 In bitter mockery of hate^ 
 His cureless woes to aggravate ; 
 But yet he prayed Matilda's care 
 Might save that treasure for his heir — - 
 His Edith's son — for still he raved 
 As confident his life was saved ; 
 In frequent vision, he averred^ 
 He saw his face, his voice he heard. 
 Then argued calm — had mvu^der been. 
 The blood, the corpses, had been seen ; 
 Some had pretended, too, to mark 
 On Windermere a stranger bark.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 195 
 
 Whose crew with jealous care, yet mild, 
 
 Guarded a female and a child. 
 
 While these faint proofs he told and pressed, 
 
 Hope seemed to kindle in his breast ; 
 
 Though inconsistent, vague, and vain, 
 
 It warped his judgement and his brain. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 These solemn words his story close : — 
 " Heaven witness for me, that I chose 
 My part in this sad civil fight. 
 Moved by no cause but England's right. 
 My country's groans have bid me draw 
 My sword for gospel and for law ; — 
 These righted, I fling arms aside. 
 And seek my son through Europe wide.
 
 196 ROKEBY. , canto iv. 
 
 My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 
 Already casts a grasping eye, 
 
 With thee may unsuspected lie. 
 When of my death Matilda hears. 
 Let her retain her trust three years ; 
 If none, from me, the treasure claim, 
 Perished is Mortham's race and name ; 
 Then let it leave her generous hand. 
 And flow in bounty o'er the land. 
 Soften the wounded prisoner's lot. 
 Rebuild the peasant's ruined cot ; 
 That spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
 May mitigate domestic war."— ■ 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The generous youths, who well had known 
 Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. • 1Q7 
 
 To that high mind, by sorrow swerved, 
 
 Gave sympathy his woes deserved; 
 
 But Wilfrid chief, who saw revealed 
 
 Why Mortham wished his life concealed. 
 
 In secret, doubtless, to pursue 
 
 The schemes his wildered fancy drew. 
 
 Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell, 
 
 That she would share her father's cell, 
 
 His partner of captivity. 
 
 Where'er his prison-house should be ; 
 
 Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall, 
 
 Dismantled, and forsook by all. 
 
 Open to rapine and to stealth, 
 
 Had now no safe-guard for the wealth 
 
 Entrusted by her kinsman kind. 
 
 And for such noble use designed. 
 
 " Was Barnard- Castle then her choice," 
 
 Wilfrid enquired with hasty voice.
 
 198 ROKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 " Since there the victor's laws ordain, 
 
 Her father must a space remain ?" — 
 
 A fluttered hope his accents shook, 
 
 A fluttered joy was in his look. 
 
 Matilda hastened to reply, 
 
 For anger flashed in Redmond's eye : — 
 
 '' Duty," she said with gentle grace, 
 
 " Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 
 
 Else had I for my sire assigned 
 
 Prison less galling to his mind, 
 
 Than that his wild- wood haunts which sees, 
 
 And hears the murmur of the Tees, 
 
 Recalling thus, with every glance. 
 
 What captive's sorrow can enhance ; — 
 
 But where those woes are highest, there 
 
 Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care." —
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. ]99 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He felt the kindly check she gave, 
 
 And stood abashed — then answered grave : — 
 
 " I sought thy purpose, noble maid, 
 
 Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 
 
 I have beneath mine own command. 
 
 So wills my sire, a gallant band. 
 
 And well could send some horsemen wight 
 
 To bear the treasure forth by night, 
 
 And so bestow it as you deem 
 
 In these ill days may safest seem." — 
 
 " Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said : 
 
 O be it not one day delayed ! 
 
 And, more thy sister-friend to aid. 
 
 Be thou thyself content to hold, 
 
 In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold.
 
 200 EOKEBY. CANTO IV. 
 
 Safest with thee." — While thus she spoke, 
 
 Armed soldiers on their converse broke. 
 
 The same of whose approach afraid, 
 
 The ruffians left their ambuscade. 
 
 Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 
 
 Then looked around as for a foe. 
 
 " What mean'st thou, friend," young WycHfFe said, 
 
 " Why thus in arms beset the glade ?" 
 
 — " That would I gladly learn from you : 
 
 For up my squadron as I drew. 
 
 To exercise our martial game 
 
 Upon the moor of Barninghame, 
 
 A stranger told you were way-laid, 
 
 Surrounded, and to death betrayed. 
 
 He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
 
 A falcon glance, a warrior s mien. 
 
 He bade me bring you instant aid ; 
 
 I doubted not, and I obey'd." —
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 201 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed. 
 Turned short, and on the speaker gazed, 
 While Redmond every thicket round 
 Tracked earnest as a questing hound, 
 And DenziFs carabine he found; 
 Sure evidence, by which they knew 
 The warning was as kind as true. 
 Wisest it seemed, with cautious speed 
 To leave the dell. It was agreed, 
 That Redmond, with Matilda fair, 
 And fitting guard, should home repair ; 
 At nightfall Wilfrid should attend. 
 With a strong band, his sister-friend. 
 To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 
 To Barnard- Castle's lofty towers, 
 
 o. 
 
 c
 
 202 R O K E B Y. CANTO iv 
 
 Secret and safe, the banded chests, 
 In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
 This hasty purpose fixed, they part, 
 Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 
 
 END OF CANTO FOURTH.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Xhe sultry summer day is done, 
 The western hills have hid the sun, 
 But mountain peak and village spire 
 Retain reflection of his iircr 
 Old Barnard's towers are purple still, 
 To those that gaze from Toller-hill ; 
 Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 
 Like steel upon the anvil glows ;
 
 206 R O K EB Y. canto v. 
 
 And Stanemore's ridge, behind that lay, 
 Rich with the spoils of parting day. 
 In crimson and in gold array'd. 
 Streaks yet a while the closing shade, 
 Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 
 The tints which brighter hours had given. 
 Thus aged men full loth and slow 
 The vanities of life forego, 
 And count their youthful follies o'er, 
 Till Memory lends her light no more. 
 
 11. 
 The eve, that slow on upland fades, 
 Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades. 
 Where, sunk within their banks profound, 
 Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 
 The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 
 Of noontide made a twilight brown,
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 207 
 
 Impervious now to fainter light, 
 Of twilight make an early night. 
 Hoarse into middle air arose 
 The vespers of the roosting crows, 
 And with congenial murmurs seem 
 To wake the Genii of the stream ; 
 For louder clamoured Greta's tide, 
 And Tees in deeper voice replied, 
 And fitful waked the evening wind, 
 Fitful in sighs its breath resigned. 
 Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul 
 Felt in the scene a soft controul. 
 With lighter footstep pressed the ground, 
 And often paused to look around ; 
 And, though his path was to his love. 
 Could not but linger in the grove, 
 To drink the thrilling interest dear. 
 Of awful pleasure checked by fear.
 
 '208 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 Such inconsistent moods have we, 
 Even when our passions strike the key. 
 
 III. 
 Now through the wood's dark mazes past, 
 The opening lawn he reached at last, 
 Where, silvered by the moonlight ray. 
 The ancient Hall before him lay. 
 Those martial terrors long were fled, 
 That frowned of old arovmd its head : 
 The battlements, the turrets grey, 
 Seemed half abandoned to decay ; 
 On barbican and keep of stone 
 Stern Time the foeman's work had done ; 
 Where banners the invader braved, 
 The hare-bell now and wall-flower waved; 
 In the rude guard-room, where of yore 
 Their weary hours the warders wore,
 
 CANTO V. - ROKEBY. 209 
 
 Now, while the cheerful faggots blaze, 
 
 On the paved floor the spmdle plays ; 
 
 The flanking guns dismoimted lie. 
 
 The moat is ruinous and dry, 
 
 The grim portcullis gone — and all 
 
 The fortress turned to peacefiil hall. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But yet precautions, lately ta'en. 
 Shewed danger's day revived again ; 
 The court-yard wall shewed marks of care, 
 The fallen defences to repair, 
 Lending such strength as might withstand 
 The insult of marauding band. 
 The beams once more were taught to bear 
 The trembling draw-bridge into air, 
 And not, till questioned o'er and o'er, 
 For Wilfrid oped the jealous door ; 
 
 £d
 
 210 KOKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 And when he entered, bolt and bar 
 Resumed their place with sullen jar ; 
 Then, as he crossed the vaulted porch, 
 The old grey porter raised his torch, 
 And viewed him o'er, from foot to head, 
 Ere to the hall his steps he led. 
 That huge old hall, of knightly state. 
 Dismantled seemed and desolate. 
 The moon through transom-shafts of stone, 
 Which crossed the latticed oriels, shone, 
 And by the mournful light she gave, 
 The Gothic vault seemed funeral cave. 
 Pennon and banner waved no more 
 O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar, 
 Nor glimmering arms were marshalled seen. 
 To glance those sylvan spoils between. 
 Those arms, those ensigns, borne away. 
 Accomplished Rokeby's brave array. 
 But all were lost on Marston's day !
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 211 
 
 Yet, here and there the moon-beams fall 
 Where armour yet adorns the wall, 
 Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 
 And useless in the modern fight ; 
 Like veteran rehque of the wars. 
 Known only by neglected scars. 
 
 V. 
 
 Matilda soon to greet him came, 
 And bade them light the evening flame ; 
 Said, all for parting was prepared. 
 And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 
 But, all reluctant to unfold. 
 His father's avarice of gold, 
 He hinted, that, lest jealous eye 
 Should on their precious burthen pry, 
 He judged it best the castle-gate 
 To enter when the night wore late ;
 
 212 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 And therefore he had left command 
 With those he trusted of his band. 
 That they should be at Rokeby met, 
 What time the midnight watch was set. 
 Now Redmond came, whose anxious care 
 Till then was busied to prepare 
 All needful, meetly to arrange 
 The mansion for its mournful change. 
 With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased, 
 His cold imready hand he seized. 
 And pressed it till his kindly strain 
 The gentle youth returned again. 
 Seemed as between them this was said, 
 " Awhile let jealousy be dead ; 
 And let our contest be, whose care 
 Shall best assist this helpless fair. " —
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 213 
 
 VI. 
 
 There was no speech the truce to bind, 
 It was a compact of the mind ; 
 A generous thought at once impressed 
 On either rival's generous breast. 
 Matilda well the secret took, 
 From sudden change of mien and look, 
 And — for not small had been her fear 
 Of jealous ire and danger, near — 
 Felt, even in her dejected state, 
 A joy beyond the reach of fate. 
 They closed beside the chimney's blaze. 
 And talked and hoped for happier days, 
 And lent their spirits' rising glow 
 Awhile to gild impending woe ; — 
 High privilege of youthful time, 
 Worth all the pleasures of our prime f
 
 214 ROKEBY. CANTO V 
 
 The bickering faggot sparkled bright, 
 
 And gave the scene of love to sight, 
 
 Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 
 
 Played on Matilda's neck of snow, 
 
 Her nut-brown curls and forehead high, 
 
 And laughed in Redmond's azure eye. 
 
 Two lovers by the maiden sate, 
 
 Without a glance of jealous hate ; 
 
 The maid her lovers sate between. 
 
 With open brow and equal mien : — 
 
 It is a sight but rarely spied. 
 
 Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 
 
 VII. 
 While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
 A knock alarmed the outer gate. 
 And, ere the tardy porter stirred, 
 The tinkling of a harp was heard.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 2U 
 
 A manly voice, of mellow swell. 
 Bore burthen to the music well. 
 
 S O X G. 
 " Summer eve is gone and past, 
 Summer dew is falling fast; 
 I have wandered all the day. 
 Do not bid me farther strav ! 
 Gentle hearts of gentle kin. 
 Take the wandermg Harper in !** — 
 
 But the stern porter answer gave, 
 
 With " Get thee hence, thou strollino* knave ! 
 
 The kina' wants soldiers ; war. I trow. 
 
 Were meeter trade for such as thou. — 
 
 At this unkind reproof again 
 
 Answered the readv minstrels strain. 
 
 s
 
 216 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 SONG RESUMED. 
 
 " Bid not me, in battle-field, 
 Buckler lift, or broad-sword wield ! 
 All my strength and all my art 
 Is to touch the gentle heart. 
 With the wizard notes that ring 
 From the peaceful minstrel string." — 
 
 The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 
 
 " Depart in peace, with heaven to guide ; 
 
 If longer by the gate thou dwell. 
 
 Trust me, thou shalt not part so well. " — 
 
 VIII. 
 
 With somewhat of appealing look, 
 The Harper's part young Wilfrid took ;
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 217 
 
 " These notes so wild and ready thrill, 
 They show no vulgar minstrel's skill ; 
 Hard were his task to seek a home 
 More distant, since the night is come; 
 And for his faith I dare engage — 
 Your Harpool's blood is soured by age ; 
 
 His gate, once readily displayed. 
 
 To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 
 
 Now even to me, though known of old^ 
 
 Did but reluctantly unfold." — 
 
 — " O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime, 
 
 An evil of this evil time. 
 
 He deems dependent on his care 
 
 The safety of his patron's heir. 
 
 Nor judges meet to ope the tower 
 
 To vagrants at our parting hour, 
 
 Urging his duty to excess 
 
 Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 
 
 2e
 
 218 ROKEBY. canto v 
 
 For this poor Harper I would fain 
 He may relax : — hark to his strain ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 SONG RESUMED. 
 
 " I have song of war for knight, 
 Lay of love for lady bright, 
 Fairy tale to lull the heir, 
 Goblin grim the maids to scare ; 
 Dark the night, and long till day, 
 Do not bid me farther stray ! 
 
 " Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
 I can count them name by name ; 
 Legends of their line there be, 
 Known to few, but known to me ; 
 If you honour Rokeby's kin. 
 Take the wandering Harper in !
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 219 
 
 " Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
 For the harp, and for the bard ; 
 Baron's race throve never well, 
 Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
 If you love that noble kin. 
 Take the weary Harper in !" — 
 
 " Hark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope. 
 Said Redmond, " that the gate will ope." — 
 — " For all thy brag and boast, I trow. 
 Nought know'st thou of the Felon Sow," 
 Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
 She roamed, and Rokeby forest wide ; 
 Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
 To Richmond's friars to make a feast. 
 Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
 Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale,
 
 220 ROKEBY. canto v. 
 
 That well could strike with sword amain, 
 And of the valiant son of Spain, 
 Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph ; 
 There were a gest to make us laugh ! 
 If thou canst tell it, in yon shed 
 Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed." — 
 
 X. 
 
 Matilda smiled ; " Cold hope," said she, 
 " From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 
 But, for this Harper, may we dare, 
 Redmond, to mend his couch and fare ?" 
 — " ask not me ! — at minstrel string 
 My heart from infancy would spring ; 
 Nor can I hear its simplest strain. 
 But it brings Erin's dream again. 
 When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee, 
 (The Filea of O'Neale was he.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 221 
 
 A blind and bearded man, whose eld 
 Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 
 I've seen a ring of rugged kerne, 
 With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern, 
 Enchanted by the master's lay. 
 Linger around the live-long day. 
 Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 
 To love, to grief, to ecstacy, 
 And feel each varied change of soul 
 Obedient to the bard's controul. — 
 Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
 Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more; 
 Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze. 
 Tell maiden's love, or heroes praise I 
 The mantling brambles hide thy hearth, 
 Centre of hospitable mirth; 
 All undistinguished in the glade. 
 My sires' glad home is prostrate laid,
 
 222 ROKEBY. CANTO v, 
 
 Their vassals wander wide and far, 
 Serve foreign lords in distant war. 
 And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
 The lovely woods of Clandeboy !" — 
 He spoke, and proudly turned aside, 
 The starting tear to dry and hide, 
 
 XL 
 
 Matilda's dark and softened eye 
 
 Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 
 
 Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 
 
 " It is the will of heaven," she said. 
 
 " And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 
 
 From this loved home with lightsome heart. 
 
 Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 
 
 Even from my infancy was dear ? 
 
 For in this calm domestic bound 
 
 Were all Matilda's pleasures fovmd.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 225 
 
 That hearth, my sire was wont to grace, 
 
 Full soon may be a stranger's place ; 
 
 This hall, in which a child I played, 
 
 Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid, 
 
 The bramble and the thorn may braid, 
 
 Or, passed for aye from me and mine. 
 
 It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 
 
 Yet is this consolation given. 
 
 My Redmond, — 'tis the will of heaven." — 
 
 Her word, her action, and her phrase, 
 
 Were kindly as in early days ; 
 
 For cold reserve had lost its power. 
 
 In sorrow's sympathetic hom\ 
 
 Young Redmond dared not trust his voice ; 
 
 But rather had it been his choice 
 
 To share that melancholy hour. 
 
 Than, armed with all a chieftain's power.
 
 224 ROKEBY. CANTO y. 
 
 In full possession to enjoy 
 Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandehoy. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek ; 
 Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. — 
 " Happy in friendship's ready aid, 
 Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 
 And Rokeby's maiden will not part 
 IVom Rokeby's hall with moody heart. 
 This night at least, for Rokeby's fame 
 The hospitable hearth shall flame, 
 And, ere its native heir retire. 
 Find for the wanderer rest and fire. 
 While this poor Harper, by the blaze, 
 Recounts the tale of other days. 
 Bid Harpool ope the door with speed, 
 Admit him, and relieve each need. —
 
 CANTO T. ROKEBY. 225 
 
 Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try 
 
 Thy minstrel skill?— nay, no reply — 
 
 And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought, 
 
 Thy verse with laurels would be bought, 
 
 And poor Matilda, landless now. 
 
 Has not a garland for thy brow. 
 
 True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades, 
 
 Nor wander more in Greta shades. 
 
 But sure, no rigid jailor, thou 
 
 Wilt a short prison-walk allow. 
 
 Where summer flowers grow wild at will, 
 
 On Marwood chace and Toller-hill; 
 
 Then holly green and lily gay 
 
 Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay." — 
 
 The mournful youth, a space aside 
 
 To tune Matilda's harp applied ; 
 
 And then a low sad descant rung, 
 
 As prelude to the lay he sung. 
 
 2 F
 
 Q26 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE CYPRESS WREATH. 
 
 O Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
 Or twine it of the cypress tree ! 
 Too lively glow the lilies light, 
 The varnished holly's all too bright, 
 The May-flower and the eglantine 
 May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
 But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, 
 Or weave it of the cypress tree ! 
 
 Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
 
 With tendrils of the laughing* vine ; 
 
 The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
 
 To patriot and to sage be due ; 
 
 The myrtle bough bids lovers live. 
 
 But that Matilda will not give ; 
 
 r
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 227 
 
 Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
 Or twine it of the cypress tree ! 
 
 Let merry England proudly rear 
 
 Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 
 
 Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
 
 With heath and hare-bell dipped in dew ; 
 
 On favoured Erin's crest be seen 
 
 The flower she loves of emerald green — 
 
 But, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
 
 Or twine it of the cypress tree. 
 
 Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
 The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 
 And, while his crown of laurel leaves 
 With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
 Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
 But when you hear the passing bell.
 
 228 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, 
 And twine it of the cypress tree. 
 
 Yes ! twine for me the cypress bough ; 
 But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 
 Stay till a few brief months are past, 
 And I have looked and loved my last ! 
 When villagers my shroud bestrew 
 With pansies, rosemary, and rue, — 
 Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me, 
 And weave it of the cypress tree. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 O'Neale observed the starting tear. 
 
 And spoke with kind and blithsome cheer — 
 
 " No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 
 
 When mourns the land thy silent lay,
 
 CANTO v. ROKjEjjI. 229 
 
 Shall many a wreath be freely wove 
 By hand of friendship and of love. 
 I would not wish that rigid Fate 
 Had doomed thee to a captive's state, 
 Whose hands are bomid by honour's law, 
 Who wears a sword he must not draw ; 
 But were it so, in minstrel pride 
 The land together would we ride, 
 On prancing steeds, like minstrels old. 
 Bound for the halls of barons bold ; 
 Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, 
 From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's peak. 
 Survey wild Albin's mountain strand. 
 And roam green Erin's lovely land. 
 While thou the gentler souls should move. 
 With lay of pity and of love. 
 And I, thy mate, in rougher strain. 
 Would sing of war and warriors slain.
 
 230 ROKEBY. CANTO v. 
 
 Old England's bards were vanquished then^ 
 And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden, 
 And, silenced on lernian shore, 
 M'Curtin's harp should charm no more !" — 
 In lively mood he spoke, to wile 
 From Wilfrid's woe- worn cheek a smile. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " But," said Matilda, " ere thy name, 
 Good Redmond, gain its destined fame, 
 Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 
 Thy brother minstrel to the hall ? 
 Bid all the household, too, attend, 
 Each in his rank a humble friend ; 
 I know their faithfiil hearts will grieve. 
 When their poor mistress takes her leave. 
 So let the horn and beaker flow 
 To mitigate their parting woe." —
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 231 
 
 The Harper came : — in youth's first prime 
 
 Himself; in mode of olden time 
 
 His garb was fashioned, to express 
 
 The ancient English minstrel's dresi% 
 
 A seemly gown of Kendal green, 
 
 With gorget closed of silver sheen ; 
 
 His harp in silken scarf was slung, 
 
 And by his side an anlace hvmg. 
 
 It seemed some masquer's quaint array, 
 
 For revel or for holiday. 
 
 XVI. 
 He made obeisance, with a free 
 Yet studied air of courtesy. 
 Each look and accent, framed to please, 
 Seemed to affect a playful ease ; 
 His face was of that doubtful kind, 
 That wins the eye, but not the mind ;
 
 232 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 Yet harsh it seemed to deem amiss 
 Of brow so young and smooth as this. 
 His was the subtle look and sly, 
 That, spying all, seems nought to spy ; . 
 Round all the groupe his glances stole, 
 Unmarked themselves, to mark the whole, 
 Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, 
 Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. 
 To the suspicious, or the old, 
 Subtle and dangerous and bold 
 Had seemed this self-invited guest ; 
 But young our lovers, — and the rest, 
 Wrap'd in their sorrow and their fear 
 At parting of their mistress dear. 
 Tear-blinded to the castle hall. 
 Came as to bear ber funeral pall.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 233 
 
 XVII. 
 
 All that expression base was gone. 
 
 When waked the guest his minstrel tone ; 
 
 It fled at inspiration's call, 
 
 As erst the Daemon fled from Saul. 
 
 More noble glance he cast around, 
 
 More free-drawn breath inspired the sound, 
 
 His pulse beat bolder and more high, 
 
 In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 
 
 Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 
 
 Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! 
 
 His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 
 
 Its vices wild and follies vain. 
 
 And gave the talent, with him born, 
 
 To be a common curse and scorn. 
 
 Such was the youth whom Rokeby's maid, 
 
 With condescending kindness, prayed 
 
 C) 
 
 G
 
 234 ROKEBY. canto v. 
 
 Here to renew the strain she loved, 
 At distance heard and well approved. 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 SONG. 
 T H E H A R P. 
 
 I was a wild and wayward boy, 
 
 My childhood scorned each childish toy ; 
 
 Retired from all, reserved and coy, 
 
 To musing prone, 
 I wooed my solitary joy, 
 
 My harp alone. 
 
 My youth, with bold Ambition's mood. 
 Despised the humble stream and wood 
 Where my poor father's cottage stood, 
 To fame vmknown ; —
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 235 
 
 What should my soaring views make good ? 
 My harp alone. 
 
 Love came with all his frantic fire, 
 And wild romance of vain desire ; 
 The Baron's daughter heard my lyre, 
 
 And praised the tone ; — 
 What could presumptuous hope inspire ? 
 
 My harp alone. 
 
 At Manhood's touch the bubble burst, 
 And Manhood's pride the vision curst, 
 And all that had my folly nursed 
 
 Love's sway to own ; 
 Yet spared the spell that lulled me first, 
 
 My harp alone.
 
 236 ROKEBY. CANTO V, 
 
 Woe came with war, and want with woe ; 
 And it was mine to undergo 
 Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 
 
 Can aught atone 
 My fields made waste, my cot laid low ? 
 
 My harp alone ! 
 
 Ambition's dreams I've seen depart, 
 Have rued of penury the smart, 
 Have felt of love the venom'd dart 
 
 When hope was flown ; 
 Yet rests one solace to my heart, — 
 
 My harp alone ! 
 
 Then, over mountain, moor, and hill, 
 My faith fid harp, I'll bear thee still ; 
 And when this life of want and ill 
 Is well nigh gone.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 237 
 
 Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill, 
 My harp alone ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " A pleasing lay !" Matilda said, 
 
 But Harpool shook his old grey head, 
 
 And took his batton and his torch. 
 
 To seek his guard-room in the porch. 
 
 Edmund observed — with sudden change. 
 
 Among the strings his fingers range. 
 
 Until they waked a bolder glee 
 
 Of military melody ; 
 
 Then paused amid the martial sound, 
 
 And looked with well-feigned fear around ; — 
 
 " None to this noble house belong," 
 
 He said, " that would a minstrel wrong. 
 
 Whose fate has been, through good and ill. 
 
 To love his Royal Master still, 
 
 12
 
 238 ROKEBY. CANTO V, 
 
 And, with your honoured leave, would fain 
 
 Rejoice you with a loyal strain." — 
 
 Then, as assured by sign and look. 
 
 The warlike tone again he took ; 
 
 And Harpool stopped, and turned to hear 
 
 A ditty of the Cavalier. 
 
 XX. 
 
 SONG, 
 THE CAVALIER. 
 
 While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, 
 
 My True Love has mounted his steed and away, 
 
 Over hill, over valley, o'er dale and o'er down ; 
 
 Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the Crown ! 
 
 He has doflTd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear. 
 He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing hair. 
 From his belt to his stirrup his broad-sword hangs down, — 
 Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the Crown !
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. i>39 
 
 For the rights of fair England that broad-sword he draws, 
 
 Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause ; 
 
 His watch-word is honour, his pay is renown, — 
 
 God strike with the gallant that strikes for the Crown ! 
 
 They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all 
 The round-headed rebels of Westminster-hall ; 
 But tell these bold traitors of proud London town. 
 That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown. 
 
 There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes ; 
 There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose ! 
 Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and 
 
 Brown, 
 With the Barons of England that fight for the Crown ? 
 
 Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! 
 Be his banner unconquered, resistless his spear.
 
 240 ROKEBY. CANTO Y, 
 
 Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown, 
 
 In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Alas !" Matilda said, " that strain, 
 Good Harper, now is heard in vain ! 
 The time has been, at such a sound. 
 When Rokeby's vassals gathered round, 
 An hundred manly hearts would bound ; 
 But now, the stirring verse we hear. 
 Like trump in dying soldier's ear ! 
 Listless and sad the notes we own, 
 The power to answer them is flown. 
 Yet not without his meet applause 
 Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
 Even when the crisis of its fate 
 To human eye seems desperate.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 241 
 
 While Rokeby's heir such power retains, 
 Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains : — - 
 And lend thy harp ; I fain would try, 
 If my poor skill can aught supply. 
 Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall, 
 To mourn the cause in which we fall." — 
 
 XXIL 
 
 The Harper, with a downcast look, 
 And trembling hand, her bounty took. 
 As yet, the conscious pride of art 
 Had steeled him in his treacherous part ; 
 A powerful spring, of force unguessed, 
 That hath each gentler mood suppressed. 
 And reigned in many a human breast. 
 From his that plans the red campaign. 
 To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
 
 2h
 
 242 ROKEBY. CANTO V, 
 
 The failing wing, the bloodshot eye, 
 The sportsman marks with apathy, 
 Each feeling of his victim's ill 
 Drowned in his own successftd skilL 
 The veteran, too, who now no more 
 Aspires to head the battle's roar, 
 Loves still the triumph of his art, 
 And traces on the pencilled chart 
 Some stern invader's destined way. 
 Through blood and ruin, to his prey ; 
 Patriots to death, and towns to flame, 
 He dooms, to raise another's name, 
 And shares the guilt, though not the fame. 
 What pays him for his span of time 
 Spent in premeditating crime ? 
 What against pity arms his heart ? — 
 It is the conscious pride of art.
 
 CAJTTo V. ROKEBY. 
 
 XXIIL 
 But principles in Edniund*s mind 
 Were baseless, vague, and undefined. 
 His soul, like bark whose rudder's lost, 
 On passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
 Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power 
 Beyond the impression of the hour ; 
 And O ! when passion rules, how rare 
 The hours that fall to ^^irtue's share ! 
 Yet now she roused her — for the pride. 
 That lack of sterner guilt supplied, 
 Could scarce support him when arose 
 The lay that mourned Matilda's woes. 
 
 243
 
 244 ROKEBY. canto v. 
 
 SONG, 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, 
 
 They mingle with the song; 
 Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 
 
 I must not hear them long. 
 From every loved and native haunt 
 
 The native heir must stray, 
 And, like a ghost whom sun-beams daunt, 
 
 Must part before the day. 
 
 Soon from the halls my fathers reared, 
 Their scutcheons may descend, 
 
 A line so long beloved and feared 
 May soon obscurely end.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 245 
 
 No longer here Matilda s tone 
 Shall bid these echoes swell, 
 Yet shall they hear her proudly own 
 The cause in which we fell. 
 
