MARGARET OF ANJOD. 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 its an 
 
 A POEM 
 
 MTSS HCLFORF 
 
 
 PHILADELPF 
 
 UBLIS1 
 AND PCTK SALE BY WE1.LS A^'D 
 
 1816. 
 
I 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOU. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 BY MISS(HOLFORD, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 PUBLISHED BY M. CAREY, NO. 121, CHESNUT-STREET, 
 AND FOR SALE BY WELLS AND LILLY, BOSTON. 
 
 1816. 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOU. 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, I do feel thee now ! oh, once again 
 Warm gleams of rapture burst upon my brain ! 
 Quick heaves my lab'ring breast, and to my 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Lo ! what strange forms in long succession rise! 
 Oh, Muse belov'd, I know thee now ! 
 I feel thee glowing in my soul, 
 I feel thy beam upon my brow, 
 I feel thee thro* each artery roll 
 Tumultuous, fierce and bright impatient of con- 
 
 troul 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Lead on, my Muse ! For many a day, 
 With rapid pulse and uprais'd eye, 
 How have I chidden thy delay 
 And woo'd thee from thy sky ! 
 Oh, thou art she who led me forth 
 Mid the cold mountains of the north, 
 Where freezing whirlwinds blow ; 
 She, whose benign and generous glow 
 Pour'd warmth into my heart even in those realm* 
 
 of snow. 
 
 III. 
 
 Lo ! where old Walden's hallowed wood 
 Bends its grey arms o'er Tyne's fair flood, 
 B 
 
 JTS^S Q*E^^*'^ 
 lYlJLOOpQ *' 
 
6 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Tliere, in ttie'dark and distant years 
 Deep swallowed by oblivious time, 
 Long pour'd a saint* his holy tears 
 For human care and human crime ; 
 And, as they say, no elvish sprite, 
 Nor imp, nor goblin's wayward powers, 
 Even in the darkness of the night, 
 May blight old Walden's bowers, 
 Because the holy man forbade 
 That aught accurs'd should tread that venerable 
 shade. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But time rolls on ; the once green spray, 
 Moss-mantled now, is turnM to grey, 
 And, tears and painful penance paid, 
 The saint, long since, in dust is laid. 
 Well may he rest 1 for harder fare 
 Did never mortal pilgrim share. 
 In bitter drops he steep'd his bread, 
 Earth's flinty bosom was his bed ; 
 He thought it meet thro' life to go 
 Frowning in voluntary woe ; 
 And still his spirit did not bend, 
 He bore, unmurmuring, to the end ; 
 For well he ween'd, man's little lot 
 Is but a speck, a point, a spot, 
 A moment's conflict bravely borne, 
 The prize, eternal day ! an ever golden morn I 
 
 V. 
 
 Well ! rest his spirit ! In the dell 
 Where once this holy man did dwell, 
 And where, amid this later age, 
 Still peeps the ivied hermitage, 
 Where close the social branches twin'd 
 
 * St. John of Beverlcy. 
 
OANTO i. OF ANJOU. 7 
 
 O'erarch the pensive wanderer's head, 
 Where, seldom scar'd by human tread. 
 Meek, musing Silence sits enshrin'd 
 Oh, now, from whence arise the echoes rude 
 That wake the slumbering scene, and break its 
 solitude ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 The dawn just risen o'er Walden's shade 
 Had rouz'd the warblers from their nests, 
 When, mid the centre of the glade, 
 Its ruddy light the forms betray'd 
 Of fearful, strange, unwonted guests ! 
 Now, who is she, whose awful mien, 
 Whose dauntless step's firm dignity, 
 Whose high-arch'd brow, sedate, serene. 
 Whose eye, unbending, strong and keen, 
 The solemn presence hint of conscious majesty ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 And, lo ! she speaks 1 Her lips severe 
 Some wondrous secret sure disclose, 
 For that mail'd form, who listens near, 
 Bends mute, and fix'd, the attentive ear ; 
 And now he frowns with aspect drear, 
 And now his cheek with ardour glows ; 
 A burning glance around he throws, 
 As kindling into rage he shakes his glittering 
 spear. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But she is calm: a peace profound 
 On the unruffled surface rests ; 
 Yet is that breast in iron bound, 
 And fill'd with rude and sullen guests. 
 No female weakness harbour'd there, 
 Relentings soft, nor shrinking fear, 
 Within its centre deep abide : 
 
$ MARGARET CANTOI. 
 
 The stern resolve, the purpose dire, 
 And grim revenge's quenchless fire, 
 The intrepid thought, cold, thawless pride, 
 And fortitude, in torture tried, 
 These are its gentlest inmates now, 
 
 Tho' lawless love, they say, once heard its secret 
 vow. 
 
 IX. 
 Mark well that port sublime, that peerless 
 
 mien ! 
 
 Then duteous, bend to earth the vassal knee, 
 For she it is, meek Henry's warrior Queen ! 
 Unqueli'd by frowning Fortune'* hard decree, 
 She steins with royal spirit, unsubdued, 
 Of many a stormy day the conflict rude, 
 
 And meets, with scornful brow, the wrongs of 
 destiny. 
 
 X. 
 
 Margaret, her solemn counsel o'er, 
 On the arm'd warrior bends her eye, 
 As she would fain the thoughts explore 
 Which treasur'd in his bosom lie ; 
 Clifford, with honest, ready zeal, 
 Thus boldly meets the mute appeal, 
 " Doubt not, my Queen, thy soldier's word, 
 While, looking on thy princely bud, 
 He swears to plant it with his sword, 
 And feed it with his blood." 
 
 XL 
 
 If aught by gentler spirits felt 
 In that stern baron's bosom dwelt, 
 It wak'd as he beheld with joy 
 The promise of the royal boy, 
 As something like a father's sigh 
 Commingled with his loyalty 1 
 
CANTO i. OFANJOIL 9 
 
 Nature, when, with creative toil, 
 By unmark'tl crowds, thou mouldest man, 
 The trampled earth, the common soil 
 Supplies the general plan ; 
 But when a godlike soul demands 
 Fit clothing from thy skilful hands, 
 Thy care explores the secret mine 
 Where gold is form'd, where diamonds shine : 
 Earth's finest atoms never yet 
 To mould a fairer fabric met, 
 Than shrin'd the spirit bright of young Plantage- 
 net. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Alas, sweet rose ! thou dost but blow, 
 The wonder of a ruthless season 1 
 Gay bloom thy petals, while below 
 Preys at thy root the canker treason I 
 And thou shalt fall ! But shall the Muse 
 In sullen silence see thee perish, 
 And shall her rigid eye refuse 
 The bright, benign, embalming dews 
 Which fall the hero's name to cherish ? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Brave Clifford !" cried the gallant youth, 
 With glowing cheek and kindling eye, 
 " Long since thy 'deeds have seal'd thy truth, 
 Bright pledges of thy fealty ! 
 Then swear not ! Should mistrust pervade, 
 Wavering and base, thy prince's heart, 
 Go, leave him meet to be betrayed I 
 And conquer on some nobler part ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Yet, Baron, in thy manly breast 
 Some shrinkings cold may well 
 
 B 2 
 
10 MARGARET 
 
 To see our princely House's pride 
 
 On' such a feeble column rest! 
 
