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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 ^
 
 €va\)m Mo^fimmt 
 
 on. 
 
 POEMS 
 
 CHIEFLY CONNECTED WITH THE DISTRICT OF CRAVEN^ 
 
 BY ROBERT STOREY. 
 
 SKtPTON : 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY J. TASKBR^ 
 
 1826.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The Fragment wLich I have placed first 
 in this little volume, may be regarded as a 
 specimen of a Poem of some length, which 
 will be published or suppressed as the suc- 
 cess or failure of the present experiment shall 
 determine. Most of the other Pieces have 
 appeared in the " Newcastle 3Iagazine" — one 
 or two of them in Publications of much loftier 
 pretension ; and the notice they had the good 
 fortune to attract, induces me to hope that 
 their reception, in a collected fonn, will not 
 be less favourable. 
 
 841976
 
 iV PREFACE. 
 
 In appearing before the public, I shall 
 not seek to deprecate the severity of criticism 
 by a statement of disqualifications arising- from 
 situation and circumstances ; however true 
 such a statement might be, or however it 
 miffht be called for in extenuation of the 
 many defects in my compositions. It is in- 
 ternal value alone, which Ji nail y decides the 
 character of every work, and by that stand- 
 ard I am willing-, nay solicitous, that mine 
 should 710W be estimated. I would rather 
 have it consigned to instant oblivion, as being 
 unworthy of notice, than that it should con- 
 stitute an ephemeral wonder, and be pro- 
 nounced " very fair — all things considered !" 
 
 Still, however, I am far from having the 
 presumption to claim, or the weakness to
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 expect, a very high place for these trifles. 
 They are Blossoms; and if a candid examina- 
 tion shall allow that they give promise of 
 future FRUIT, my most extravagant hope 
 will be realized. If, on the other hand, they 
 shall be considered as affording no such pro- 
 mise, I shall at once submit to the decision, 
 and retreat to my pristine obsurity — not, it 
 may be, without a pang, but certainly without 
 complaint or remonstrance. 
 
 But, whatever may be the fate of my 
 Book, it has already caused me an emotion 
 of honest pride, from the delightful proof, 
 thereby afforded, of the esteem I have the 
 happiness to enjoy in my adopted neighbour- 
 hood — where, in a very few weeks, and with 
 very little exertion, I have obtaintd upwards
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 of 300 Subscribers, including' some of the 
 proudest and most respected Names that 
 Craven or that England knows. Where ob- 
 ligations have been received fi'oni so many, 
 it would be unfair to particularize ; I there- 
 fore offer to ALL my warmest acknowledg- 
 ments. It remains with them and the public 
 to decide, whether or not I am worthy of 
 further encouragement — whether this volume 
 shall be my last, or only the precursor of 
 other and more extended efforts. 
 
 U.S. 
 
 Gargrave, in Craven, 
 Jan. 1826.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 From the " Hunting of Craven" 9 
 
 Fitz-Harcla, a Tale in two Parts 35 
 
 The Young Poet dying at a Distance 
 
 from Ho7ne 57 
 
 How sleep the DeadP 61 
 
 The Roijal Minstrel 63 
 
 On the Death of Miss 66 
 
 O why is there Woe!* 68 
 
 To a Redbreast (in the Craven Dialect ) 71 
 
 On the Death of a Young Lady 73 
 
 Devotional Stanzas 77 
 
 Conclusion -. , , 79
 
 ZKRATA. 
 Page 20, line 14, omit than. 
 Page 21, line 4, for in blood, read q/" blood.
 
 THE 
 
 HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 [That Ihc reader may nnderstand the following extracls, it 
 is necessary to give him some idea of the Poem from 
 which they are taken. At the beginning of the sixteenth 
 cenlnry, nearly the whole of Craven was divided be- 
 tween the two great families of Clifford and Percy. 
 The Poem opens with the arrival, about that time, and 
 in that part of Yorkshire, of Ladv Margaret Percy, 
 attended by a nnmber of Nobles and Gentlemen, from 
 Northnmberland, who have come with the double view 
 of seeing the beauties of the district, and of partaking 
 with the Cliffords, as bad long been the wont, in 
 the pleasures of the CHASE. From the latter circum- 
 stance the Poem derives its name. 1 have selected, 
 
 for present publication, (hat part which describes their 
 appearance in the vicinity of Malhani. the curiosities 
 of which may be supposed to have attracted consider- 
 able notice, even in the rude era to which (he Poem 
 relates, They are led by a Guide in the habit of a Monk 
 
 B
 
 10 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 of Bolton Priory; but who that personage is, or who 
 they are whom the reader will find ackaowledging him 
 their Chief,— as a disclosure would lessen the interest of 
 the Poem itself, should that ever appear, — I must be per- 
 mitted for the present to conceal,] 
 
 * 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Not Cheviot shows a sterner dell 
 Than that on which the moonshine fell. 
 Shadowy and soft, of yesternig-ht : 
 How rose its rocks— o'er mist— in light. 
 Gleaming in dew like cavern-spars, 
 And soaring towards the vault of stEU's !'* 
 " 'Twas the Moon's flattery. Lady, threw 
 Along that dell enchantment's hue," 
 Remarked the Guide. " The beams of day 
 Had ta'en its majesty away. 
 Though, truth to own, had left it still 
 Each rocky ledge and barren hill.
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 11 
 
 Poor is that spot, in iontrast sliown 
 
 With many a scene to Craven known. 
 
 And if the Iove~a taste divine — 
 
 Of Nature and her works be thine ; 
 
 In Craven's numerous wilds thou mayst 
 
 To rapture's verge indulge that taste. 
 
 If softened scenes with thee avail — 
 
 Here brightly blooms the grassy dale ; 
 
 If thou wouldst view a scene of power — 
 
 Go where the crags of Gordale lower ; 
 
 If grandeur mixed with beauty please — 
 
 View Barden's woods, or Bolton's leas ; 
 
 If hoar antiquity you seek — 
 
 Let Skipton's fort of ages speak ; 
 
 If wildness bleak and lonely give 
 
 Its feeling in thy breast to live — 
 
 A solitary journey take 
 
 To Rhombald's waste, or Malham's lake. 
 
 There's scarce a charm, stern, wild, or fair. 
 
 But frowns or blooms 'twixt Wharf and Aire."
 
 12 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Sooth hast thou spoke," the Lady said, 
 As moved the Northern cavalcade 
 Some high upon the valley's side, 
 And some along the brooklet's tide, — 
 "Sooth hast thou spoke. Sir Guide; for there 
 Seem met the stern, the wild, the fair! 
 See, Fenwick, Swinburne, Ridley, all ; 
 Behold that rock like castle-Avall — 
 But never castle reared such front 
 To meet and scorn the battle's brunt. 
 Yet well it suits that fancy. Look, 
 May not the arch that gives the brook 
 Mark its sole portal, dark and stern? 
 And yon long trails of briar and fern. 
 Waved from its clefty summit high. 
 The place of martial flag supply? 
 While yonder deer with antlers tall 
 Might seem the warders on the wall.
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN^. 13 
 
 Ye smile — and, certes, I will own 
 The water from its summit thrown, 
 And, rushing from its base, this stream 
 May well dissolve my castle-dream. 
 Yet, viewed as Nature meant, it stands 
 A wonder worthy of her hands!" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 She spoke of Malham Cove sublime : 
 
 She saw it in auspicious time ; 
 
 For heavy and incessant rain 
 
 Had swelled the neighbouring Lake amain ; 
 
 And its superfluous waves — perforce 
 
 Turned from their subterranean course — 
 
 With dash and foam that mornina: broke 
 
 (A sight unwonted) o'er the rock. 
 