 The Lady paused, and then again 
 Resumed the lay in loftier strain. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Let our halls and towers decay, 
 
 Be our name and line forgot, 
 Lands and manors pass away, — 
 
 We but share our monarch's lot. 
 If no more our annals show 
 
 Battles won and banners taken, 
 Still in death, defeat, and woe, 
 
 Ours be loyalty unshaken !
 
 246 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 Constant still in danger's hour, 
 
 Princes owned our fathers' aid ; 
 Lands and honours, wealth and power, 
 
 Well their loyalty repaid. 
 Perish wealth, and power, and pride ! 
 
 Mortal boons by mortals given ; 
 But let Constancy abide, 
 
 Constancy's the gift of heaven. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 
 
 A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirred. 
 
 In peasant life he might have known 
 
 As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 
 
 But village notes could ne'er supply 
 
 That rich and varied melody. 
 
 And ne'er in cottage maid was seen 
 
 The easy dignity of mien.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 247 
 
 Claiming respect yet waving state, 
 
 That marks the daughters of the great. 
 
 Yet not, perchance, had these alone 
 
 His scheme of purposed guilt o erthrown ;: 
 
 But, while her energy of mind 
 
 Superior rose to griefs combined, 
 
 Lending its kindling to her eye, 
 
 Giving her form new majesty, — 
 
 To Edmund's thought Matilda seemed 
 
 The very object he had dreamed. 
 
 When, long ere guilt his soul had known^ 
 
 In Winston bowers he mused alone, 
 
 Taxing his fancy to combine 
 
 The face, the air, the voice divine, 
 
 Of some fair princess of romance, 
 
 Who' claims the aid of hero's lance. 
 
 12
 
 248 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Such was my vision!" Edmund thought; 
 
 " And have I, then, the ruin wrought 
 
 Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 
 
 In fairest vision formed her peer ? 
 
 Was it my hand, that could unclose 
 
 The postern to her ruthless foes ? 
 
 Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith. 
 
 Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 
 
 Have I done this ? I ! who have swore, 
 
 That if the globe such angel bore, 
 
 I would have traced its circle broad. 
 
 To kiss the ground on which she trod ! — 
 
 And now — O I would that earth would rive, 
 
 And close upon me while alive ! — 
 
 Is there no hope ? is all then lost ? — 
 
 Bertram's already on his post !
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 249 
 
 Even now, beside the hall's arched door, 
 
 I saw his shadow cross the floor ! 
 
 He was to wait my signal strain — 
 
 A little respite thus we gain: — 
 
 By what I heard the menials say, 
 
 Young WyclifFe's troop are on their way — 
 
 Alarm precipitates the crime ! 
 
 My harp must wear away the time." — 
 
 And then, in accents faint and low, 
 
 He faultered forth a tale of woe. 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 " And whither would you lead me then ?" 
 Quoth the Friar of orders gray ; 
 
 And the ruffians twain replied again, 
 " By a dying woman to pray." — 
 
 2i
 
 250 EOKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 " I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 
 
 A sight bodes little harm, 
 A lady as a lily bright, 
 
 With an infant on her arm." — 
 
 " Then do thine office. Friar gray. 
 
 And see thou shrive her free ! 
 Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night, 
 
 Fling all its guilt on thee. 
 
 " Let mass be said, and trentals read, 
 When thou rt to convent gone. 
 
 And bid the bell of St Benedict 
 Toll out its deepest tone." — 
 
 The shrift is done, the Friar is gone, 
 Blindfolded as he came —
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 251 
 
 Next morning, all in Littlecote-liall 
 Were weeping for their dame. 
 
 Wild Darrell is an altered man, 
 
 The village crones can tell ; 
 He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray, 
 
 If he hears the convent bell. 
 
 If prince or peer cross Darrell's way, 
 He'll beard him in his pride — 
 
 If he meet a Friar of orders gray, 
 He droops and turns aside. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 " Harper ! methinks thy magic lays," 
 Matilda said, " can goblins raise ! 
 Well nigh my fancy can discern, 
 Near the dark porch, a visage stern ;
 
 252 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook 
 
 I see it ! — Redmond, Wilfrid, look ! — 
 
 A human form distinct and clear — 
 
 God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near !" — 
 
 She saw too true. Stride after stride, 
 
 The centre of that chamber wide 
 
 Fierce Bertram gained ; then made a stand, 
 
 And, proudly waving with his hand, 
 
 Thundered — " Be still, upon your lives ! 
 
 He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives." — 
 
 Behind their chief, the robber crew 
 
 Forth from the darkened portal drew, 
 
 In silence — save that echo dread 
 
 Returned their heavy measured tread. 
 
 The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 
 
 Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave ; 
 
 File after file in order pass. 
 
 Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 253 
 
 Then, halting at their leader s sign, 
 At once they formed and curved their line. 
 Hemming within its crescent drear 
 Their victims, like a herd of deer. 
 Another sign, and to the aim 
 Levelled at once their musquets came, 
 As waiting but their chieftain's word, 
 To make their fatal volley heard. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Back in a heap the menials drew, 
 
 Yet, even in mortal terror, true. 
 
 Their pale and startled groupe oppose 
 
 Between Matilda and the foes. 
 
 " O haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond cried; 
 
 " Undo that wicket by thy side ! 
 
 Bear hence Matilda — gain the wood — 
 
 The pass may be a while made good —
 
 254 ROKEBY. canto v. 
 
 Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh — 
 
 speak not — dally not — but fly !" — 
 While yet the crowd their motions hide. 
 Through the low wicket-door they glide. 
 Through vaulted passages they wind, 
 
 In Gothic intricacy twined; 
 
 Wilfrid half led, and half he bore, 
 
 Matilda to the postern door, 
 
 And safe beneath the forest-tree 
 
 The Lady stands at liberty- 
 
 The moon-beams, the fresh gale's caress. 
 
 Renewed suspended consciousness : — 
 
 " Where's Redmond ?" eagerly she cries : 
 
 " Thou answer' St not — he dies ! he dies ! 
 
 And thou hast left him, all bereft 
 
 Of mortal aid — ^^with mvirderers left !— 
 
 1 know it well— he would not yield 
 His sword to man — his doom is sealed !
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. %^5 
 
 For my scorned life, which thou hast bought 
 At price of his, I thank thee not." — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The unjust reproach, the angry look, 
 
 The heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 
 
 " Lady," he said, " my band so near. 
 
 In safety thou may'st rest thee here. 
 
 For Redmond's death thou slialt not mourn, 
 
 If mine can buy his safe return." — 
 
 He turned away — his heart throbbed high. 
 
 The tear was bursting from his eye. 
 
 The sense of her injustice pressed 
 
 Upon the maid's distracted breast, — 
 
 " Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain I" — 
 
 He heard, but turned him not again; 
 
 And now he gains the postern door, 
 
 Now enters — and is seen no more. •
 
 256 ROKEBY. canto v. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With all the agony that e'er 
 Was gendered 'twixt suspense and fear. 
 She watched the line of windows tall 
 Whose Gothic lattice lights the hall, 
 Distinguished by the paly red 
 The lamps in dim reflection shed. 
 While all beside in wan moon-light 
 Each grated casement glimmered white. 
 No sight of harm, no sound of ill, 
 It is a deep and midnight still. 
 Who looked upon the scene had guessed 
 All in the castle were at rest : 
 When sudden on the windows shone 
 A lightning flash, just seen and gone ! 
 A shot is heard — Again the flame 
 Flashed thick and fast — a volley came ! 
 
 10
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 257 
 
 Then echoed wildly, from within, 
 Of shout and scream the mingled din, 
 And weapon-clash, and maddening cry 
 Of those who kill, and those who die ! 
 As filled the hall with sulphurous smoke. 
 More red, more dark, the death-flash broke. 
 And forms were on the lattice cast, 
 That struck, or struggled, as they past. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 What sounds upon the midnight wind 
 Approach so rapidly behind ? 
 It is, it is, the tramp of steeds ! 
 Matilda hears the sound, she speeds, 
 Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
 " O haste to aid, ere aid be vain ! 
 Fly to the postern — gain the hall !" — 
 From saddle spring the troopers all ; 
 
 2 K
 
 258 ROKEBY. canto v. 
 
 Their gallant steeds, at liberty, 
 
 Run wild along the moon-light lea. 
 
 But, ere they burst upon the scene, 
 
 Full stubborn had the conflict been. 
 
 When Bertram marked Matilda's flight, . 
 
 It gave the signal for ihh fight ; 
 
 And Rokeby's veterans, seamed with scars 
 
 Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars, 
 
 Their momentary panic o'er. 
 
 Stood to the arms which then they bore ; 
 
 (For they were weaponed, and prepared 
 
 Their mistress on her way to guard.) 
 
 Then cheered them to the fight O'Neale, 
 
 Then pealed the shot, and clashed the steel ; 
 
 The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
 
 Darkened the scene of blood and death. 
 
 While on the few defenders close 
 
 The Bandits with redoubled blows,
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 259 
 
 And, twice driven back, yet fierce and fell 
 Renew the charge with frantic yell. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Wilfrid has fallen — but o'er him stood 
 
 Young Redmond, soiled with smoke and blood, 
 
 Cheering his mates, with heart and hand 
 
 Still to make good their desperate stand. 
 
 " Up, comrades, up ! in Rokeby halls 
 
 Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 
 
 What ! faint ye for their savage cry, 
 
 Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 
 
 These rafters have returned a shout 
 
 As loud at Rokeby' s wassail route, 
 
 As thick a smoke these hearths have given 
 
 At Hallowtide or Christmas even. 
 
 Stand to it yet ! renew the fight, 
 
 For Rokeby's and Matilda s right !
 
 260 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 These slaves ! they dare not, hand to hand, 
 Bide buffet from a true man's brand." — 
 Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, 
 Upon the advancing foes he sprung. 
 Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 
 His brandished faulchion's sheer descent ! 
 Backward they scattered as he came, 
 Like wolves before the levin flame, 
 When, 'mid their howling conclave driven, 
 Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven. 
 Bertram rushed on — but Harpool clasp'd 
 His knees, although in death he gasp'd. 
 His falling corpse before him flung, 
 And round the trammelled ruffian clung. 
 Just then, the soldiers filled the dome. 
 And, shouting, charged the felons home 
 So fiercely, that, in panic dread. 
 They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 261 
 
 Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 
 Though heard above the battle's roar, 
 While, trampling down the dying man, 
 He strove, with voUied threat and ban. 
 In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
 To rally up the desperate fight. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Soon murkier clouds the hall enfold. 
 Than ere from battle-thunders rolled ; 
 So dense, the combatants scarce know 
 To aim or to aV^oid the blow. 
 Smothering and blindfold grows the fight — 
 But soon shall dawn a dismal light ! 
 'Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came 
 The hollow sound of rushing flame ; 
 New horrors on the tumult dire 
 Arise — the castle is on fire !
 
 262 ROKEBY. ganto v. 
 
 Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand, 
 Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand. 
 Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
 From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 
 Yon tower, which late so clear defined 
 On the fair hemisphere reclined, 
 That, pencilled on its azure pure, 
 The eye could covmt each embrazure. 
 Now, swathed within the sweeping cloud, 
 Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ; 
 Till, from each loop-hole flashing light, 
 A spout of fire shines ruddy bright, 
 And, gathering to united glare. 
 Streams high into the midnight air, 
 A dismal beacon, far and wide 
 That wakened Greta's slumbering side. 
 Soon all beneath, through gallery long, 
 And pendent arch, the fire flashed strong.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 263 
 
 Snatching whatever could maintain, 
 Raise, or extend, its furious reign, 
 Startling, with closer cause of dread. 
 The females who the conflict fled. 
 And now rushed forth upon the plain. 
 Filling the air with clamours vain. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 But ceased not yet, the hall within. 
 
 The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din, 
 
 Till bursting lattices give proof 
 
 The flames have caught the raftered roof 
 
 What ! wait they till its beams amain 
 
 Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 
 
 The alarm is caught — the draw-bridge falls. 
 
 The warriors hurry from the walls; 
 
 But, by the conflagration's light, 
 
 Upon the lawn renew the fight.
 
 264 ROKEBY. CANTO V. 
 
 Each straggling felon down was hewed, 
 Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 
 But forth the affrighted Harper sprung, 
 And to Matilda's robe he clung. 
 Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 
 Stopped the pursuer's lifted hand. 
 Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 
 The rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high, 
 The general flame ascends the sky; 
 In gathered group the soldiers gaze 
 Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
 When, like infernal daemon, sent 
 Red from his penal element. 
 To plague and to pollute the air, — 
 His face all gore, on fire his hair,
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 265 
 
 Forth from the central mass of smoke 
 The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
 His brandished sword on high he rears, 
 Then plunged among opposing spears ; 
 Round his left arm his mantle truss'd 
 Received and foiled three lances' thrust; 
 Nor these his headlong course withstood, 
 Like reeds he snapped the tough ash wood. 
 In vain his foes around him clung; 
 With matchless force aside he flung 
 Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay, 
 Tosses the ban-dogs from his way. 
 Throvigh forty foes his path he made, 
 And safely gained the forest glade. 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 
 
 When from the postern Redmond bore 
 
 2i.
 
 266 ROKEBY. canto v 
 
 Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft, 
 
 Had in the fatal hall been left, 
 
 Deserted there by all his train ; 
 
 But Redmond saw, and turned again. — 
 
 Beneath an oak he laid him down, 
 
 That in the blaze gleamed ruddy brown, 
 
 And then his mantle's clasp undid ; 
 
 Matilda held his drooping head, 
 
 Till, given to breathe the freer air, 
 
 Returning life repaid their care. 
 
 He gazed on them with heavy sigh, — 
 
 " I could have wished even thus to die !" — 
 
 No more he said — for now with speed 
 
 Each trooper had regained his steed ; 
 
 The ready palfreys stood arrayed, 
 
 For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid; 
 
 Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 
 
 One leads his charger by the rein.
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBY. 267 
 
 But oft Matilda looked behind, 
 As up the vale of Tees they wind, 
 Where far the mansion of her sires 
 Beaconed the dale with midnight fires. 
 In gloomy arch above them spread, 
 The clouded heaven lowered bloody red; 
 Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 
 Appeared to roll in waves of blood. 
 Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
 The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
 Each rushing down with thunder sound, 
 A space the conflagration drowned ; 
 Till, gathering strength, again it rose, 
 Announced its triumph in its close. 
 Shook wide its light the landscape o'er. 
 Then sunk — and Rokeby was no more I 
 
 END or CANTO FIFTH.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO SIXTH.
 
 R O K E B Y. 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 HE summer sun, whose early power 
 Was wont to gild Matilda's bower, 
 And rouse her with his matin ray 
 Her duteous orisons to pay. 
 That morning sun has three times seen 
 The flowers unfold on Rokeby green, 
 But sees no more the slumbers fly 
 From fair Matilda's hazel eye;
 
 272 ROKEBY. CANTO vr. 
 
 That morning sun has three times broke 
 On Rokeby's glades of ehn and oak, 
 But, rising from their sylvan screen, 
 Marks no gray turrets glance between ! 
 A shapeless mass lie keep and tower. 
 That, hissing to the morning shower, 
 Can but with smouldering vapour pay 
 The early smile of summer day. 
 The peasant, to his labour bound, 
 Pauses to view the blackened mound. 
 Striving, amid the ruined space, 
 Each well-remembered spot to trace. 
 That length of frail and fire-scorched wall 
 Once screened the hospitable hall ; 
 When yonder broken arch was whole, 
 'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole ; 
 And where yon tottering columns nod, 
 The chapel sent the hymn to God.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 273 
 
 So flits the world's uncertain span! 
 Nor zeal for God, nor love for man. 
 Gives mortal monuments a date 
 Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 
 The towers must share the builder's doom; 
 Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 
 But better boon benignant Heaven 
 To Faith and Charity has given, 
 And bids the Christian hope sublime 
 Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time. 
 
 11. 
 
 Now the third night of summer came. 
 Since that which witnessed Rokeby's flame. 
 On Brignal cliffs and Scargill brake 
 The owlet's homilies awake, 
 The bittern screamed from rush and flag, 
 
 The raven slumbered on his crag, 
 
 2 M
 
 274 EOKEBY. CANTO vi. 
 
 Forth from his den the otter drew, — 
 Grayling and trout their tyrant knew. 
 As between reed and sedge he peers, 
 With fierce round snout and sharpened ears, 
 Or, prowhng by the moon-beam cool, 
 Watches the stream or swims the pool ; — 
 Perched on his wonted eyrie high. 
 Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied eye, 
 That all the day had watched so well, 
 The cushat dart across the dell. 
 In dubious beam reflected shone 
 That lofty cliff* of pale grey stone. 
 Beside whose base the secret cave 
 To rapine late a refuge gave. 
 The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 
 On Greta's breast dark shadows threw ; 
 Shadows that met or shunned the sight. 
 With every change of fitful light ; 
 
 10
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 275 
 
 As hope and fear alternate chase 
 
 Our course through life's uncertain race. 
 
 III. 
 
 Gliding by crag and copse-wood green, 
 
 A solitary Form was seen 
 
 To trace with stealthy pace the wold, 
 
 Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 
 
 And pauses oft, and cowers dismayed, 
 
 At every breath that stirs the shade. 
 
 He passes now the ivy bush, 
 
 The owl has seen him and is hush ; 
 
 He passes now the doddered oak, 
 
 Ye heard the startled raven croak ; 
 
 Lower and lower he descends, 
 
 Rustle the leaves, the brush-wood bends; 
 
 The otter hears him tread the shore. 
 
 And dives, and is beheld no more;
 
 276 ROKEBY. canto vi. 
 
 And by the cliff of pale grey stone 
 The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
 Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
 A well-remembered form and face ! 
 That stripling shape, that cheek so pale, 
 Combine to tell a rueful tale, 
 Of powers misused, of passion's force. 
 Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
 'Tis Edmund's eye, at every sound 
 That flings that guilty glance around ; 
 'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides 
 The brush-wood that the cavern hides, 
 And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 
 'Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 
 
 IV. 
 
 His flint and steel have sparkled bright, 
 A lamp hath lent the cavern light.
 
 CANTO vr. ROKEBY. 277 
 
 Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
 
 Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
 
 Since last he left that stern abode, 
 
 It seemed as none its floor had trode ; 
 
 Untouched appeared the various spoil, 
 
 The purchase of his comrades' toil ; 
 
 Masques and disguises grimed with mud, 
 
 Arms broken and defiled with blood, 
 
 And all the nameless tools that aid 
 
 Night-felons in their lawless trade, 
 
 Upon the gloomy walls were hung, 
 
 Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 
 
 Still on the sordid board appear 
 
 The reliques of the noontide cheer; 
 
 Flaggons and emptied flasks were there. 
 
 And bench o'erthrown, and shattered chair; 
 
 And all around the semblance showed. 
 
 As when the final revel glowed,
 
 278 ROKEBY. CANTO vr. 
 
 When the red sun was setting fast. 
 And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 
 To Rokeby treasure-vaults ! they quaffed, 
 And shouted loud and wildly laughed, 
 Poured maddening from the rocky door, 
 And parted — to return no more I 
 They found in Rokeby vaults their doom, — 
 A bloody death, a burning tomb. 
 
 V. 
 
 There his own peasant dress he spies, 
 Doffed to assume that quaint disguise, 
 And shuddering thought upon his glee. 
 When pranked in garb of minstrelsy. 
 " O be the fatal art accursed," 
 He cried, " that moved my folly first. 
 Till bribed by bandits' base applause, 
 I burst through God's and Nature's laws !
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 279 
 
 Three summer days are scantly past 
 
 Since I have trod this cavern last, 
 
 A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err — 
 
 But O as yet no murderer ! 
 
 Even now I list my comrades' cheer, 
 
 That general laugh is in mine ear, 
 
 Which raised my pulse and steeled my heart, 
 
 As I rehearsed my treacherous part — 
 
 And would that all since then could seem 
 
 The phantom of a fever's dream ! 
 
 But fatal Memory notes too well 
 
 The horrors of the dying yell, 
 
 That from my desperate comrades broke, 
 
 When flashed the fire and rolled the smoke. 
 
 When the avengers shouting came, 
 
 And hemmed us twixt the sword and flame ! 
 
 My frantic flight — the lifted brand — 
 
 That angel's interposing hand !--
 
 280 ROKEBY. canto vr. 
 
 If for my life from slaughter freed, 
 
 I yet could pay some grateful meed ! — 
 
 Perchance this object of my quest 
 
 May aid" — ^he turned, nor spoke the rest. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Due northward from the rugged hearth, 
 
 With paces five he metes the earth, 
 
 Then toiled with mattock to explore 
 
 The entrails of the cavern floor, 
 
 Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground. 
 
 His search a small steel casket found. 
 
 Just as he stooped to loose its hasp. 
 
 His shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 
 
 He started, and looked up aghast, 
 
 Then shrieked — 'twas Bertram held him fast. 
 
 " Fear not !" he said ; but who could h^ar 
 
 That deep stern voice, and cease to fear ?
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 281 
 
 " Fear not ! — by heaven he shakes as much 
 
 As partridge in the falcon's clutch !" — 
 
 He raised him, and unloosed his hold, 
 
 While from the opening casket rolled 
 
 A chain and reliquaire of gold. 
 
 Bertram beheld it with surprise. 
 
 Gazed on its fashion and device, 
 
 Then, cheering Edmund as he could. 
 
 Somewhat he smoothed his rugged mood; 
 
 For still the youth's half-lifted eye 
 
 Quivered with terror's agony. 
 
 And sidelong glanced, as to explore, 
 
 In meditated flight, the door. 
 
 " Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free ; 
 
 Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 
 
 Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 
 
 I've sought for refuge-place in vain.
 
 282 ROKEBY. canto vi> 
 
 And tell me now, thou aguish boy. 
 
 What makest thou here ? what means this toy ? 
 
 Denzil and thou, I marked, were ta en ; 
 
 What lucky chance unbound your chain ? 
 
 I deemed, long since on Baliol's tower. 
 
 Your heads were warped with sun and shower. 
 
 Tell me the whole — and mark ! nought e'er 
 
 Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear." — 
 
 Gathering his courage to his aid, 
 
 But trembling still, the youth obeyed. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Denzil and I two nights passed o'er. 
 In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
 A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 
 Our hold dark Oswald Wycliffe sought, 
 And eyed my comrade long askance, 
 With fixed and penetrating glance.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 283 
 
 * Guy Denzil art thou called ?' — ' The same/ — 
 
 * At court who served wild Buckinghame ; 
 Thence banished, won a keeper's place, 
 So Villiers willed, in Marwood-chase ; 
 That lost — I need not tell thee why — 
 Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply, 
 Then fought for Rokeby : — have I guessed 
 My prisoner right ?' — ' At thy behest.' — 
 He paused awhile, and then went on 
 With low and confidential tone ; 
 
 Me, as I judge, not then he saw. 
 
 Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 
 
 ' List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great 
 
 Have frequent need of what they hate 
 
 Hence, in their favour oft we see 
 
 Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 
 
 Were I disposed to bid thee live. 
 
 What pledge of faith hast thou to give ?' —
 
 284 ROKEBY. CANTO vi. 
 
 VIII. 
 " The ready fiend, who never yet 
 Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit, 
 Prompted his he — ' His only child 
 Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron smiled, 
 And turned to me — ' Thou art his son ?' 
 I bowed — our fetters were undone. 
 And we were led to hear apart 
 A dreadful lesson of his art. 
 Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 
 Had fair Matilda's favour won ; 
 And long since had their union been. 
 But for her father's bigot spleen. 
 Whose brute and blindfold party rage 
 Would, force per force, her hand engage 
 To a base kerne of Irish earth. 
 Unknown his lineage and his birth,
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 285 
 
 Save that a dying ruffian bore 
 The infant brat to Rokeby door. 
 Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 
 Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
 But fair occasion he must find 
 For such restraint well-meant and kind, 
 The knight being rendered to his charge 
 But as a prisoner at large. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " He school'd us in a well-forged tale, 
 Of scheme the castle walls to scale. 
 To which was leagued each cavalier. 
 That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear; 
 That Rokeby, his parole forgot. 
 Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 
 Such was the charge, which Denzil's zeal 
 Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale
 
 286 ROKEBY. canto vi. 
 
 Proffered, as witness, to make good, 
 
 Even though the forfeit were their blood. 
 
 I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 
 
 His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore, 
 
 And then — alas ! what needs there more ? 
 
 I knew I should not live to say 
 
 The proffer I refused that day ; 
 
 Ashamed to live, yet loth to die, 
 
 I soiled me with their infamy !" — 
 
 " Poor youth," said Bertram, " wavering still, 
 
 Unfit alike for good or ill ! 
 
 But what fell next ?" — '' Soon as at large 
 
 Was scrolled and signed our fatal charge, 
 
 There never yet, on tragic stage, 
 
 Was seen so well a painted rage 
 
 As Oswald's shewed ! with loud alarm, 
 
 He called his garrison to arm ;
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 287 
 
 From tower to tower, from post to post, 
 He hurried as if all were lost ; 
 Consigned to dungeon and to chain 
 The good old knight and all his train, 
 Warned each suspected cavalier, 
 Within his limits, to appear 
 To-morrow, at the hour of noon. 
 In the high church of Eglistone." — 
 
 " Of Eglistone ! Even now I passed," 
 
 Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast; 
 
 Torches and cressets gleamed around, 
 
 I heard the saw and hammer sound, 
 
 And I could mark they toiled to raise 
 
 A scaffold, hung with sable baize, 
 
 Which the grim headsman's scene displayed. 
 
 Block, axe, and saw-dust, ready laid.
 
 288 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 Some evil deed will there be done, 
 Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 
 She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guessed 
 That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 
 This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 
 
 « 
 
 But I may meet, and foil him still ! 
 
 How camest thou to thy freedom ?" — " There 
 
 Lies mystery more dark and rare. 
 
 In midst of WyclifFe's well-feigned rage, 
 
 A scroll was offered by a page, 
 
 Who told, a muffled horseman late 
 
 Had left it at the castle-gate. 
 
 He broke the seal — his cheek shewed change, 
 
 Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ; 
 
 The mimic passion of his eye 
 
 Was turned to actual agony. 
 
 His hand like summer-sapling shook. 
 
 Terror and guilt were in his look.
 
 CANTO vr. ROKEBY. 289 
 
 Denzil he judged, in time of need, 
 Fit counsellor for evil deed. 
 And thus apart his counsel broke, 
 While with a ghastly smile he spoke. 
 
 XL 
 
 " As, in the pageants of the stage. 
 
 The dead awake in this wild age, 
 
 Mortham, — whom all men deemed decreed 
 
 In his own deadly snare to bleed. 
 
 Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea. 
 
 He trained to aid in murthering me,-^ 
 
 Mortham has 'scaped ; the coward shot 
 
 The steed, but harmed the rider nought." — 
 
 Here, with an execration fell, 
 
 Bertram leaped up, and paced the cell ; — 
 
 " Thine own grey head, or bosom dark," 
 
 He muttered, " may be surer mark I" — 
 
 £ o
 
 290 ROKEBY. CANTO vr. 
 
 Then sate, and signed to Edmund, pale 
 With terror, to resume his tale. 
 " Wycliffe went on : — ' Mark with what flights 
 Of wildered reverie he writes : 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 " Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 
 Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 
 Once had he all that binds to life, 
 A lovely child, a lovelier wife ; 
 Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own — 
 Thou gavest the word, and they are flown. 
 Mark how he pays thee : — to thy hand 
 He yields his honours and his land. 
 One boon premised ; — Restore his child I 
 And, from his native land exiled, 
 Mortham no more returns, to claim 
 His lands, his honours, or his name ;
 
 CANTO VI. liOKEBY. 291 
 
 Refuse him this, and from the slain 
 Thou shalt see Mortham rise again." — 
 
 XII. 
 
 " This billet while the Baron read, 
 His faultering accents shewed his dread; 
 He pressed his forehead with his palm. 
 Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 
 ' Wild as the winds, as billows wild ! 
 What wot I of his spouse or child ? 
 Hither he brought a joyous dame, 
 Unknown her lineage or her name : 
 Her, in some frantic fit, he slew; 
 The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
 Heaven be my witness, wist I where 
 To find this youth, my kinsman's heir, — 
 Unguerdon'd, I would give with joy 
 The father's arms to fold his boy,
 
 292 ROKEBY. CANTO vj. 
 
 And jNIortham's lands and towers resign, 
 To the just heir of Mortham's Une.' — 
 Thou know' St that scarcely e'en his fear 
 Suppresses Denzil's cjTiic sneer; — 
 ' Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 
 He said, ' to ease his patron's heart ! 
 In thine own jailor's watchfvd care 
 Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir; 
 Thy generous wish is fully won, — 
 Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son.' — 
 
 XIIL 
 
 <* Up starting with a frenzied look, 
 His clenched hand the Baron shook : 
 ' Is Hell at work ? or dost thou rave. 
 Or darest thou palter with me, slave ! 
 Perchance thou wotst not, Barnard's towers 
 Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers. —
 
 CANTO vr. ROKEBY. 293 
 
 Denzil, who well his safety knew, 
 
 Firmly rejoined, ' I tell thee true. 
 