 And, trust me, I forgive the sigh 
 
 With wnich e'en now I mark'd thee trace, 
 
 Heedful, intent, with pensive eye, 
 
 The untried stripling's beardless face ; 
 
 Yet ere this young and smiling day 
 
 Shall change his crimson robe for grey, 
 
 And faint and falter on his way, 
 
 Or I will win thy generous trust 
 
 Or shroud my feebleness in dust!" 
 
 XV. 
 
 Now to the Cumbrian Baron's ear 
 I wot that modest boast was dear. 
 " Oh, by St. George !" he cried, " to-day 
 This boy shall shew our veterans play ! 
 Spirit of Monmouth ! even now 
 I hear thee speak ! I see thee glow ! 
 Beneath our banners walks there one 
 On whom the breath of fear has blown, 
 Who, marching coldly to the fray 
 Thinks sadly on the close of day, 
 Now let him cheerly lift his head, 
 5 Tis Monmouth's spirit leads, which never droop'd 
 or fled !" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Some Gallic drops there lurk'cl, I ween, 
 Jn the proud veins of England's Queen ; 
 No marvel then fifth Harry's fame 
 On Margaret's ear unkindly grates, 
 How can she love that dreadful name 
 Which every Frenchman hates ? 
 
 XV1L 
 
 " What, Clifford ! wouldstthou teach thy tongue, 
 Thy rude and rugged tongue, to praise ? 
 
ANTO i. OF ANJOU. 1 1 
 
 Trust me, it ill abides the wrong, 
 
 And awkwardly its task obeys, 
 
 It hates to mould the courtier's phrase ! 
 
 Oh, I have heard it in the field 
 
 In thunder bid a foeman yield ; 
 
 And I nave heard its thrilling shout 
 
 Recal the base, dispersing rout ; 
 
 And I have heard it rend the sky 
 
 With the bless'd peal of victory ; 
 
 But never, Clifford, wilt thou teach 
 That organ, tun'd to war, the flatterer's silver 
 speech! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Now hear me, Edward ! In thy heart, 
 
 Thy arm and sword, put /my trust ! 
 
 Margaret invokes not, on thy part, 
 
 A grandsire from the dust ! 
 
 Go, win me back thy father's throne ; 
 And, even as the wrong, be the success thine own 1 
 XIX. 
 
 " Know, Prince, I send thee not to war 
 
 As son by low-born mother sent : 
 
 Serene and fix'd, 1 watch thy star 
 
 Now rising in the firmament, 
 
 And wait unshrinking the event I 
 
 To its high course if Fate unkind 
 
 Has but a short career assign'd, 
 Yet, falling, it may leave a brilliant track behind ! 
 XX. 
 
 " Oh, heaven ! what evil days of gloom 
 
 Have left their furrows in my breast ! 
 
 Yet distant, distant be the doom 
 
 Which stays my troubles in the tomb 
 
 And yields ignoble rest ! 
 
2 MARGARET CANTO 
 
 Where is the pang, the woe, the care, 
 This dauntless spirit shall not dare ? 
 What path too rugged, wild and strange, 
 For Margaret's fearless foot to range ? 
 Ordain but heaven that, at the last, 
 Guerdon of wrongs and sorrows past> 
 She feeds, she feasts her eager eye 
 Upon her foeman's misery I" 
 
 XXL 
 
 Bright was the beam of Edward's eye, 
 And rich the bloom on Edward's cheek, 
 Yet from his gallant breast a sigh, 
 A human sigh, did break ; 
 He sigh'd to think so dire a guest 
 Might harbour in a woman's breast! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Mother, from yonder concave sky, 
 Far rais'd above our earthly ken, 
 An awful, just, eternal eye 
 Looks on the deeds of men ! 
 Whether in open, manly wise, 
 With glowing blood, in combat bold 
 I seize the hard-contested prize, 
 Or loosen honour's noble ties 
 With hand deliberate and cold, 
 Shall that unerring eye behold! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Oh, rather fail this ardent breath, 
 And palsied sink this hand in death, 
 Ere with keen taunt, and lingering blow* 
 I hover o'er a fallen foe ! 
 No ! when the battle rages dire, 
 Apd the rouz'd soul is all on fire, 
 Think'st thou a noble heart can stay 
 Hate's rancorous impulse to obey r" 
 
ANTO i. OF ANJOU. 13 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Then, Madam," said the Cumbrian lord, 
 " Bid him obey thy just behest 
 Who still delights with lance or sword, 
 Or sharper edge of bitter word, 
 To goad thy foeman's breast I 
 The lance unbiunted still remains 
 Which open'd Rutland's infant veins; 
 Proud York, the voice which on thine ear 
 Pour'd sounds thy soul abhorr'd to hear, 
 Still frames, to vex thy rebel race, 
 Like words of insult and disgrace !" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Enough, good Clifford. Yonder throng 
 Of lawless rebels know thee well ; 
 Nor holds yon hostile camp a tongue 
 Which, rnix'd with curses, cannot tell 
 That Clifford's name is dire and fell 
 As ban-dog's howl, or witch's spell. 
 Warriors, begone ! the advancing day 
 To glory summons ye away ! 
 Begone ! a breathless nation waits 
 And Victory the lingerer hates ! 
 Begone, begone ! his steps are slow 
 Who hears a woman bid him go ! 
 Away ! Towards yonder royal height, 
 My eaglet, imp thy wing for flight ! 
 Be rapid and be bold ! and God defend thy 
 right!" 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Yet, mother, yet how long soe'er 
 The coming conflict may appear, 
 Oh, let no ili-endur'd suspense, 
 No keen impatience tempt thee hence ! 
 
14 MARGARET CANTO i. 
 
 Success sometimes a traitor proves ; 
 But, Lady, while thou shelterest here 
 Amid these dark and hallow'd groves', 
 Nor wrong, nor insult shalt thou fear ! 
 If, which the powers of heaven forefend I 
 Our blushing Rose her stalk must bend, 
 Yet, thou art safe some loyal hand, 
 Spar'd mid the ruin of our band, 
 Unknown, shall lead thee hence to Scotia's friendly 
 land." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Get thee to horse 1 if longer here 
 Thou waste in idle talk the day, 
 By heaven ! ourself will seize the spear ? 
 And rush before thee to the fray 1" 
 But while she spake the taunting word, 
 Audacious, ardent, and elate 
 Young Edward on the saddle sate, 
 And ne'er did lovelier, braver lord 
 Ride forth to challenge Fate ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 As Clifford vaulted on his steed, 
 New sounds along the woodland rang, 
 For of the veteran's ponderous weed 
 Echo repeats the bruyant clang; 
 The gallant steed obey'd the check, 
 Used to his master's strong command, 
 As bending o'er his arching neck 
 Courteous he kiss'd his iron hand. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 They are gone ! The half embracing boughs 
 Before their rapid course recede, 
 But soon again the branches clgse 
 Concealing man and steed : 
 
CANTO i. OFANJOU. 15 
 
 Awhile the Queen a listener stood 
 And eager caught the lessening sound, 
 Which faint and fainter smote the ground, 
 Of war-horse fleet and good ; 
 Then Margaret turn'd, and turning smil'd, 
 Yet ghastly was the smile, and wild, 
 As inwardly she breath'd a farewell to her child, 
 
 XXX. 
 