 In sunbeams sparkling — bright and sheen 
 
 As shivered crystal — part was seen ; 
 
 Part, whirled in air, like spring showers fell 
 
 On the soft verdure of the dell ;
 
 14 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 Or hung on shrubs beneath that grew, 
 Like early drops of vernal dew. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Dark gather round the clouds of Eve, 
 As Gordale's jaws the train* receive. 
 But ere they reached the cavern wild — 
 " Lady, the Saints to-day have smiled," 
 Bescan the Monk. " The chance was thine 
 To see in morning's brilliant shine 
 The Cove's fair rock ; 'twas thine to view 
 Of Malham's Lake the surface blue 
 Laughing in sunbeam and in breeze ; 
 And now, as if the more to please. 
 
 • I must here remind the reader (hat he is perusing a 
 fragment, in which minor details hare been omitted. He 
 mast be kind enough to suppose that, as the term cavalcade 
 is diEcontiaued, the party have left their horses at Malbam.
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 15 
 
 The same kind day, its smile that gave 
 To gorgeous rock and placid wave, 
 Sends down its darkest glooms to suit 
 A scene that holds the gazer mute." 
 He said, and turning to the right, 
 Stern Gordale burst upon their sight. 
 Three paces back the Strangers draw. 
 And pause in wonder mixed with awe, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Like the vast area of some Tower 
 Which once hath been a place of power, 
 And where the hand of Ruin all 
 Hath reft of each interior wall, 
 Yet spared the outward barriers still, 
 High, massive, indestructible, 
 Upon the Strangers' glance at first 
 The rugged glooms of Gordale burst. 
 In front, and on the right, up-sprung 
 The living rock, and forward hung,^
 
 16 THE HUNTING OF CRAVE5 
 
 — Extending' fiom its caverned base, 
 
 A darksome shade o'er half the space, — 
 
 Till, far above, it almost closed 
 
 With the gigantic rocks opposed, 
 
 Leaving small room through which to mark 
 
 A sky portentous, grim, and dark. 
 
 Beneath, the floor was all bestrown 
 
 With frao-ments which the cliffs had thrown, 
 
 As slow decay, or lightning-stroke 
 
 Disjoined them from the parent rock. 
 
 The Guide observed the Lady's eye 
 
 With some alarm these omens spy, 
 And motioned — for a torrent near 
 Forbade a word to reach the ear — 
 That she and all should follow him : 
 He led them to the basis grim 
 Of that far-slanting rock, Avhcre— free 
 From aught save Earthquake's jeopardy — 
 They stood and saw M'ith marvel new 
 Fresh scenery opened to their view.
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 17 
 
 XX. 
 
 Through vista wide and rugged, showed 
 A sight — the man that never glowed 
 Such to behold, needs ne'er aspire 
 To Painter's brush, or Poet's lyre ! 
 
 Still towered in front, and on each hand, 
 
 The rocks in masses high and grand, 
 Formless, or cast in every form 
 The granite takes from time and storm — 
 And where they towered most grand and high, 
 An opening gleamed that showed the sky, 
 And poured, as from a bursting cloud, 
 A cataract rapid, fierce, and loud ; 
 Which, dashed from ledge to ledge, at last 
 With foam and brawl the Strangers passed. 
 So deep was now the cavern's night 
 That the broad fall of waters white 
 Resembled, dashing through the gloom, 
 A gush of moonshine from the womb
 
 18 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 Of some huge cloud ! 
 
 But soon a flas<Ii 
 More bright than comes from water's tlash. 
 An instant clothed, with fiery gleam, 
 The startled cave and rushing stream ; 
 And, swiftly following on the flame, 
 A crash of thunder o'er them came, 
 So fierce and loud that in its roar 
 The torrent's sound was heard no more. 
 And seemed as every separate rock 
 Returned an echo to the shock ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Lady, away !" with voice that far 
 Was heard amid the tempest's jar. 
 Exclaimed the Guide, with outstretched arm ; 
 And pale and breathless with alarm, 
 The Lady Margaret almost sunk 
 On the firm bosom of the Monk,
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 19 
 
 Who bore her from diat cavern wild 
 As father would sustain a child. 
 So deemed Lord Feuwick. 
 
 "Now shalt thou see my place of rest," 
 (The Monk his beauteous charge addressed,) 
 " Now shalt thou kno>v how fares the Youth 
 Who loves thee with eternal truth; 
 How mean his cave and couch, fair girl, 
 Who loves the Daughter of an Earl ; 
 And — uncompelled— shalt soon decide 
 If thou canst bean OutlaAv's bride! 
 Nay, Lady, blench not thus — nor dream 
 Of use were struggle, tear, or scream. 
 I have thee ! but my cave shall be 
 As safe as Wark worth Towers to thee; 
 And youths that boast their noble line, 
 Could never love Avith love like mine."
 
 20 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 "Talk not of love!" replied the Fair, 
 And there was passion and despair 
 In her dark glance, — " Of that no more ! 
 If thus my foolish dream is o'er, 
 
 Thus let it end! Thou hadst a part 
 
 Poor Youth, in Margaret Percy's heart: 
 I shame me not to say it now. 
 When I am miserable, and thou 
 
 Look'st on me for the last time But 
 
 Thence, and for ever, art thou shut ; 
 Nor thought nor dream of thee again 
 Shall ever cause me joy or pain ! 
 
 Here then we part for well I wot 
 
 Of wrong to me than thou thinkest not. — 
 Here then we part. And yet" — she said, 
 Pausing "My debt is still unpaid;* 
 
 • She allndes to his having saved her life on a former 
 occasion. Canto I.
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 21 
 
 And I were loth that Outlaw told 
 Of Percy niggard of her gold. 
 Accept this purse. Or stay — thy life, 
 In actions spent in blood and strife, 
 May soon be forfeit. Take this ring, 
 And if thy crimes should ever bring 
 The dark emergence, it shall be 
 — Displayed — a talisman to thee, 
 If Margaret's prayer, or Percy's power 
 Can turn away the fatal hour." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 "Gold lean win with heart and blade;" 
 Sinking on knee the Outlaw said. 
 " The circlet bright be mine alone. 
 Which I will keep and gaze upon 
 With a devotion pure and true 
 As relic e'er from hermit drew ! 
 And, Lady, were there aught could rear 
 My talents to a worthier sphere,
 
 22 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 This gift the marvel might perfonii. 
 
 But hark ! still fiercer rolls the storm. 
 
 'Tis well — the Outlaw's caverned bower 
 Shall prove thy shelter from the shower." 
 And as he spoke, hill, rock, and plain 
 Were striped in prone-descending- rain ; 
 While sfleamed the bright incessant flash, 
 Atul the hills shook with crash on crash! 
 
 XXIY. 
 