 Thy racks could give thee but to know 
 
 The proofs, which I, untortured, show. — 
 
 It chanced upon a winter night, 
 
 When early snow made Stanemore white, 
 
 That very night, when first of all 
 
 Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 
 
 It was my goodly lot to gain 
 
 A reliquary and a chain. 
 
 Twisted and chased of massive gold. 
 
 — Demand not how the prize I hold 1 
 
 It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. — 
 
 Gilt tablets to the chain were hung, 
 
 With letters in the Irish tongue. 
 
 I hid my spoil, for there was need 
 
 That I should leave the land with speed:
 
 294 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 Nor then I deemed it safe to bear 
 
 On mine own person gems so rare. 
 
 Small heed I of the tablets took, 
 
 But since have spelled them by the book, 
 
 When some sojourn in Erin's land 
 
 Of their wild speech had given command. 
 
 But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 
 
 And language those of other days, 
 
 Involved of purpose, as to foil 
 
 An interloper s prying toil. 
 
 The words, but not the sense, I knew, 
 
 Till fortune gave the guiding clue. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Three days since, was that clue revealed, 
 In Thorsgill as I lay concealed. 
 And heard at full when Rokeby's maid 
 Her uncle's history displayed; 
 
 10
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 295 
 
 And now I can interpret well 
 Each syllable the tablets tell. 
 Mark then : Fair Edith was the joy 
 Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy, 
 But from her sire and country fled. 
 In secret Mortham's lord to wed. 
 O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 
 Dispatch'd his son to Greta's shore. 
 Enjoining he should make him known 
 (Until his farther will were shown,) 
 To Edith, but to her alone. 
 What of their ill-starred meeting fell, 
 Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so well. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " O'Neale it was, who, in despair, 
 Robbed Mortham of his infant heir ;
 
 296 ROKEBY. canto vi. 
 
 He bred him in their nurture wild. 
 And called him murdered Connal's child. 
 Soon died the nurse ; the clan believed 
 What from their chieftain they received. 
 His purpose was, that ne'er again 
 The boy should cross the Irish main, 
 But, like his movmtain sires, enjoy 
 The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
 Then on the land wild troubles came, 
 And stronger chieftains urged a claim, 
 And wrested from the old man's hands 
 His native towers, his father s lands. 
 Unable then, amid the strife, 
 To guard young Redmond's rights or life, 
 Late and reluctant he restores 
 The infant to his native shoresj
 
 CANTO VI. R O K E B Y. 297 
 
 With goodly gifts and letters stored. 
 With many a deep conjuring word, 
 To Mortham, and to Rokeby's lord. 
 Nought knew the clod of Irish earth, 
 Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ; 
 But deemed his chiefs commands were laid 
 On both, by both to be obeyed. 
 How he was wounded by the way, 
 I need not, and I list not say." — 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " A wond'rous tale ! and grant it true. 
 
 What,' Wycliffe answered, * might I do ? 
 
 Heaven knows, as willingly as now 
 
 I raise the bonnet from my brow. 
 
 Would I my kinsman's manors fair 
 
 Restore to Mortham, or his heir ; 
 
 2 p
 
 298 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 But Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 
 
 Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 
 
 Mahgnant to our rightful Cause, 
 
 And trained in Rome's delusive laws. 
 
 Hark thee apart !'— They whispered long. 
 
 Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong : — 
 
 ' My proofs ! I never wall,' he said, 
 
 ' Shew mortal man where they are laid. 
 
 Nor hope discovery to foreclose. 
 
 By giving me to feed the crows ; 
 
 For I have mates at large, who know 
 
 Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
 
 Free me from peril and from band. 
 
 These tablets are at thy command ; 
 
 Nor were it hard to form some train. 
 
 To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
 
 Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
 
 Should wrest from thine the goodly land.' —
 
 CANTO VI. KOKEBY. 299 
 
 — ' I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' well ; 
 But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 
 Thy son, unless my purpose err. 
 May prove the trustier messenger. 
 A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
 From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
 Gold shalt thou have, and that good store, 
 And freedom, his commission o'er; 
 But if his faith should chance to fail. 
 The gibbet frees thee from the jail.' 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Mesh'd in the net himself had twined. 
 What subterfuge could Denzil find ? 
 He told me, with reluctant sigh, 
 That hidden here the tokens lie ; 
 Conjured my swift return and aid, 
 By all he scoffed and disobeyed ;
 
 SCO RO K E B Y. CA N TO V f . 
 
 And looked as if the noose wel*e tied, 
 
 And I the priest who left his side. 
 
 This scroll for Mortham, Wycliffe gave, 
 
 Whom I must seek by Greta's wave. 
 
 Or in the hut where chief he hides, 
 
 Where ThorsgilPs forester resides, 
 
 (Thence chanced it, wandering in the glade, 
 
 That he descried our ambuscade.) 
 
 I was dismissed as evening fell. 
 
 And reached but now this rocky cell." — 
 
 " Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read, 
 
 And tore it fiercely, shred by shred : — 
 
 " All lies and villainy ! to blind 
 
 His noble kinsman's generous mind. 
 
 And train him on from day to day. 
 
 Till he can take his life away. — 
 
 And now, declare thy purpose, youth. 
 
 Nor dare to answer, save the truth ;
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 301 
 
 If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 
 
 I'll tear the secret from thy heart !" — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " It needs not. I renounce," he said, 
 
 " My tutor and his deadly trade. 
 
 Fixed was my purpose to declare 
 
 To Mortham, Redmond is his heir, 
 
 To tell him in what risque he stands, 
 
 And yield these tokens to his hands. 
 
 Fixed was my purpose to atone. 
 
 Far as I may, the evil done. 
 
 And fixed it rests — if I survive 
 
 This night, and leave this cave alive." — 
 
 " And Denzil ?" — " Let them ply the rack, 
 
 Even till his joints and sinews crack ! 
 
 If Oswald tear him limb from limb, 
 
 What ruth can Denzil claim from him.
 
 302 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 Whose thoughtless youth he led astray, 
 
 And damned to this unhallowed way ? 
 
 He school'd me, faith and vows were vain ; 
 
 Now let my master reap his gain." — 
 
 " True," answered Bertram, " 'tis his meed ; 
 
 There's retribution in the deed. 
 
 But thou — thou art not for our course. 
 
 Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse ; 
 
 And he, with us the gale who braves, 
 
 Must heave such cargo to the waves, 
 
 Or lag with overloaded prore 
 
 While barks unburthened reach the shore."— 
 
 XX. 
 
 He paused, and, stretching him at length. 
 Seemed to repose his bulky strength. 
 Communing with his secret mind, 
 As half he sate, and half reclined.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 303 
 
 One ample hand his forehead pressed, 
 And one was dropped across his breast. 
 The shaggy eye-brows deeper came 
 Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 
 His lip of pride awhile forbore 
 The haughty curve till then it wore ; 
 The unaltered fierceness of his look 
 A shade of darkened sadness took, — 
 For dark and sad a presage pressed 
 Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
 And when he spoke, his wonted tone, 
 So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
 His voice was steady, low, and deep. 
 Like distant waves when breezes sleep ; 
 And sorrow mixed with Edmund s fear, 
 Its low unbroken depth to hear.
 
 CQ4 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
 The woe that warped my patron's mind ; 
 Twould wake the fountains of the eye 
 In other men, but mine are dry. 
 Mortham must never see the fool, 
 That sold himself base Wyeliffe's tool ! 
 Yet less from thirst of sordid gain, 
 Than to avenge supposed disdain. 
 Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word. 
 Till now, from Bertram never heard : 
 Say, too, that Mortham's lord he prays 
 To think but on their former days ; 
 On Quariana's beach and rock. 
 On Cayo's bursting battle-shock. 
 On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 
 And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; —
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 30^ 
 
 Perchance my patron yet may hear 
 More that may grace his comrade's bier. 
 My soul hath felt a secret weight, 
 A warning of approaching fate : 
 A priest had said, Return, repent ! 
 As well to bid that rock be rent. 
 Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 
 My heart may burst, but cannot bend. 
 
 XXIL 
 
 " The dawning of my youth, with awe 
 And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 
 For over Redesdale it came, 
 As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 
 Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine, 
 When, challenging the clans of Tyne 
 To bring their best my brand to prove, 
 
 O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove; 
 
 2 Q
 
 306 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, 
 Held champion meet to take it down. 
 My noontide India may declare ; 
 Like her fierce Sun, I fired the air ! 
 Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
 Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
 Panama's maids shall long look pale 
 When Risingham inspires the tale ; 
 Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
 The froward child with Bertram's name. 
 And now, my race of terror run. 
 Mine be the eve of tropic Sun ! 
 No pale gradations quench his ray. 
 No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
 With disk like battle-target red, 
 He rushes to his burning bed, 
 Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
 Then sinks at once — and all is night.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 307 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 
 
 Seek Mortham ovit, and bid him hie 
 
 To Richmond, where his troops are laid, 
 
 And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
 
 Say, till he reaches Eglistone, 
 
 A friend will watch to guard his son. 
 
 Now, fare thee well ; for night draws on. 
 
 And I would rest me here alone." — 
 
 Despite his ill-dissembled fear. 
 
 There swam in Edmund's eye a tear; 
 
 A tribute to the courage high, 
 
 Which stooped not in extremity, 
 
 But strove, irregularly great, 
 
 To triumph o'er approaching fate ! 
 
 Bertram beheld the dew-drop start, 
 
 It almost touched his iron heart :^-
 
 308 ROKEBY. canto vr. 
 
 " I did not think there lived," he said, 
 
 " One, who would tear for Bertram shed." — 
 
 He loosened then his baldrick's hold, 
 
 A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 
 
 " Of all the spoil that paid his pains, 
 
 But this with Risingham remains ; 
 
 And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take. 
 
 And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 
 
 Once more — to Mortham speed amain ; 
 
 Farewell I and turn thee not again." — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The night has yielded to the morn, 
 And far the hours of prime are worn. 
 Oswald, who, since the dawn of day. 
 Had cursed his messenger's delay, 
 Impatient questioned now his train, 
 " Was DenziJ's son returned again ?" —
 
 CANTO vf. ROKEBY. 309 
 
 It chanced there answered of the crew, 
 
 A menial, who young Edmund knew : 
 
 " No son of Denzil this," he said, 
 
 " A peasant boy from Winston glade, 
 
 For song and minstrelsy renowned, 
 
 And knavish pranks, the hamlets round. " — 
 
 — " Not Denzil's son ! — from Winston vale ! — 
 
 Then it was false, that specious tale ; 
 
 Or, worse — he hath dispatched the youth 
 
 To show to Mortham's lord its truth. 
 
 Fool that I was ! — but 'tis too late ; 
 
 This is the very turn of fate ! — 
 
 The tale, or true or false, relies 
 
 On Denzil's evidence : — He dies ! — 
 
 — Ho! Provost Martial ! instantly 
 
 Lead Denzil to the gallows tree ! 
 
 Allow him not a parting word ; 
 
 Short be the shrift, and sure the cord !
 
 310 ROKEBY. CANTO vr. 
 
 Then let his gory head appal 
 Marauders from the castle wall. 
 Lead forth thy guard, that duty done, 
 With best dispatch to Eglistone. — 
 — Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 
 Attend me at the castle-gate." — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Alas ]" the old domestic said, 
 
 And shook his venerable head, 
 
 " Alas, my Lord ! full ill to-day 
 
 May my young master brook the way ! 
 
 The leech has spoke with grave alarm, 
 
 Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 
 
 Of sorrow lurking at his heart, 
 
 That mars and lets his healing art." — 
 
 — " Tush, tell not me I — Romantic boys 
 
 Pine themselves sick for airy toys.
 
 CANTO VI. IIOKEBY. . 311 
 
 I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 
 Bid him for Eglistone be boune, 
 And quick — I hear the dull death-drum 
 Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." — 
 He paused with scornful smile, and then 
 Resumed his train of thought agen. 
 " Now comes my fortune's crisis near ! 
 Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 
 Nought else, can bend Matilda's pride, 
 Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
 But when she sees the scaiFold placed, 
 With axe and block and headsman graced, 
 And when she deems, that to deny 
 Dooms Redmond and her sire to die, 
 She must give way. — Then, were the line 
 Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 
 I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 
 If Mortham come, he comes too late,
 
 312 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 While I, allied thus and prepared. 
 
 Bid him defiance to his beard. — 
 
 — If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 
 
 To drop the axe ? — soft ! pause we there. 
 
 Mortham still lives — yon youth may tell 
 
 His tale — and Fairfax loves him well ; — 
 
 Else, wherefore should I now delay 
 
 To sweep this Redmond from my way ?— 
 
 But she to piety per force 
 
 Must yield. — Without there ! Sound to horse."— 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 'Twas bustle in the court below, — 
 
 " Mount, and march forward !" — forth they go , 
 
 Steeds neigh and trample all around, 
 
 Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound. — 
 
 Just then was sung his parting hymn ; 
 
 And Denzil turned his eye-balls dim,
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 31; 
 
 And scarcely conscious what he sees, 
 Follows the horsemen down the Tees, 
 And scarcely conscious what he hears, 
 The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
 O'er the long bridge they're sweeping now, 
 The van is hid by green- wood bough ; 
 But ere the rearward had passed o'er, 
 Guy Denzil heard and saw no more ! 
 One stroke, upon the castle bell. 
 To Oswald rung his dying knell. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 for that pencil, erst profuse 
 
 Of chivalry's emblazoned hues, 
 
 That traced, of old, in Woodstocke bower, 
 
 The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 
 
 And bodied forth the tourney high, 
 
 Held for the hand of Emily ! < ^
 
 314 ROKEBY. CANTO vi. 
 
 Then might I paint the tumult broad. 
 That to the crowded abbey flowed, 
 And poured, as with an ocean's sound, 
 Into the church's ample bound ! 
 Then might I shew each varying mien. 
 Exulting, woeful, or serene ; 
 Indifference with his idiot stare. 
 And Sympathy with anxious air ; 
 Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
 Doubtfid, disarmed, and sad of cheer ; 
 And his proud foe, whose formal eye 
 Claimed conquest now and mastery; 
 And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
 Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 
 And loudest shouts when lowest lie 
 Exalted worth, and station high. 
 Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
 'Tis mine to tell an onward tale.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 3i5 
 
 Hurrying, as best I can, along, 
 The hearers and the hasty song ; — 
 Like traveller when approaching home, 
 Who sees the shades of evening come, 
 And must not now his course delay, 
 Or chuse the fair, but winding way ; 
 Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, 
 Where o'er his head the wildings bend. 
 To bless the breeze that cools his brow, 
 Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The reverend pile lay wild and waste, 
 Profaned, dishonoured, and defaced. 
 Through storied lattices no more 
 In softened light the sun-beams pour, 
 Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
 Of shrine, and monument, and niche.
 
 316 ROKEBY. CANTO VI, 
 
 The Civil fiiry of the time 
 
 Made sport of sacrilegious crime ; 
 
 For dark Fanaticism rent 
 
 Altar, and screen, and ornament, 
 
 And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew 
 
 Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz Hugh. 
 
 And now was seen unwonted sight. 
 
 In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 
 
 Where once the priest, of grace divine 
 
 Dealt to his flock the mystic sign, 
 
 There stood the block displayed, and there 
 
 The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 
 
 And for the word of Hope and Faith, 
 
 Resounded loud a doom of death. 
 
 Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was heard, 
 
 And echoed thrice the herald's word, 
 
 Dooming, for breach of martial laws, 
 
 And treason to the Commons' cause,
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. S17 
 
 The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 
 
 To stoop their heads to block and steel. 
 
 The trumpets flourished high and shrill, 
 
 Then was a silence dead and still ; 
 
 And silent prayers to heaven were cast, 
 
 And stifled sobs were bursting fast, 
 
 Till from the crowd begun to rise 
 
 Murmurs of sorrow or surprise, 
 
 And from the distant aisles there came 
 
 Deep-mutter d threats, with Wycliffe's name. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But Oswald, guarded by his band, 
 
 Powerful in evil, waved his hand, 
 
 And bade Sedition's voice be dead. 
 
 On peril of the murmurer's head. 
 
 Then first his glance sought Rokeby's knight ; 
 
 Who gazed on the tremendous sight,
 
 318 ROKEBY. CANTO vi, 
 
 As calm as if he came a guest 
 
 To kindred Baron's feudal feast, 
 
 As calm as if that trumpet-call 
 
 Were summons to the bannered hall ; 
 
 Firm in his loyalty he stood, 
 
 And prompt to seal it with his blood. 
 
 With downcast look drew Oswald nigh — 
 
 He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! — 
 
 And said, with low and faultering breath, 
 
 " Thou know'st the terms of life and death."— 
 
 The Knight then turned, and sternly smiled ; 
 
 " The maiden is mine only child, 
 
 Yet shall my blessing leave her head. 
 
 If with a traitor's son she wed." — 
 
 Then Redmond spoke ; " The life of one 
 
 Might thy malignity atone, 
 
 On me be flung a dovible guilt ! 
 
 Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt !" —
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 319 
 
 Wycliffe had listened to his suit, 
 
 But dread prevailed, and he was mute. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And now he pours his choice of fear 
 
 In secret on Matilda's ear ; 
 
 " An union formed with me and mine. 
 
 Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 
 
 Consent, and all this dread array 
 
 Like morning dream shall pass away ; 
 
 Refuse, and, by my duty pressed, 
 
 I give the word — thou know'st the rest." — 
 
 Matilda, still and motionless, 
 
 With terror heard the dread address. 
 
 Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 
 
 To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 
 
 Then wrung her hands in agony, 
 
 And round her cast bewildered eye,
 
 320 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 Now on the scaffold glanced, and now 
 
 On Wycliffe's unrelenting brow. 
 
 She veiled her face, and, with a voice 
 
 Scarce audible, — " I make my choice I 
 
 Spare but their lives ! — for aught beside, 
 
 Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 
 
 He once was generous !"— As she spoke, 
 
 Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke : — 
 
 " Wilfrid, where loitered ye so late ? — 
 
 Why upon Basil rest thy weight? 
 
 Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 
 
 Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ; 
 
 Thank her with raptures, simple boy I 
 
 Should tears and trembling speak thy joy ?" — 
 
 " O hvish, my sire ! to prayer and tear 
 
 Of mine thou hast refused thine ear ; 
 
 But now the awful hour draws on, 
 
 When truth must speak in loftier tone. " —
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 321 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 He took Matilda s hand : — -" Dear maid ! 
 
 Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 
 
 " Of thy poor friend so basely deem, 
 
 As blend him with this barbarous scheme ? 
 
 Alas ! my efforts, made in vain. 
 
 Might well have saved this added pain. 
 
 But now, bear witness earth and heaven. 
 
 That ne'er was hope to mortal given. 
 
 So twisted with the strings of life, 
 
 As this — to call Matilda wife ! 
 
 I bid it now for ever part. 
 
 And with the effort bursts my heart." — 
 
 His feeble frame was worn so low, 
 
 With wounds, with watching, and with woe. 
 
 That nature could no more sustain 
 
 The agony of mental pain. 
 
 2 s
 
 '^^^ IIOKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 He kneeled — his lip her hand had pressed, — 
 
 Just then he felt the stern arrest ; 
 
 Lower and lower sunk his head, — 
 
 They raised him, — but the life was fled f 
 
 Then first alarmed, his sire and train 
 
 Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 
 
 The soul, too soft its ills to bear, 
 
 Had left our mortal hemisphere, 
 
 And sought in better world the meed, 
 
 To blameless life by Heaven decreed. 
 
 XXXH. 
 
 The wretched sire beheld, aghast. 
 
 With Wilfrid all his projects past. 
 
 All turned and centered on his son, 
 
 On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 
 
 " And I am childless now," he said, 
 
 " Childless, through that relentless maid I
 
 CANTO VI. IIOKEBY. 32'. 
 
 A lifetime's arts, in vain essay'd, 
 
 Are bursting on their artist's head ! — 
 
 Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 
 
 Comes hated Mortham for his heir, 
 
 Eager to knit in happy band 
 
 With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand. 
 
 And shall their triumph soar o'er all 
 
 The schemes deep-laid to work their fall ? 
 
 No ! — deeds, which prudence might not dare, 
 
 Appal not vengeance and despair. 
 
 The murderess weeps upon his bier — 
 
 I'll change to real that feigned tear ! 
 
 They all shall share destruction's shock; — 
 
 Ho ! lead the captives to the block ! " — 
 
 But ill his provost could divine 
 
 His feelings, and forbore the sign. 
 
 " Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or they, 
 
 Shall face the judgement-seat this day !" —
 
 324 ROKEBY. canto vi. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The outmost crowd have heard a sovmd, 
 Like horse's hoof on hardened ground ; 
 Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
 The very deaths-men paused to hear. 
 'Tis in the chvu'ch-yard now — the tread 
 Hath waked the dwelling of the dead! 
 Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
 Return the tramp in varied tone. 
 All eyes upon the gate-way hungj 
 When through the Gothic arch there sprung 
 A Horseman armed, at headlong speed — 
 Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
 Fire from the flinty floor was spurned, 
 The vaults unwonted clang returned ! — 
 One instant's glance around he threw, 
 From saddle-bow his pistol drew.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 325 
 
 Grimly determined was his look ! 
 His charger with the spurs he strook — 
 All scattered backward as he came, 
 For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
 Three bounds that noble courser gave ; 
 The first has reached the central nave, 
 The second cleared the chancel wide, 
 The third, — he was at Wycliffe's side. 
 Full levelled at the Baron's head, 
 Rung the report — the bullet sped — 
 And to his long account, and last. 
 Without a groan dark Oswald past ! 
 All was so quick, that it might seem 
 A flash of lightning, or a dream. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 While yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
 Bertram his ready charger wheels ;
 
 326 IIOKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 But flounder d on the pavement floor 
 The steed, and down the rider bore, 
 And, bursting in the headlong sway, 
 The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
 'Twas while he toiled him to be freed. 
 And with the rein to raise the steed, 
 That from amazement's iron trance 
 All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once. 
 Sword, halbert, musquet-butt, their blows 
 Hailed upon Bertram as he rose ; 
 A score of pikes, with each a w ound. 
 Bore down and pinned him to the ground. 
 But still his struggling force he rears, 
 'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears; 
 Thrice from assailants shook him fi-ee, 
 Once pained his feet, and twice his knee. 
 By tenfold odds oppressed at length, 
 Despite his struggles and his strength,
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 32? 
 
 He took an hundred mortal wounds, 
 As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ; 
 And when he died, his parting groan 
 Had more of laughter than of moan ! 
 — They gazed, as when a lion dies, 
 And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 
 But bend their weapons on the slain. 
 Lest the grim king should rouse again ! — 
 Then blow and insvdt some renewed, 
 And from the trunk the head had hewed. 
 But Basil's voice the deed forbade ; 
 A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
 " Fell as he was in act and mind. 
 He left no bolder heart behind : 
 Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
 A soldier's cloak for winding sheet." — -
 
 328 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 XXXV. 
 No more of death and dying pang, 
 No more of trump and bugle clang, 
 Tho' through the sounding woods there come 
 Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 
 Armed with such powers as well had freed 
 Young Redmond at his utmost need, 
 And backed with such a band of horse 
 As might less ample powers enforce ; 
 Possessed of every proof and sign 
 That gave an heir to Mortham's line. 
 And yielded to a father's arms 
 An image of his Edith's charms, — 
 Mortham is come, to hear and see 
 Of this strange morn the history. 
 What saw he ? — not the church's floor. 
 Cumbered with dead and stained with gore ; 
 
 10
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 329 
 
 What heard he ? — not the clamorous crowd, 
 That shout their gratulations loud ; 
 Redmond he saw and heard alone, 
 Clasped him, and sobb'd, " My son, my son !" — 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 This chanced upon a summer morn, 
 When yellow waved the heavy corn ; 
 But when brown August o'er the land 
 Called forth the reapers' busy band, 
 A gladsome sight the sylvan road 
 From Eglistone to Mortham show'd. 
 A while the hardy rustic leaves 
 The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 
 And maids their sickles fling aside. 
 To gaze on bridegroom and on bride, 
 And Childhood's wondering group draws near, 
 And from the gleaner's hands the ear 
 
 2 T
 
 330 ROKEBY. CANTO VI. 
 
 Drops, while she folds them for a prayer 
 And blessing on the lovely pair. 
 'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby gave 
 Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ; 
 And Teesdale can remember yet 
 How Fate to Virtue paid her debt, 
 And, for their troubles, bade them prove 
 A lengthened life of peace and love. 
 
 Time and Tide had thus their sway. 
 Yielding, like an April day. 
 Smiling noon for sullen morrow, 
 Years of joy for hours of sorrow ! 
 
 END OF CANTO SIXTH.
 
 NOTES 
 
 a
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 Note I. 
 On Barnard's totvers and Tees' s stream, ^-c. — St. I. p. 1. 
 
 Barnard Castle, saith old Lei and, " standeth stately upon 
 Tees." It is founded upon a very high bank, and its ruins 
 impend over the river, including within the area a circuit of 
 six acres and upwards. This once magnificent fortress de- 
 rives its name from its founder Barnard Baliol, the ancestor 
 of the short and unfortunate dynasty of that name, which suc- 
 ceeded to the Scottish throne under the patronage of Ed- 
 ward I. and Edward III. Baliol' s tower, afterwards men- 
 tioned in the poem, is a round tower of great size, situated 
 at the western extremity of the building. ' It bears marks of 
 great antiquity, and was remarkable for the curious con- 
 struction of its vaulted roof, which has been lately greatly 
 injured by the operations of some persons to whom the 
 tower has been leased for the purpose of making patent shot ! 
 The prospect from the top of Baliol' s tower commands a 
 rich and magnificent view of the wooded valley of the Tees. 
 
 Barnard Castle often changed masters during the middle 
 ages. Upon the forfeiture of the unfortunate John Baliol,
 
 iv NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 the first king of Scotland of that family, Edward I. seized 
 this fortress among the other English estates of his refrac- 
 tory vassal. It was afterwards vested in the Beauchamps of 
 Warwick, and in the Staffords of Buckingham, and was also 
 sometimes in the possession of the Bishops of Durham, and 
 sometimes in that of the crown. Richard III. is said to 
 have enlarged and strengthened its fortifications, and to have 
 made it for some time his principal residence, for the pur- 
 pose of bridling and suppressing the Lancastrian faction in 
 the northern counties. From the Staffords, Barnard Castle 
 passed, probably by marriage, into the possession of the 
 powerful Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, and belonged to 
 the last representative of that family when he engaged with 
 the Earl of Northumberland in the ill-concerted insurrec- 
 tion of the twelfth of Queen Elizabeth. Upon this occa- 
 sion, however. Sir George Bowes of Sheatlam, who held 
 great possessions in the neighbourhood, anticipated the two 
 insurgent earls, by seizing upon and garrisoning Barnard 
 Castle, which he held out for ten days against all their forces, 
 and then surrendered it upon honourable terms. See Sad- 
 ler's State Papers, vol. II. p. 330. In a ballad, contained in 
 Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. I. the siege is thus 
 commemorated : — 
 
 Then Sir George Bowes he straight way rose, 
 
 After them some spoyle to make j 
 These noble erles turned back againe, 
 
 And aye they vowed that knight to take.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. v 
 
 That baron he to his castle fled, 
 
 To Barnard Castle then fled hee ; 
 The uttermost walles were eathe to won, 
 
 The erles have wonne them presentlie. 
 
 The uttermost walles were lime and bricke; 
 
 But thoughe they won them soon anone^ 
 Long e'er they wan the innermost walles, 
 
 For they were cut in' rock and stone. 
 
 By the suppression of this rebelhon, and the consequent 
 forfeiture of the Earl of Westmoreland, Barnard Castle re- 
 verted to the crown, and was sold or leased out to Car, Earl 
 of Somerset, the guilty and unhappy favourite of James I. 
 It was afterwards granted to Sir Henry Vane the Elder, and 
 was therefore, in all probability, occupied for the parliament, 
 whose interest during the civil war was so keenly espoused 
 by the Vanes. It is now, with the other estates of that fa- 
 mily, the property of the Right Honourable Earl of Dar- 
 linston. 
 
 '&' 
 
 Note IL 
 no human ear. 
 
 Unsharpened by revenge and fear, 
 
 Could e^er distinguish horse^s clatik, ^c. — St. V. p. 8. 
 I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the effect of 
 keen and fervent anxiety in giving acuteness to the organs 
 of sense. My gifted friend. Miss Joanna Baillie, whose dra- 
 matic works display such intimate acquaintance with the
 
 vi NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 operations of human passion, has not omitted this remark- 
 able circumstance : 
 
 " De Monffort. [Off his guard.) 'Tis Rezenvelt : I heard his 
 well-known foot ! 
 From the first stair-case mounting step by step. 
 