 She was alone : nor sound, nor sight, 
 Or near or distant, met her sense ; 
 'Twas like the stillness of the night, 
 Or fearful pausing of suspense. 
 That breathless, noiseless calm oppress'd 
 The warrior Queen's unquiet breast ; 
 She fear'd, tho' all unus'd to fear, 
 And, trembling, felt that God was near ! 
 Yet Margaret pray'd not, tho' her child, 
 Her only child, mid havoc stood, 
 And hardly staid the effort wild 
 Of foeman burning for his blood, 
 She rais'd not for her gallant son 
 The mother's tender orison ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The yielding turf as Margaret press'd 
 She listen'd eager for a sound, 
 She felt the discord in her breast 
 Insulted by the peace profound, 
 And darkly on the scene she frown'd ; 
 Yet still the woodland smil'd serene, 
 Unconscious of the frowning Queen ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Now from the distant battle field 
 A mingled sound of tumult came ; 
 
16 MARGARET CANTO i. 
 
 The lady starts for all her frame 
 With strange delight is thrill'd ! 
 " The stern defiance then is past ! 
 Our trumpets have provok'd the foe. 
 And at the loud triumphant blast 
 Rebellion vails his caitiff brow ; 
 Lo, they encounter ! horse to horse 
 In gallant onset wildly dashing ! 
 Methinks I mark their headlong course,- 
 I hear, I hear the menace hoarse ! 
 I see their falchions fiery flashing ! 
 I hear the ponderous shock of arms together 
 clashing ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " 111 didst thou, Nature, to combine 
 With woman's form a soul like mine ! 
 What heart in either grim array 
 Throbs to the charge with wilder beat! 
 What ear so loves the trumpet's bray 
 That bids contending thousands meet ! 
 Whose thirst like mine, when blood of foes 
 Warm from the gasping fountain flows ! 
 Whose nerves more firmly brac'd to dare I 
 Who loves like me to crush ! who hates like me 
 to spare !" 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 When Winter in his wrath unbinds 
 With ruthless hand his ruffian winds, 
 And sends them forth in fierce career 
 The shuddering leafless groves to tear, 
 Strange voices seem to fill the sky. 
 And now the rude and boisterous North, 
 Like threatning thousands, clamours forth, 
 And now one deep convulsive sigh 
 
CANTO i. OF ANJOU. IT 
 
 iag 
 
 Upon the ear sobs sullenly ! 
 Next comes a ghastly pause and now 
 Again with rallying force the gather'd whirlwinds 
 
 blow. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Thus sometimes to the royal dame, 
 With sudden burst, the rumour came 
 As 'twould the welkin fill, 
 And then at once upon the gale 
 The victor-shout, the dying wail, 
 And all the mingling sounds would fail 
 As if the bloody work stood still ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Now, flashing thro* the leafy screen,- 
 Revealed now and now unseen 
 In lustrous panoply array'd, 
 A knight came glancing thro' the glade ; 
 Right on he rode : his urgent speed 
 Nor check nor barrier might impede, 
 For swift the opposing branches fell, 
 Like foes beneath his trenchant steel ; 
 Swift rode he as the winged blast, 
 Sharply he spurr'd his willing steed, 
 And, in his overweening haste, 
 Even she he sought he would have past, 
 So headlong was his speed ! 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The Queen beheld with angry eye 
 The hot-brained knight's career, 
 And now her voice she sent on high 
 With accent shrill and clear, 
 " Stay thee, Sir Knight 1 if cowardly 
 From yonder field thou dost not fly ; 
 For never sure such speed had other goad than 
 
 fear!" 
 
 C 
 
18 MARGARET CANTO i 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Nor heard nor felt the impatient spleen, 
 The youthful knight salutes his Queen, 
 While still impatient in his speed, 
 He flung him from his half-curb'd steed ; 
 And Margaret sees, with brightening glance, 
 The kneeling captain bears young Beaufort's 
 cognizance. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Breathless, he cries, " Hail, Royal Dame ! 
 I bring thee news shall make thee smile ! 
 'Twas therefore Beaufort hither came 
 And left the work of death awhile, 
 To fill thy dauntless heart with mirth. 
 And tell thee that thy subject earth 
 Insatiate drinks, in thirsty mood, 
 Libations large of rebel blood ! 
 The day is ours ! and day more bright 
 Ne'er mid the welkin rose to gild auspicious 
 fight ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Before the onset, while we stood 
 In sullen, silent, grim delay, 
 Fronting the foe in vengeful mood. 
 Each bosom panting for the fray> 
 Even then, before a foot was stirr'd, 
 Before a^ trumpet-breath was heard. 
 Swift pass'cl before my prophet sight 
 The glorious issue of the fight; 
 For, Lady, as with eager eye 
 The rebels' level lines I scann'd* 
 The gale, averse and drowsily, 
 The hostile streamers fann'd; 
 Close to its staff the banner citing 
 
CANTO i. OF ANJOU. 19 
 
 Forlorn each chieftain's plumage hung, 
 And ne'er, methought, with colder cheer 
 Did warlike band to foe draw near ! 
 For us, upon the buoyant gale 
 Banners and plumes were proudly floating, 
 While from our gaily glancing mail 
 Long streams of radiance pour'd, heaven's fav'- 
 
 ring smile denoting." 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Now when the knight, o'erblown and panting, 
 Paus'd because breath and speech were 
 
 wanting, 
 
 And lean'd in silence on his sword, 
 The Queen, with penetrating word, 
 Half doubting, half in hope, bespake the youthful 
 
 lord. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Oh, say, Lord Edmund, art thou sure, 
 Sure art thou that the day is ours ? 
 Is veering victory quite secure, 
 Quite broken are yon rebel powers ? 
 And didst thou see the victory won, 
 And see the hot pursuit begun ? 
 Did Montague forsake the fight ? 
 Did Warwick fly the adverse field ? 
 Oh, conquest proud ! triumphant sight, 
 To see the stubborn Warwick yield i 
 Half England's treasure would I give 
 To him who takes that lord alive 1 
 One groan, one heart-wrung groan, from thee, 
 Warwick, were more than victory 1 
 But say, Lord Edmund, sooth ly say, 
 Does Fate confirm the victory ours, 
 Or merely, in capricious play, 
 
20 MARGARET CANTO i, 
 
 A moment shine upon our day, 
 
 In darkness once again to plunge its endless 
 hour??" 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Meanwhile the Knight had loos'd the brace 
 Which close the stifling beaver tied, 
 And with embroider'd kerchief dried, 
 By Margaret's royal hand supplied, 
 The dew which bath'd his glowing face : 
 Reflection now reprov'd the wrong 
 Done rashly by his sanguine tongue, 
 For now the generous youth was forc'd 
 To chili the joy his ardour nurs'd. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 When princely Edward bade rne speed 
 To thee with goodly tidings fraught, 
 As swift I flew as winged thought, 
 So eagerly I prick'd my steed ; 
 And now, I fear, the race intense 
 Confus'd and whirl'd my giddy sense, 
 And taught my foolish tongue to speak 
 At random, heedless, rash, and weak, 
 Of things as done which were beginning, 
 
 And of that prize as won, which we were only 
 winning I" 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Scarce eighteen rapid years had sped, 
 With trackless course, o'er Beaufort's head, 
 And they who mark'd his beardless chin, 
 And ruddy lip, could ill have guess'd 
 The steady hate that lurk'd within 
 That youthful captain's breast ! 
 There, unappeasable and dire, 
 Stern Vengeance blew the ruthless fire, 
 