 Beside a small green knolJ they stood, 
 Washed by a l)rooklet's falling flood. 
 Around ))y many a wild shrub clomb, 
 And decked l)y many a flower, whose home 
 — Away from crowded town — is still 
 In the sweet glen and heathy hill. 
 A spot retired, I)ut widely known; 
 To every m anderiiig tourif^t shown,
 
 THE nUNTINO OF CRAVEN. 23 
 
 Whom love of nature calls fioin far 
 To view the wondrous Cove and Scar. 
 The peasant, skilled in fairy lore, 
 Will tell of revels hereof yore 
 
 Ere yet the Gospel's holy light 
 
 Dispelled the shades of Pagan night 
 
 By elves that love tlie wold and wave; 
 And hence he names it Gennet's Cave. 
 For Cave there is of ample room* 
 In that green hillock's rocky womb ; 
 Its entrance bare, polluted now — 
 But then so veiled by furze and bough, 
 The boldest guess would scarcely dare 
 To say that such existed there, 
 
 The Outlaw, stooping, tore aside 
 
 The woodbine-tM-igs. in blossomed pride j 
 
 • 1 have n.spd a little poetic licence in the description 
 of this Cave. Whatever it may have formerly been, it is 
 certainly not now ofsiiiricieut mas^nitude for the (ransac- 
 tious of which 1 have here made it the scene.
 
 24 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN", 
 
 From the Cave's aperture; and bade 
 The Lady enter undismayed. 
 One glance she gave the flashing sky, 
 A second searched the Outlaw's eye — 
 Of purpose ill was nought to speak, 
 Calm was his glance, and calm his cheeky 
 And Maigaret entered, glad to gain 
 A shelter from the fire and rain. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 On table rough of mountain stone 
 A single lamp of iron shone, 
 Discovering, as it flashed aloof. 
 Each point and angle of the roof; 
 And lighting many a visage grim, 
 And stalwart arm, and sinewy limb! 
 For, seated round on branches piled, 
 Or heath in bundles from the wild, 
 A savage group with can and pot, 
 Held deep carouse in Gennet's grot.
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVKN. 25 
 
 St. Mary ! does no s'gn of fear 
 
 In Margaret's countenance appear? 
 
 No she whose heart liad qnaik'd of late, 
 
 When every fla^i seemed m inged with fate, 
 
 Turned on her treacherous Guide an eye 
 
 Proud and majestic, cahn and lugh, 
 
 As if to pierce his soul, and dare 
 
 One lawless thought to waken there ! 
 
 As if, in rank and virtue strong, 
 
 Her glance could blast who oflercd wrong! 
 
 With look of marvel blent with pride, 
 
 The Outlaw to her thought replied : 
 "Fear nothing, Lady, from my band; 
 None there will lift injurious hand 
 To do a gentle Maiden scathe, 
 Who claims their Chief's unbroken faith, 
 tip, knaves! " he added " to your feet, 
 And do this presence homage meet,"
 
 26 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Obedient to the Chief's commaii(T, 
 
 Arose at once the robber-band ; 
 
 Foniied a dark line, and lowly bent 
 
 With gesture mute and reverent; 
 
 Then stood, with folded arms, erect — 
 
 Their eyes cast down in deep respect. 
 
 Their steel-ringed jerkins, daggers bright, 
 
 And sword-hilts gleaming in the light. 
 
 "Retire an instant!" was the brief 
 
 And haughty mandate of the Chief, 
 
 They turned— but Margaret deemed they took 
 
 The word with sullen step and look. 
 
 *' Now by our Lady ! " muttered one, 
 
 *' This insolence too far hath gone. 
 
 I could resolve" "Hush fool ! nor spoil 
 
 Our leader's chance by sudden broil ; 
 I trust — but forAvard ! We are left. 
 While our bold brethren thread the cleft."
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 27 
 
 This dialogue apart was spoke, 
 
 Ere dived the lingerers through the rock; 
 
 And soon receding clank alone, 
 
 As armour jaiTed on bulging stone, 
 
 Annonnced the roblicrs' path Mas still 
 
 Within the bowels of the hill. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Margaret had nerved her to suppress 
 Each sign of terror and distress. 
 The peril past, revulsion came 
 Wifh such a faint noss through her frame, 
 As left her little power, 'tis said. 
 To spurn the Outlaw's profltrcd aid. 
 Thus on the rock, in thunder-shower. 
 Will lean the heath-bell's drooping flower. 
 Which, had the day been fair and dry. 
 On its own stalk had blossomed high. 
 *' J leroic Maiden ! thou hast here. 
 Believe me, not a cause of fear.
 
 28 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEBT. 
 
 Soon as the storm is past, again 
 
 In safety shalt thou join thy train, 
 
 M lien we must part, — and I once more 
 
 Return to sm ell tJie boisterous roar 
 
 Of revel here; — in savage glee 
 
 To lose or stun all thoughts of thee ; 
 
 And, issuing thence, in ruthless deed 
 
 To find my solace and my meed!" 
 
 *' Yet why — O M'hy should this be so ?" 
 
 The Lady cried ; and Pendle's snow 
 
 Gained ne'er such blush from morning's smile 
 
 As tinged her cheek and brow the while ! 
 
 *' Thy speech, thy manners bear no trace 
 
 To say thou com'st of vulgar race ; 
 
 Still less art thou whom men would take 
 
 For one that skulks in cave and brake, 
 
 Cheering his creAv to deeds abhorred, 
 
 Unworthy of a brave man's sword ; 
 
 Then why not spurn the base career. 
 
 And risjc-- — aye rise ; for any sphere——
 
 THE irUNTINC OF CRAVEN, ^ 
 
 The meanest life presents— were great, 
 Were glorious— to thy present state !" 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 ^*Ask the bruised wretch, convulsed with paiii, 
 The precipice to climb again, 
 Down which his madness or his fate 
 Ilath hurled his unresisting weight. 
 Alas! his limbs— all feeble now — 
 Can ill keep stance on ledge or bougli. 
 The shoots by which uninjured hand 
 Might at slight risk the top conunand, 
 Spring greenly but to mock the eye 
 Of him who at the base must die ! 
 If yet my heart, in spite of all 
 Bruise and exhaustion from my fall. 
 Retains enough of power to climb 
 Once more with hope and aun sublime, 
 How vain were e'en success, Miien thou — 
 The Tision which above its brow
 
 30 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 
 
 Slied there a radiance pure— art gone, 
 And all is dull, and blank, and lone ! 
 No, no — that light no more on high, 
 Degraded, lost, I can but die!'* 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 There was deep sorrow in his look; 
 
 His voice that tone of sadness took, 
 
 Whose rich and mournful cadence best 
 
 Wins entrance to the female breast ; 
 
 And 'twas with kindly voice and eye 
 
 The noble Maiden gave reply : 
 
 " Thou talk'st romance," she said, " poor youth ; 
 
 But hear from woman's lips the truth. 
 
 A Daughter of the Percy race 
 
 Comes not in contact m ith disgrace. 
 
 Yet may I say, — nor, tlicrefore, sink 
 
 Aught in th' esteem of those that think, — 
 
 If my poor smile can thee reclaim 
 
 From this low course of guilt and shame.
 
 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN. 31 
 
 Believe me, were it as divine 
 
 As Flattery says— that smile is thine. 
 
 re-ascend ! Again be all 
 
 Thou wast at Linhope's waterfall, 
 
 Where the North saw outshone by thee 
 
 The choicest of her chivalry ! 
 
 Whose eye, like mine, the change shall greet ? 
 
 Whose heart, like mine, with pleasure beat? 
 