 Freb. How quick an ear thou hast for distant sound ! 
 I heard him not, 
 
 [Z)e Montfort looks embarrassed, and is silent.'^ 
 
 Note III. 
 
 The morioiis plumes his visage hide, 
 
 And the buff coat in ample fold 
 
 Mantles hisfonns gigantic mould. — St. VI. p. 9. 
 The use of complete suits of armour was fallen into disuse 
 during the civil war, though they were still worn by leaders 
 of rank and importance. — " In the reign of King James I." 
 says our military antiquary, " no great alterations were made 
 in the article of defensive armour, except that the buff-coat, 
 or jerkin, which was originally worn under the cuirass, now 
 became frequently a substitute for it, it having been found 
 that a cfood buff leather would of itself resist the stroke of a 
 sword ; this, however, only occasionally took place among 
 the light-armed cavalry and infantry, compleat suits of armour 
 being still used among the heavy horse. Buff coats continued 
 to be worn by the city trained-bands till within the memory 
 of persons now living, so that defensive armour may in some 
 measure be said to have terminated in the same materials
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. vii 
 
 with which it began, that is, the skins of animals or leather." 
 — Grose's Military Antiquities, Lond. 1801, 4. vol II. jj. 323. 
 Of these buff-coats, which were worn over the corslet, 
 several are yet preserved, and Captain Grose has given an 
 engraving of one which was used in the time of Charles I. 
 by Sir Francis Rhodes, Bart, of Balbrough-Hall, Derbyshire. 
 They were usually lined with silk or linen, secured before by 
 buttons, or by a lace, and often richly decorated with gold 
 or silver embroidery. From the following curious account 
 of a dispute respecting a buff-coat between an old round- 
 head captain and a justice of peace, by whom his arms were 
 seized after the Restoration, we learn that the value and im- 
 portance of this defensive garment were considerable. " A 
 party of horse came to my house, commanded by Mr Pee- 
 bles ; and he told me he was come for my arms, and that I 
 must deliver them. I asked him for his order. He told me 
 he had a better order than Oliver used to give ; and, clapping 
 his hand upon his sword hilt, he said that was his order. I 
 told him, if he had none but that, it was not sufficient to 
 take my arms ; and then he pulled out his warrant, and I 
 read it. It was signed by Wentworth Armitage, a general 
 warrant to search all persons they suspected, and so left the 
 power to the soldiers at their pleasure. They came to us at 
 Coalley-Hall, about sun-setting ; and I caused a candle to be 
 lighted, and conveyed Peebles into the room where my arms 
 were ; my arms were near the kitchen fire ; and there they 
 took away fowling-pieces, pistols, muskets, carbines, and 
 such like, better than 20/. Then Mr Peebles asked me for
 
 viii NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 my bufF-coat ; and I told him they had no order to take 
 away my apparel. He told me I was not to dispute their 
 orders ; but if I would not deliver it, he would carry me 
 away prisoner, and had me out of doors. Yet he let me alone 
 unto the next morning, that I must wait upon Sir John, at 
 Halifax ; and coming before him, he threatened me, and 
 said, if I did not send the coat, for it was too good for me 
 to keep. I told him it was not in his power to demand my 
 apparel ; and he, growing into a fit, called me rebel and 
 traitor, and said if I did not send the coat with all speed,, he 
 would send me where I did not like well. I told him I was 
 no rebel, and he did not well to call me so before these sol- 
 diers and gentlemen, to make me the mark for every one to 
 shoot at. I departed the room, yet, notwithstanding all the 
 threatenings, did not send the coat. But the next day he 
 sent John Lyster, the son of Mr Thomas Lyster, of Ship- 
 den-Hall, for this coat, with a letter, verbatim thus : ' JVfr 
 Hodgson, I admire you will play the child so with me as you 
 have done, in writing such an inconsiderate letter. Let me 
 have the bufF-coat sent forthwith, otherwise you shall so 
 hear from me as will not very well please you.' I was not 
 at home when this messenger came ; but I had ordered my 
 wife not to deliver it, but if they would take it, let them 
 look to it : and he took it away ; and one of Sir John's 
 brethren wore it many years after. They sent Captain Batt 
 to compound with my wife about it ; but I sent word I would 
 have my own again : but he advised me to take a price for 
 
 it, and make no more ado. I said it was hard to take my 
 
 7
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. ix 
 
 arms and apparel too ; I had laid out a great deal of money 
 for them ; I hoped they did not mean to destroy me, by 
 taking my goods illegally from me. He said he would make 
 up the matter, if I pleased, betwixt us ; and, it seems, had 
 brought Sir John to a price for my coat. I would not have 
 taken 10/. for it ; he would have given about 4/. ; but want- 
 ing my receipt for the money, he kept both sides, and I had 
 never satisfaction." — Memoirs of Captain Hodgson, Edin. 1 806, 
 p. 178. 
 
 Note IV. 
 On his dark face a scorching clime, 
 
 And toil, had done the work of time, SfC. — St. VIII. p. 12. 
 In this character I have attempted to sketch one of those 
 West Indian adventurers, who, during the course of the 
 seventeenth century, were popularly known by the jiame of 
 Buccaneers. The successes of the English in the predatory 
 incursions upon Spanish America, during the reign of Eliza- 
 beth, had never been forgotten ; and from that period down- 
 ward, the exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imitated upon 
 a smaller scale indeed, but with equally desperate valour, by 
 small bands of pirates, gathered from all nations, but chiefly 
 French and English. The engrossing policy of the Spaniards 
 tended greatly to increase the number of these free-booters, 
 from whom their commerce and colonies suffered, in the 
 issue, dreadful calamity. The Windward Islands, which the 
 Spaniards did not deem worthy their own occupation, had 
 
 b
 
 X NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 been gradually settled by adventurers of the French and 
 English nations. But Frederic of Toledo, who was dispatch- 
 ed in 1630, with a powerful fleet against the Dutch, had 
 orders from the court of Madrid to destroy these colonies, 
 whose vicinity at once offended the pride, and excited the 
 jealous suspicions of their Spanish neighbours. This order 
 the Spanish admiral executed with sufficient rigour ; but the 
 only consequence was, that the planters, being rendered des- 
 perate by persecution, began, under the well-known name 
 of Buccaneers, to commence a retaliation so horridly savage 
 that the perusal makes the reader shudder, ^^^len they car- 
 ried on their depredations at sea, they boarded, without re- 
 spect to disparity of number, every Spanish vessel that came 
 in their way ; and, demeaning themselves both in the battle 
 and after the conquest more like daemons than human beings, 
 they succeeded in impressing their enemies with a sort of 
 superstitious terror, which rendered them incapable of o0er- 
 ing effectual resistance. From piracy at sea they advanced 
 to making predatory descents on the Spanish territories, in 
 which they displayed the same furious and irresistible valour, 
 the same thirst of spoil, and the same brutal inhumanity to 
 their captives. The large treasures which they acquired in 
 their adventures, they dissipated by the most unbounded li- 
 centiousness in gaming, women, wine, and debauchery of 
 every species. When their spoils were thus wasted, they 
 entered into some new association, and undertook new adr 
 ventures. For further particulars concerning these extra-
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. xi 
 
 ordinary banditti, the reader may consult Raynal, or the 
 common and popidar book called the History of the Buc- 
 caneers. 
 
 Note V. 
 On Marston heath 
 
 Met, front to front, the ranks of death. — St. XII. p. 17. 
 The well-known and desperate battle of Long-Marston 
 Moor, which terminated so unfortunately for the cause of 
 Charles, commenced under very different auspices. Prince 
 Rupert had marched with an army of 20,000 men for the 
 relief of York, then besieged by Sir Thomas Fairfax, at 
 the head of the parliamentary army, and the Earl of Leven, 
 with the Scottish auxiliary forces. In this he so completely 
 succeeded, that he compelled the besiegers to retreat to 
 Marston Moor, a large open plain, about eight miles distant 
 from the city. Thither they were followed by the prince, 
 who had now united to his army the garrison of York, pro- 
 bably not less than ten thousand men strong, under the gal- 
 lant Marquis (then Earl) of Newcastle. A^Tiitelocke has re- 
 corded, with much impartiality, the following particulars of 
 this eventful day : — " The right wing of the parliament was 
 commanded by Sir Thomas Fairfax, and consisted of all his 
 horse, and three regiments of the Scots horse j the left wing 
 was commanded by the Earl of Manchester and Colonel 
 Cromwell. One body of their foot was commanded by Lord 
 Fairfax, and consisted of his foot, and two brigades of the
 
 ^ 
 
 xii NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 Scots foot for a reserve ; and the main body of the rest of 
 the foot was commanded by General Leven. 
 
 " The right wing of the prince's army was commanded by 
 the Earl of Newcastle, the left wing by the prince himself, 
 and the main body by General Goring, Sir Charles Lucas, 
 and Major- General Porter : thus were both sides drawn up 
 into batalia. 
 
 " July 3d, 1644. In this posture both armies faced each 
 other, and about seven o'clock in the morning the fight be- 
 gan between them. The prince, with his left wing, fell on 
 the parliament's right wing, routed them, and pursued them 
 a great way ; the like did General Goring, Lucas, and Porter 
 upon the parliament's main body. The three generals, giving 
 all for lost, hasted out of the field, and many of their soldiers 
 fled, and threw down their arms ; the king's forces, too 
 eagerly following them, the victory now almost atchieved by 
 them, was again snatched out of their hands. For Colonel 
 Cromwell, with the brave regiment of his countrymen, and 
 Sir Thomas Fairfax having rallied some of his horse, fell 
 upon the prince's right wing, where the Earl of Newcastle 
 was, and routed them ; and the rest of their companions 
 rallying, they fell altogether upon the divided bodies of 
 Rupert and Goring, and totally dispersed them, and obtain- 
 ed a compleat victory after three hours fight. 
 
 " From this battle and the pursuit some reckon were 
 buryed 7000 Englishmen ; all agree that above 3000 of the 
 prince's men were slain in the battle, besides those in the
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. xiii 
 
 chace, and 3000 prisoners taken, many of their chief officers, 
 25 pieces of ordnance, 47 colours, 10,000 arms, two waggons 
 of carabins and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and all their 
 bac^ and bao-cracre." — Whitelocke's Memoirs, Lond. 1682, 
 fol. p. 89. 
 
 Lord Clarendon informs us that the king, previous to re- 
 ceiving the real account of the battle, had been informed, 
 by an express from Oxford, " that Prince Rupert had not 
 only relieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, with many 
 particulars to confirm it, all which was so much believed 
 there, that they had made public fires of joy for the victory," 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 Monckton and Mitton told the news, 
 
 How troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse, 
 
 And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 
 
 Spurring his palfrey northward, past. 
 
 Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
 
 First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed, — St. XIX. p. 29. 
 Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse, 
 and not very distant from the field of battle. The particu- 
 lars of the action were violently disputed at the time ; but 
 the following extract, from the manuscript history of the 
 Baronial House of Somerville, is decisive as to the flight of 
 the Scottish general, the Earl of Leven. The particulars are 
 given by the author of the history on the authority of his 
 father, then the representative of the family. This curious 
 
 8
 
 xiv NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 manuscript will be speedily published by consent of my 
 noble friend, the present Lord Somerville. 
 
 " The order of this great battell, wherin both armies was 
 neer of ane equall number, consisting, to the best calcula- 
 tione, neer to three score thousand men upon both sydes, 
 I shall not take upon me to discryve ; albeit, from the 
 draughts then taken upon the place, and information I re-- 
 ceaved from this gentleman, who being then a volunteer, 
 as having no command, had opportunitie and libertie to ryde 
 from the one wing of the armie to the other, to view all 
 ther severall squadrons of horse and battallions of foot how 
 formed, and in what manner drawn up, with every other 
 circumstance relateing to the fight, and that both as to the 
 king's armies and that of the parliament's, amongst w^hom, 
 untill the engadgment, he went from statione to statione to 
 observe ther order and forme ; but that the descriptione of 
 this battell, with the various success on both sides at the 
 beginning, with the losse of the royal army, and the sad ef- 
 fects that followed that misfortune as to his majesties inte- 
 rest, hes been so often done already by English authors, lit- 
 tle to our comendatione, how justly I shall not dispute, seing 
 the truth is, as our principall generall fled that night neer 
 fourtie mylles from the place of the fight, that part of the 
 armie where he commanded being totallie routed : but it is 
 as true, that much of the victorie is attributed to the good 
 conduct of David Lesselie, lievetennent-generall of our 
 horse. Cromwell himself, that minione of fortune, but the
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST, xv 
 
 rod of God's wrath, to punish eftirward three rebellious na- 
 tions, disdained not to take orders from him, albeit then in 
 the same qualitie of command for the parliament, as being 
 leivetennent-generall to the Earl of Manchester's horse, 
 whom, with the assistance of the Scots horse, haveing routed 
 the prince's right wing, as he had done that of the parlia- 
 ment's. These two commanders of the horse upon that 
 wing, wisely restrained the great bodies of ther horse from 
 persuing these brocken troups, but, wheelling to the left- 
 hand, falls in upon the naked flanks of the prince's main 
 battallion of foot, carying them doune with great violence ; 
 nether mett they with any great resistance untill they came 
 to the Marques of Newcastle his battalione of White Coats, 
 who, first peppering them soimdly with ther shott, when 
 they came to charge, stoutly boor them up with ther picks 
 that they could not enter to break them. Here the parlia- 
 ment's horse of that wing receaved ther greatest losse, and a 
 stop for sometyme putt to ther hoped-for victorie ; and that 
 only by the stout resistance of this gallant battallione, which 
 consisted neer of four thousand foot, untill at length a Scots 
 regiment of dragouns, commanded by Collonell Frizeall, 
 with other two, was brought to open them upon some hand, 
 which at length they did, when all the amunitione was 
 spent. Having refused quarters, every man fell in the same 
 order and ranke wherin he had foughten. 
 
 " Be this execution was done, the prince returned from 
 the persuite of the right wing of the parliament's horse, 
 whicli he had beatten and followed too farre, to the losse of
 
 XVI 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 the battell, which certanely, in all men's opinions, he might 
 have caryed if he had not been too violent upon the per- 
 suite ; which gave his enemies upon the left-hand opportu- 
 nitie to disperse and cut doune his infantrie, who, haveing 
 cleared the field of all the standing bodies of foot, wer now, 
 with many of ther oune, standing ready to 
 
 receave the charge of his allmost spent horses if he should 
 attempt it, which the prince observeing, and seeing all lost, he 
 retreated to Yorke with two thousand horse. Notwithstand- 
 ing of this, ther was that night such a consternatione in the 
 parliament armies, that it's believed by most of those that 
 wer there present, that if the prince, haveing so great a body 
 of horse inteire, had made ane on fall that night, or the en- 
 sueing morning be tyme, he had caryed the victorie out of 
 ther hands ; for it's certane, by the morning's light, he had 
 rallyed a body of ten thousand men, whereof ther was neer 
 three thousand gallant horse. These, with the assistance of 
 the toune and garrisone of Yorke, might have done much 
 to have recovered the victory, for the losse of this battell in 
 effect lost the king and his interest in the three kingdomes, 
 his majestie never being able eftir this to make head in the 
 north, but lost his garrisons every day. 
 
 " As for Generall Lesselie, in the beginning of this flight 
 haveing that part of the army quite brocken, where he had 
 placed himself, by the valour of the prince, he imagined, and 
 was confermed by the opinione of others then upon the 
 place with him, that the battell was irrecoverably lost, see- 
 ing they wer fleeing upon all hands ; theirfore they humblie
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. xvii 
 
 intreated his excellence to reteir and wait his better fortune, 
 which, without larder advyseing, he did; and never drew 
 bridle untill he came the lenth of Leads, having ridden all 
 that night with a cloak of drap de berrie about him, be- 
 longing to this gentleman of whom I write, then in his re- 
 tinue, with many other officers of good qualitie. It was 
 iieer twelve the next day before they had the certanety who 
 was master of the field, when at length ther arry ves ane ex- 
 press, sent by David Lesselie, to acquaint the general they 
 had obtained a most glorious victory, and that the prince, 
 with his brocken troups, was fled from Yorke. This intelli- 
 gence was someAvhat amazeing to these gentlemen that had 
 been eye witnesses to the disorder of the armie before ther 
 retearing, and had then accompanyed the general in his 
 flight, who, being much wearyed that evening of the battell 
 with ordering of his armie, and now quite spent with his 
 lono" journey in the night, had casten himselfe doune upon 
 a bed to rest, when this gentleman comeing quyetly into his 
 chamber, he awoke and hastily cryes out, ' Lievetennent-col- 
 lonell, what newes ?' — * All is safe, may it please your excel- 
 lence, the parliament's armie lies obtained a great victory ;' 
 and then delyvers the letter. The generall upon the hearing 
 of this, knocked upon his breast and sayes, ' I would to God 
 I had dyed upon the place,' and then opens the letter, which, 
 in a few lines, gave ane account of the victory, and in the 
 close pressed his speedy returne to the armie, which he did 
 the next day, being accompanyed some mylles back by this 
 o-entleman, who then takes his leave of him, and receaved 
 
 c
 
 xviii NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 at parting many expressions of kyndenesse^ with promises 
 that he would never be unmyndful of his care and respect 
 towards him ; and in the end he intreats him to present his 
 service to all his freinds and acquaintances in Scotland. 
 Thereftir the generall sets forward in his journey for the ar- 
 mie, as this gentleman did for , in order to 
 
 his transportatione for Scotland, where he arryved sex dayes 
 eftir the fight of Mestoune Muir, and gave tlie first true ac- 
 count and descriptione of that great battell, wherin the co- 
 venanters then glory ed soe much, that they impiously boasted 
 the Lord had now signally appeared for his cause and people, 
 it being ordinary for them, dureing the wholl time of this 
 warre, to attribute the greatnes of their success to the good- 
 nes and justice of ther cause, untill Divine Justice trysted 
 them with some crosse dispensatione, and then you might 
 have heard this language from them, ' That it pleases the 
 Lord to give his oune the heavyest end of the tree to bear, 
 that the saints and the people of God must still be sufferers 
 while they are here away, that that malignant party was 
 God's rod to punish them for ther unthankfulnesse, which 
 in the end he will cast into the fire ;' with a thousand other 
 expressions and scripture citations, prophanely and blasphe- 
 mously uttered by them, to palliate ther villainie and rebel- 
 lion." — MS. History of the Somerville Family.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. xix 
 
 Note Vir. 
 With his barbed horse, fresh tidings say 
 Stout Cromwell hath redeemed the day. — St. XIX. p. 30. 
 
 Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had a princi- 
 pal share in turning the fate of the day at Marston Moor, 
 which was equally matter of triumph to the independants, 
 and of grief and heart-burning to the presbyterians and to 
 the Scottish. Principal Baillie expresses his dissatisfaction 
 as follows : — 
 
 " The independants sent up one quickly to assure that all 
 the glory of that night was theirs ; that they and their Ma- 
 jor-general Cromwell had done it all their alone : but Cap- 
 tain Stuart afterward shewed the vanity and falsehood of 
 their disgraceful relation. God gave us that victory won- 
 derfully. There were three generals on each side, Lesly, 
 Fairfax, and Manchester ; Rupert, Newcastle, and King. 
 Within half an hour and less, all six took them to their 
 heels ; this to you alone. The disadvantage of the ground, 
 and violence of the flower of Prince Rupert's horse, carried 
 all our right-wing down ; only Eglinton kept ground, to his 
 great loss ; his lieutenant-crowner, a brave man, I fear shall 
 die, and his son Robert be mutilated of an arm. Lindsay 
 had the greatest hazard of any ; but the beginning of the 
 victory was from David Lesly, who before was much sus- 
 pected of evil designs : he, with the Scots and Cromwell's 
 horse, having the advantage of the ground, did dissipate all
 
 XX NOTES TO CANTO FIRST, 
 
 before them." — Baillie's Letters and Journals, Edin. 1785s 
 8i;o. //. S6. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 
 Do not my native dales prolong 
 
 Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
 
 Trained forward to his bloody fall, 
 
 By Girsoyifield, that ti^eacherous Hallf — St. XX. p. 31. 
 In a poem, entitled " The Lay of the Reedwater Min- 
 strel," Newcastle, 1809, this tale, with many others peculiar 
 to the vaUey of the Reed, is commemorated : — " The parti- 
 culars of the traditional story of Parcy Reed of Troughend, 
 and the Halls of Girsonsfield, the author had from a de- 
 scendant of the family of Reed. From his account it ap- 
 pears that Percival Reed, Esquire, a keeper of Reedsdale, 
 was betrayed by the Halls (hence denominated the false- 
 hearted Ha's) to a band of moss-troopers of the name of 
 Crosier, who slew him at Batinghope, near the source of the 
 Reed. 
 
 " The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy Pveed, held 
 in such vmiversal abhorrence and contempt by the inhabit- 
 ants of Reedsdale for their cowardly and treacherous beha- 
 viour, that they were obliged to leave the country." In an- 
 other passage we are informed that the ghost of the injured 
 borderer is supposed to haunt the banks of a brook called 
 the Pringle. These Redes of Troughend were a very an- 
 cient family, as may be conjectured from their deriving their
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. xxi 
 
 surname from the river on which they had their mansion. 
 An epitaph on one of their tombs affirms, that the family 
 held their lands of Troughend, which are situated on the 
 Reed, nearly opposite to Otterburn, for the incredible space 
 of nine hundred years. 
 
 Note IX. 
 
 And near the spot that gave me namCf 
 
 The moated mound of Risingham^ 
 
 IVhere Reed upon her margin sees 
 
 Sweet Woodburns cottages and trees, 
 
 Some ancient sculptor^s art has shewn 
 
 An outlaw's image on the stone. — St. XX. p. 31. 
 Risingham, upon the river Reed, near the beautiful ham- 
 let of Woodburn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly 
 called Habitan9um. Camden says, that in his time the po- 
 pular account bore that it had been the abode of a deity or 
 giant, called Magon ; and appeals, in support of this tradi- 
 tion, as well as to the etymology of Risingham, or Reisen- 
 ham, which signifies, in German, the habitation of the gi- 
 ants, to two Roman altars taken out of the river, inscribed, 
 Deo Mogonti Cadenorum. About half a mile distant from 
 Risingham, upon an eminence covered with scattered birch- 
 trees and fragments of rock, there is cut upon a large rock, 
 in alto relievo, a remarkable figure, called Robin of Rising- 
 ham, or Robin of Reedsdale. It presents a hunter, with his 
 bow raised in one hand, and in the other what seems to be 
 
 2
 
 xxii NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 a hare. There is a quiver at the back of the figure, and he is 
 dressed in a long coat, or kirtle, coming down to the knees, 
 and meeting close, with a girdle bound round him. Dr 
 Horsley, who saw all monuments of antiquity with Roman 
 eyes, inclines to think this figure a Roman archer ; and cer- 
 tainly the bow is rather of the ancient size than of that which 
 was so formidable in the hand of the English archers of the 
 middle ages. But the rudeness of the whole figure prevents 
 our founding strongly upon mere inaccuracy of proportion. 
 The popular tradition is, that it represents a giant, whose 
 brother resided at Woodburn, and he himself at Risingham. 
 It adds, that they subsisted by hunting, and that one of 
 them, finding the game become too scarce to support them, 
 poisoned his companion, in whose memory the monument 
 was engraven. \Vliat strange and tragic circumstance may be 
 concealed under this legend, or whether it is utterly apo- 
 cryphal, it is now impossible to discover. 
 
 The name of Robin of Redesdale was given to one of the 
 Umfravilles, Lords of Prudhow, and afterwards to one Hil- 
 liard, a friend and follower of the king-making Earl of War- 
 wick. Tliis person commanded an army of Northampton- 
 shire and northern men, who seized on and beheaded the 
 Earl Rivers, father to Edward the Fourth's queen, and his 
 son. Sir John Woodville. — See Hollinshed, ad annuniy 
 1469.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. xxiii 
 
 Note X. 
 
 Do thou revere 
 
 The statutes of the buccaneer. — St. XXI. p. SS. 
 
 The " statutes of the buccaneers" were in reahty more 
 equitable than could have been expected from the state of 
 society under which they had been formed. They chiefly 
 related, as may readily be conjectured, to the distribution 
 and the inheritance of their plunder. 
 
 AVhen the expedition was completed, the fund of prize- 
 money acquired was thrown together, each party taking his 
 oath that he had retained or concealed no part of the com- 
 mon stock. If any one transgressed in this important par- 
 ticular, the punishment was his being set ashore on some 
 desert key or island, to shift for himself as he could. The 
 owners of the vessel had then their share assigned for the 
 expences of the outfit. These were generally old pirates, 
 settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St Domingo, or some other 
 French and English settlement. The surgeon's and carpen- 
 ter's salaries, with the price of provisions and ammunition, 
 were also defrayed. Then followed the compensation due 
 to the maimed and wounded, rated according to the damage 
 they had sustained ; as six hundred pieces of eight, or six 
 slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and so in proportion. 
 
 " After this act of justice and humanity, the remainder of 
 the booty was divided into as many shares as there were 
 buccaneers. The commander could only lay claim to a sin- 
 gle share as the rest j but they complimented him with two 
 
 7
 
 xxiv NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 or three, in proportion as he had acquitted himself to their 
 satisfaction. When the vessel was not the property of the 
 whole company, the person who had fitted it out and fur- 
 nished it with necessary arms and ammunition, was entitled 
 to a third of all the prizes. Favour had never any influence 
 in the division of the booty ; for every share was determined 
 by lot. Instances of such rigid justice as this are not easily 
 met with, and they extended even to the dead. Their share 
 was given to the man who was known to be their companion 
 when alive, and therefore their heir. If the person who had 
 been killed had no intimate, his part was sent to his rela- 
 tions, when they were known. If there were no friends nor 
 relations, it was distributed in charity to the poor and to 
 churches, which were to pray for the person in whose name 
 these benefactions were given, the fruits of inhuman, but ne- 
 cessary piratical plunders." — Raymond's History of European 
 Settlements in the East and IVest Indies, by Justamond, Land, 
 1776, 8fo. III.p.M.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Note I. 
 the course of Tees. — St. II. p. 5Q, 
 
 The view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and 
 magnificent valley of Tees. Immediately adjacent to the 
 river, the banks are very thickly wooded ; at a little distance 
 they are more open and cultivated ; but being interspersed 
 with hedge-rows, and with isolated trees of great size and 
 age, they still retain the richness of woodland scenery. The 
 river itself flows in a deep trench of solid rock, chiefly 
 limestone and marble. The finest view of its romantic 
 course is from a handsome modern bridge built over the 
 Tees, by the late Mr Morritt of Rokeby. In Leland's time 
 the marble quarries seem to liave been of some value. 
 " Hard under the cliff by Egleston, is found on eche side of 
 Tese very fair marble, wont to be taken up booth by mar- 
 belers of Barnardes Castelle and of Egleston, and partly to 
 have been wrought by them, and partly sold onwrought to 
 others." — Itinerary, Oxford, 1768, Svo. p, 88. 
 
 d
 
 xxvi NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Note II. 
 Egltstone s grey ruins. — St. IV. p. 60. 
 The ruins of this abbey or priory, for Tanner calls it the 
 former, and Leland the latter, are beautifully situated upon 
 the angle, formed by a little dell called Thorsgill, at its junc- 
 tion with the Tees. A good part of the religious house is still 
 in some degree habitable, but the church is in ruins. Egli- 
 stone was dedicated to St Mary and St John the Baptist, 
 and is supposed to have been founded by Ralph de JNIulton 
 about the end of Henry the Second's reign. There were 
 formerly the tombs of the families of Rokebys, Bowes, and 
 Fitzhughs, 
 
 Note III. 
 the mound 
 
 Raised by that Legion long renowned^ 
 Whose votive shrine assetis their claim, 
 Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, — St. V. p. 61. 
 : Close behind the George Inn at Greta-Bridge there is a 
 well-preserved Roman encampment, surrounded with a tri- 
 ple ditch, lying between the river Greta and a brook called 
 the Tutta. The four entrances are easily to be discerned. 
 Very many Roman altars and monuments have been found 
 in the vicinity, most of which are preserved at Rokeby by 
 my friend Mr Morritt. Among others is a small votive al- 
 tar, with the inscription leg. vi. vie. p. f. f. which has been 
 rendered Legio,. Se.vta, Victrix, Fia. Fortis. Fidelis,
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. xxvii 
 
 Note IV. 
 Rohebys turrets high. — St. VI. p. 62. 
 