CANTO I. OANJOU. 21 
 
 And told him of his murder'd sire ! 
 Train'd to the work of danger early, 
 Young Beaufort, joyous and content, 
 His latest life-drop would have spent 
 
 To nourish and maintain a cause he lov'd so 
 dearly 1 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Seldom Lord Edmund had beheld, 
 Save mid the strife of hostile field, 
 Of bended brow the menace keen ; 
 And sure the wight whose visage grim 
 Had glanc'd an angry look on him 
 Were ill advised, I ween ; 
 What was there then in woman's frown 
 That brought this mounting spirit down ? 
 For now, what man nor dar'd, nor could, 
 Queen Margaret's look of scorn effected ; 
 Abash'd, rebuk'd, young Beaufort stood, 
 
 Drooping his lofty crest, dishearten'd and de- 
 jected 1 
 
 XLVIL 
 
 " Beshrew thee, rash presumptuous boy I 
 What! must the royal ear be fill'd 
 With every empty, idle toy, 
 At pleasure of a heedless child 1 
 Go, teach thy crude unripen'd sense 
 The act of subject reverence ; 
 And tell the Prince, when next he sends 
 His Mother and his Queen to greet, 
 'Twere well he sought, among his friends, 
 Embassador more meet ! 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 Scarce had the haughty Margaret's word. 
 Like burning arrow, lanc'd his breast, 
 c 2 
 
22 MARGARET CANTO i. 
 
 Than, feeling all his strength restor'd, 
 Aloft young Beaufort flung his crest, 
 While o'er the cheek that shame had dy'd 
 Mantled the deeper glow of pride ; 
 The flash which shot from either eye 
 The kindling of his soul betray'd, 
 Yet still his tongue confessed the tie 
 Impos'd by deep-sworn fealty, 
 Which all indignant phrase, or rough retort for- 
 bade. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 He pans'd while to the earth he cast 
 His eyes, which burn'd with angry flame : 
 " By princely Edward's mandate grac'd, 
 To seek thy presence, royal Dame, 
 Unworthy of the charge, I came 1 
 4 Go, Beaufort, seek the Queen, and say 
 The heavens fight for us to-day ! 
 Go, tell her, that the sunshine hour 
 Smiles gaily on our blushing flow'r ; 
 Already, say, a thousand foes 
 Have shed their blood to feed our Rose ; 
 And tell her, that her son has vaunted 
 In heart of England's Isle to see it firmly 
 planted !' 
 
 L 
 
 " Then, mid the centre of the fight, 
 Audacious plung'd the royal Knight ! 
 Till then so please you we had stood 
 Together striving with the flood ; 
 As brother by the side of brother, 
 Our friendly shields still fenc'd each other : 
 Reluctant, I obey'd his word, 
 And stay'd, half-quench'd, my thirsty sword : 
 
CANTO i. OF ANJOU. 23 
 
 Even as I left the glorious scene, 
 An humble herald to my Queen, 
 Mine ear was greeted by the cry, 
 The thunder-peal of Victory ! 
 Scarce from the host had Beaufort parted, 
 Than, sweeping down upon the left, 
 Young Edward, like a falcon, darted, 
 And Hastings' well-knit line with force resistless 
 cleft ! 
 
 LI. 
 
 u Now pardon, Lady ! ere I fly 
 To fight again for thee and thine, 
 Even as my father died, to die, 
 Perchance, for thy illustrious line, 
 One moment's pleading, Lady, hear, 
 One word for youthful Lancaster ! 
 I know not but his princely eye 
 Sought vainly mid the armed throng, 
 One, whose hoar head, and pausing tongue, 
 And colder spirit, might supply 
 A missive meet for majesty : 
 Alas, alas ! the ripen'd ear 
 Has perish'd from your golden field 1 
 The crops which now your meadows bear 
 A crude and unsunn'd harvest yield ! 
 Each warrior sage, maturely brave, 
 Who to the blushing Red Rose clave, 
 Too early summoned, yielded place 
 To us, a wild uncounsePd race ! 
 Our sires are past away we combat on their 
 grave!" 
 
 LII. 
 
 The mild rebuke was all unfelt ; 
 IdJy it fell on Margaret's ear. 
 
24 MARGARET CANTO i. 
 
 Because her mind intensely dwelt 
 Upon a vision proud and dear, 
 The fame of youthful Lancaster ! 
 Not with a mother's tender joy 
 She thought upon her gallant boy, 
 'Twas joy, concenter'd, and austere, 
 Unwater'd by maternal tear, 
 Unmingled with maternal fear ! 
 Even such her joy as might possess 
 The breast of mountain lioness, 
 When first her flashing eyes behold 
 Her young ones raging wild amid the slaugh- 
 ter'd fold. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 A smile so fraught with sovereign grace 
 Illum'd the Royal Lady's face, 
 That well, I ween, the Knight forgot 
 The ireful glance those eyes had shot ; 
 The smile just reach'd the galled heart, 
 And heal'd at once the wounded part. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And now Lord Edmund, bending low, 
 Besought the Queen with courteous pray'r, 
 That she some guerdon might bestow, 
 Some relic, gaud, or riband fair : 
 " Trust me, my Queen, this heedless boy, 
 Like relic bless'd, shall guard the toy; 
 And he will wear it in despite 
 Of yon Pale Rose's sharpest thorn ! 
 Oh I should her fiercest, proudest knight 
 Uplift his hand to do it scorn, 
 Malignant was the siar that shone when he wa? 
 born !" 
 
CANTO i. OF ANJOU. 25 
 
 LV. 
 
 Then round his armed wrist she bound 
 Her kerchief, stiff with beaten gold, 
 Where, blushing fair on glittering ground, 
 The crimson rose you might behold ; 
 Quick to his lips and to his breast 
 Th^ royal hand young Beaufort press'd, 
 Then swift upspringing rose the Knight, 
 And with impetuous hand he freed 
 The noose which held his barded steed, 
 And, wreckless of his cumbrous weed, 
 Leapt in his lofty seat, impatient for the fight 1 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 Lo ! where old Walderfs hallow* d wood. Stanza III. 1. 1. 
 
 AT a little distance from the Tyne lies Nether Wai. 
 den ; it is hallowed to churchmen as having 1 been the 
 retirement of Saint John of Beverley : Pennant says, 
 Saint John of Beverley made the adjacent woods his re- 
 treat from the world. 
 
 Clifford, with honest, ready zeal. St. X. 1. 5. 
 
 The Author has here ventured somewhat to extend 
 the wonted limits of poetical privilege, by the introduc- 
 tion in this place of the warlike per- on age in question, 
 who was, according to fact, slain two years earlier in a 
 conflict at Ferrybridge, the Lord Falconbridge com- 
 manding on the adverse side. The Lord Clifford and 
 his company were unexpectedly surrounded, and, as 
 Hall says, " either for heat or payne putting off his gor- 
 get, sodaynly with an arrowe withoute an hedde he was 
 striken into the throte, and incontinent rendered his 
 spirite." 
 
 That Clifford's name is dire and fell -St. XXV. 1. 5. 
 