 And O ! whose hand, but mine, rcAvard 
 
 The struggle holy, high, and hard !'* 
 
 "Enough, enough!" he, raptured, said^ 
 
 And knelt before the noble Maid. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The storm had rolled away, but still 
 There lino^ercd o'er the eastern hill 
 The real' of clouds — now gloAving bright 
 Amid the set sun's latest light,
 
 dr2 THE HUNTING OF CRAVENr 
 
 And glimmering on the glen beneath. 
 Where wild birds, roused fi-om copse and heathy 
 Seemed to make up for silence long 
 By one consentient burst of song ; 
 
 Is it to hear the wild birds' lay 
 
 The Outlaw and the Lady stay, 
 Once more beside the hillock green? 
 No, hurrying down the glen are seen 
 The train so late deserted. One 
 Before the rest comes rushing on : 
 'Tis fiery Fenwick, who will deign 
 No question, but gives wrath the reign* 
 " Off, Ruffian, with that garb, profaned 
 E'en by the touch of one so stained — 
 Off, and the recreant life defend, 
 Which else this instant finds an end !" 
 Calmly, and with contemptuous smile. 
 And doffing frock and hood the while. 
 Until he stood with helm and sword, 
 The Leader of a robber-horde
 
 TTTF. HUXTTXG OF CRAVriy. Tl 
 
 Calmly thf Outlaw aiiswerotl: "Fear 
 Moves not the man thou tlireateu'st licre ; 
 Though for so brave a knight, to tell 
 The truth, thou com'.st supported well 
 Against a single ann ! 'Twere good 
 To call assistance from the wood." 
 He whistled, and from crag and scar 
 The sound Aras echoed wild and far, 
 
 xxxvr. 
 
 But other answer fouml the note 
 Than echoes on the breeze that float : 
 For, issuing fr<mi their secret hold 
 Came, man by man, his followers bold, 
 And, forming as his gCvSture bade, 
 Unsheathed at once each glittering blade, 
 In number nearly matching those 
 To whom this oveninjj finds them foes. 
 In adverse line, each Northern lord 
 And knight hatli bared his battle-sword;
 
 i}4 THE HUNTING OF CRAVEN'. 
 
 And soon may fall far other shower 
 Than now inipearls the mountain flower t
 
 FITZ-HARCLA, 
 
 A TALE IW TWO PARTS, ILLUSTRATIVE OF 
 A CRAVEN TRADITION- 
 
 ©^^© ^'SS^^^e 
 
 *< There svete fairies in the land in those days." 
 
 There was a time when Craven saw, 
 
 From Bingley all to Outershaw, 
 
 One forest stretch o'er hill and dale 
 
 Unlimited by wall or pale, 
 
 Where free by dell and greenwood glade 
 
 The deer of stout De Clifford strayed. 
 
 From peasant's bolt or outlaw's spear, 
 
 That lord to save his forest-deer. 
 
 Had many a ranger tried and. bold 
 
 In hamlets scattered o'er the wold.
 
 3G FITZ-HARCLA. 
 
 Of these blithe guardians of the game 
 Lived one, Fitz-Harchi was his name. 
 The Wharf in fury and in foam 
 linpetuous pasi^ed his sylvan home. 
 For ieiiu th of wind and length of limb, 
 No ranger trod the wihl like him. 
 No boar so fierce in Barden-dell, 
 But young Fitz-Harcla's spear could quell; 
 There lived not man beneath the sun 
 Fitz-Ilarcla's spear would seek to shun; 
 On to the mark he kept in view 
 His cross-bow's bolt unerring flew ; 
 His arrow, fledged with gray goose wing", 
 The sky-lai'k from the cloud could bring. 
 Or, from a hundred paces' stand, 
 Divide the hazel's slender wand. 
 In short 'twas said the feats so long 
 Preserved in Sherwood's tale and song — 
 And long unrivalled — shrunk at length 
 Before Fitz-lliuclu's skill and strength.
 
 FITZ-HARCLA. 37 
 
 The suw was set. The tints of eve 
 The western sky began to leave. 
 Like thread of silver, faint and far, 
 The new moon hung- beside her star. 
 Of haw thorn-blossouis bursting round, 
 Of wild flowers viewless on the ground, 
 The soft gale breathed. Fitz-Harcla stooi» 
 Delighted 'uiid the fresh green wood. 
 He stood — no maiden had a part 
 In young Fitz-IIarcla's simple heart ; 
 The evening star 'twas his to spy 
 Without a dream of Beauty's eye; 
 Tlie flowers might blossom — scent nor streak 
 Told him of Beauty's breath or cheek ; 
 And yet that night in loitering mood 
 Amid the grove Fitz-Harcla stood. 
 
 A deeper and a deeper shade 
 Fell round him. Wondering m hy he stayed. 
 He odled his dog and hastened on; 
 l3iU not ten paces had he gone
 
 38 FTTZ-IIARCLA, 
 
 When a tall rock, abrupt and gray, 
 Arose and barred his further way. 
 Fitz-Harcla paused— no spot of ground 
 To him was strange for leagues around, 
 And well he weened no day had e'«r 
 Looked on the rock ascending here ! 
 Yet here it was — immense, though dim — 
 And thrown betwixt his path and him? 
 
 While yet he wondered, from the rock 
 Sounds of the dance and music broke — 
 Music so soft, so sweet as ne'er 
 Before had charmed Fitz-Harcla's ear ! 
 And then, too, with the mirthful din, 
 A beam of light, shot from within, 
 Showed to the ranger, half-entranced, 
 The elfin forms of those that danced ! 
 —The youtli to many a fairy tale 
 Had listened in his native dale 
 Witli doubt, and oft M'itli scorn, — but here 
 Fitz-Harcla saiv, and saw with fear j
 
 PITZ-HARCLA. 3^ 
 
 For the "green people" well he knew 
 Though sometiines kind, malignant too. 
 He crossed himself, and tried (o say 
 An Ave Mary as he may. 
 Then peeped, 'twixt joy and fear, to see 
 The fairies at their revelry ! 
 
 Wide — lofty — long — the cavern seemed. 
 But there no lamp nor taper gleametl — 
 Along the sides, and overhead, 
 Brilliants, as thick as dew-drops, shed 
 A rich and tender light, as though 
 Ten thousand glowworms lent the glow f 
 In that undazzling light serene 
 Were tiny knights and ladies seen, 
 Ari'ayed, as wont, in robes of green. 
 Who, fast as gnats in sunslrine glance, 
 Blended the ever-varying dance. 
 
 As gazed Fitz-Harcla curiously. 
 The minstrels ceased their minstrelsy.
 
 40 FTTZ-IIARf LA, 
 
 The dancers at the sign divide, 
 
 Disposed in ranks on every side. 
 
 Leaving' all clear the space between — 
 
 And the young- ranger's eye hath seen 
 
 A pair upon a natural dais 
 
 Of turf and flowers assume their place. 
 
 The one a knight— with gems and gold 
 
 Glittering upon his mantle's fold ; 
 
 And that a lady, young and fair, 
 
 With what seemed jewels in her hair, 
 
 And o'er whose shoulders, freshly wreathed, 
 
 Garlands of wild flowers bloomed and breathed, 
 
 Fitz-Harcla gazed, admiring, till 
 He saw, set forth by fairy skill. 
 What seemed a table, raised between 
 The rows, and all of turf so green, 
 Which soon was decked by nimble hands 
 With cups, like shells from Ocean's sands: 
 When now one rose, and wildly rung 
 The echoing cavern as she sung, ^^
 
 FltZ-TIARClA, 41 
 
 ^aivi*& Song. 
 