 This ancient manor long gave name to a family by whom it 
 is said to have been possessed from the Conquest downward, 
 and who are at different times distinguished in history. It 
 was the Baron of Rokeby who finally defeated the insurrec- 
 tion of the Earl of Northumberland, tempore Hen. IV., of 
 which Hollinshed o;ives the following account : — 
 
 " The king advertised hereof, caused a great armie to be 
 assembled, and came forward with the same towards his 
 enemies ; but yer the king came to Notingham, Sir Thomas 
 or {as other copies haue) Sir Rafe Rokesbie, shinif of Yorke- 
 shire, assembled the forces of the countrie to resist the earle 
 and his power ; comming to Grimbautbrigs, beside Knares- 
 borough, there to stop them the passage ; but they return- 
 ing aside, got to Weatherbie, and so to Tadcaster, and finally 
 came forward unto Bramham More, near to Haizelwood, 
 where they chose their ground meet to fight upon. The 
 shiriffe was as readie to giue battell as the erle to receiue it ; 
 and so with a standard of S. George spread, set fiercelie vpon 
 the earle, who, vnder a standard of his owne armes, encoun- 
 tered his aduersaries with great manhood. There was a 
 sore incounter and cruell conflict betwixt the parties, but in 
 the end the victorie fell to the shiriffe. The Lord Bardolfe 
 was taken, but sore wounded, so that he shortlie after died 
 of the hurts. As for the Earle of Northumberland, he was 
 slaine outright ; so that now the prophecy was fulfilled.
 
 xxviii NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 which gaiie an inkling of this his heauy hap long before 
 nanielie, 
 
 Stirps Persitina periet confusa ruina. 
 
 For this earle was the stocke and maine root of all that were 
 left aliue, called by the name of Persie ; and of manie more 
 by diners slaughters dispatched. For whose misfortune the 
 people were not a little sorrie, making report of the gentle- 
 man's valiantnesse, renowne, and honour, and applieing 
 vnto him certeine lamentable verses out of Lucaine, saieng, 
 
 Sed nos nee sanguis, nee tantum vulnera nostri 
 Affecere senis ; quantum gestata per urbem 
 Ora duels, quaj transfixo deformia pilo 
 Vidimus. 
 
 For his head, full of siluer horie haires, being put upon a 
 stake, was openlie carried through London, and set vpon 
 the bridge of the same citie : in like maner was the Lord 
 Bardolfes." — Holinshed's Chronicles, Lond. 1808, 4/o. ///. 45. 
 The Rokeby, or Rokesby, family continued to be distin- 
 guished until the great civil war, when, having embraced 
 the cause of Charles I., they suffered severely by fines and 
 confiscations. The estate then passed from its ancient pos- 
 sessors to the family of the Robinsons, from whom it was 
 purchased by the father of my valued friend, the present 
 proprietor.
 
 ;N0TES to canto second. xxix 
 
 Note V. 
 
 A stern and lone, yet lovely road, 
 
 As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode ! — St. VII. p. QS. 
 What follows is an attempt to describe the romantic glen, 
 or rather ravine, through which the Greta finds a passage 
 between Rokeby and Mortham, the former situated upon 
 the left bank of Greta, the latter on the right bank, about 
 half a mile nearer to its junction with the Tees. The river 
 runs with very great rapidity over a bed of solid rock, broken 
 by many shelving descents, down which the stream dashes 
 with great noise and impetuosity, vindicating its etymology, 
 which has been derived from the Gothic, Gridan, to clamour. 
 The banks partake of the same wild and romantic character, 
 being chiefly lofty cliffs of limestone rock, whose grey colour 
 contrasts admirably with the various trees and shrubs which 
 find root among their crevices, as well as with the hue of the 
 ivy, which clings around them in profusion, and hangs down 
 from their projections in long sweeping tendrils. At other 
 points the rocks give place to precipitous banks of earth, 
 bearing large trees, intermixed with copse-wood. In one 
 spot the dell, which is elsewhere very narrow, widens for 
 a space to leave room for a dark grove of yew-trees, in- 
 termixed here and there with aged pines of uncommon size. 
 Directly opposite to this sombre thicket, the cliffs on the 
 other side of the Greta are tall, white, and fringed with all 
 kinds of deciduous shrubs. The whole scenery of this spot 
 is so much adapted to the ideas of superstition, that it has
 
 XXX NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 acquired the name of Blockula, from the place where the 
 Swedish witches were supposed to hold their sabbath. The 
 dell, however, has superstitions of its own growth, for it is 
 supposed to be haunted by a female spectre, called the Dobie 
 of Mortham. The cause assigned for her appearance is a 
 lady's having been whilom murdered in the wood, in evidence 
 of which her blood is shewn upon the stairs of the old tower 
 at Mortham. But whether she was slain by a jealous hus- 
 band or by savage banditti, or by an uncle who coveted her 
 ^ estate, or by a rejected lover, are points upon which the tra- 
 ditions of Rokeby do not enable us to decide. 
 
 Note VI. 
 What gales are sold on Laplancfs shore. — St. XL p. 70. 
 " Also I shall shew very briefly what force conjurers and 
 witches have in constraining the elements enchanted by them 
 or others, that they may exceed or fall short of their natural 
 order : premising this, that the extream land of North Fin-^ 
 land and Lapland was so taught witchcraft formerly in hea- 
 thenish times, as if they had learned this cursed art from 
 Zoroastres the Persian ; though other inhabitants by the sea- 
 coasts are reported to be bewitched with the same madness : 
 for they exercise this divelish art, of all the arts of the world, 
 to admiration ; and in this, or other such like miscliief, they 
 commonly agree. The Finianders were wont formerly, 
 amongst their other errors of gentilisme, to sell winds to 
 merchants that were stopt on their coasts by contrary wea- 
 ther ; and when they had their price, they knit three magi- 
 
 6
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. xxxi 
 
 cal knots, not, like to the laws of Cassius, bound up with a 
 thong, and they gave them vnto the merchants j observing 
 that rule, that when they unloosed the first they should have 
 a good gale of wind, when the second a stronger wind, but 
 when they untied the third they should have such cruel tem- 
 pests that they should not be able to look out of the fore- 
 castle to avoid the rocks, nor move a foot to pull down the 
 sails, nor stand at the helm to govern the ship ; and they 
 made an unhappy trial of the truth of it who denied that 
 there was any such power in those knots." — Olaus Mag- 
 nus's History of the Goths, Su'edes, and Vandals jLond, 1658, 
 fol p, 47. 
 
 Note VII. 
 How whistle rash bids tempests ro«r. — St. XL p. 70. 
 That this is a general superstition is well known to all who 
 have been on ship-board, or who have conversed with sea- 
 men. The most formidable whistler that I remember to 
 have met with was the apparition of a certain Mrs Leakey, 
 who about 1636 resided, we are told, at Mynehead, in Somer- 
 set, where her only son drove a considerable trade between 
 that port and Waterford, and was owner of several vessels. 
 This old gentlewoman was of a social disposition, and so ac- 
 ceptable to her friends, that they used to say to her and to 
 each other, it were pity such an excellent good-natured old 
 lady should die ; to which she was wont to reply, that what- 
 ever pleasure they might find in her company just now, they 
 would not greatly like to see or converse with her after death,
 
 xxxii NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 which nevertheless she was apt to think might happen. Ac- 
 cordingly, after her death and funeral, she began to appear to 
 various persons by night and by noonday, in her own house, 
 in the town and fields, at sea and upon shore. So far had she 
 departed from her former urbanity, that she is recorded to 
 have kicked a doctor of medicine for his impolite negligence 
 in omitting to hand her over a stile. It was also her humour 
 to appear upon the quay, and call for a boat. But especially 
 so soon as any of her son's ships approached the harbour, 
 " this ghost would appear in the same garb and likeness as 
 when she was alive, and, standing at the mainmast, would 
 blow with a whistle, and though it were never so great a 
 calm, yet immediately there would arise a most dreadful 
 storm, that would break, wreck, and drown ship and goods.'* 
 When she had thus proceeded until her son had neither cre- 
 dit to freight a vessel, nor could have procured men to sail 
 it, she began to attack the persons of his family, and actually 
 strangled their only child in the cradle. The rest of the 
 story, showing how the spectre looked over the shoulder of 
 her daughter-in-law while dressing her hair at a looking- 
 glass ; and how Mrs Leakey the younger took courage to 
 address her ; and how the beldam dispatched her to an Irish 
 prelate, famous for his crimes and misfortunes, to exhort him 
 to repentance, and to apprize him that otherwise he would be 
 hanged ; and how the bishop was satisfied with replying, that 
 if he was born to be hanged, he should not be drowned ; — all 
 these, with many more particulars, may be found at the end 
 of one of John Dunton's publications, called Athenianism, 
 
 12
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND, xxxiii 
 
 London, 1710, where the tale is engrossed under the title of 
 The Apparition Evidence. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 Of Erick''s cap and Ehnoh light. — St. XL p. 70. 
 " This Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held se- 
 cond to none in the magical art ; and he was so familiar with 
 the evil spirits, which he exceedingly adored, that which way 
 soever he turned his cap, the wind would presently blow that 
 way. From this occasion he was called Windy Cap ; and 
 many men believed that Regnerus, King of Denmark, by 
 the conduct of this Ericus, who was his nephew, did happily 
 extend his piracy into the most remote parts of the earth, 
 and conquered many countries and fenced cities by his cun- 
 ning, and at last was his coadjutor ; that by the consent of 
 the nobles, he should be chosen King of Sweden, which con- 
 tinued a long time with him very happily, imtil he died of 
 old age." — Olaus, nt supra, p). 45, 
 
 Note IX. 
 
 The DcBjnon-frigate. — St. XL p. 71. 
 
 This is an allusion to a well-known nautical superstition 
 concerning a fantastic vessel, called by sailors The Flying 
 Dutchman, and supposed to be seen about the latitude of the 
 Cape of Good Hope. She is distinguished from earthly ves- 
 vels by bearing a press of sail when all others are unable, 
 from stress of weather, to shew an inch of canvass. The 
 cause of her wandering is not altogether certain ; but the 
 
 e
 
 xxxiv NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 general account is, that she was originally a vessel loaded with 
 OTeat wealth, on board of which some horrid act of murder 
 and piracy had been committed ; that the plague broke out 
 among the wicked crew who had perpetrated the crime, and 
 that they sailed in vain from port to port, offering, as the 
 price of shelter, the whole of their ill-gotten wealth ; that 
 they were excluded from every harbour, for fear of the con- 
 tagion which was devouring them, and that, as a punishment 
 of their crimes, the apparition of the ship still continues to 
 haunt those seas in which the catastrophe took place, and is 
 considered by the mariners as the worst of all possible 
 omens. 
 
 My late lamented friend, Dr John Leyden, has introduced 
 this phenomenon into his Scenes of Infancy, imputing, with 
 poetical ingenuity, the dreadful judgment to the first ship 
 which commenced the slave trade : — 
 
 Stout was the ship from Benin's palmy shore, 
 That first the freight of bartered captives bore ; 
 Bedimmed with blood, the sun with shrinking beams 
 Beheld her bounding o'er the ocean streams ; 
 But, ere the moon her silver horns had reared, 
 Amid the crew the speckled plague appeared. 
 Faint and despairing on their watery bier, 
 To every friendly shore the sailors steer; 
 Repelled from port to port, they sue in vain, 
 And track with slow unsteady sail the main. 
 Where ne'er the bright and buoyant wave is seen 
 To streak with wandering foam the sea-weeds green, 
 Towers the tall mast a lone and leafless tree. 
 Till self-impelled amid the waveless sea ;
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. xxxv 
 
 Where summer breezes ne'er were heard to sing, 
 Nor hovering snow-birds spread the downy wing, 
 Fixed as a rock amid the boundless plain. 
 The yellow stream pollutes the stagnant main, 
 Till far through night the funeral flames aspire, 
 As the red hghtning smites the ghastly pyre. 
 
 Still doomed by fate on weltering billows rolled, 
 Along the deep their restless course to hold, 
 Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide 
 The prow with sails opposed to wind and tide ; 
 The spectre ship, in livid glimpsing light, 
 Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, 
 Unblest of God and man ! — Till time shall end, 
 Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend. 
 
 Note X. 
 hi) some desart isle or key. — St. XII. p. 71. 
 
 What contributed much to the security of the buccaneers, 
 about the Windward Islands, was the great number of httle 
 islets, called in that country keys. These are small sandy 
 patches, appearing just above the surface of the ocean, co- 
 vered only with a few bushes and weeds, but sometimes 
 affording springs of water, and in general much frequented 
 by turtle. Such little uninhabited spots afforded the pirates 
 good harbours, either for refitting or for the purpose of am- 
 bush ; they were occasionally the hiding-place of their trea- 
 sure, and often afforded a shelter to themselves. As many 
 of the atrocities which they practised on their prisoners were 
 committed in such spots, there are some of these keys which 
 even now have an indifferent reputation among seamen, and
 
 xxxvi NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 where they are with difficulty prevailed on to remain ashore 
 at night, on account of the visionary terrors incident to 
 places which have been thus contaminated. 
 
 Note XL 
 Before the gate of Morthcun stood. — St. XVI. p. 77. 
 
 The castle of Mortham, which Leland terms " jNIr Rokes- 
 by's place, in ripa citer, scant a quarter of mile from Greta- 
 bridge, and not a quarter of mile beneath into Tees," is a 
 picturesque tower, surrounded by buildings of different ages, 
 now converted into a farm-house and offices. The battle- 
 ments of the tower itself are singularly elegant, the archi- 
 tect having broken them at regular intervals into different 
 heights ; while those at the corners of the tower project into 
 octangular turrets. They are also from space to space co- 
 vered with stones laid across them, as in modern embrasures, 
 the whole forming an uncommon and beautiful effect. The 
 surrounding buildings are of a less happy form, being pointed 
 into high and steep roofs. A wall, with embrasures, incloses 
 the southern front, where a low portal arch affords an entry 
 to what was the castle court. At some distance is most 
 happily placed, between the stems of two magnificent elms, 
 the monument alluded to in the text. It is said to have 
 been brought from the ruins of Eglistone Priory, and, from 
 the armoury with which it is richly carved, appears to have 
 been a tomb of the Fitz-Hu^hs. 
 
 The situation of Mortham is eminently beautiful, occu- 
 pying a high bank, at the bottom of which the Greta winds
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. xxxvii 
 
 out of the dark, narrow, and romantic dell, which the text 
 has attempted to describe, and flows onward through a more 
 open valley to meet the Tees, about a quarter of a mile 
 from the castle. Mortham is surrounded by old trees, hap- 
 pily and widely grouped with Mr Morritt's new plantations. 
 
 Note XII. 
 There dig and tomb your precious heap. 
 And hid the dead your treasure keep, — St. XVIII. p. 81. 
 If time did not permit the buccaneers to lavish away 
 their plunder in their usual debaucheries, they were wont 
 to hide it, with many superstitious solemnities, in the desert 
 islands and keys which they frequented, and where much 
 treasure, whose lawless owners perished without reclaiming 
 it, is still supposed to be concealed. The most cruel of 
 mankind are often the most superstitious, and these pirates 
 are said to have had recourse to a horrid ritual in order to 
 secure an unearthly guardian to their treasures. They killed 
 a Negro or Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, be- 
 lieving that his spirit would haunt the spot, and terrify away 
 all intruders. I cannot produce any other authority on 
 which this custom is ascribed to them than that of maritime 
 tradition, which is, however, amply sufficient for the pur- 
 poses of poetry.
 
 xxxviii NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 
 The jyower 
 
 That unsubdued and lurking lies 
 To take the felon by surprise. — St. XIX. p. 82. 
 All who are conversant with the administration of crimi- 
 nal justice, must remember many occasions in which male- 
 factors appear to have conducted themselves with a species 
 of infatuation, either by making unnecessary confidences re- 
 specting their guilt, or by sudden and involuntary allusions 
 to circumstances by which it could not fail to be exposed. 
 A remarkable instance occurred in the celebrated case of 
 Eugene Aram. A skeleton being found near Knaresborough, 
 was supposed, by the persons who gathered around the spot, 
 to be the remains of one Clarke, who had disappeared some 
 years before, under circumstances leading to a suspicion 
 of his having been murdered. One Houseman, who had 
 mingled in the crowd, suddenly said, while looking at the 
 skeleton, and hearing the opinion which was buzzed around, 
 " That is no more Dan Clarke's bone than it is mine !" — a 
 sentiment expressed so positively, and with such peculiarity 
 of manner, as to lead all who heard him to infer that he 
 must necessarily know where the real body had been dis- 
 covered. Accordingly, being apprehended, he confessed 
 having assisted Eugene Aram to murder Clarke, and to hide 
 his body in Saint Robert's Cave. It happened to the author 
 himself, while conversing with a person accused of an atro- 
 cious crime, for the purpose of rendering him professional
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. xxxix 
 
 assistance upon his trial, to hear the prisoner, after the most 
 solemn and reiterated protestations that he was guiltless, 
 suddenly, and, as it were, involuntarily, in the course of his 
 communications, make such an admission as was altogether 
 incompatible with innocence. 
 
 Note XIV. 
 Brackenhury^ s dismal tower. — St. XXVIII. p. 94. 
 
 This tower has been already mentioned ; it is situated near 
 the north-eastern extremity of the wall which incloses Ber- 
 nard-Castle, and is traditionally said to have been the prison. 
 By an odd coincidence it bears a name which we naturally 
 connect with imprisonment, from its being that of Sir Robert 
 Brackenbury, lieutenant of the Tower of London under Ed- 
 ward IV. and Richard III. 
 
 Note XV. 
 Nobles and knights, so proud of late^ 
 Must Ji7ie for freedom and estate. 
 
 Right heavy shall his ransom be, 
 
 Unless that maid comj)Ound with thee ! — St. XXXI. p. 97. 
 After the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of Newcastle 
 retired beyond sea in disgust, and many of his followers laid 
 down their arms, and made the best composition they could 
 with the committees of parliament. Fines were imposed 
 upon them in proportion to their estates and degrees of de- 
 linquency, and these fines were often bestowed upon such
 
 xl NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 persons as had deserved well of the commons. In some ch- 
 cumstances it happened that the oppressed cavaliers were 
 fain to form family alliances with some powerful person 
 among the triumphant party. The whole of Sir Robert 
 Howard's excellent comedy of the Committee turns upon 
 the plot of Mr and Mrs Day, to enrich their family by com- 
 pelling Arabella, whose estate was under sequestration, to 
 marry their son Abel, as the price by which she was to 
 compound with parliament for delinquency ; that is, for at- 
 tachment to the royal cause.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Note I. 
 The Indian, prowling for his j^re^, 
 Who hears the settlers track his "icai/. — St. II. p. 102. 
 The patience, abstinence, and ingenuity exerted by the 
 North American Indians, when in pursuit of plunder or 
 vengeance, is the most distinguished feature in their charac- 
 ter ; and the activity and address which they display in their 
 retreat is equally surprising. Adair, whose absurd hypothe- 
 sis and turgid style do not affect the general authenticity 
 of his anecdotes, has recorded an instance which seems in- 
 credible. 
 
 " When the Chickasah nation was engaged in a former 
 war with the JNIuskohge, one of their young warriors set off 
 
 against them to revenge the blood of a near relation. 
 
 He went through the most unfrequented and thick parts of 
 the woods as such a dangerous enterprise required, till he ar- 
 rived opposite to the great and old-beloved town of refuge, 
 Koosah, which stands high on the eastern side of a bold river, 
 
 f
 
 xlii NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 about 250 yards broad, that runs by the late dangerous Ale- 
 bahma-Fort, down to the black poisoning Mobille, and so 
 into the gulph of Mexico. There he concealed himself under 
 cover of the top of a fallen pine-tree, in view of the ford of 
 the old trading path, where the enemy now and then pass 
 the river in their light poplar canoes. All his war store pf 
 provisions consisted in three stands of barbicued venison, till 
 he had an opportunity to revenge blood, and return home. 
 He waited with watchfulness and patience almost three days, 
 when a young man, a woman, and a girl, passed a little wide 
 of him about an hour before sunset. The former he shot 
 down, tomohawked the other two, and scalped each of them 
 in a trice, in full view of the town. By way of bravado, he 
 shaked the scalps before them, sounded the awful death 
 whoop, and set off along the trading path, trusting to his 
 heels, while a great many of the enemy ran to their arms, and 
 gave chace. Seven miles from thence he entered the great 
 blue ridge of the Apalahche mountains. About an hour be- 
 fore day he had run over seventy miles of that mountainous 
 tract ; then, after sleeping two hours in a sitting posture, lean- 
 ing his back against a tree, he set off again with fresh speed. 
 As he threw away the venison when he found himself pur- 
 sued by the enemy, he was obliged to support nature with 
 such herbs, roots, and nuts as his sharp eyes, with a running 
 glance, directed him to snatch up in his course. Though I 
 often have rode that war-path alone, when delay might have 
 proved dangerous, and with as fine and strong horses as any 
 in America, it took me five days to ride from the aforesaid
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. xliii 
 
 Koosah to this sprightly warrior's place in the Chickasah 
 country, the distance of 300 computed miles j yet he ran it, 
 and got home safe and well at about eleven o'clock of the 
 third day, which was only one day and a half and two 
 nights." — Adair's History of the Ameiican Indians, Loud. 
 1775, 4/0. /7. 395, 
 
 Note 11. 
 
 In Redesdale his youth had heard 
 
 Each art her wily dalesmen dared. — St. II. p. 103. 
 " What manner of cattle-stealers they are that inhabit 
 these valleys in the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley, 
 a Scotchman himself, and Bishop of Ross, will inform you. 
 They sally out of their own borders in the night, in troops, 
 through unfrequented by-ways and many intricate windings. 
 All the day-time they refresh themselves and their horses in 
 lurking holes they had pitched upon before, till they arrive 
 in the dark in those places they have a design upon. As 
 soon as they have seized upon the booty, they in like man- 
 ner return home in the night, through blind ways, and fetch- 
 ing many a compass. The more skilful any captain is to 
 pass through those wild deserts, crooked turnings, and deep 
 precipices in the thickest mists, his reputation is the greater, 
 and he is looked upon as a man of an excellent head. And 
 they are so very cunning that they seldom have their booty 
 taken from them, unless sometimes when, by the help of 
 blood-hounds following them exactly upon the track, they 
 may chance to fall into the hands of their adversaries. When
 
 xliv NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 being taken, tliey have so much persuasive eloquence, and 
 so many smooth insinuating words at command, that if they 
 do not move their judges, nay, and even their adversaries, 
 (notwithstanding the severity of their natures,) to have 
 mercy, yet they incite them to admiration and compas- 
 sion." — Camden's Britanma. 
 
 The inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were, in 
 ancient times, so inordinately addicted to these depreda- 
 tions, that in 1564 the Incorporated Merchant-adventurers 
 of Newcastle made a law that none born in these districts 
 should be admitted apprentice. The inhabitants are stated 
 to be so generally addicted to rapine, that no faith should be 
 reposed in those proceeding from " such lewde and wicked 
 progenitors." This regulation continued to stand unrepealed 
 until 1771. A beggar, in an old play, describes himself as 
 ** born in Bedesdale, in Northumberland, and come of a 
 wight-riding surname, called the Robsons, good honest men 
 and true, saving a little shifting for their living, God help 
 them ;"^a description which would have applied to most 
 borderers on both sides. 
 
 Reidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives name, 
 is on the very edge of the Carter-Fell, which divides Eng- 
 land from Scotland. The Rooken is a place upon Reed- 
 water. Rertram, being described as a native of these dales, 
 where the habits of hostile depredation long survived the 
 union of the crowns, luay have been, in some degree, pre- 
 pared by education for the exercise of a similar trade in the 
 wars of the buccaneers.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. * xlv 
 
 Note III. 
 Hiding his face , lestfoemen spy 
 The sparkle of his sxi'arthy eye. — St. IV. p. 106. 
 After one of the recent battles, in which the Irish rebels 
 were defeated, one of their most active leaders was fonnd in 
 a bog, in which he was immersed up to the shoulders, while 
 his head was concealed by an impending ledge of turf. 
 Being detected and seized notwithstanding his precaution, 
 he became solicitous to know how his retreat had been dis- 
 covered. " I caught," answered the Sutherland Highlander, 
 by whom he was taken, " the sparkle of your eye." Those 
 who are accustomed to mark hares upon their form, usually 
 discover them by the same circumstance. 
 
 Note IV. 
 
 And throatwort 'with its azure hell. — St. VIII. p. 112. 
 
 The Campanula latifolia. Grand Throatirort, or Canter- 
 
 bury bells, grows in profusion upon the beautiful banks of the 
 
 river Greta, where it divides the manors of Brignal and 
 
 Scargill, about three miles above Greta-Bridge. 
 
 Note V. 
 Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
 His soul's redemption for revenge ! — St. IX. p. 115. 
 It is agreed by all the writers upon magic and witchcraft, 
 that revenge was the most common motive for the pretend- 
 ed compact between Satan and his vassals. The ingenuity
 
 xlvi NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 of Reginald Scot has very happily stated how such an opi- 
 nion came to root itself, not only in the mind of the public 
 and of the judges, but even in that of the poor wretches 
 themselves who were accused of sorcery, and were often 
 firm believers in their own power and their own guilt. 
 
 " One sort of such as are said to be witches, are women 
 which be commonly old, lame, blear-eyed, pale, foul, and 
 full of wrinkles ; poor, sullen, superstitious, or papists, or 
 such as know no religion ; in whose drowsie minds the de- 
 vil hath gotten a fine seat ; so as what mischief, mischance, 
 calamity, or slaughter is brought to pass, they are easily 
 perswaded the same is done by themselves, imprinting in 
 their minds an earnest and constant imagination thereof 
 
 These go from house to house, and from door to door, 
 
 for a pot of milk, yest, drink, pottage, or some such relief, 
 without the which they could hardly live ; neither obtaining 
 for their service or pains, nor yet by their art, nor yet at the 
 devil's hands, (with whom they are said to make a perfect 
 and visible bargain,) either beauty, money, promotion, 
 wealth, pleasure, honour, knowledge, learning, or any other 
 benefit whatsoever. 
 
 " It falleth out many time, that neither their necessities 
 nor their expectation is answered or served in those places 
 where they beg or borrow, but rather their lewdness is by 
 their neighbours reproved. And farther, in tract of time the 
 witch waxeth odious and tedious to her neighbours, and 
 they again are despised and despited of her ; so as some- 
 times she curseth one, and sometimes another, and that
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. xlvii 
 
 from the master of the house, his wife, children, cattel, &c. 
 to the Httle pig that Heth jn the stie. Thus, in process of 
 time, they have all displeased her, and she hath wished evil 
 luck unto them all ; perhaps with curses and imprecations 
 made in form. Doubtless (at length) some of her neigh- 
 bours die or fall sick, or some of their children are visited 
 with diseases that vex them strangely, as apoplexies, epilep- 
 sies, convulsions, hot fevers, worms, &c. which, by ignorant 
 
 parents, are supposed to be the vengeance of witches. 
 
 " The witch, on the other side, expecting her neighbours 
 mischances, and seeing things sometimes come to pass ac- 
 cording to her wishes, curses, and incantations, (for Bodin 
 himself confesses, that not above two in a hundred of their 
 witchings or wishings take effect,) being called before a jus- 
 tice, by due examination of the circumstances, is driven to 
 see her imprecations and desires, and her neighbours harms 
 and losses to concur, and, as it were, to take effect ; and so 
 confesseth that she (as a goddess) hath brought such things 
 to pass. Wherein not only she, but the accuser, and also 
 the justice, are foully deceived and abused, as being, through 
 her confession, and other circumstances, perswaded (to the 
 injury of God's glory) that she hath done, or can do, that 
 which is proper only to God himself" — Scot's Discoverij of 
 Witchcraft^ Lond. l655ifoI. i^. 4, 5.
 
 xlviii NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Note VL 
 
 Of my marauding on the clowns 
 
 Of Calverley and Bradford downs.— -St. XL p. 118. 
 The troops of the king, when they first took the field, 
 were as well disciplined as could be expected from circum- 
 stances. But as the circumstances of Charles became less 
 favourable, and his funds for regularly paying his forces de- 
 creased, habits of military license prevailed among them in 
 greater excess. Lacy the player, who served his master 
 during the civil war, brought out, after the Restoration, a 
 piece called the Old Troop, in which he seems to have com- 
 memorated some real incidents which occurred in his mili- 
 tary career. The names of the officers of the Troop suffici- 
 ently express their habits. We have Flea-flint Plunder- 
 Master-General, Captain Ferret-farm, and Quarter-Master 
 Burn-dorp. The officers of the Troop are in league with 
 these worthies, and connive at their plundering the country 
 for a suitable share in the plunder. All this was undoubt- 
 edly drawn from the life which Lacy had an opportunity to 
 study. The moral of the whole is comprehended in a re- 
 buke given to the lieutenant, whose disorders in the coun- 
 try are ^aid to prejudice the king's cause more than his 
 courage in the field could recompence. The piece is by no 
 means void of farcical humour.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. xlix 
 
 Note VII. 
 