 In celebrating the staunch adherence of this faithful 
 partizan to the perilous fortunes of the House of Lan- 
 caster, it is with regret we add to the record, that his 
 nature was so notoriously sanguinary as to obtain for 
 him, alike from friends and foes, the odious appellation 
 of " John the Butcher." The death of his father in the 
 first battle of St. Alban's was his alleged excuse for the 
 excessive indulgence of this inhuman propensity The 
 murder of the infant Earl of Rutland is thus described 
 by Hall, speaking of the battle of Waketield, he says, 
 " While this battaill was in fightynge, a prieste called 
 Sir Robert Asphall, chappelein and schole master to the 
 yong Erie of Rutland, sonne to the Duke of Yorke, 
 scarce of the age of 12 yeres, a faire g-entelman and a 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THE FIRST 27 
 
 maydenlike person, perceivyng that flight was more 
 saveguard then tarriyng, both for him and his master, 
 secretly conveyed the Erie out of the felde by the Lord 
 Clifford's band towarde the towne ; but, or he could en- 
 ter into a house, he was by the sayd Lord Clifford es- 
 pied, folowed and taken, and by reson of his apparell 
 demaunded what he was the yonge gentelman dis- 
 maied had not a word to speake, but kneeled on his 
 knees imploryng mercy and desiryng grace, both with 
 hoidyng up his hands and"makyng dolorous countenance, 
 for his speache was gone for feare. ' Save hym,' sayd his 
 chappelein, ' for he is a prince's sonne and peradventure 
 may do you good hereafter.' With that the Lord Clif- 
 ford markyd hym, and sayd, * By God's blode thy fa- 
 ther slew myne, and so will I do thee, and all thy kyn ;' 
 and with that word stracke the Erie to the hart witty his 
 dagger, and bade the chappelein bere the Erie's mother 
 and brother word what he had done and sayd. In 'this 
 act the Lord Clifford was accompted a tyraunt and no 
 gentelman ; for the propertie of the lyon, which is a fu- 
 rious and an unreasonable beaste, is to be cruell to them 
 that withstande hym, and gentle to such as prostrate and 
 humiliate them selfes before hym." HaWs Chronicle. 
 
 That kneeling captain bears young Beaufort's cognizance. 
 
 St. XXXVIII. 1. 6. 
 
 Lord Edmund Beaufort was the second son of Ed- 
 mund Duke of Beaufort, who fell in the first battle of 
 St. Alban's, and who was succeeded in his dignities, 
 and in his attachment to his master's House, by his 
 eldest son Henry, who was taken and beheaded af- 
 ter the battle of Hexham, when Lord Edmund became 
 in his turn Duke of Somerset, an honour which he like- 
 wise bore for a very brief yet troublesome period. 
 
 Did Montague for sake thefaht ? St. XL1I. 1. 7. 
 
 Lord John Neville, younger brother of the Earl of 
 Warwick, created by Edward IVth, Marquis of Mon- 
 tacute or Montague, was commander in chief of the 
 Yorkists at the buttle of Hexbam. 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOU. 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, Sorrow ! which of Adam's race 
 Has not beheld thy wrinkled face ? 
 Of all the hearts which life has warm'd 
 Since the first man of clay was form'd> 
 Of all the mortals who have hasten'd, 
 Like shadows, o'er this rolling sphere, 
 Has once return'd to earth unchasten'd 
 By thy reproof severe ? 
 Each breast, however fortified 
 By courage, apathy, or pride, 
 Has still some secret path for thee, 
 Man's subtle foe, Adversity ! 
 Along that secret way thou glidest, 
 And deep within the centre hidest, 
 And many a surface fair and shining 
 Conceals a wasted core, where thou art slowly 
 mining I 
 
 II. 
 
 Who knows thee not ? If yesterday, 
 With lightsome step, escap'd thee, Sorrow,, 
 Thou dost but lurk beside the way 
 To spring upon thy prey to-morrow, 
 e, secure? the fools who lie 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 29 
 
 Charm'd by Enjoyment's lullaby ! 
 Does Hope allure Does Pleasure smile ? 
 Then tread the rosy path with trembling, 
 For Pleasure beckons to beguile, 
 And Hope's fair promise is dissembling ! 
 Oh, then, tho' azure be thy sky, 
 Look for the cloud which comes to-morrow ; 
 Thus only, Man, may'st thou defy 
 The unchanging word of Destiny, 
 Which to thy guilty lip decreed the cup of Sor* 
 row 1 
 
 III. 
 
 With leaden pace, hour after hour 
 Roll'd wearily away ; 
 The dew-drop hung in every flow'r ; 
 And now behind the western bow'r, 
 Slow sinking, shed the parting day 
 A bright yet melancholy ray, 
 A farewel glance, then clos'd its eye, 
 And mingled with eternity ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thro' many a heavy hour the Queen 
 Sate musing mid the lonely scene ; 
 She sate, with folded arms, reclining, 
 And anxious watch'd the clay declining : 
 Amid the glen the evening wind 
 In low but fitful murmurs crept; 
 And where on high the branches twin'd, 
 With nimble bound the squirrel leapt ; 
 With rustling wing the speckled thrush 
 Flutter'd unseen within the bush, 
 And, as the twilight shades were- falling, 
 Each bird its truant mate was calling ; 
 And Margaret started oft, and thought 
 D 
 
30 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 Each sound confus'd that met her ear 
 Proclaimed the expected herald near, 
 From Hexham's field of death, with fateful mes- 
 sage fraught ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Rising above the silent wood, 
 Night's regent pour'd a silver flood, 
 And bright her glittering spangles fell 
 On many a sleeping flow'ret's bell : 
 Margaret look'd upwards, and beheld 
 How, floating in her azure field, 
 She shone in dignity supreme, 
 Unmock'd by any rival beam ; 
 With envy gaz'd the earthly Queen - 
 " Oh ! thus, predominant, alone, 
 Thus would I fill the boundless scene, 
 And from my lofty seated throne, 
 Like thee, my smiles and frowns bestow, 
 Beheld with silent awe by multitudes below I" 
 
 VI. 
 
 Breathing Ambition's inward pray'r, 
 With eyes uplifted, Margaret stood, 
 And her pale brow and ebon hair 
 Gleam'd in the silver flood ; 
 Quick mov'd her lips, .but word or sound 
 Broke not the quietness profound ; 
 Like Sybil form of elder time 
 Weaving the dark portentous rhyme, 
 She stood or them whose glance forbidden 
 Dares scan the things which Fate hath hidden ! 
 VII. 
 
 Rouze ! rouze, and listen ! for indeed 
 
 A distant bugle summons shrill, 
 While heavy hoofs of barded steed 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 31 
 
 The lessening pauses fill ! 
 
 " It comes, it comes ! the eventful hour ! 
 
 The messengers of Fate are nigh ! 
 