 We have been at the sea, where the billows foamed 
 free. 
 To gather the pearls for our hall ; 
 Their love-lighted lamps from hawthorns and 
 sAvamps 
 The glowworms have brought at our call. 
 
 The bee we have spoiled— her stinging we foiled— 
 
 Of the very best hoard to-day ; 
 And the milk from the dam, that she meant for 
 the lamb. 
 
 We have drained and brought it away. 
 
 But noble and great, with honours and state, 
 
 That man shall suddenly be, 
 Whoso dairy unsealed the butter shall yield 
 
 That pleases our fair Lad ye, 
 
 F
 
 42 FITZ-HARCEA, 
 
 And yellow as gold, or the kiug-cup's fold, 
 
 And sweet as the dews of May, 
 The butter must be to please our Ladye 
 
 In the eve of her bridal day ! 
 
 " To Burnsall go !" Fitz-Harcla cried, 
 " And from my dairy be supplied.'* 
 He spoke forgetful, and a space 
 His heart beat quick— when all the place 
 Echoed as from a thousand lips — 
 "Thanks, mortal, thanks! Fate's dark eclipse 
 No more shall dim thy merit ! Be 
 A son of immortality ! 
 Rich in thy life, and in thy death 
 Encircled M'ith Aftection's breath ! 
 And borne to distant times along 
 By warm tradition and by song- ! 
 Mortal ! approach, — and let this token 
 Confirm the truth that we have spoken ;
 
 FiTZ-HiRCLA. 43 
 
 Withdraw, and all that we have said 
 Shall turn to curses on thy head !" 
 
 Forward the bold Fitz-Harcla went, 
 Much marvelling no impediment 
 Of rock opposed his step. He took 
 The proffered cup, though tremour shook 
 His out-stretched hand and paley lip — 
 St. Mary! will Fitz-Harcla sip? 
 He sipped, rash youth ! and saw no more, 
 But sank upon the cavern floor. 
 — Morn, with her warm and rosy beam 
 Awakened him as from a dream — 
 The birds sung sweet — the fresh'ning breeze 
 Opened the flowers and stirred the trees. 
 Amazed he rose. The rock immense — 
 The cavern's wild magnificence — 
 Were vanished all ; and sunbeams played 
 Upon a vacant forest glade ! 
 
 Ho called his dog — it came not nigh ; 
 He wound his horu M'ith suuuuons high j
 
 44 FITZ-HARCLA. 
 
 Then, tlioughtful, through the lonely strath, 
 
 He slowly traced his homeward path. 
 
 His simple mind bewildered all, 
 
 He strove the v'sion to recall. 
 
 The rock — the cave — the light— the song — 
 
 The charmed cup— the fairy throng 
 
 Came o'er him all in rich confusion : 
 
 It could not be! — 'twas all delusion ! 
 
 Some fairy tale, in memory kept, 
 
 Had formed the picture while he slept. 
 
 He came to this conclusion wise 
 
 Just as his cottage met his eyes — 
 
 Its woodbined casement glancing bright — 
 
 Its azure smoke ascending light — 
 
 Its opening door, from whence a train 
 
 Of dogs their welcome barked amain, 
 
 All blithe — save one, whose drooping plight 
 
 Betrayed the recreant of the night. 
 
 Long since Fitz-Harcla's sire had been 
 Interred in Burnsall's church-vard areen.
 
 FItZ-HARCLA. 45 
 
 His mother, mistress of the dome, 
 Industrious, ruled the ranger's home; 
 And much alarm the good ohl dame 
 Had suffered till Fitz-llarcla came. 
 Yet her inquiries led him not 
 To mention of the fairy g-rot— , 
 He told of beini^, and he smiled, 
 O'erta'en by sleep in forest m ild, 
 And how he slept till morning- broke. 
 And hungry as a grey-hound woke. 
 
 The matron then produced her cheer — 
 A pasty, like a peel,* of deer ; 
 Of rich and unskinuned milk a bowl ; 
 A mighty cheese supports the whole. 
 " Butter ! and then" — the ranger cried, 
 "liutter— St. Mark!" the dame replied, 
 " The pantry, though so stored last night, 
 Of butter now is empty quite! 
 
 Peel; a small caslle.
 
 4@ FiTZ-HARCLA. 
 
 'Tiiieves! thieves!" — and dread denouncings ran, 
 
 For when Mas Avoman slow to ban ? 
 
 — Much mused Fitz-Harcla now, yet nought 
 
 Allowed to 'scape of what he thought. 
 
 'Twas plain his 'venture, though it seem 
 
 So wild, had been no idle dream — 
 
 He had beheld the fairy throng, 
 
 Tasted their cheer, and heard their song — 
 
 Had gift bestowed, and, more than all, 
 
 Had heard their thanks in blessings fall. 
 
 Where might it end ? Hopes new and bright 
 
 Danced in Fitz-Harcla's mental sight]
 
 FtTZ-HARCLA. 4*3^ 
 
 When spring's green buds to leaves had groM n. 
 
 And wild briar roses all were bloAvn, 
 
 On couch of heath, with thoughtful mind, 
 
 One night Fitz-Harcla lay reclined. 
 
 The moon looked in with calmest bealn ; 
 
 And, but for Wharf's resounding stream, 
 
 Upon Fitz-Harcla's ear arose 
 
 No sound to break the still repose. 
 
 — At once was dimmed the moonshine's fall, 
 
 At once a voice was heard to call — 
 
 " Fitz-Harcla, rise and come aAvay ! 
 
 The cause forbids a moment's stay — 
 
 A precious life's in jeopardy — 
 
 Fitz-Harcla, rise and follow me !" 
 
 Upsprung the youth. With hurried IkuuF 
 
 He seized and buckled on his brand, 
 
 His quiver fixed, and round liim threw 
 
 His mighty bow of trusty yew, —
 
 48 FITZ-HARCLA. 
 
 Then followeJ, Avith his swiftest stride. 
 The trying- footsteps of his guide, 
 Who, as they crossed the dewy plain^ 
 Trilled, softly wild, the sequent strain : 
 
 Song. 
 
 " 'Tis lovely ! for on high 
 A thin mist scares the sky, 
 
 And gives richness to the mild yellow moon, 
 And the gentle light of day 
 Seems scarcely gone away, 
 
 But mingles with the summer night's noon. 
 
 " 'Tis lovely ! for the wood 
 Throws its shadow on the flood. 
 
 And the flood lies so calm and so pure — 
 From its depth it seems to show 
 Yet a sweeter world below. 
 
 More delicately bright and obscure I
 
 IflTZ-HARCLA. 49 
 
 ^' A V, ay— away— away ! 
 
 There is night, and there 's tlay, 
 And villains veil their crimes from the one; 
 
 But guilt that shuns the light 
 
 Will do its deed by night — 
 Away, happy youth, hasten on !" 
 
 Such was the song his leader sung; 
 Fitz-Harcla knew the fairy's tongue. 
 
 They paused where trees a shadow made ; 
 A shriek was heard from neighbouring shade ; 
 And soon Fitz-Harcla's eye could mark, 
 Beneath a pine-tree broad and dark, 
 A lady struggling in the gripe 
 Of ruffians — "Mortal, fate is ripe!" 
 Exclaimed the fairy. " Bend thy boW, 
 And lay the shameless villains low ; 
 And if no meed thy effort crown, 
 'TM'ill be because thou art a— clown. 
 