 BrignaVs woods, and ScargilVs, wave 
 
 E'en now o'er many a sister cave. — St. XIV. p. 122. 
 The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford-bridge, abounds 
 in seams of a greyish slate, which are wrought in some 
 places to a very great depth under ground, thus forming 
 artificial caverns, which, when the seam has been exhausted, 
 are gradually hidden by the underwood which grows in pro- 
 fusion upon the romantic banks of the river. In times of 
 public confusion, they might be well adapted to the pur- 
 poses of banditti. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 When Spain waged zvar^fare with our land, — St. XX. p. 132.- 
 There was a short war with Spain in 1625-6, which will 
 be found to agree pretty well with the chronology of the 
 poem. But probably Bertram held an opinion very com- 
 mon among the maritime heroes of the age, that " there 
 was no peace beyond the Line." The Spanish guar da costas 
 were constantly employed in aggressions upon the trade 
 and settlements of the English and French, and by their 
 own severities gave room for the system of buccaneering, at 
 first adapted in self-defence and retaliation, and afterwards 
 persevered in from habit and a thirst of plunder.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Note IX. 
 our comrades strife. — St. XXIII. p. 136. 
 
 The laws of the buccaneers, and their successors the pi- 
 rates, however severe and equitable, were, like other laws, 
 often set aside by the stronger party. Their quarrels about 
 the division of the spoil fill their history, and they as fre- 
 quently arose out of mere frolic, or the tyrannical humour 
 of their chiefs. An anecdote of Teach (called Blackbeard) 
 shews that their habitual indifference for human life extend- 
 ed to their companions as well as their enemies and cap- 
 tives. 
 
 " One night drinking in his cabin with Hands, the pilot, 
 and another man, Blackbeard, without any provocation, pri- 
 vately draws out a small pair of pistols, and cocks them un- 
 der the table, which being perceived by the man, he with- 
 drew upon deck, leavhig Hands, the pilot, and the captain 
 too-ether. When the pistols were ready, he blew out the 
 candles, and, crossing his hands, discharged them at his 
 company ; Hands the master was shot through the knee, 
 and lamed for life ; the other pistol did no execution." — 
 Johnson's History of Pirates, Lond. 1724, Svo. vol. I. p. 88. 
 
 Another anecdote of this worthy may be also mentioned. 
 " The hero of whom we are writing was thoroughly accom- 
 plished this way, and some of his frolicks of wickedness were 
 so extravagant, as if he aimed at making his men believe he 
 was a devil incarnate ; for being one day at sea, and a little 
 flushed with drink, * Come,' says he, ' let us make a hell of
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. li 
 
 our own, and try how long we can bear it ;' accordingly he, 
 with two or three others, went down into the hold, and, 
 closing up all the hatches, filled several pots full of brim- 
 stone and other combustible matter, and set it on fire, and 
 so continued till they were almost suffocated, when some of 
 the men cried out for air ; at length he opened the hatches, 
 not a little pleased that he held out the longest." — -Ibid, 
 p. 90. 
 
 Note X. 
 my rangers go 
 
 Even now to track a milk-white doe, — St. XXV. p. 139. 
 " Immediately after supper, the huntsman should go to 
 his master's chamber, and if he serve a king, then let him 
 go to the master of the game's chamber, to know in what 
 quarter he determineth to hunt the day following, that he 
 may know his own quarter ; that done, he may go to bed, 
 to the end that he may rise the earlier in the morning, ac- 
 cording to the time and season, and according to the place 
 where he must hunt : then, when he is up and ready, let 
 him drinke a good draught, and fetch his hound, to make 
 him breake his fast a little : and let him not forget to fill his 
 bottel with good wine ; that done, let him take a little vine- 
 gar into the palme of his hand, and put it in the nostrils of 
 his hound, for to make him snuffe, to the end his sent may 
 
 be the perfecter, then let him go to the wood. When the 
 
 huntsman perceiveth that it is time to begin to beat, let him 
 put his hound before him, and beat the outsides of springs 
 
 8
 
 m NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 or thickets ; and if he find an hart or deer that hkes him, let 
 him mark well whether it be fresh or not, which he may know 
 as wel by the man^r of his hounds drawing as also by the 
 
 eye. Wlien he hath well considered what maner of hart 
 
 it may be, and hath marked every thing to judge by, then 
 let him draw till he come to the couert where he is gone to ; 
 and let him harbour him if he can, still marking all his to- 
 kens, as well by the slot as by the entries, foyles, or such- 
 like. That done, let him plash or bruse down small twigges, 
 some aloft and some below, as the art requireth, and there- 
 withall, whilest his hound is hote, let him beat the outsides, 
 and make his ring walkes twice or thrice about the wood." 
 — The Noble Art of Venerie, or Hunting, Loud, 1611, 4^o. p, 
 76, 77. 
 
 Note XL 
 He turned his charger as he spake, ^-c. — St. XXVIII. p. 144. 
 The last verse of this song is taken from the fragment of 
 an old Scottish ballad of which I have only heard the fol- 
 lowino- verses, relating perhaps to some of the followers of 
 James II. who joined him in Ireland previous to the battle 
 of the Boyne :^- 
 
 It was all for my rightful king 
 
 I left my native strand. 
 It was all for my rightful king 
 
 I e'er saw Irish land.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. liii 
 
 The trooper turn'd him round about 
 7 Upon the Irish shore, 
 
 He gave his bridle reins a shake, 
 Said " Adieu for evermore, 
 
 My love ! 
 And adieu for evermore." 
 
 Note XII. 
 The Baron of Ravetisworfh. — St. XXX. p. 146. 
 The ruins of Ravensworth Castle stand in the North Ri- 
 ding of Yorkshire, about three miles from the town of 
 Richmond, and adjoining to the waste called the Forest of 
 Arkingarth. It belonged originally to the powerful family 
 of Fitzhugh, from whom it passed to the Lords Dacre of 
 the South. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 Rere-cross on Stanemore. — St. XXX. p. 1 47. 
 
 This is a fragment of an old cross with its pediment, sur- 
 rounded by an entrenchment, upon the very summit of the 
 waste ridge of Stanmore, near a small house of entertainment 
 called the Spittal. It is called Rere-cross, or Ree-cross, of 
 which Hollinshed gives us the following explanation : — 
 
 " At length a peace was concluded betwixt the two kings 
 vnder these conditions, that Malcolme should enjoy that 
 part of Northumberland which lieth betwixt Tweed, Cum- 
 berland, and Stainmore, and doo homage to the Kinge of 
 England for the same. In the midst of Stainmore there
 
 Hv NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 shall be a crosse set up, with the Kinge of England's image 
 on the one side, and the Kinge of Scotland's on the other, to 
 signifie that one is march to England, and the other to 
 Scotland. This crosse was called the Roi-crosse, that is, 
 the cross of the kinge." — Holinshed, Lond, 1808, 4/o. v. 280. 
 Hollinshed's sole authority seems to have been Boethius. 
 But it is not improbable that his account may be the true 
 one, although the circumstance does not occur in Wintoun's 
 Chronicle. The situation of the cross, and the pains taken 
 to defend it, seem to indicate that it was intended for a 
 land-mark of importance. 
 
 Note XIV. 
 Hast thou lodged our deer? — St. XXXI. p. 148. 
 
 The duty of the ranger, or pricker, was first to lodge, or 
 harbour, the deer ; i. e. to discover his retreat, as described 
 at length in Note X., and then to make his report to his 
 prince, or master : — 
 
 Before the king I come report to make, 
 
 Then husht and peace for noble Tristrame's sake - - - 
 
 My hege, I went this morning on my quests 
 
 My hound did sticke, and seem'd to vent some beast. 
 
 I held him short, and drawing after him, 
 
 I might behold the hart was feeding trym ; 
 
 His head was high, and large in each degree, 
 
 Well paulmed eke, and seem'd full sound to be. 
 
 Of colour browne, he beareth eight and tenne, 
 
 Of stately height and long he seemed then.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. Iv 
 
 His beam seem'd great, in good proportion led, 
 Well barred and round, well pearled neare his head. 
 He seemed fayre tweene blacke and berrie brounde. 
 He seemes well fed by all the signes I found. 
 For when I had well marked him with eye, 
 I stept aside, to watch where he would lye. 
 And when I so had wayted fuU an houre, 
 That he might be at layre and in his boure, 
 I cast about to harbour him full sure; 
 
 My hound by sent did me thereof assure 
 
 Then if he ask what slot or view I found, 
 I say the slot or view was long on ground ; 
 The toes were great, the joynt bones round and short, 
 The shinne bones large, the dew-claws close in port : 
 Short ioynted was he, hollow-footed eke, 
 An hart to hunt as any man can seeke. 
 
 The Art of Veneiie, ut supra, p. 96.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 Note I. 
 
 When Denmark's Raven soared on high. 
 
 Triumphant through Northumbrian sky. 
 
 Till, hovering near, their fatal croak 
 
 Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke. — St. I. p. 153, 
 About the year of God 866, the Danes, under their cele- 
 brated leaders Inguar (more properly Agnar) and Hubba, 
 sons, it is said, of the still more celebrated Remiar Lodbroo- 
 invaded Northumberland, bringing with them the magical 
 standard, so often mentioned in poetry, called Reafen, or 
 Raunfan, from its bearing the figure of a Raven : — 
 
 Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king, 
 Of furious Ivar in a midnight hour : 
 While the sick moon, at their enchanted sons' 
 Wrapt in pale tempest, laboured thro' the clouds, 
 The demons of destruction then, they say, 
 Were all abroad, and mixing with the woof 
 Their baleful power : The sisters ever sung ; 
 " Shake, standard, shake this ruin on our foes." 
 
 Thomson and Mallet's Jifred. 
 h
 
 Iviii NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 The Danes renewed and extended their incursions, and 
 begun to colonize, estabUshing a kind of capital at York, 
 from which they spread their conquests and incursions in 
 every direction. Stanemore, which divides the mountains of 
 Westmoreland and Cumberland, was probably the boundary 
 of the Danish kingdom in that direction. The district to 
 the west, known in ancient British history by the name of 
 Reged, had never been conquered by the Saxons, and con- 
 tinued to maintain a precarious independence until it was 
 ceded to Malcolm, King of Scots, by AVilliam the Conqueror, 
 probably on account of its similarity in language and man- 
 ners to the neighbour)' no- British kingdom of Strath Clvde. 
 
 Upon the extent and duration of the Danish sovereignty 
 in Northumberland, the curious may consult the various 
 authorities quoted in the Gesta et Vestigia Danorum extra 
 Daniam^ torn. II. p. 40. The most powerful of their Nor- 
 thumbrian leaders seems to have been Ivar, called, from the 
 extent of his conquests, Widfami, that is, The Stridei\ 
 
 Note II. 
 Wliere Tees in tumult leaves Ms source, 
 Thundering oer Caldron and High-Force. — St. I. p. 153. 
 The Tees rises about the skirts of Crossfell, and falls over 
 the cataracts named in the text before it leaves the moun- 
 tains which divide the North Riding from Cumberland. 
 High-Force is seventy-five feet in height.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. lix 
 
 Note III. 
 Beneath the shade the Northmen ca??ie, 
 Fixed on each vale a Runic name. — St. I. p. 154. 
 The heathen Danes have left several traces of their reh- 
 gion in the upper part of Teesdale. Balder-garth, which 
 derives its name from the unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract 
 of waste land on the very ridge of Stanemore, and a brook, 
 which falls into the Tees near Barnard Castle, is named after 
 the same deity. Thorsgill, of which a description is at- 
 tempted in Stanza 11. , is a beautiful little brook and dell, 
 running up behind the ruins of Eglistone Abbey. Thor 
 was the Hercules of the Scandinavian mythology, a dreaded 
 giant-queller, and in that capacity the champion of the gods 
 and the defender of Asgard, the northern Olympus, against 
 the frequent attacks of the inhabitants of Jotunheim. There 
 is an old poem in the Edda of Soemund, called the Song of 
 Thrym, which turns upon the loss and recovery of the Mace, 
 or Hammer, which was Thor's principal weapon, and on 
 which much of his power seems to have depended. It may 
 be read to great advantage in a version, equally spirited and 
 literal, among the Miscellaneous Translations and Poems of 
 the Honourable William Herbert.
 
 Ix NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 Note IV. 
 JV/io has not heard how brave O^Neale 
 In English blood embrued his steel.— St. VI. p. 161. 
 The O'Neale here meant, for more than one succeeded to 
 the chieftainship during the reign of Ehzabeth, was Hugh, 
 the grandson of Con O'Neale, called Con Bacco, or the 
 Lame. His father, Matthew O' Kelly, was illegitimate, and, 
 being the son of a blacksmith's wife, was usually called Mat- 
 thew the Blacksmith. His father, nevertheless, destined his 
 succession to him ; and he was created, by Elizabeth, Baron 
 of Dungannon. Upon the death of Con-Bacco, this Matthew 
 was slain by his brother. Hugh narrowly escaped the same 
 fate, and was protected by the English. Shane O'Neale, his 
 uncle, called Shane Dymas, was succeeded by Turlough 
 Lynogh O'Neale, after whose death, Hugh, having assumed 
 the chieftainship, became nearly as formidable to the Eng- 
 lish as any by whom it had been possessed. He rebelled 
 repeatedly, and as often made submissions, of which it was 
 usually a condition that he should not any longer assume 
 the title of O'Neale ; in lieu of which he was created Earl 
 of Tyrone. But this condition he never observed longer 
 than until the pressure of superior force was withdrawn. 
 His baffling the gallant Earl of Essex in the field, and over- 
 reaching him in a treaty, was the induction to that noble- 
 man's tragedy. Lord Mountjoy succeeded in finally sub- 
 jugating O'Neale ; but it was not till the succession of 
 James, to whom he made personal submission, and was
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixi 
 
 received with civility at court. Yet, according to Mor- 
 rison, " no respect to him could containe many weomen in 
 those parts, who had lost husbands and children in the Irish 
 warres, from flinging durt and stones at the earle as he 
 passed, and from reuiling him with bitter words : yea, when 
 the earle had been at court, and there obtaining his majes- 
 ties direction for his pardon and performance of all condi- 
 tions promised him by the Lord Mountjoy, was about Sep- 
 tember to returne, hee durst not passe by those parts with- 
 out direction to the shiriifes, to conuay him with troopes of 
 horse from place to place, till he was safely imbarked and 
 put to sea for Ireland." — Itinerary^ p. 296. 
 
 Note V. 
 But chief arose his victor pride. 
 When that brave Marshal fought and died. — St. VI. p. 161. 
 
 The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the English 
 was in a battle fought near Blackwater, while he besieged a 
 fort garrisoned by the English, which commanded the passes 
 into his country. 
 
 " The captaine and his few warders did with no less cou- 
 rage suffer hunger, and, having eaten the few horses they 
 had, lived vpon hearbes growing in the ditches and wals, 
 suffering all extremities, till the lord-lieutenant, in the 
 moneth of August, sent Sir Henry Bagnal, marshall of Ire- 
 land, with the most choice companies of foote and horse 
 troopes of the English army, to victual this fort, and to raise 
 the rebels siege. When the English entered the place and
 
 Ixii NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 thicke woods beyond Armagh, on the east side, Tyrone (with 
 all the rebels assembled to him) pricked forward with rage, 
 eniiy, and setled rancour against the marshal, assayled the 
 English, and turning his full force against the marshal's per- 
 son, had the successe to kill him valiantly fighting among 
 the thickest of the rebels. Wiereupon the English, being 
 dismayed with his death, the rebels obtained a great victory 
 against them. I terme it great, since the English, from their 
 first arriuall in that kingdome, neuer had receiued so great 
 an ouerthrow as this, commonly called The Defeat of Blacke- 
 water; thirteene valiant captaines and 1500 common soul- 
 diers (whereof many were of the old companies which had 
 serued in Brittany vnder Generall Norreys) were slaine in 
 the field. The yielding of the fort of Blackwater followed 
 this disaster, when the assaulted guard saw no hope of re- 
 liefe ; but especially vpon messages sent to Captaine Wil- 
 liams from our broken forces, retired to Armagh, professing 
 that all their safety depended vpon his yielding the fort into 
 the hands of Tyrone, without which danger Captaine Wil- 
 liams professed that no want or miserie should have induced 
 him thereunto." — Fynes Moryson's Itinerary, London, 1617, 
 fol. part II. ij. 24. 
 
 Tyrone is said to have entertained a personal animosity 
 against the knight-marshal. Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he ac- 
 cused of detaining the letters which he sent to Queen Eliza- 
 beth, explanatory of his conduct, and offering terms of sub- 
 mission. The river, called by the English Blackwater, is 
 termed, in Irish, Avon-DiifF, which has the same significa-
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixiii 
 
 tion. Both names are mentioned by Spenser in his " Mar- 
 riage of the Thames and the Medway :" — 
 
 Swift Avon-Duif, which of the Englishmen 
 Is called Black- water 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 . The Tanist he to great O'Neale.—St. VI. p. 162. 
 
 " Eudox. What is this which you call Tanist and Tanistry ? 
 These be names and termes never heard of nor known to us. 
 
 " Iren, It is a custome amongst all the Irish, that, pre- 
 sently after the death of one of their chiefe lords or cap- 
 taines, they doe presently assemble themselves to a place 
 generally appointed and knowne unto them, to choose an- 
 other in his stead, where they doe nominate and elect, for 
 the most part, not the eldest sonne, nor any of the children 
 of the lord deceased, but the next to him in blood, that is, 
 the eldest and worthiest, as commonly the next brother unto 
 him, if he have any, or the next cousin, or so forth, as any 
 is elder in that kindred or sept ; and then next to him doe 
 they choose the next of the blood to be Tanist, who shall 
 next succeed him in the said captainry, if he live thereunto. 
 
 " Eudox. Do they not use any ceremony in this election, 
 for all barbarous nations are commonly great observers of 
 ceremonies and superstitious rites ? 
 
 " Iren. They use to place him that shall be their captaine 
 upon a stone, always reserved to that purpose, and placed 
 commonly upon a hill. In some of which I have seen form- 
 
 5
 
 I XIV 
 
 NOTES TO CANTQ FOURTH, 
 
 eel and engraven a foot, which they say was the measure of 
 their first captaine's foot ; whereon hee standing, receives an 
 oath to preserve all the auncient former customes of the 
 countrey inviolable, and to deliver up the succession peace- 
 ably to his Tanist, and then hath a wand delivered unto him 
 by some whose proper office that is ; after which, descending 
 from the stone, he turneth himself round, thrice forwards 
 and thrice backwards. 
 
 " Eudox, But how is the Tanist chosen ? 
 
 " Iren. They say he setteth but one foot upon the stone, 
 and receiveth the like oath that the captaine did." — Spen- 
 ser's View of the State of Ireland, apud Works, Lond. 1805, 
 ^vo. vol. VIII. p. 306. 
 
 The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was the heir-apparent 
 of his power. This kind of succession appears also to have 
 reo"ulated, in very remote times, the succession to the crown 
 of Scotland. It would have been imprudent, if not impossi- 
 ble, to have asserted a minor's right of succession in those 
 stormy days, when the principles of policy were summed up 
 in my friend Mr Wordsworth's lines : — 
 
 the good old rule 
 
 Sufficeth them ; the simple plan. 
 That they should take who have the power. 
 And they should keep who can.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixv 
 
 Note VII. 
 His plaited hair in elf docks spread, S^c. — St. VIII. p. 164. 
 There is here an attempt to describe the ancient Irish 
 dress, of which a poet of Queen Ehzabeth's day has given 
 us the following particulars : — 
 
 I mervailde in my mynde, 
 
 and thereupon did muse, 
 To see a bride of heavenlie hewe 
 
 an ouglie fere to chuse. 
 This bride it is the soile, 
 
 the bridegroom is the karne, 
 With writhed glibbes, hke wicked sprits, 
 
 with visage rough and stearne ; 
 With scuUes upon their poales, 
 
 instead of civill cappes ; 
 With speares in hand, and swordes by sides, 
 
 to beare of after clappes j 
 With jackettes long and large, 
 
 which shroud simplicities 
 Though spitfuU dartes which they do beare 
 
 importe iniquitie. 
 Their shirtes be very strange, 
 
 not reaching past the thie ; 
 With pleates on pleates thei pleated are 
 
 as thicke as pleates may lye. 
 Whose sleaves hang trailing doune 
 
 almost unto the shoe ; 
 And with a mantell commonlie 
 
 the Irish karne do goe. 
 Now some amongst the reste 
 
 doe use another weede j 
 
 i
 
 Ixvi NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 A coate I meane, of strange devise, 
 
 which I'ancie first did breade. 
 His skirts be very shorte, 
 
 with pleates set thick about, 
 And Irish trouzes moe to put 
 their strange protactours out. 
 
 Derrick's Image of Ireland, apud Somers* 
 Tracts, Edin. 1809, 4?o. vol. I. p. 585. 
 
 Some curious wooden engravings accompany this poem, 
 from which it would seem that the ancient Irish dress was 
 (the bonnet excepted) very similar to that of the Scottish 
 highlanders. The want of a covering on the head was sup- 
 plied by the mode of plaiting and arranging their hair, 
 which was called the glibbe. These glibbes, according to 
 Spenser, were fit masks for a thief, since, when he wished 
 to disguise himself, he could either cut it off entirely, or so 
 pull it over his eyes as to render it veiy hard to recognize 
 him. This, however, is nothing to the reprobation with 
 which the same poet regards that favourite part of the Irish 
 dress, the mantle. — 
 
 " It is a fit house for an outlaw, a meet bed for a rebel, 
 and an apt cloke for a thiefe. First, the outlaw being for 
 his many crimes and viUanyes banished from the townes 
 and houses of honest men, and wandring in Avaste places far 
 from danger of law, maketh his mantle his house, and under 
 it covereth himself from the wrath of heaven, from the of- 
 fence of the earth, and from the sight of men. When it 
 raineth, it is his pent-house ; when it bloweth, it is his tent ; 
 when it freezeth, it is his tabernacle. In sommer he can wear
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixvii 
 
 it loose, in winter he can wrap it close ; at all times he can 
 use it ; never heavy, never cumbersome. Likewise for a 
 rebel it is as serviceable : for in his warre that he maketh, (if 
 at least it deserve the name of warre,) when he still flyeth 
 from his foe, and lurketh in the thicke woods and straite 
 passages, waiting for advantages, it is his bed, yea, and al- 
 most his household stuff. For the wood is his house against 
 all weathers, and his mantle is his couch to sleep in. Therein 
 he wrapeth himself round, and coucheth himselfe strongly 
 against the gnats, which, in that country, doe more annoy 
 the naked rebels while they keep the woods, and doe more 
 sharply wound them, then all their enemies swords or speares, 
 which can seldom come nigh them : yea, and oftentimes 
 their mantle serveth them when they are neere driven, be- 
 ing wrapped about their left arme, instead of a target, for it 
 is hard to cut thorough with a sword ; besides it is light to 
 beare, light to throw away, and being (as they commonly 
 are) naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly, for a thiefe it is 
 so handsome as it may seem it was first invented for him, 
 for under it he may cleanly convey any fit pillage that com- 
 metli handsomely in his way, and when he goeth abroad in 
 the night in free-booting, it is his best and surest friend ; for 
 lying, as they often do, two or three nights together abroad 
 to watch for their booty, with that they can prettily shroud 
 themselves under a bush or a bankside till they may conve- 
 niently do their errand ; and when all is over, he can in his 
 mantle passe through any town or company, being close
 
 Ixviii NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 hooded over his head, as he iiseth^, from knowledge of any 
 to whom he is indangered. Besides this, he, or any man els 
 that is disposed to mischief or villany, may, under his man- 
 tle, goe privily armed without suspicion of any, carry his 
 head-piece, his skean, or pistol if he please, to be always in 
 readiness." — Spenser's View of the State of Ireland, apud 
 Works, ut supra, VIIL 361. 
 
 The javelins, or darts, of the Irish, which they threw with 
 great dexterity, appear, from one of the prints already men- 
 tioned, to have been about four feet long, with a strong- 
 steel head and thick knotted shaft. 
 
 Note VIIL 
 
 With 'wild majestic port and tone, 
 
 Like envoy of some barbarous throne. — St. VIIL p. 164, 
 
 The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, 
 and with each other, were wont to assume the language and 
 style of independent royalty. Morrison has preserved a 
 summons from Tyrone to a neighbouring chieftain, which 
 runs in the following terms : — 
 
 " O'Neale commendeth him unto you, Morish Fitz Tho^ 
 mas ; O'Neale requesteth you, in God's name, to take part 
 with him, and fight for your conscience and right ; and in so 
 doing, O'Neale will spend to see you righted in all your af- 
 faires, and will help you. And if you come not at O'Neale 
 betwixt this and to-morrow at twelve of the clocke, and 
 take his part, O'Neale is not beholding to you, and will doe
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixix 
 
 to the uttermost of his power to overthrow you if you come 
 not to him at furthest by Satturclay noone. From Knocke 
 Dumayne in Cah'ie, the fourth of February, 1599. 
 
 " O'Neale requesteth you to come speake with him, and 
 doth giue you his word that you shall receive no harme 
 neither in comming nor going from him, whether you be 
 friend or not, and bring with you to O'Neale Gerat Fitz- 
 gerald. 
 
 " Subscribed O'Neale." 
 
 Nor did the royalty of O'Neale consist in words alone. 
 Sir John Harrington paid him a visit at the time of his truce 
 with Essex, and after mentioning " his fern table, and fern 
 forms, spread under the stately canopy of heaven," he no- 
 tices what constitutes the real power of every monarch, 
 the love, namely, and allegiance of his subjects. " His 
 guard, for the most part, were beardless boys without 
 shirts : who in the frost wade as familiarlv through rivers as 
 water-spaniels. With what charm such a master makes them 
 love him I know not, but if he bid come, they come ; if go> 
 they do go j if he say do this, they do it." — Nugce Antiquce^ 
 Lond. 1784, Sm vol I. p, 251, 
 
 Note IX. 
 His foster-father was his guide. — St. X. p. 168. 
 There was no tie more sacred amono; the Irish than that 
 which connected the foster-father, as well as the nurse her- 
 self, with the child they brought up. 
 
 10
 
 Ixx NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 " Foster-fathers spend much more time, money, and affec- 
 tion on their foster children than their own ; and in return 
 take from them clothes, money for their several professions, 
 and arms, and even for any vicious purposes ; fortunes and 
 cattle, not so much by a claim of right as by extortion ; and 
 they will even carry those things off as plunder. All who 
 have been nursed by the same person preserve a greater mu- 
 tual affection and confidence in each other than if they were 
 natural brothers, whom they will even hate for the sake of 
 these. When chid by their parents, they fly to their foster^ 
 fathers, who frequently encourage them to make open war 
 on their parents, train them up to every excess of wicked- 
 ness, and make them most abandoned miscreants : as, on the 
 other hand, the nurses make the young women, whom they 
 brino- vip for every excess. If a foster-child is sick, it is in- 
 credible how soon the nurses hear of it, however distant, 
 and with what solicitude they attend it by day and night." — 
 Giraldus Camhrensis, quoted hy Camden, IV. 368. 
 
 This custom, like many other Irish usages, prevailed till 
 of late in the Scottish Highlands, and was cherished by the 
 chiefs as an easy mode of extending their influence and con- 
 nection : and even in the Lowlands, during the last century, 
 the connection between the nurse and foster-child was sel- 
 dom dissolved but by the death of one party. .
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixxi 
 
 Note X. 
 Great Nial of the Pledges Nine.— St, XIV. p. 174. 
 Niell Naighyallach, or Of the Nine Hostages, is said to 
 have been monarch of all Ireland, during the end of the 
 fourth or beginning of the fifth century. He exercised a 
 predatory warfare on the coasts of England and of Bretagne, 
 or Armorica ; and from the latter covmtry brought off the 
 celebrated Saint Patrick, a youth of sixteen, among other 
 captives, whom he transported to Ireland. Neal derived his 
 epithet from nine nations, or tribes, whom he held under 
 his subjection, and from whom he took hostages. From one 
 of Neal's sons were derived the Kinel-eoguin, or Race of 
 Tyrone, which afforded monarchs both to Ireland and to 
 Ulster. Neill (according to O' Flaherty's Ogygia) was killed 
 by a poisoned arrow, in one of his descents on the coast of 
 Bretagne. 
 
 Note XL 
 Shane-Dymas wild St. XIV. p, 174. 
 
 This Shane-Dymas, or John the Wanton, held the title 
 and power of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's 
 reign, against whom he rebelled repeatedly. 
 