 They bring me vengeance, pomp, and pow'r; 
 
 Or loss, defeat, and misery ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Come on ! come on ! hark ! well I know 
 The note of Clifford's bugle-horn I- 
 Yet boldly he was wont to blow 
 Why speaks it now so faint and low, 
 Like voice of one forlorn ? 
 Beshrew my fears ! this toilsome day 
 May well excuse the languid blast ; 
 Even Clifford's strength must fain give way 
 To such a long contended fray ; 
 Yet how the lingering minutes waste ! 
 I would he rode with Beaufort's haste !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 Meanwhile, with heart which smote her side 
 As tho' a passage it would free, 
 Along the dewy path she hied 
 To meet her destiny. 
 Lo ! in the dim and distant glade 
 Two mailed knights advance, 
 Upon their helms the moonlight play'd, 
 And tipp'd each glittering lance ! 
 Dismay'd, perceiv'd the Royal Dame 
 How heavily the horsemen came; 
 They came not as if wing'd elate 
 With message of triumphant Fate, 
 Yet nor as fugitives they came 
 Close goaded at the heels by peril and by shame ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Nearer the Queen approach'd ; and now, 
 With faltering tongue, her greeting sent, 
 
32 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 When from his courser sinking low 
 The foremost rider bent. 
 *Twas Clifford. To the grassy ground 
 Helpless he fell, outstretched and prone, 
 While from his bosom's depth profound, 
 
 Like vaulted echo, heav'd an anguish-breathing 
 groan. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Young Lancaster, for it was he 
 By Cumbrian Clifford's side who rode, 
 Alighted slow, while mournfully 
 His filial greeting he bestow'd; 
 " Oh, help me, Mother ! loose the brace 
 Which closely binds the aventayle, 
 That o'er poor Clifford's dewy face 
 May blow the cool night gale !" 
 The brace was ciogg'd with sable gore, 
 Which bound the heavy burgonet, 
 And all the weed the Baron wore 
 With gory stains was wet : 
 
 XII. 
 
 But now they raise the drooping head 
 And throw the cumbrous casque aside, 
 When, with a look of wrath and dread, 
 Clifford his eye-lids open'd wide, 
 And <" Hence ! unthinking boy !" he cried, 
 
 " Hence ! leave me to my fate, for what can harm 
 the dead !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " What thou, who in thy bosom bearest 
 Those gashes which at mine were aim'di 
 5 Tis then but for my life thou carest, 
 A life dishonour'd, stain'd, and sham'd ! 
 No, hope it not ! I'll stay by thce, 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 33 
 
 While one red drop is in thy veins, 
 While one dim spark of life remains 
 
 To warm thy loyal heart, or glimmering in thine 
 eye !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Now all too well Queen Margaret guess'd 
 That ruin track'd their tardy flight, 
 And turning to the dying Knight, 
 " Clifford, I know thy generous breast 
 Asks not from us the useless rite, 
 Small joy 'twould yield thy parting ghost, 
 
 If, weakly lingering here, even what remains were 
 lost !" 
 
 XV. 
 
 Quick from the ground Prince Edward rose, 
 With scorn and horror in his eyes, 
 " And has he shed his blood for those 
 Who can desert him as he dies ! 
 Oh, heaven forbid his closing ear 
 Those ill-requiting words should hear ! 
 Like poison'd drops the ungrateful sound 
 Would fall upon his chilling heart, 
 And wake in every yawning wound 
 
 Stings that would reach his soul ! insufferable 
 smart 1" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 With painful toil, the dying Knight 
 Half-rais'd from earth his heavy frame, 
 While thro' the clouds that dimmed his sight 
 There shone a quick and transient light, 
 Like flash of meteor flame ; 
 That rapid and expiring ray 
 Spoke what his tongue refused to say, 
 It was the spirit's farewell greeting 
 D 2 
 
34 MARGARET CANTO 11. 
 
 Ere from its mangled spoils it flew, 
 Then turn'd from earth, and heav'nward fleet- 
 ing, 
 Hasten'd to join a noble few 
 
 Bright souls of faithful friends, and vassals firm 
 and true ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Down Clifford sank ; and, as he fell, 
 His armour rang against the ground ! 
 It was the brave Lord's funeral knell, 
 A dull and hollow sound ! 
 Prince Edward clos'd the frozen mouth, 
 And clos'd the glaz'd and ghastly eyes ; 
 The Queen, with anger and surprize, 
 JVleanwhile, impatient, watch'd the youth 
 Perform the hasty obsequies : 
 Quick with his blood-stain'd brand he hew'd 
 The boughs which hung above his head, 
 And o'er the lifeless warrior strew'd, 
 Then, looking on the corse, he said, 
 c< Rude, rude, oh Clifford ! is thy bed, 
 
 Tho* gratitude and zeal thy humble grave-clothes 
 spread !" 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The Queen, resentment and dismay 
 O'er each indignant feature gleaming, 
 Cried, " Prince, farewell ! I must away ! 
 For the C) an if it please thee, stay 
 Like beadsman, till the morning dreaming 
 Over yon senseless clay ! 
 I seek those living friends, who still 
 Can hear, and can perform my will ! 
 Of feeble sire the feeble child, 
 Thou, idly loitering, mayst remain, 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOIL 35 
 
 And like that sire so meek and mild, 
 Thou too, perchance, mayst not disdain 
 To wander o'er thy land, led in a rebel's chain." 
 
 XJX. 
 
 Hush thee, my Mother ! set we on ! 
 Thy harsh rebuke inflames my grief! 
 Oh i chide not thus thy harass'd son, 
 And envy not the scatter'd leaf 
 Which thinly strews yon fallen Chief! 
 It was but little sure to give 
 To him who died that I might live ! 
 Clifford beheld an archer aim 
 Already had the arrow flown, 
 Towards my unguarded breast it came, 
 He flung himself between, and caught it in his 
 own ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Quick let us on yon planet's ray 
 Shall light us on our sorrowing way ; 
 And grant, oh heaven ! my failing strength 
 May serve me thro' the forest's length ! 
 Zerbino, fare thee well ! To day 
 Thy sides have borne me gallantly; 
 But, gall'd and wounded in the fray, 
 Thou canst not aid me on my way, 
 And I perforce abandon thee !" 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Nigh his brave master's lifeless corse 
 Outstretched lay Clifford's barded horse, 
 As if the faithful beast had stay'd 
 His master's latest need to aid, 
 Then, tir'd, had laid him down to die. 
 Still waiting on his destiny I 
 
36 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Grasping his spear in silent pride, 
 The Prince before his mother strode, 
 She little thought how down his side 
 A crimson torrent flow'd ! 
 But Edward knew his mother's heart, 
 And sternly bore the secret smart, 
 The anguish of his wounded breast 
 Beneath the bruising cuirass press'd ; 
 He dar'd not hope woe's sweet redress, 
 The balm of sorrowing tenderness : 
 The bursting dew upon his face 
 Bore witness to his silent pain, 
 Yet on he stalk'd in manly pace. 
 And deign'd not to complain, 
 While at each step, like darts of flame, 
 
 A thousand thrilling stings ran shivering thro' his 
 frame. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet not alone did Edward smart ; 
 For deep in Margaret's swelling heart 
 Of wounded pride the venom 'd fangs 
 Inflicted direr, deadlier pangs, 
 Pangs more corrosive and severe, 
 More fierce, more poignant and intense, 
 Than ever hostile sword or spear 
 Wak'd in the breast of innocence ; 
 And now, too mighty to be borne, 
 
 Forth burst they in the words of enmity and 
 scorn ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " If frozen silence might avail 
 To hide this day's o'erwhelming tale, 
 I would not ask thee for a story 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 37 
 
 Of foul defeat, and tarnish'd glory, 
 I would not ask thy tongue to trace 
 The record of thine own disgrace ! 
 And yet, methinks, with sounding 1 word, 
 'Twas that same tongue whose empty vaunt 
 Swore that thine own resistless sword 
 
 In heart of England's isle our ruddy flow'r should 
 plant 1 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Say ! what are we, like outlaws vile 
 Wandering abandon'd and alone ? 
 Art thou the heir of Britain's isle ? 
 Am / the partner of a throne ? 
 Weak scion of a Monarch race, 
 Born to a lot thou canst not hold ! 
 What ! patient in thy deep disgrace, 
 Scar'd by Rebellion's aspect bold, 
 Would'st thou resign the dangerous place ? 
 Or I do rave, or I do dream, 
 Or twice ten thousand crested brows 
 Glitter'd in yester-morning's beam; 
 They hurl'd defiance on my foes 
 And fearless rush'd into the strife, 
 
 Their bosoms heaving quick with loyalty and life ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Was it not so ! and if it were, 
 Where are those twice ten thousand now ? 
 And was it treachery or fear 
 That scatter'd them before the foe 
 Like the light sand when whirlwinds blow : 
 'Twas treason ! Vile, dissembling race ! 
 'Twas Edward's guile ! 'twas Warwick's gold 
 That turn'd their boiling spirits cold, 
 And tempted them to their disgrace ! 
 