 G
 
 50 riT2-H\RCLA, 
 
 This clmnce tliy kiiuliiess gaiiis from me ; 
 Fare\vell — the rest depends on thee !'* 
 His trusty bow Fitz-Harcla drew. 
 The whizzing- dart unwavering flew j 
 One ruffian fell— the other fled ; 
 But one more arrow vengeful sped — 
 A stifled groan, a shiver more, 
 And life and agony are o'er ! 
 
 Fitz-Harcla ran and raised the maid 
 Extended in the pine-tree's shade. 
 He waked her from a death-like swoon, 
 Then stood astonished, by the moon 
 To mark, with life's returning glow, 
 The eye of light — the neck of snow — 
 The lovely brow — the sunny hair 
 Of bold De Cliflford's daughter foir ! 
 — Oft had he seen her with his lord, 
 By thronging knights almost adored. 
 On palfrey light with silver bells 
 Urge the gay chace in Craven's dells ;
 
 FITZ-HARCLA. 51 
 
 Himself the while, amid such stir, 
 Not all immarked of them and her. 
 His archer-skill, his bearing bold. 
 By all that saw them were extolled ; 
 And she has said he walked the earth 
 With the fi'ee step of lofty birth. 
 
 Glad was, I ween, the lady fair 
 To waken in the Ranger's care. 
 With voice more mellow than the tone 
 Of redbreast in the woods alone, 
 vShe thanked him for her life— or, yet 
 More dear, her honour ; spoke of debt 
 Immense which, far as riches may, 
 Her father would, she knew, repay. 
 Fitz-Harcla said what any one 
 So placed, so feeling, might have done. 
 But with a grace unknown to all 
 Save those who move in courtly hall — 
 Such is the effect of fairy charm ! 
 The lady took his proffered arm.
 
 52 F1T2-HARCLA. 
 
 And as they traced the moonlight wold 
 Her 'venture to her saviour told. 
 
 " The wretch your timely arrow sent, 
 Unshrived, alas! to punishment, 
 Of high and noble lineage came, 
 And bore, himself, a noble name. 
 But what is name, or fame— if vice 
 Deprives the jewel of its price? 
 This worthless heart to win he strove, 
 And felt or feigned the warmth of love. 
 Fitz-Harcla, hear my soul avow 
 I hated him I pity now ! 
 Piqued by my scorn, this evening he 
 Stole on my walk's green privacy — 
 Seized both my hands with sudden clasp - 
 Stifled my shriek with rudt st grasp — 
 And bore me through the forest shades ; 
 That other wretch, his menial, aids. 
 Some angel sent thee, sure, in time 
 To mar the meditated crime !"
 
 FITZ-HARCLA. 53 
 
 Such was her tale. Romances light 
 Have made, to us, the story trite ; 
 But to Fitz-Harcla it was new, 
 And strange, and villanous, and true — 
 And as he walked, emotions high 
 Now flushed his cheek — now dewed his eye. 
 'Tis whispered, too, though scarce I dare 
 My credit in the tale declare, 
 That >vhile they to his cottage stepped. 
 And while by turns he chafed and wept, 
 The lady, by his feeling moved. 
 With teuderest looks the same approved ; 
 That one time, but, no doubt, by chance, 
 She cast a most alluring glance. 
 Which he, by chance, paid with a mute, 
 Respectful, though a warm salute! 
 
 I may not linger to proclahn 
 The welcome of the good old dame. 
 'Twere meeter here to tell of all 
 That happed in Skipton's castle-hall,
 
 54 FITZ-HARCLA, 
 
 Where mourned, with lamentation wild, 
 De Clifford for his vanished child — 
 How horsemen thence were hurried forth 
 To east, to west, to south, to north, 
 And all returning- as they went 
 I«creased the clamour and lament. 
 'Twere better still, had I the power, 
 To paint the joy at morning's hour, 
 When leaning on Fitz-Harcla's arm 
 Returned the maid devoid of harm — 
 When bold De Clifford heard her tell 
 The Venture o'er as it befell — 
 Heard her most eloquent justice do 
 To young Fitz-Harcla's courage true — 
 And vowed, by every saint above, 
 To guerdon well the deed of love. 
 
 Fitz-Harcla's to the greenwood gone 
 To sigh by cliff and stream alone. 
 The lady, in her father's bower, 
 Sighs too, or weeps a^vay the hour.
 
 FIT2-HARC1A. 55 
 
 Her cheek is pale— lier eyes of blue 
 
 Have lost the glance they lately threw— 
 
 Her harp is seldom touched— her lute 
 
 Is now at eve in turret mute. 
 
 De Clifford sees a shadow dim 
 
 The fairest light that shines for him ! 
 
 — The young were summoned to his hall ; 
 
 Tried were the banquet and the ball ; 
 
 But nought, beyond the moment, e'er 
 
 Her heart's despondence seemed to cheer. 
 
 At length the truth, by all discerned 
 
 Or guessed, the startled father learned : 
 
 " Blows the Mind thence?" De Clifford cried, 
 
 " My daughter be a ranger's bride t 
 
 Where, then, were that pure blood sent dowre 
 
 From many a noble of renown ? 
 
 Sullied by that of peasants ? No ! 
 
 But gaining thence a healthier floAv, 
 
 Courage and worth the ennoblers are, 
 
 Not the vain title or the star.
 
 66* FlTZ-HARCtl^ 
 
 For once, at least— though sneer the proiid- 
 A peasant's worth shall be allowed ; 
 For once shall Rank his hosts remove, 
 And leave the field to conquering Love V' 
 
 Brightly the summer sunbeams fell 
 On Skipton's tow er and fair chapelle, 
 When, blushing, to thfe altar's side 
 Fitz-Harcla led his lovely bride. 
 — All o'er the path they walked upon 
 Were fresh and dewy flowers bestrown ; 
 But, to the wonder of the train. 
 The hands that streAved unseen remain. 
 Though still, as on the bridal passed, 
 New blooms descended thick and fast f 
 None but Fitz-Harcla knew that fair 
 And fairy hands were busy there — 
 A happy omen thence he drew. 
 Which many a brilliant year proved true*
 
 THE YOUNG POET 
 
 DYING AT A DISTANCE FROXVI HOMl!. 
 
 O ! bury me not in yon strangle spot of earth— 
 My rest never sweet, never tranquil can be ; 
 But bear me away to the land of my birth, 
 
 To a scene— O how dear and how pleasant to me ! 
 If you saw how the sunbeams illumine the moun- 
 tains, 
 How brightly they lie in the glen that I choose ; 
 Could the song of its birds, and the gush of its 
 fountains 
 Through your souls the rapture and freshness 
 diffuse, 
 Which erst in life's morning they shed over mine— 
 0, your hearts would confess it is all but divine ! 
 
 H
 
 58 THE YOUNG POET. 
 
 Nay— call it not raving. A stranger I came. 
 
 And a stranger amongst you I ever have been. 
 When I stepped from my circle, you found me the 
 same 
 
 Vain trffler, as thousands besides, in the scene; 
 But I lived in a circle of fancy and feeling — 
 
 A world of fair forms — a creation of bliss. 
 Yet never to you the arcanum revealing — 
 
 My first and my latest disclosure is this, 
 This dying request, the last light of the dream — 
 
 do not despise it, though wild it may seem ! 
 