 " This chieftain is handed down to us as the most proud 
 and profligate man on earth. He was immoderately addict- 
 ed to women and wine. He is said to have had 200 tuns of 
 wine at once in his cellar at Dandram, but usquebaugh was 
 his favourite liquor. He spared neither age nor condition
 
 Ixxii NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 (^f the fair sex. Altho' so illiterate that he could not write, 
 he was not destitute of address ; his understanding was strong, 
 and his courage darmcj. He had 600 men for his o-uard, 
 4000 foot. 1000 horse for the field. He claimed superiority 
 over all the lords of Ulster, and called himself king thereof. 
 \Mien commissioners were sent to treat with him. he said, 
 • That, tho' the queen were his sovereign lady, he never 
 made peace with her buf at her lodging ; that she had made a 
 wise Earl of ^lacartymore. but that he kept as good a man 
 as he ; that he cared not for so mean a title as earl ; that his 
 blood and power were better than the best ; that his ances- 
 tors were kings of Ulster ; and that he would give place to 
 none.' His kinsman, the Earl of Kildare, having persuaded 
 him of the follv of contending with the cro^^^l of England, 
 he resolved to attend the queen, but in a style suited to his 
 princelv dignity. He appeared in London with a magnifi- 
 cent train of Irish Galloglasses, arrayed in the richest habili- 
 ments of their country, their heads bare, their hair flowing 
 on their shoulders, with their long and open sleaves dyed 
 with saffron. Thus dressed, and surcharged with military 
 harness, and armed with battle-axes, they afforded an asto- 
 nishing spectacle to the citizens, who regarded them as the 
 intruders of some very distant part of the globe. But at 
 court his versatility now prevailed, his title to the sovereign- 
 tv of Tvrone was pleaded from English laws and Irish insti- 
 tutions, and his allegations were so specious, that the queen 
 dismissed him with presents and assurances of favour. In 
 England this transaction was looked on as the humiliation
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixxiii 
 
 of a repenting rebel ; in Tyrone it was considered as a treaty 
 of peace between two potentates." — Camden's Britannia, by 
 Gough, Lond. 1806,/o/. vol IV. p. 442. 
 
 AMien reduced to extremity bv the Enorlisli, and forsaken 
 by his allies, this Shane-Dymas fled to Clandeboy, then oc- 
 cupied by a colony of Scottish highlanders of the family of 
 ]\IacDonell. He was at first courteously received, but by 
 degrees they began to quarrel about the slaughter of some 
 of their friends whom Shane-Dymas had put to death, and, 
 advancing from words to deeds, fell upon him with their 
 broad-swords, and cut him to pieces. After his death a law 
 was made that none should presume to take the name and 
 title of O'Xeale. 
 
 Note XII. 
 Geraldine. — St. XIV. p. 174. 
 
 Tlie 0*Neales were closely allied with this powerful and 
 warlike family, for Henry Owen O'Neale married the daugh- 
 ter of Tliomas Earl of Kildare, and their son Con-^NIore 
 married his cousin-german, a daughter of Gerald Earl of 
 Kildare. Tliis Con-More cursed any of his posterity who 
 should learn the English language, sow corn, or build 
 houses, so as to invite the Eno;lish to settle in their countrv. 
 Others ascribe this anathema to his son Con-Bacco. Fear- 
 flatha O'Gnive, bard to the O'Xeales of Clannaboy, com- 
 plains in the same spirit of the towers and ramparts with 
 which the strangers had disfigured the fair sporting fields of 
 Erin. See Walker's Irish Bard^, p. 140. 
 
 k
 
 Ixxiv NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 He chose that honoured flag to hear. — St. XVI. p. 176. 
 Lacy informs us, in the old play already quoted, how the 
 cavalry raised by the country gentlemen for Charles's service 
 were usually officered. " You, cornet, have a name that's 
 proper for all cornets to be called by, for they are all beard- 
 less boys in our army. The most part of our horse were rai- 
 sed thus : — The honest country gentleman raises the troop 
 at his own charge ; then he gets a low-country lieutenant to 
 fight his troop safely ; then he sends for his son from school 
 to be his cornet ; and then he puts off his child's coat to put 
 on a buff coat : and this is the constitution of our army." 
 
 Note XIV. 
 his page, the next degree — - 
 
 In that old time to chivalry. — St. XVI. p. 1 76. 
 Originally the order of chivalry embraced three ranks : — 
 1. The Page; 2. The Squire ; 3. The Knight ; — a gradation 
 which seems to have been imitated in the mystery of free- 
 masonry. But before the reign of Charles I. the custom of 
 serving as a squire had fallen into disuse, though the order of 
 the page was still, to a certain degree, in observance. This 
 state of servitude was so far from inferring any thing degra- 
 ding, that it was considered as the regular school for acqui- 
 ring every quality necessary for future distinction. The proper 
 nature, and the decay of the institution, are pointed out by 
 old Ben Jonson, with his own forcible moral colouring. The
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. Ixxv 
 
 dialogue occurs between Lovel, " a compleat gentleman, a 
 soldier, and a scholar, known to have been page to the old 
 Lord Beaufort, and so to have followed him in the French 
 wars, after companion of his studies, and left guardian to his 
 son," and the facetious Goodstock, host of the Light Heart. 
 Lovel had offered to take Goodstock's son for his page, 
 which the latter, in reference to the recent abuse of the es- 
 tablishment, declares as " a desperate course of life:" — 
 
 Lovell. Call you that desperate, which by a line 
 Of institution, from our ancestors 
 Hath been derived down to us, and received 
 In a succession, for the noblest way 
 Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms. 
 Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise, 
 And all the blazon of a gentleman ? 
 Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence, 
 To move his body gracefuUer ? to speak 
 His language purer? or to tune his mind, 
 Or manners, more to the harmony of nature, 
 Than in the nurseries of nobility ? 
 
 Host. Aye, that was when the nursery's self was noble, 
 And only virtue made it, not the market. 
 That titles were not vented at the drum. 
 Or common outcry ; goodness gave the greatness, 
 And greatness worship : every iiouse became 
 An academy of honour ; and those parts 
 We see departed, in the practice, now, 
 Quite from the institution. 
 
 Lot. Why do you say so ? 
 Or think so enviously ? do they not still 
 Learn there the Centaur's skill, the art of Thrace,
 
 Ixxvi NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 To ride? or, Pollux' mystery, to fence? 
 
 The Pyrrhic gestures, both to dance and spring 
 
 In armour, to be active in the wars ? 
 
 To study figures, numbers, and proportions,^ 
 
 May yield 'em great in counsels, and the arts 
 
 Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised ? 
 
 To make their English sweet upon their tongue ! 
 
 As reverend Chaucer says ? 
 
 Host. Sir, you mistake ; 
 To play Sir Pandarus my copy hath it. 
 And carry messages to Madam Cressida ; 
 Instead of backing the brave steed o' mornings,. 
 To court the chambermaid ; and for a leap 
 O' the vaulting horse to ply the vaulting house : 
 For exercise of arms a bale of dice, 
 Or two or three packs of cards to shew the cheat, 
 And nimbleness of hand ; mistake a cloak 
 Upon my lord's back, and pawn it ; ease his pocket 
 Of a superfluous watch ; or geld a jewel 
 Of an odd stone or so ; twinge two or three buttons 
 From off my lady's gown : these are the arts 
 Or seven liberal deadly sciences 
 Of pagery, or rather paganism, 
 As the tides run ; to which, if he apply him, 
 He may perhaps take a degree at Tyburn 
 A year the earlier ; come to take a lecture 
 Upon Aquinas at St Thomas a Waterings, 
 And so go forth a laureat in hemp circle ! 
 
 Ben Jonson's New Inn, Jet I. Scene III.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Note I. 
 
 Rokehij ■ St. III. p. 208. 
 
 The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site 
 of the present mansion, by which a part of its walls is in- 
 closed. It is surrounded by a profusion of fine wood, and 
 the park in which it stands is adorned by the junction of 
 the Greta and of the Tees. The title of Baron Rokeby of 
 Armagh was in 1777 conferred on the Right Reverend 
 Richard Robinson, Primate of Ireland, descended of the 
 Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby in Yorkshire. 
 
 Note 11. 
 Rokehys lords of martial fame, 
 I can count them name by name. — St. IX. p. 218. 
 The following brief pedigree of this very ancient and once 
 powerful family, was kindly supplied to the author by Mr 
 Rokeby of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient 
 Barons of Rokeby : — 
 
 12
 
 Ixxviii NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Pedigree of the House of Rokehy. 
 
 1. Sir Alex. Rokeby, Knt. married to Sir Hump. Liftle's* daughter. 
 
 2. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Tho. Lumley's daughter. 
 
 3. Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt. to Tho. Hubborn's daughter. 
 
 4. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Biggott's daughter. 
 
 5. Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John de Mclsass' daughter of Bennet- 
 
 Hall in Holderness. 
 
 6. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Sir Bryan Stapleton's daughter of Weighill. 
 
 7. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Ury's daughter.* 
 
 8. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to daughter of Mansfield, heir of Morton.^ 
 
 9. Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt. to Stroode's daughter and heir. 
 
 10. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Jas. Strangwayes' daughter. 
 
 11. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John Hotham's daughter. 
 
 12. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Danby of Yafforth daughter and heir.< 
 
 13. Tho. Rokeby, Esq. to Rob. Constable's daughter of Cliff, serjt. at law. 
 
 14. Christopher Rokeby, Esq. to Lasscells of Brackenburgh's daughter.^ 
 
 15. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Thweng. 
 
 16. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Lawson's daughter of Brough. 
 
 17. Frans. Rokeby, Esq. to Faucett's daughter, citizen of London. 
 
 18. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Wichffe of Gales. 
 
 High Sheriffs of Yorkshire. 
 
 1337. 11 Edw. 3. Ralph Hastings and Thos. de Rokeby. 
 1343. 17 Edw. 3. Thos. de Rokeby, pro sept, annis. 
 
 ' Lisle. 
 
 ^ Temp. Edw. 2di. 
 
 ^ Temp. Edw. Stii. 
 
 '* Temp. Henr. 7mi. and from him is the house of Skyers of a fourth brother. 
 
 ^ From hira is the house of Hotham, and of the second brother that had issue.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. Ixxix 
 
 1358. 25 Edw. 3. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Justiciary of Ireland for six years ; died 
 
 at the castle of Kilka. 
 1407. 8 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles, defeated and slew the Duke of Nor- 
 thumberland at the battle of Bramham Moor. 
 1411. 12 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles. 
 
 1686 Thos. Rokeby, Esq. 
 
 1539 Robert Holgate, Bish. of Landaff, afterwards P. of York, 
 
 Ld President of the Council for the Preservation of Peace 
 in the North. 
 1564, 6 Eliz. Tho. Younge, Archbishop of Yorke, Ld President. 
 30 Hen. 8. Tho. Rokeby, L.L.D. one of the Council. 
 Jn Rokeby, L.L.D. one of the Council. 
 1572. 15 Eliz. Hen. Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, Ld President. 
 Jo. Rokeby, Esq. one of the Council. 
 Jo. Rokeby, L.L.D. ditto. 
 Ralph Rokeby, Esq. one of the Secretaries. 
 1574. 17 Eliz. Jo. Rokeby, Precentor of York. 
 
 7 Will. 3. Sir J. Rokeby, Knt. one of the Justices of the King's Bench. 
 
 The family of De Rokeby came over with the Conqueror. 
 The old motto belonging to the family is In Bivio Dextra, 
 The arms, argent, cherron sable, between three rooks proper. 
 
 There is somewhat more to be found in our family in the Scottish History 
 about the affairs of Dun-Bretton town, but what it is, and in what time, I know 
 not, nor can have convenient leisure to search. But Parson Blackwood, the 
 Scottish chaplain to the Lord of Shrewsbury, recited to me once a piece of a 
 Scottish song, wherein was mentioned that Wm Wallis, the great deliverer of 
 the Scotts from the English bondage, should, at Dun-Bretton, have been 
 brought up under a Rokeby, captain then of that place ; and as he walked on 
 a cliff, should thrust him on a sudden into the sea, and thereby have gotten 
 that hold, which, I think, was about the 33d of Edw. I. or before. Thus, 
 leaving our ancestors of record, we must also with them leave the Chronicle of
 
 Ixxx NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Malmesbury Abbey, called Eulogium Historiarum, out of which Mr Leland 
 reporteth this history, and coppy down unwritten story, the which have yet the 
 testimony of later times, and the fresh memory of men yet alive, for their 
 wai-rant and creditt, of whom I have learned it, that in K. Henry the Tth's 
 reign, one Ralph Rokeby, Esq. was owner of Morton, and I guess that this 
 , was he that deceived the fryars of Richmond with his felon swine, on which a 
 jargon was made. 
 
 The above is a quotation from a manuscript written by 
 Ralph Rokeby ; when he Hved is uncertain. 
 
 To what metrical Scottish tradition Parson Blackwood al- 
 luded, it would be now in vain to enquire. But in Blind 
 Harry's History of Sir William Wallace, we find a legend of 
 one Rukbie, whom he makes keeper of Stirling Castle un- 
 der the English usurpation, and whom Wallace slays with 
 his own hand ; 
 
 In the great press Wallace and Rukbie met, 
 With his good sword a stroke upon him set ; 
 Dei-fly to death the old Rukbie he drave, 
 But his two sons scaped among the lave. 
 
 These sons, according to the romantic minstrel, surrendered 
 the castle on conditions, and went back to England, but re- 
 turned to Scotland in the days of Bruce, when one of them 
 became again keeper of Stirling Castla Immediately after 
 this achievement follows another engagement, between Wal- 
 lace and those Western Highlanders who embraced the 
 English interest, at a pass in Glendonchart, where many
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. Ixxxi 
 
 were precipitated into the lake over a precipice. These cir- 
 cumstances may have been confused in the narrative of Par- 
 son Blackwood, or in the recollection of Mr Rokeby. 
 
 In the old ballad of Chevy Chace, there is mentioned, 
 among the English warriors, " Sir Raff the ryche Rugbe," 
 which may apply to Sir Ralph Rokeby, the tenth baron in 
 the pedigree. The more modern copy of the ballad runs 
 thus : — 
 
 Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain, 
 Whose prowess did surmount. 
 
 This would rather seem to relate to one of the Nevilles of 
 Raby. Rut as the whole ballad is romantic, accuracy is not 
 to be looked for. 
 
 Note III. 
 the Felon Sow. — St. IX. p. 219. 
 
 The ancient minstrels had a comic as well as a serious 
 strain of romance, and although the examples of the latter 
 are by far the most numerous, they are, perhaps, the less 
 valuable. The comic romance was a sort of parodv upon 
 the usual subjects of minstrel poetry. If the latter described 
 deeds of heroic achievement, and the events of the battle, 
 the tourney, and the chace, the former, as in the tourna- 
 ment of Tottenham, introduced a set of clowns debating in 
 the field, with all the assumed circumstances of chivalry ; or, 
 as in the Hunting of the Hare (see Weber's Metrical Mo- 
 
 1
 
 Ixxxii NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 mances, vol. III.) persons of the same description, following 
 the chace, with all the grievous mistakes and blunders inci- 
 dent to such unpractised sportsmen. The idea, therefore, 
 of Don Quixote's frenzy, although inimitably embodied and 
 brought out, was not perhaps in the abstract altogether ori- 
 ginal. One of the very best of these mock romances, and 
 which has no small portion of comic humour, is the Hunt- 
 ing of the Felon Sow of Rokeby by the Friars of Richmond. 
 Ralph Rokeby, who (for the jest's sake apparently) bestow- 
 ed this intractable animal on the convent of Richmond, 
 seems to have flourished in the time of Henry VII. which, 
 since we know not the date of Friar Theobald's Warden- 
 ship, to which the poem refers us, may indicate that of the 
 composition itself Morton, the Mortham of the text, is 
 mentioned as being this facetious baron's place of residence ; 
 accordingly Leland notices that " Mr Rokeby hath a place 
 cauUed Mortham, a litle beneth Grentey-bridge, almost on 
 the mouth of Grentey." That no information may be lack- 
 ing which is in my power to supply, I have to notice, that 
 the Mistress Rokeby of the romance, who so charitably re- 
 freshed the sow after she had discomfited Friar Middleton 
 and his auxiliaries, was, as appears from the pedigree of the 
 Rokeby family, daughter and heir of Danby of YafForth. 
 
 This curious poem was first published in Mr Wliitaker's 
 History of Craven, but from an inaccurate manuscript, not 
 corrected very happily. It was transferred by Mr Evans to 
 the new edition of his ballads, with some well-judged con-
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. Ixxxiii 
 
 jectural improvements. I have been induced to give a more 
 authentic and full, though still an imperfect, edition of this 
 humorous composition, from being furnished with a copy 
 from a manuscript in the possession of Mr Rokebj, to whom 
 I have acknowledged my obligations in the last note. It 
 has three or four stanzas more than that of Mr Whitaker, 
 and the language seems, where they differ, to have the more 
 ancient and genuine readings. 
 
 The Felon Sow of Rokehy and the Friars of Richmond, 
 
 Ye men that will of aunters ^ winne, 
 That late within this land hath beene, 
 
 Of one I will you tell ; 
 And of a sew* that was sea^ Strang, 
 Alas ! that ever she lived sea lang, 
 
 For fell* folk did she whelj.^ 
 
 She was mare<5 than other three, 
 
 The grisehest beast that ere might bee, 
 
 Her head was great and gray ; 
 She was bred in Rokeby wood, 
 There was few that thither goed,' 
 
 That came on live awav.^ 
 
 * Both the MS. and Mr Whitaker's copy read ancestors, evidently a corruption of aunters, ad- 
 ventures, as corrected by Mr Evans. 
 
 * Sow, according to provincial pronunciation. ^ So ; Yorkshire dialect. "^ Fele, man}', Sax. 
 
 * A corruption of ^u€//, to kill. ^ I^^ore, greater. ^ Went> * Alive* 
 
 8
 
 Ixxxiv NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Her walk was endlong^ Greta side; 
 There was no bi'en * that durst her bide. 
 
 That was froe* heaven to hell: 
 Nor never man that had that might, 
 That ever durst come in her sight. 
 
 Her force it was so fell. 
 
 Ralph of Rokeby with good will, 
 The fryers of Richmond gave her till. 
 
 Full well to garre* them fare; 
 Fryar Middleton by his name. 
 He was sent to fetch her hame, 
 
 That rued him sine^ full sare. 
 
 With him tooke he wight men two, 
 Pater Dale was one of thoe, 
 
 That ever was brim as beai'e;'^ 
 And well durst strike with sword and knife, 
 And fight full manly for his life, 
 
 What time as mister ware.' 
 
 These three men went at God's wUI, 
 This wicked sew while they come till, 
 
 Liggan ^ under a tree ; 
 Rugg and rusty was her haire ; 
 She raise up with a felon fare,^ 
 
 To fight against the three. 
 
 She was so grisely for to meete. 
 She rave the earth up with her feete. 
 
 5 Along the side of Greta. ' Barn, child, man in general. ^ From. ^ Jo. 
 
 •* Make. ' Since. ^ Fierce as a bear. Mr Whitaker's copy reads, perhaps in 
 
 consequence of mistaking the MS. — T'other was Bryan of Bear. ^ Need were. Mr 
 
 Whitaker reads mmters. * Lying- ^ A fierce countenance or manner.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. Ixxxv 
 
 And barke came fro the tree ; 
 When Fryar Middleton her saugh/ 
 Weet ye well he might not laugh, 
 
 Full earnestly look't hee. 
 
 These men of aunters that was so wight/ 
 They bound them baudly^ for to fight, 
 
 And strike at her full sare ; 
 Untill a kiln they garred her flee, 
 Wold God send them the victory. 
 
 They wold aske him noa mare. 
 
 The sew was in the kiln hole down, 
 As they were on the balke aboon,* 
 
 For 5 hurting of their feet ; 
 They were so saulted"^ with this sew, 
 That among them was a stalworth stew, 
 
 The kelne began to reeke. 
 
 Durst noe man neigh her with his hand, 
 But putt a rape 7 downc with his wand. 
 
 And haltered her lull meete; 
 They hurled her forth against her will, 
 Whiles they came unto a hill 
 
 A little fi'o the streete.s 
 
 And there she made them such a fray, 
 If they should live to Doomes-day, 
 
 ' Saw. 
 
 ^ Wiglit, brave. The Rokebj' MS. reads incounters, and Mr Whitaker, auncestors. 
 
 ^ Boldly. * On the beam above. ' To prevent, ^ Assaulted, 
 
 ■" Rope. * Watling-street; see the sequelt
 
 Ixxxvi NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 They tharrow? it ne'er forgett ; 
 She braded* upon every side, 
 And ran on them gaping foil wide, 
 
 For nothing would she lett.* 
 
 She gave such brades^ at the band. 
 That Pater Dale had in his hand, 
 He might not hold his feet. 
 
 She chafed them to and fro, 
 The wight men was never soe woe, 
 Their measure was not so meete. 
 
 She bound her boldly to abide ; 
 To Pater Dale she came aside 
 
 With many a hideous yell : 
 She gaped so wide and cried soe hee> 
 The fryar said, " I conjure thee,* 
 
 Thou art a feind of hell. 
 
 « Thou art come hither for some traine,* 
 I conjure thee to go againe 
 
 Where thou wast wont to dwell." 
 He sayned** him with crosse and creede, 
 Took forth a book, began to reade, 
 
 In St John his gospell. 
 
 The sew she would not Latin heare, 
 But rudely rushed att the frear. 
 
 • Dare. ' Rushed. * Leare it. ^ PuHs. 
 
 ♦ This line is wanting in Mr Whitaker's copy, whence it has been conjectured that something is 
 \TOnting after this stanza, which now there is no occasion to suppose. 
 
 5 Evil device. * Blessed, Fr.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. Ixxxvii 
 
 That blinked all his blee ;' 
 And when she would have taken her hold, 
 The fryar leaped as Jesus wold, 
 
 And healed 8 him with a tree. 
 
 She was as brim' as any beare, 
 For all their meete to labour there,* 
 
 To them it was no boote : 
 Upon trees and bushes that by her stood. 
 She ranged as shee was wood,* 
 
 And rave them up by roote. 
 
 He sayd, " Alas, that I was frear ! 
 And I shall be rugged J in sunder here, 
 
 Hard is my destinie ! 
 Wist * my brethren in this houre. 
 That I was sett in such a stoure,s 
 
 They would pray for me." 
 
 This wicked beast that wrought this woe, 
 Tooke that rape from the other two. 
 
 And then they fledd all three j 
 They fledd away by Watling-streete, 
 They had no succour but their feet. 
 
 It was the more pitty. 
 
 7 Lost his colour. 8 Sheltered himself. * Fierce. 
 
 ' The MS. reads to lahour weere. The text seems to mean that all their labour to obtain tkeir 
 intended meat was of no use to them. Mr Whitaker reads, 
 She was as brim as any boar, 
 And gave a grisly hideous roar, 
 To them it was no boot. 
 Besides the want of connection between the last line and the two former, the second has a very 
 modern sound, and the reading of the Rokeby MS. with the slight alteration in the text, is much 
 better. * Mad. ^ jorn, pulled. ♦ Knew. s Combat, perilous fight.
 
 Ixxxviii NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 The fei]d it was both lost and wonne;'' 
 The sew went hame, and that full soone, 
 
 To Morton on the Greene; 
 When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,' 
 He wist^ that there had been debate, 
 
 Whereat the sew had beene. 
 
 He bad them stand out of her way, 
 For she had had a sudden fray, — 
 
 " I saw never so keene; 
 Some new things shall we heare 
 Of her and Middleton the frear, 
 
 Some battell hath there beene." 
 
 But all that served him for nought, 
 Had they not better succour sought. 
 
 They were served therefore loe. 
 Then Mistress Rokeby came anon, 
 And for her brought shee meate full soone, 
 
 The sew came her mito. 
 
 She gave her meate upon the flower, 
 
 [^Hiatus valde defiendus.'} 
 
 When Fryer Middleton came home. 
 His brethren was full fain ilkone,^ 
 
 And thanked God of his life ; 
 He told them all unto the end. 
 How he had foughten with a fiend, 
 
 And lived through mickle strife. 
 
 6 This stanza, with the two following, and the fragment of a fourth, are not in Mr Whitaker's 
 edition. ^ The rope about the sow's neck. ^ Knew. ° This line is almost illegible. 
 
 ' Each one.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. Ixxxix 
 
 ii ^^Q gave her battell half a day, 
 And si then 9 was fain to fly away. 
 
 For saving of our hfe.* 
 And Pater Dale would never blinn,* 
 But as fast as he could ryn,^ 
 
 Till he came to his wife." 
 
 The warden said, " I am full woe. 
 That ever ye should be torment so, 
 
 But wee with you had beene ! 
 Had wee been there your brethren all. 
 Wee should have garred the warlc* fall. 
 
 That wrought you all this teyne.s 
 
 Fryer Middleton said soon, " Nay, 
 In faith you would have fled away. 
 
 When most mister ^ had been; 
 You will all spcake words at hame, 
 A man would ding ' you every ilke ane, 
 
 And if it be as I weinc." 
 
 He look't so griesly all that night, 
 The warden said, " Yon man will fight 
 
 If you say ought but good : 
 Yon guest ^ hath greived him so sare. 
 Hold your tongues and speake noe mare, 
 
 Hee looks as hee were wood." 
 
 ^ Since then, after that. ' The above lines are wanting in Mr Whitaker's copy. 
 
 * Cease, stop. ^ Run. + Warlock, or wizzard. ^ Harm. ^ Need. 
 7 Beat. The copy in Mr Whitaker's History of Craven reads, perhaps better, — 
 
 The fiend would ding you down ilk one. 
 
 * " Yon guest" may be yon gest, i. e. that adventure ; or it may mean yon ghaist, or apparition, 
 which in old poems is applied sometimes to what is supernaturally hideous. The printed copy 
 reads, — The beast hath, &c. 
 
 m
 
 xc NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 The warden waged ^ on the morne. 
 Two boldest men that ever were borne, 
 
 I weine, or ever shall be ; 
 The one was Gibbert Griffin's son, 
 Full mickle worship has he wonne. 
 
 Both by land and sea. 
 
 The other was a bastard son of Spain, 
 Many a Sarazin hath he slain, 
 
 His dint ' hath gart them die. 
 These two men the battle undertooke 
 Against the sew, as says the booke, 
 
 And sealed security, 
 
 That they should boldly bide and fight. 
 And skomfit her in maine and might, 
 
 Or therefore should they die. 
 The warden sealed to them againe. 
 And said, " In feild if ye be slain. 
 
 This condition make I : 
 
 " We shall for you pray, sing, and read 
 To doomesday with hearty speede, 
 
 With all our progeny." 
 Then the letters well was made. 
 Bands bound with seales brade,* 
 
 As deeds of amies should be. 
 
 These men of armes that weere soe wight, 
 With armour and with brandes bright. 
 
 ^ Hired, a Yorkshire phrase. ' Blow. ^ Broad, large.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. xci 
 
 They went this sew to see; 
 She made on them slike a rerd,^ 
 That for her they were sare afer'd, 
 
 And ahnost bound to flee. 
 
 She came roveing them againe ; 
 That saw the bastard son of Spaine, 
 
 He braded '' out his brand ; 
 Full spiteously at her he strake. 
 For all the fence that he could make, 
 
 She gat sword out of hand ; 
 And rave in sunder half his sheilde, 
 And bare him backward in the feilde. 
 
 He might not her gainstand. 
 
 She would have riven his privich geare, 
 But Gilbert with his sword of werre, 
 
 He strake at her full strong, 
 On her shoulder till she held the swerd ; 
 Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd, 
 
 When the blade brake in throng, s 
 
 Since in his hands he hath her tane, 
 She tooke him by the shoulder bane,** 
 
 And held her hold full fast. 
 She strave so stiffly in that stower,' 
 That thorough all his rich armour 
 
 The blood came at the last. 
 
 Then Gilbert greived was sea sare. 
 That he rave off both hide and haire. 
 
 ' Such like a roar. * Drew out. ^ In the combat. ^ Bone. ' Meeting, battle. 
 
 5
 
 xcii NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 The flesh came fro the bone ; 
 And all with force he fell'd her there, 
 And wann her worthily in werre. 
 
 And band her him alone- 
 
 And lift her on a horse sea hee, 
 Into two panyers well-made of a tree, 
 
 And to Richmond they did hay:^ 
 "When they saw her come. 
 They sang merrily Te Deum, 
 
 The fryers on that day.' 
 
 They thanked God and St Francis, 
 As they had won the beast of pi*is,* 
 
 And never a man was slaine : 
 There did never a man more manly, 
 Knight Marcus, nor yett Sir Gui, 
 
 Nor Loth of Louthyane.* 
 
 If ye will any more of this. 
 In the fryars of Richmond 'tis 
 
 In parchment good and fine ; 
 And how Fryar Middleton that was so kend,' 
 At Greta-bridge conjur'd a feind 
 
 In hkeness of a swine. 
 
 It is well known to many a man. 
 
 That Fryar Theobald was warden than. 
 
 ^ Hie, hasten. ^ The MS. reads mistakenly every da)'. ' Price. 
 
 * The father of Sir Gawain in the romance of Arthur and Merhn. The MS. is thus corrupted,- 
 
 More loth of Louth Ryrae. 
 3 Well known, or perhaps kind, well disposed. 
 
 6
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. xciii 
 
 And this fell in his time ; 
 And Christ them bless both farre and noare, 
 AH that for solace list this to heare, 
 
 And him that made the rhime. 
 
 V Ralph Rokeby with full good will, 
 
 The fryars of Richmond he gave her till. 
 