38 MARGARET CANTO n 
 
 But let yon proud usurper tremble, 
 For insecure he sits whose vassals can dissem- 
 ble !" 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Is there a wretch o'erspent with care, 
 Stung by neglect, or gail'cl by scorn, 
 Or wrestling with the fiend Despair 
 Who goads him on with pungent thorn 
 To curse the hour when he was born ? 
 Oh ! let him for awhile arrest 
 The conflict of his stormy breast ; 
 Oh ! let him mark how virtue's flame, 
 How courage firm, how zeal sincere, 
 Have nerv'd yon stripling's tender frame 
 Of more than mortal pain the bitter pangs to 
 bear 1 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Traitors ! Ye loyal, glorious dead 
 For us, who fell on Hexham's plain, 
 In an ungrateful cause ye bled ! 
 Oh! ye have died in vain! 
 The warm blood trickles down my side, 
 My heart with grief is torn and rent, 
 Yet still my spirit was unbent, 
 And every wound I had defied, 
 Save that which thro' my soul a mother's tongue 
 has sent ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Cold orb of night ! thy rays are falling 
 Where England's perish'd pride lies low, 
 Thy pale looks o'er the scene appalling 
 A ghastly lustre throw ! 
 There, stretch'd along in hideous sleep, 
 Our thousands lie, a frozen heap ! 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOIL 39 
 
 Fast knit in loyalty and love, 
 
 Hard, hard and valiantly they strove, 
 
 Even wkile they felt Fate's withering frown 
 
 On every effort looking down ! 
 
 Thrice was the hand of death uprear'd, 
 
 Thrice 'gainst my breast the bow was bent? 
 
 Thrice bold Affection interfer'd 
 
 And seiz'd the boon for Edward meant ! 
 
 Now heaven bestows the just award, 
 
 And human gratitude is spar'd I" 
 
 XXX. 
 
 This burst of generous wrath expended, 
 The wreck of Edward's failing strength, 
 Passion with feebleness contended, 
 But soon the unequal contest ended, 
 And nature sank at length ; 
 For as they left the sheltering dell 
 To tempt the wide and dreary plain, 
 Edward, subdu'd by toil and pain, 
 No more the conflict might maintain,. 
 He shudder'd, groan'd, and fell. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 In Margaret's fierce and stormy breast 
 A thousand warring passions strove, 
 Yet now, unbid, a stranger-guest 
 Dispers'd and silenc'd ail the rest 
 Thy voice, Maternal Love ! 
 Ambition, Hatred, Vengeance wild, 
 Hot Ire, and frozen Pride were flown. 
 While gazing on her lifeless child, 
 On heaven she cried, in frenzied tone, 
 ; Oh, save my gallant boy 1 oh, Edward ! Oh my 
 son !"' 
 
40 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 XXXIT. 
 
 Yet tho' maternal softness stole, 
 With force resistless, o'er her soul ; 
 Yet tho' a tear, from anguish wrung. 
 Upon her burning eye-lid hung, 
 To aid her fainting boy she sprung ! 
 The helm that crush'd his drooping brows 
 With hasty hand aside she throws, 
 And next the hauberk's rigid clasp 
 Yields to the mother's eager grasp ; 
 Swift from his mangled breast she tore 
 The linen stiff with blackening gore, 
 The dew-embued grass she press'd 
 Against his burning, throbbing breast, 
 The trampled grass small aid, I ween ! 
 Yet in that hour of Anguish wild 
 'Twas all a mother and a Queen 
 Might yield a dying child ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Now from the lofty arch of heaven 
 Had every lesser light withdrawn. 
 For in the distant east was given 
 The promise of the coming dawn ; 
 A long faint line of saffron light 
 At first the morn's arrival hinted, 
 Then, bursting glorious on the sight, 
 Day's dazzling orb arising bright, 
 With gold the far off mountains tinted. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Behold I o'er yonder eastern height 
 Day comes with roses on his brow ! 
 False promiser ! so gay and bright. 
 What deadly tidings on thy flight 
 To thousands bringest thou ! 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 41 
 
 Where is thy vest of funeral grey ? 
 Thy robe of mist, thy rain-drops ? Where 
 The frequent, chill, and sullen tear ? - 
 Oh, walk not in the pride of May 
 O'er the dire wreck of yesterday, 
 Extinguished hope, and strength, and life 
 The refuse cold of human strife ! 
 Bring shuddering winds, whose sobbing breath 
 And hollow sighs may sweep yon solemn scene 
 of death I 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Still with Despair's unnatural force, 
 The Queen supports the seeming corse, 
 In vain each eager care she tries, 
 No answering sign of life replies : 
 u 'Tis frozen silence all !" she cries, 
 " Oh, now, inexorable Fate, 
 I feel, I feel thy conquering hate ! 
 I yield ! a crownless Queen, a mother desolate ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Yet thus it shall not be 1" she cries, 
 " My child, my Edward shall not die 1" 
 And the compassionating skies 
 Forgave the mother's blasphemy. 
 A frantic glance around she threw 
 O'er the inhospitable plain, 
 A dreary region met her view, 
 She look'd for help in vain ! 
 Her gaze no low-rooPd hovel bless'd, 
 No track stretch'd o'er the waste by traveller's 
 foot impress'd 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Sec, from the covert of the wood, 
 A grim, gaunt ruffian form advance ! 
 Close by the unconscious Queen he stood, 
 E 
 
42 MARGARET CANTO n, 
 
 Like prowling beast in wait for blood, 
 
 Watching his prey with hungry glance ! 
 
 Rude harness, such as outlaws wear, 
 
 And desperate men who roam the waste, 
 
 (Children of havock and despair,) 
 
 His sinewy limbs encas'd : 
 
 On his hard brows, by toil embrown'd, 
 
 A cap of rusty iron frown'd ; 
 
 The shaggy mass of raven hair, 
 
 Eye, rolling wild with reddening glare, 
 
 The lurking watch, the weapon fell, 
 
 Hard held, and often rais'd, the ruthless purpose 
 tell. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 While Margaret felt beneath her grasp 
 Returning life's tumultuous gasp, 
 Saw the breast heave, the eye-lids ope, 
 And hail'd the blissful dawn of Hope, 
 And hung in exstacy to trace 
 The faint bloom tinge the livid face ; 
 Ah, then, how little did she think 
 How close she stood on ruin's brink ! 
 Nor warning voice, nor step foretold, 
 Til) Danger grasp'd her in his hold ! 
 Turning, she met, in mute surprise, 
 
 The red and lurid glare shot from a ruffian's 
 eyes ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 What spark, what gleam of hope was near 
 That hapless Lady's lot to cheer ; 
 She stood amid the wilderness 
 Forlorn in lonely wretchedness ! 
 Gaunt strength and cruelty were nigh, 
 And Avarice mark'd, with burning eye, 
 The many colour'd gems that shone 
 
ANTO II. 
 