 1 know it— the grave which to me you assign, 
 
 Is black in the shade of your dreary Church- 
 wall, 
 Where nettle and hemlock their rankness condjine,- 
 And the worm and the sullen toad loathsomely 
 crawl. 
 O ! where is the primrose, so meet for adorning 
 The grave of a Minstrel cut off in his bloom ?
 
 THE YOUNG POET. 59 
 
 G ! M liere is the daisy, to shed in the moriiing- 
 
 The tears it hath gathered by night for my doom ? 
 And lastly, but dearer than anguish can tell, 
 Where, where are the friends that have loved me 
 so well ! 
 
 Thrice West be those tears ! they descend on my 
 heart 
 liike the soft min of Spring on a perishing 
 flower — 
 And may I expire in the hope they impart, 
 
 That yet I shall rest by my favorite bower ? 
 Heaven love you for that ! Like the flower I have 
 shown you, 
 No more to expand in the loveliest ray, 
 And breathing its last sigh of perfume upon you, 
 
 My spirit all grateful shall vanish away ! 
 For, laid in the glen by the stream and the tree, 
 Deep, hallowed, and happy my slumber shall be!
 
 60 THE YOUNG POET. 
 
 See I one aged Mourner comes, trembling, to place 
 A weak, withered hand on the grave of her 
 Son — 
 See ! Friendship to tell how I strove in the race, 
 But died ere the chaplet of glory was won — 
 
 And Beauty 1 plaited a wreath for that maiden, 
 
 When warm was my heart, and my fancy was 
 
 high 
 
 See Beauty approaches with summer-flowers laden, 
 And strews them Mhen nought but the black- 
 bird is niffh : 
 Thus, thus shall I rest with a chann on my name, 
 In the shower-mingled sunshine of Love and of 
 Fame !
 
 HOW SLEEP THE DEAD ? 
 
 How sleep the Dead in yon Churcli-yartl, 
 Where chequering moonbeams purely fall ? 
 
 How sleep the Dead beneath the sward ? 
 Calmly — softly — sweetly all ! 
 
 In mute companionship they lie, 
 
 No hearts that ache — no eyes that weep ; 
 
 Care — Sickness — Trouble come not nigh 
 The beds of those that yonder sleep. 
 
 Around, the world is passion-tost ; 
 
 War, Murder, Crime forever reign ; 
 Of central peace alone may boast 
 
 The Church-yard's undisturbed domain.
 
 62 HOW SLEEP THE DEAD? 
 
 The stormy sea of human life, 
 
 With all its surges, roars around ; 
 
 Their barrier-wall repels its strife, 
 
 No wave breaks o'er their hallowed ground. 
 
 Around, the summer sun may scorch — 
 The Dead feel not the sultriest ray ; 
 
 Winter may howl in spire and porch — 
 The Dead are reckless of his sway. 
 
 Thus sleep the Dead in yon Church-yard, 
 Where chequering moonbeams purely fall; 
 
 Thus sleep the Dead beneath the sward, 
 Cabnly— softly — sweetly all !
 
 THE ROYAL MINSTREL. 
 
 Long within tbe Danish camp 
 
 Had the sound of wassail rung, 
 In their King's pavilion long 
 
 Had the Danish Minstrels suns*. 
 When a Saxon Bard there came 
 With a Harp of simplest frame, — 
 But the notes were notes of flame 
 Which it flung t 
 
 I dare not give his Lay I 
 
 It hath sufl^ered wrong from time, 
 And its spirit ill would brook 
 
 The chains of modern rhyme : 
 To old Denmark's name it rose, 
 In her glory rung its close^
 
 64 THE ROYAL MINSTREt, 
 
 And the cheers of Eng-land's foes 
 
 Drowned the cliime* 
 
 But beneath the seeming praise 
 
 There lay irony and scorn, 
 Which the jealous Bards have caught. 
 
 And have round in whispers borne : 
 The King and Nobles laughed 
 At the hint they gave, and quaffetl 
 But a deeper, merrier draught 
 Till the Morn. 
 
 The Morn had scarcely broke 
 
 On the land and on the wave. 
 When around the Danish camp 
 
 Thronged the best of England's brave- 
 Still beamed the Mornmg-star 
 From its misty heights afar, 
 Wlien the Danes awoke to war — 
 And the grave I
 
 THE ROYAL MINSTREL. C5 
 
 That Minstrel lei the fig-ht !— 
 
 He was England's martial lord, 
 The glorious Alfred, famed 
 
 For the Lyre as for the Sword I 
 Joy ! joy ! to tower and tow n ; 
 ^^y • joy ! to dale and down; 
 Our Monarch to his crown 
 
 Is restored t
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MISS 
 
 If on some briylit and breezeless e^'e, 
 
 When falls the ii])e rose leaf by leaf, 
 The moralizing- bard will heave 
 
 A sigh that seems allied to grief, 
 Shall I be blithe — shall I be mute — 
 
 Nor shed the tear — nor pour the wail. 
 When Death has blighted to its root 
 
 The sweetest Flower of Mai ha md ale ? 
 
 Her form was like the fair sun-stream 
 That glances through the mists of noon- 
 
 Ah ! little thought we that its beam 
 Would vanish from our glens so soon ! 
 
 Yet when her eye had most of mirth, 
 And when her cheek the least was pale,
 
 ON THE DliATH OF MISS 67 
 
 They talked of purer worlds tliati earth — 
 She could uot stay iu Malhaiadale ! 
 
 The placid depth of that dark eye — 
 
 The wild-rose tint of that fair cheek — 
 Will still awake the long-drawn sigh 
 
 While Memory of the past shall speak. 
 And we can never be but pained 
 
 To think, when gazing on that vale, 
 One Ang-el more to Heaven is gained, 
 
 But one is lost to Malhanidale ! 
 
 I may not tell what dreams were mine — 
 
 Dreams, laid in bright futurity — 
 When the full, soft, and partial shine 
 
 Of that fair eye w^as turned on me : 
 Enough, enough — the blooming- wreath 
 
 Of Love, and Hope, and Joy is pale, 
 And now its withering perfumes breathe 
 
 O'er yon new grave in Malhamdale !
 
 O WHY IS THERE WOE 1' 
 
 Look round on this world — it is sweet, it is fair — 
 There is light in its sky — there is life in its air — 
 Sublimity breathes from the forms of its hills, 
 And Beauty winds on with its rivers and rills — 
 The dew, as with diamonds, its meads hath be- 
 sprent — 
 From its groves are a thousand wild melodies sent — 
 While flowers of each fragrance and hue are un- 
 furled — 
 O why is there woe in so lovely a world? 
 
 Say not that the picture is drawn in a time 
 When Summer is Queen of the sky and the clime—
 
 O WHY IS THERE WOE? 69 
 
 Remember young Spring, with her rainbows and 
 songs, 
 
 The charm which to Autumn's bright foliage be- 
 longs, 
 
 And Winter's stern pomp — which no chilled feel- 
 ing mars — 
 
 In his snow-shining land, and his concave of stars ! 
 
 Yes, well may we question, whate'er sky's un- 
 furled, 
 
 O why is there woe in so lovely a world? 
 
 Talk not of a Spectre whose skeleton hand 
 Robs the sun of his glory, and darkens the land — 
 His touch, with a power no talisman knows, 
 But wraps our worn souls in a moment's repose, 
 To wake in a region yet fairer than this, 
 Where the heart never beats but its throb is of bliss ! 
 His flag is but Rapture's bright ensign unfurled ; 
 Then why is there woe in so lovely a world ?
 