 This sew to mend their fai'e : 
 Fryar Middleton by his name, 
 Would needs bring the fat sew hame, 
 
 That rued him since full sare. 
 
 Note IV. 
 The Filea of O'Neale was he. — St. X. p. 220. 
 The Filea, or Ollamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, 
 as the name hterally imphes, poet. Each chieftain of dis- 
 tinction had one or more in his service, whose office was 
 usually hereditary. The late ingenious Mr Cooper Walker 
 has assembled a curious collection of particulars concerning 
 this order of men in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish 
 Bards. There were itinerant bards of less elevated rank, but 
 all were held in the highest veneration. The English, who 
 considered them as chief supporters of the spirit of national 
 independence, were much disposed to proscribe this race of 
 poets, as Edward I. is said to have done in Wales. Spenser, 
 while he admits the merit of their wild poetry, as " savour- 
 ing of sweet wit and good invention, and sprinkled with somd 
 pretty flowers of their natural device," yet rigorously con- 
 demns the whole application of their poetry, as abased to 
 " the gracing of wickedness and vice." The household min-
 
 xciv NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 strel was admitted even to the feast of the prince whom he 
 served, and sat at the same table. It was one of the customs 
 of which Sir Richard Sewry, to whose charge Richard 11. 
 committed the instruction of four Irish monarchs in the civi- 
 lization of the period, found it most difficult to break his 
 royal disciples, though he had also much ado to subject them 
 to other English rules, and particularly to reconcile them to 
 wear breeches. " The kyng, my souerevigne lord's entent 
 was, that in maner, countenaunce, and apparell of clothyng 
 they sholde use according to the maner of Englande, for the 
 kynge thought to make them all four knyghtes : they had a 
 fayre house to lodge in, in Duvelyn, and I was charged to 
 abyde styll with them, and not to departe ; and so two or 
 three dayes I suffered them to do as they lyst, and sayde 
 nothyng to them, but folowed their owne appetytes ; they 
 wolde sytte at the table, and make countenance nother good 
 nor fayre. Than I thought I shulde cause them to chaunge 
 that maner; they wolde cause their mynstrells, their ser- 
 uauntes, and varlettes to sytte with them, and to eate in their 
 owne dyssche, and to drinke of their cuppes ; and they 
 shewed me that the usage of their countre was good, for 
 they sayd in all thyngs (except their beddes) they were and 
 lyved as comen. So the fourthe day I ordayned other tables 
 to be couered in the hall, after the usage of Englande, and I 
 made these four knyghtes to sytte at the hyghe table, and 
 there mynstrels at another borde, and their seruauntes and 
 varlettes at another byneth them, wherof by semynge they 
 were displeased, and beheld each other, and wolde not eate.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. xcv 
 
 and sajde, how I wolde take fro them their good usace, 
 wherin they had been norished. Than I answered them, 
 smylyng, to apeace them, that it was not honourable for their 
 estates to do as they dyde before, and that they must leave 
 it, and use the custom of Englande, and that it was the 
 kynge's pleasure they shulde so do, and how he was charged 
 so to order them. Whan they harde that, they suffred it, by- 
 cause they had putte themselfe under the obeysance of the 
 kynge of England, and parceuered in the same as long as I 
 was with them ; yet they had one use which I knew was well 
 used in their countre, and that was, they dyde were no 
 breches ; I caused breches of lynen clothe to be made for 
 them. Whyle I was with them I caused them to leaue many 
 rude thynges, as well in clothying as in other causes. Moche 
 ado I had at the fyrst to cause them to weare gownes of 
 sylke, furred with myneuere and gray : for before these 
 kynges thought themselfe well apparelled whan they had 
 on a mantell. They rode alwayes without saddles and styr- 
 opes, and with great payne I made them to ride after our 
 usage." — Lord Berners' Froissart, Loud. 1812, 4^o. //. 621. 
 The influence of these bards upon their patrons, and their 
 admitted title to interfere in matters of the weightiest con- 
 cern, may be also proved from the behaviour of one of them 
 at an interview between Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl 
 of Kildare, then about to renounce the English allegiance, 
 and the Lord Chancellor Cromer, who made a long and good- 
 ly oration to dissuade him from his purpose. The young lord
 
 xcvi NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH; 
 
 had come to the council " armed and weaponed," and attend- 
 ed by seven score horsemen in their shirts of mail ; and we are 
 assured that the chancellor, having set forth his oration " with 
 such a lamentable action as his cheekes were all beblubbered 
 with teares, the horsemen, namelie, such as understood not 
 Enslish, besan to diuine what the lord-chancelor meant with 
 all this long circumstance ; some of them reporting that he 
 was preaching a sermon, others said that he stood making of 
 some heroicall poetry in the praise of the Lord Thomas. And 
 thus as every idiot shot his foolish bolt at the wise chan- 
 cellor his discourse, who in effect did nought else but drop 
 pretious stones before hogs, one Bard de Nelan, an Irish 
 rithmour, and a rotten sheepe to infect a whole flocke, was 
 chatting of Irish verses, as though his toong had run on pat- 
 tens, in commendation of the Lord Thomas, investing him 
 with the title of Silken Thomas, bicause his horsemens jacks 
 were gorgeously imbrodered with silke : and in the end he 
 told him that he lingered there ouer long. Whereat the 
 Lord Thomas being quickened," ' as Hollinshed expresses it, 
 bid defiance to the chancellor, threw down contemptu- 
 ously the sword of office, which, in his father's absence, he 
 held as deputy, and rushed forth to engage in open insurrec- 
 tion. 
 
 ' Holinshed, Lond. 1808, 4to. vol. VI. p. 291.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. xcvii 
 
 Note V. 
 
 Ahi Clandehoy ! thy Mndly jioor 
 
 Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more. — St. X. p. 221. 
 
 Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by 
 the sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve-Donard a romantic 
 mountain in the same province. The clan was ruined after 
 Tyrone's great rebellion, and their places of abode laid de- 
 solate. The ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in other re- 
 spects, did not yield even to their descendants in practising 
 the most free and extended hospitality, and doubtless the 
 bards mourned the decay of the mansion of their chiefs in 
 strains similar to the verses of the British Llywarch Hen 
 on a similar occasion, which are affecting, even through the 
 discouraging medium of a literal translation. — 
 
 Silent-bieathing gale, long wilt thou be heard ! 
 There is scarcely another deserving praise, 
 Since Urien is no more. 
 
 Many a dog that scented well the prey, and aerial hawk, 
 Have been trained on this floor 
 Before Erlleon became polluted . . . 
 
 This hearth, ah, will it not be covered with nettles ! 
 
 Whilst its defender lived, 
 
 More congenial to it was the foot of the needy petitioner. 
 
 This hearth, will it not be covered with green sod ! 
 
 In the hfetime of Owain and Elphin, 
 
 Its ample cauldron boiled the prey taken from the foe,
 
 xcviii NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH, 
 
 This hearth, will it not be covered with toad-stools 1 
 Around the viand it prepared, more cheering was 
 The clattering sword of the fierce dauntless warrior. 
 
 This hearth, will it not be overgrown with spreading brambles ! 
 Till now logs of burning wood lay on it. 
 Accustomed to prepare the gifts of Reged ! 
 
 This hearth, will it not be covered with thorns ! 
 
 More congenial on it would have been the mixed group 
 
 Of Owain's social friends united in hai*mony. 
 
 This hearth, will it not be covered over with the ants ! 
 More adapted to it would have been the bright torches 
 And harmless festivities ! 
 
 This hearth, will it not be covered with dock-leaves ! 
 
 More congenial on its floor would have been 
 
 The mead, and the talking of wine-cheer'd warriors. 
 
 This hearth, wiU it not be turned up by the swine ! 
 
 More congenial to it would have been the clamour of men, 
 
 And the circling horns of the banquet. 
 
 Heroic Elegies of Llywarc Hen, by Owen, 
 Lond. 1792, 8ro. ;>. 41, 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
 
 Without fire, without bed — 
 
 I must weep awhile, and then be silent ! 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
 
 Without fire, without candle — 
 
 Except God doth, who will endue me with patience !
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this nigl.t, 
 Without fire, without being lighted — 
 Be thou encircled with spreading silence ! 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan, gloomy seems its roof, 
 Since the sweet smile of humanity is no more — 
 Woe to him that saw it, if he neglects to do good ! 
 
 The hall of CjTiddylan, art thou not bereft of thy appearance, 
 
 Thy shield is in the grave; 
 
 Whilst he lived there was no "broken roof ! 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is without love this night, 
 
 Since he that owned it is no more — 
 
 Ah, death ! it will be but a short time he will leave me ! 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is not easy this night. 
 
 On the top of the rock of Hydwy th. 
 
 Without its lord, without company, without the circling feasts ! 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night. 
 Without fire, without songs — • 
 Tears afflict the cheeks ! 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
 Without fire, without family — 
 My over-flowing tears gush out ! 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it, 
 Without a covering, without fire — 
 My general dead, and I alive myself ! 
 
 The haU of Cynddylan is the seat of chfll grief this night, 
 
 After the respect I experienced; 
 
 W^ithout the men, without the women, who reside there ! 
 
 XCIX
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 The hall of Cynddylan is silent this night, 
 
 After losing its master — 
 
 The great merciful God, what shall I do ! 
 
 Ibid. p. 77. 
 
 NoteVI. 
 — Marwood-chace and Toller-hilL — St. XII. p. 225. 
 Marwood-chace is the old park extending along the Dur- 
 ham side of the Tees, attached to Barnard-castle. Toller- 
 hill is an eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, com- 
 manding a superb view of the ruins. 
 
 Note VII. 
 Hawthornden.— -Si. XIV. p. 230. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden was in the zenith of his re- 
 putation as a poet during the civil wars. He died in 1649* 
 
 Note VIII. 
 MacCurtin's harp. — St. XIV. p. 230. 
 " MacCurtin, hereditary Ollamh of North Munster, and 
 Filea to Donough, Earl of Thomond, and President of 
 Munster. This nobleman was amongst those who were pre- 
 vailed upon to join Elizabeth's forces. Soon as it was 
 known that he had basely abandoned the interests of his 
 country, MacCurtin presented an adulatory poem to Mac 
 Carthy, chief of South Munster, and of the Eugenian line, 
 who, with O'Neil, O'Donnel, Lacy, and others, were deeply 
 engaged in protecting their violated country. In this poem
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. ci 
 
 he dwells with rapture on the courage and patriotism of 
 MacCarthy ; but the verse that should (according to an esta- 
 blished law of the order of the bards) be introduced in the 
 praise of O'Brien, he turns into severe satire ; — ' How am 
 I afflicted (says he) that the descendant of the great Brien 
 Boiromh cannot furnish me with a theme worthy the honour 
 and glory of his exalted race !' Lord Thomond hearing this, 
 vowed vengeance on the spirited bard, who fled for refuge 
 to the county of Cork* One day, observing the exasperated 
 nobleman and his equipage at a small distance, he thought 
 it was in vain to fly, and pretended to be suddenly seized 
 with the pangs of death ; directing his wife to lament over 
 him, and tell his lordship that the sight of him, by awaken- 
 ing the sense of his ingratitude, had so much affected him 
 that he could not support it ; and desired her at the same 
 time to tell his lordship that he entreated, as a dying re- 
 quest, his forgiveness. Soon as Lord Thomond arrived, the 
 feigned tale was related to him. The nobleman was moved 
 to compassion, and not only declared that he most heartily 
 forgave him, but, opening his purse, presented the fair 
 mourner with some pieces to inter him. This instance of 
 his lordship's pity and generosity gave courage to the trem- 
 bling bard, who, suddenly springing up, recited an extem- 
 poraneous ode in praise of Donough, and, re-entering into 
 his service, became once more his favourite." — Walker's 
 Memoirs of the Irish Bards, Lond. 1786, 4/o. p, 14L
 
 cii NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Note IX. 
 The ancient English minstreVs dress, — St. XV. p. 231. 
 Among the entertainments presented to Elizabeth at Ke- 
 nelworth Castle, was the introduction of a person designed 
 to represent a travelling minstrel, who entertained her with 
 a solemn story out of the Acts of King Arthur. Of this 
 person's dress and appearance Mr Laneham has given us a 
 very accurate account, transferred by Bishop Percy to the 
 preliminary dissertation on minstrels, prefixed to his Re- 
 liques of Ancient Poetry, vol. I. 
 
 Note X. 
 Littlecote-hall-^SL XXVII. p. 250. 
 
 The tradition from which the ballad is founded was sup- 
 plied by a friend, whose account I will not do the injustice 
 to abridge, as it contains an admirable picture of an old 
 English hall. — 
 
 " Littlecote-house stands in a low and lonely situation. 
 On three sides it is surrounded by a park that spreads over 
 the adjoining hill ; on the fourth, by meadows which are 
 watered by the river Kennet. Close on one side of the house 
 is a thick grove of lofty trees, along the verge of which runs 
 one of the principal avenues to it through the park. It is an 
 irregular building of great antiquity, and was probably erect- 
 ed about the time of the termination of feudal warfai'e, 
 when defence came no longer to be an object in a country 
 
 mansion. Many circumstances in the interior of the house. 
 1
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. ciii 
 
 however, seem appropriate to feudal times. The hall is 
 very spacious, floored with stones, and lighted by large tran- 
 som windows, that are clothed with casements. Its walls 
 are hung with old military accoutrements, that have long- 
 been left a prey to rust. At one end of the hall is a range 
 of coats of mail and helmets, and there is on every side 
 abundance of old-fashioned pistols and guns, many of them 
 with matchlocks. Immediately below the cornice hangs a 
 row of leathern jerkins, made in the form of a shirt, sup- 
 posed to have been worn as armour by the vassals. A large 
 oak table, reaching nearly from one end of the room to the 
 other, might have feasted the whole neighbourhood, and an 
 appendage to one end of it made it answer at other times 
 for the old game of shuffleboard. The rest of the furniture 
 is in a suitable style, particularly an arm-chair of cumbrous 
 workmanship, constructed of wood, curiously turned, with a 
 high back and triangular seat, said to have been used by 
 Judge Popham in the reign of Elizabeth. The entrance into 
 the hall is at one end by a low door, communicating with a 
 passage that leads from the outer door in the front of the 
 house to a quadrangle ' within ; at the other, it opens upon a 
 gloomy staircase, by which you ascend to the first floor, and, 
 passing the doors of some bed-chambers, enter a narrow 
 gallery, which extends along the back front of the house 
 from one end to the other of it, and looks upon an old gar- 
 den. This gallery is hung with portraits, chiefly in the Spa- 
 
 * I think there is a chapel on one side of it, but am not quite sure.
 
 civ NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 nish dresses of the sixteenth century. In one of the bed- 
 chambers, which you pass in going towards the gallery, is a 
 bedstead with blue furniture, which time has now made 
 dingy and threadbare, and in the bottom of one of the bed 
 curtains you are shewn a place where a small piece has been 
 cut out and sown in again, — a circumstance which serves to 
 identify the scene of the following story-; — 
 
 " It was on a dark rainy night in the month of Novem- 
 ber, that an old midwife sate musing by her cottage fire- 
 side, when on a sudden she was startled by a loud knock- 
 ing at the door. On opening it she found a horseman, who 
 told her that her assistance was required immediately by a 
 person of rank, and that she should be handsomely reward- 
 ed, but that there were reasons for keeping the affair a strict 
 secret, and, therefore, she must submit to be blind-folded, 
 and to be conducted in that condition to the bed-chamber of 
 the lady. With some hesitation the midwife consented ; the 
 horseman bound her eyes, and placed her on a pillion behind 
 him. After proceeding in silence for many miles through 
 rough and dirty lanes, they stopped, and the midwife was led 
 into a house, which, from the length of her walk through the 
 apartment, as well as the sounds about her, she discovered 
 to be the seat of wealth and power. When the bandage was 
 removed from her eyes, she found herself in a bed-chamber, 
 in which were the lady on whose account she had been sent 
 for, and a man of a haughty and ferocious aspect. The lady 
 was delivered of a fine boy. Immediately the man com- 
 manded the midwife to give him the child, and, catching it 
 
 8
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. cv 
 
 from her, he hurried across the room, and threw it on the 
 back of the fire, that was blazing in the chimney. The child, 
 however, was strong, and by its struggles rolled itself off 
 upon the hearth, when the ruffian again seized it with fury, 
 and, in spite of the intercession of the midwife, and the more 
 piteous entreaties of the mother, thrust it under the grate, 
 and, raking the live coals upon it, soon put an end to its life. 
 The midwife, after spending some time in affording all the 
 relief in her power to the wretched mother, was told that 
 she must begone. Her former conductor appeared, who 
 again bound her eyes, and conveyed her behind him to her 
 own home ; he then paid her handsomely, and departed. 
 The midwife was strongly agitated by the horrors of the 
 preceding night ; and she immediately made a deposition of 
 the fact before a magistrate. Two circumstances afforded 
 hopes of detecting the house in which the crime had been 
 committed ; one was, that the midwife, as she sate by the 
 bed-side, had, with a view to discover the place, cut out a 
 piece of the bed-curtain, and sown it in again ; the other 
 was, that as she had descended the staircase, she had counted 
 the steps. Some suspicions fell upon one Darrell, at that 
 time the proprietor of Littlecote-House and the domain 
 around it. The house was examined, and identified bv the 
 midwife, and Darrell was tried at Salisbury for the murder. 
 By corrupting his judge, he escaped the sentence of the law ; 
 but broke his neck by a fall from his horse in hunting, in a 
 few months after. The place where this happened is still 
 
 o
 
 evi NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 known by the name of Darrell's Stile, — a spot to be dreaded 
 bj the peasant whom the shades of evening have overtaken 
 on liis way. 
 
 " Littlecote-Honse is two miles from Hungerford, in Berk- 
 shire, through which the Bath road passes. The fact occurred 
 in the reign of Elizabeth. All the important circumstances 
 r have given exactly as they are told in the country ; some 
 trifles only are added, either to render the whole connected, 
 or to increase the impression." 
 
 With this tale of terror the author has combined some 
 circumstances of a similar legend, which was current at 
 Edinburgh during his childhood. 
 
 About the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the 
 large castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secluded 
 hotels, like those of the French noblesse, which they possess- 
 ed in Edinburgh, were sometimes the scenes of strange and 
 mysterious transactions, a divine of singular sanctity was 
 called up at midnight, to pray with a person at point of 
 death. This was no unusual summons ; but what followed 
 was alarming. He was put into a sedan-chair, and, after he 
 had been transported to a remote part of the town, the 
 bearers insisted upon his being blindfolded. The request 
 was enforced by a cocked pistol, and submitted to ; but in 
 the course of the discussion he conjectured, from the phrases 
 employed by the chairmen, and from some part of their 
 dress, not completely concealed by their cloaks, that they 
 were greatly above the menial station they had assumed.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. cvli 
 
 After many turns and windings, the chair was carried up 
 stairs into a lodging, where his ejes were uncovered, and he 
 was introduced into a bed-room, where he found a ladj, 
 newly delivered of an infant. He was commanded by his 
 attendants to say such prayers by her bed-side as were fit- 
 ting for a person not expected to survive a mortal disorder. 
 He ventured to remonstrate, and observe that her safe deli- 
 very warranted better hopes. But he was sternly commanded 
 to obey the orders first given, and with difficulty recollected 
 himself sufficiently to acquit himself of the task imposed on 
 him. He was then again hurried into the chair ; but as they 
 conducted him down stairs, he heard the report of a pistol. 
 He was safely conducted home ; a purse of gold was forced 
 upon him ; but he was warned, at the same time, that the 
 least allusion to this dark transaction would cost him his life. 
 He betook himself to rest, and, after long and broken musing, 
 fell into a deep sleep. From this he was awakened by his 
 servant, with the dismal news, that a fire of uncommon fury 
 had broken out in the house of****, near the head of the 
 Canongate, and that it was totally consumed ; with the 
 shocking addition, that the daughter of the proprietor, a 
 young lady eminent for beauty and accomplishments, had 
 perished in the flames. The clergyman had his suspicions, 
 but to have made them public would have availed nothing. 
 He was timid ; the family was of the first distinction ; above 
 all, the deed was done, and could not be amended. Time 
 wore away, however, and with it his terrors. He became 
 
 12
 
 cviii NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 unhappy at being the sohtarj depositary of this fearful mys- 
 tery, and mentioned it to some of his brethren, through 
 whom the anecdote acquired a sort of pubhcity. The divine, 
 however, had been long dead, and the story in some degree 
 forgotten, when a fire broke out again on the very same spot 
 where the house of **** had formerly stood, and which was 
 now occupied by buildings of an inferior description. Wlien 
 the flames were at their height, the tumult, which usually 
 attends such a scene, was suddenly suspended by an unex- 
 pected apparition. A beautiful female, in a night-dress, ex- 
 tremely rich, but at least half a century old, appeared in the 
 very midst of the fire, and uttered these tremendous words 
 in her vernacular idiom : " Anes burned, twice burned ; the 
 thii'd time I'll scare you all !" The belief in this story was 
 formerly so strong, that on a fire breaking out, and seeming 
 to approach the fatal spot, there was a good deal of anxiety 
 testified lest the apparition should make good her denuncia- 
 tions. 
 
 Note XI. 
 As thick a smoke these hearths have given 
 At HalloxiUde or Christmas even, — St. XXXIII. p. 259. 
 Such an exhortation was,^ in similar circumstances, actually 
 given to his followers by a Welch chieftain : — 
 
 " Enmity did continue betweene Howell ap Rys ap Ho- 
 well Vaughan and the sonnes of John ap Meredith. After 
 the death of Evan ap Robert, Griffith ap Gronw (cozen-
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. cix 
 
 german to John ap Meredith's sonnes of Gwjnfrjn, who 
 had long served in France, and had charge there) comeing 
 home to Hve in the countrev, it happened that a servant of 
 his, comeing to fish in Stymllyn, his fish was taken away, 
 and the fellow beaten by Howell ap Rys his servants, and 
 by his commandment. Griffith ap John ap Gronw took the 
 matter in such dudgeon that he challenged Howell ap Rys 
 to the field, which he refusing, assembling his cosins John 
 ap Meredith's sonnes and his friends together, assaulted 
 Howell in his own house, after the manner he had seene in 
 the French warres, and consumed with fire his barnes and 
 his out-houses. Whilst he was thus assaulting the hall, 
 which Howell ap Rys and many other people kept, being 
 a very strong house, he was shot out of a crevice of the 
 house, through the sight of his beaver into the head, and 
 slayne out-right, being otherwise armed at all points. Not- 
 withstanding his death, the assault of the house was con- 
 tinued with great vehemence, the doores fired with great 
 burthens of straw ; besides this, the smoake of the out- 
 houses and barnes not farre distant annoyed greatly the 
 defendants, for that most of them lay under boordes and 
 benches upon the floore, in the hall, the better to avoyd the 
 smoake. During this scene of confusion onely the old man, 
 Howell ap Rys, never stooped, but stood valiantly in the 
 middest of the floore, armed with a gleve in his hand, and 
 called unto them, and bid ' them arise like men, for shame, 
 for he had knowne there as greate a smoake in that hall
 
 ex NOTES TO CANTO ITFTII. 
 
 upon Christmas even.' In the end, seeing the house could 
 noe longer defend them, being overlajed with a multitude, 
 upon parley betweene them, Howell ap Rys was content to 
 yeald himself prisoner to Morris ap John ap Meredith, John 
 ap Meredith's eldest sonne, soe as he would swear unto him 
 to bring him safe to Carnarvon Castle, to abide the triall of 
 the law for the death of Graff' ap John ap Gronw, who was 
 cosen-german removed to the said Howell ap Rys, and of 
 the very same house he was of. Which jMorris ap John ap 
 Meredith undertaking, did put a guard about the said 
 Howell of his trustiest friends and servants, who kept and 
 defended him from the rage of his kindred, and especially 
 of Owen ap John ap Meredith, his brother, who was very 
 eager against him. They passed by leisure thence like a 
 campe to Carnarvon : the whole countrie being assembled, 
 Howell his friends posted a horseback from one place or other 
 by the way, who brought -word that he was come thither 
 safe, for they were in great fear lest he should be murthered, 
 and that Morris ap John ap Meredith could not be able 
 to defend him, neither durst any of Howell's friends be 
 there, for fear of the kindred. In the end, being delivered 
 by Morris ap John ap Meredith to the constable of Car- 
 narvon Castle, and there kept safely in ward untill the 
 assises, it fell out by law, that the burning of Howell's 
 houses, and assaulting him in his owne house, w^as a more 
 hay nous offence in Morris ap John ap Meredith and the 
 rest, than the death of Gruff' ap John ap Gronw in Howell,
 
 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. cxi 
 
 who did it in his own defence ; whereupon Morris ap John 
 ap Meredith, with thirty-five more, were indicted of felony, 
 as appeareth by the copie of the indictment, which I had 
 from the records.*' — Sir John Wynne's Hhtorif of the 
 Gxvydir Family, Lond, 1770, 8w. p. 116.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 Note L 
 0*er Hexhanis altar hung my glove, — St. XXL p. 305. 
 
 This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale borderers 
 is mentioned in the interesting Life of Bernard Gilpin, where 
 some account is given of these wild districts, which it was 
 the custom of that excellent man regularly to visit. 
 
 " This custom (of duels) still prevailed on the borders, 
 where Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These 
 wild Northumbrians indeed went beyond the ferocity of their 
 ancestors. They were not content with a duel : each con- 
 tending party used to muster what adherents he could, and 
 commence a kind of petty war. So that a private grudge 
 would often occasion much bloodshed. 
 
 " It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on foot when 
 Mr Gilpin was at Rothbury, in those parts. During the two 
 or three first days of his preaching, the contending parties 
 observed some decorum, and never appeared at church to- 
 gether. At length, however, they met. One party had been 
 early at church, and just as Mr Gilpin began his sermon the 
 
 P
 
 cxiv NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 other entered. They stood not long silent : inflamed at the 
 sight of each other, they began to clash their weapons, for 
 they were all armed with javelins and swords, and mutu- 
 ally approach. Awed, however, by the sacredness of the 
 place, the tumult in some degree ceased. Mr Gilpin pro- 
 ceeded : when aoain the combatants began to brandish their 
 weapons, and draw towards each other. As a fray seemed 
 near, Mr Gilpin stepped from the pulpit, went between 
 them, and addressed the leaders, put an end to the quarrel 
 for the present, but could not effect an entire reconciliation. 
 They promised him, however, that till the sermon was over 
 they would make no more disturbance. He then went again 
 into the pulpit, and spent the rest of the time in endeavour- 
 ing to make them ashamed of what they liad done. His 
 behaviour and discourse affected them so much, that, at his 
 farther entreaty, they promised to forbear all acts of hosti- 
 lity while he continued in the country. And so much re- 
 spected was he among them, that whoever was in fear of his 
 enemy used to resort where Mr Gilpin was, esteeming his 
 presence the best protection. 
 
 " One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those parts 
 before the people were assembled, he observed a glove hang- 
 ing up, and was informed by the sexton, that it was meant 
 as a challenge to any one who should take it down. Mr 
 Gilpin ordered the sexton to reach it him ; but upon his 
 utterly refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and 
 put it in his breast. When the people were assembled, he 
 went into the pulpit, and, before he concluded his sermon..
 
 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. cxV 
 
 took occasion to rebuke them severely for these inhuman 
 challenges. ' I hear,' saith he, ' that one among you hath 
 hanged up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to 
 fight any one who taketh it down : see, I have taken it 
 down ;' and, pulling out the glove, he held it up to the con- 
 gregation, and then shewed them how unsuitable such sa- 
 vage practices were to the profession of Christianity, using 
 such persuasives to mutual love as he thought would most 
 affect them." — Life of Bernard Gilpin, Lond. 1753, Svo, 
 p, 177. 
 
 Note II. 
 A Horseman armed, at headlong speed. — St. XXXIII. p. 324. 
 This, and what follows, is taken from a real achievement 
 of Major Robert Philipson, called from his desperate and 
 adventurous courage, Robin the Devil. He was a loyalist 
 during the civil wars, and held out the castle of the Earl of 
 Derwentwater, situated upoiT Lord's Island in the lake of 
 Keswick, against a considerable force commanded by Co- 
 lonel Rriggs, on the part of the parliament. The besiegers 
 being obliged to retire, Philipson resolved to be revenged 
 upon their general, and, during the time of divine service, 
 galloped up the centre of the church at Kendal, completely 
 armed, and discharged a pistol at his enemy's head. In 
 turning his horse it fell upon the pavement, notwithstand- 
 ing which he was able to raise the animal with the rein and 
 spur, and rode out of the church as safely as he had enter-
 
 cxvi NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 ed. The anecdote is mentioned at some length in one of 
 Mr Gilpin's tours, but I do not remember whether the ob- 
 ject of Robin the Devil's enmity escaped, or was slain on 
 the spot. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Edinburgh : 
 Printed by James Ballantyne and Co.
 
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