 70 O WHY IS THERE WOE? 
 
 It is not ill Winter, with cloud and with storm — 
 There are passions yet wilder that stain and deform. 
 It is not in Death, with his fear-4mag'ed darts — 
 There are vices yet deadlier far in our hearts. 
 These mar the Eternal's beneficent plan, 
 Who furnished this earth as the Eden of man, 
 And bade Pleasure's fair banner be ever unfurled — 
 Oi these have brought woe to so lovely a world!
 
 TO A ROBIN RIDBKUST 
 
 At E sa Vth Kirk at Sarvice Time. 
 
 LiLE Robin, thou hos maiinder'd whear 
 Thou'll nut finnd mich to pleease, I fear, 
 
 For thou, like maar beside, 
 Wod raather flee to tiiHin cares, 
 Think in at sannons, psaums and prayers 
 
 Nout else bud ill betide. 
 
 Bud its a pelsy day without, 
 
 The snaw ligs deep an blaws abouf, 
 
 Thou gang-s toth' bank to perk ; 
 Thus thou, like rakes, when troubles pFess, 
 As the girt refuge i' distress, 
 
 Taks bield i' Mother Kirk.
 
 72 TO A ROBIN RIDBRUST. 
 
 Thou tliinks our prayers lile else bud Avliiras, 
 Thou reckons nout o' psauius ner hymns. 
 
 They nobbut mak the freeten'd ; 
 And flackerin here and thear to flee 
 The sun lets fall his leet on thee 
 
 Wi' au thy feathers breeten'd. 
 
 Thou cannot gaum ner understand, 
 Each yan thy lytle een hes scann'd 
 
 Seea lowly kneeled afore the, 
 
 Dis seea for, Strang i' faith he dream!* 
 
 Of bein au, at thou bud scams, 
 
 A seraph wing'd i' glory J
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF A YOUx\G LADY, 
 
 "Once in thy mirth thou bad'st me write on thee; 
 " And now I write — what thou shalt never see !" 
 
 R0QERS< 
 
 Where, loved One! is thy dwelling now? 
 
 In scenes where thou wast wont to be, 
 Thy laughing eye, thine open brow, 
 
 Thy sylph-like form no more we see. 
 There's grief around thy Father's hearth, 
 Which time shall scarcely change to mirth I 
 
 There's weeping in thy Father's hall — 
 Its chambers, which so lately rung 
 
 To thy light step or lively call. 
 Seem dark as if with sable hung ; 
 
 Too well their gloom declares that thoU 
 
 Hast left thy Father's dwelling now ! 
 
 K
 
 74 ON THE DEATH OF A YOl NG LADY. 
 
 When last I looked upon thy face, 
 Thy fair cheek wore a palid hue ; 
 
 Yet kept thine eye its wonted grace, 
 And wildly free thy dark hair flew : 
 
 I little thought ichose breath had passed 
 
 Across thy features like a blast — 
 
 I little thought that Death had blown, 
 E'en then, his sickening breath on theej 
 
 I little thought thy glance and tone 
 
 Then spoke and beamed their last for me : 
 
 My parting word, unthinking, fell; 
 
 I dreamed not of a last farewell ! 
 
 But the same Moon whose crescent beam 
 Beheld thee in accustomed bloom, 
 
 Was seen to pour her waning stream 
 Of dewy radiance round thy tomb ; 
 
 O loveliest and loved One, thou 
 
 Hast found a darksome dwelling now !
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 75 
 
 I went to where thy grave was scooped — 
 There children, seeming half to grieve, 
 
 Stood round in gazing- clusters grouped; 
 I saw it, and could scarce believe 
 
 So dark and damp a cell could be 
 
 For aught so light and gay as thee ! 
 
 Yet so it was. I saw thee lowered, 
 
 And heard upon thy coffin-lid, 
 With solemn sound the dull earth showered, 
 
 Till dust by dust was heaped and hid ; 
 And looks I marked whose anguish said 
 
 Life's highest charm with thee was dead. 
 
 Then fled our frailest and our last 
 Illusion — that in which we think, 
 
 While ours the dust whence life has passed, 
 There still is one unbroken link : 
 
 That the grave broke — and all of thee 
 
 Hath faded to a memory !
 
 70 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 There was a time when in thy mirth 
 Thou archly bad'st me write on thee ; 
 
 And now, lost flower of fairest birth, 
 I write — what thou shalt never see. 
 
 Alas! how sad a song hath paid 
 
 Request scarce thought, and lightly made ! 
 
 But shall my song have mournful close? 
 
 Oh ! not for thee our tears should fall ; 
 Thou art where Spring eternal blows — 
 
 Thou art where God is all in all ! 
 Thine claim our grief, but, loved One, thou 
 Hast found a glorious dwelling now !
 
 DEVOTIONAL STANZAS. 
 
 *Tis not by day — ho\rever bright 
 The beauty of the day may be — 
 
 *Tis m the night, 'tis in the night 
 My holiest musings dwell on Thee ! 
 
 'Tis true, thy glorious hand I view 
 In every leaf that greens the tree, 
 
 And not a floweret blooms in dew, 
 But wakes a lovely thought of Thee ; 
 
 'Tis true, the Mountain soaring high, 
 The lliver rolling to the sea. 
 
 The blue and boundless stretch of Sky 
 Bid tlie awed spirit turn to Thee ;
 
 78 DEVOTIONAL STANZAS. 
 
 But few and brief such feelings are, 
 From business and from day they flee ; 
 
 Ten thousand nameless chances jar 
 On bosom-chords attuned to Thee. 
 
 'Tis in the night— when nought around 
 
 The ear can hear, the eye can see — 
 When all seems laid in sleep profound 
 
 Except my watching Soul and Thee — 
 
 'Tis then, my God ! I feel thy power 
 
 And love, from all distraction free ; M 
 
 My couch is Heaven in that high hour — 
 
 Thou'rt round rae—I am wrapped in Thee !
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Ah ! will there a time come, when coldly above me' 
 The earth of the A^alley I tread shall be laid ; 
 
 When the tears of the few that now cling to ancl 
 love me, 
 Unheeded shall fall as the dew in the shade ? 
 
 When each chann, and each change, and each 
 scene it delights me 
 
 To note and remember, to me shall be o'er ; 
 When all that to song or to musing invites me, 
 
 To musing or song shall invite me no more? 
 
 When rainbows o'er gr^en, gleaming landscapes 
 shall brighten. 
 And melody warble from grove and from sky ;
 
 ^O CONCLUSION. 
 
 When tempests shall howl, or grim thunder-clouds? 
 lighten, 
 And my breast give no throb, and no sparkle 
 my eye? 
 
 When Springs shall refreshen the hues of the 
 mountain, 
 And Summers begem with young blossoms the 
 lea, 
 And Autumns with red leaves bestrew the chill 
 fountain. 
 And white Winters dazzle — unwitnessed by me ? 
 
 So be it !— if borne on the bright stream of ages, 
 Tlie Wreath I have gathered its freshness retain, 
 
 Nor sink till the chaplets of Bards and of Sages 
 Alike shall be lost in Eternity's main ! 
 
 THE END, 
 
 TASKER, PRINTER, SKIPTON.
 
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