 OF ANJOU. 43 
 
 Conspicuous on her costly zone ! 
 
 She, at whose nod the nation bo\\'d, 
 
 Whose voice, like thunder, shook the crowd, 
 
 Oh, dire reverse ! must she endure 
 
 To meet her fate from hand obscure ! 
 
 Oh, must a robber's glaive be dyed 
 
 With the imperial stream which feeds that bo- 
 som's pride ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 Still firm the Royal Lady stood, 
 And calmly eyed the man of blood, 
 Strong in that panoply whose charm 
 Defies the meditated harm ; 
 The strength that in the heart resides 
 The ruffian's sinewy force derides ! 
 The savage paus'd. Dismay'd, he felt 
 Each nerve relax, each purpose melt ; 
 Yet 'twas nor pity, nor remorse 
 That check'd him in his murd'rous course ; 
 He dar'd not strike ! Queen Margaret's gaze 
 In air the uplifted weapon stays ! 
 Instinct within his vassal soul 
 Felt and obey'd the strange controul ; 
 Trembling he stood, yet knew not why, 
 Oppress'd beneath the sovereign's eye ! 
 Oh, strife sublime ! of issue glorious! 
 
 *Tis mind, majestic mind, o'er brutal strength 
 victorious 1 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The queen, with conscious triumph, saw 
 That deep dismay, that shuddering awe. 
 Oh ! when a band of crested lords 
 Engirt her with protecting swords, 
 And when on her despotic breath 
 Hung fame and life, or shame and death, 
 
44 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 'Twas Fortune's gift ! The weak and vain, 
 The pamper'd minions of whose train, 
 As often as the great and bold 
 The pow'r-dispensing sceptre hold : 
 But now, an exile from the throne, 
 Wandering abandon'd and alone, 
 She felt the triumph was her own ! 
 She stood as if the abject band 
 Still waited on her dread command, 
 And, waving her imperial hand, 
 With lofty look the robber eyed, 
 And in a tone of temper'd pride, 
 
 " Thou com'st in happy time ! save thou thy 
 Prince I" she cried 
 XLII. 
 
 Him, the abhorr*d, detested, loath'd, 
 Whom Crime in all her terrors cloth'd, 
 Was it on him, that, unappali'd, 
 For aid a helpless woman call*d ! 
 To him ! a murderer gaunt and grim ! 
 Those trusting, social words to him I 
 " Aid thou thy Prince !" how strange, how 
 
 new, 
 
 How sweet, how powerful the appeal ! 
 Along each startled nerve it flew 
 And trembled in his heart of steel ! 
 " Give me the Prince ! thro* flood and fire, 
 Tho' men and devils should conspire, 
 This sinewy arm and trusty blade, 
 
 Against opposing worlds, thee and thy boy shall 
 aid I" 
 
 XLIIL 
 
 Swift as the generous promise past, 
 Upon the scatter'd arms he sprung, 
 The glittering fragments, heap'd in haste, 
 
CANTO n. OF ANJOU. 45 
 
 On the young warrior's spear he hung. 
 And o'er his giant shoulders flung. 
 The Prince, tho' life began to speak 
 In his quick pulse and changing cheek, 
 Yet saw not, heard not ; when his waist 
 A rugged, nervous arm embrac'd, 
 He dream'd his corselet's iron clasp 
 Confin'd him with uneasy grasp, 
 And as the vigorous robber strode, 
 Scarce bending with his various load, 
 He marveil'd that his drowsy steed 
 Press'd forward with no hotter speed ! 
 
 XL1V. 
 
 The Queen, her courage did not swerve 
 Tho' anguish throbb'd in every nerve ! 
 Fatigue, disaster, and affright 
 Had prov'd her thro' that live-long night, 
 Her frame was woman's, but her soul 
 Contemn'd the body's weak controul ! 
 The fever's fire was in her blood, 
 The cold drop on her temples stood, 
 Her long, dishevell'd, raven hair 
 Stream'd wild along the morning air, 
 Her pale and haggard cheek, her eye 
 Full of strange light, her garb forlorn 
 Amid the tangled forest torn, 
 All told superior misery 1 
 XLV. 
 
 Along the moorland, drear and wild, 
 Silent their weary path they hold ; 
 In vain the summer sunshine smil'd 
 Upon the grim and sullen wold, 
 O'er whose brown waste no harvests bloom. 
 Save where the golden-crested broom 
 Or purple heath-flower break the gloom. 
 
46 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 Silent they crossed the lonely fell, 
 Silent the matted ling they press'd, 
 No cheering object rose to tell 
 Here, wanderers, ye may rest 1 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 All that a woman might abide 
 Had that unshrinking Lady tried ; 
 She falter'd now her dizzy sense 
 Half yielding to the toil intense, 
 Gasping, she spake, " Oh, tell me, friend, 
 
 Of this our weary path when shall we reach the 
 end ?" 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 The robber, turning to reply, 
 Beheld the Queen with heedful eye ; 
 By the long rugged journey worn 
 Her sandals slight were rent and torn ; 
 Si ill as she trod, the prickly gorse 
 Check'd with its stings her painful course ; 
 Those royal feet, once fenc'd with care, 
 Are now unshielded, bleeding, bare, 
 While at each step the poignant smart 
 Jlush'd shivering to her stubborn heart ! 
 The soften'd savage, in a tone 
 Till then to his rough tongue unknown, 
 The much-enduring Queen address'd, 
 
 " Bear yet a little while, and, Lady, thou shalt rest. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Fear not, a few hard moments more, 
 One struggle, and thy toils are o'er ! 
 Where yon blue cloud of smoke ascends* 
 The wide and barren moorland ends, 
 That smoke behind its wavering veil 
 Hides the fair opening of the dale. 
 Beshrew my heart! right glad am I 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 47 
 
 That shelter and repose are nigh, 
 For well 1 wot, thy sinking frame 
 Would soon thy dauntless spirit shame, 
 Tho* 'twere as hardy, tough, and brave, 
 As e'er was bred in outlaw's cave 1" 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 As nigh they drew, the fragrant smoke, 
 Threw round their forms its filmy cloak, 
 Or soar'd, by wanton breeze upborne. 
 In curling incense to the morn ; 
 The frequent bleat, the tinkling bell, 
 Of shepherd's cur the chiding yell ; 
 The beaten path of mild descent 
 Which from the savage moorland bent, 
 The gale which came with odours fraught 
 Late stolen from some bloomy thorn, 
 All these a mingled message brought 
 Of comfort to the heart forlorn ! 
 Bless'd message ! e'en the drooping Queen 
 Half smil'd as she look'd round to hail the soften- 
 ing scene 1 
 
 L. 
 
 Screen'd from the passing traveller's gaze 
 And shelter'd from the noontide blaze, 
 Like hermit's cell, or Sybil's grot, 
 Nestled in shade the peasant's cot; 
 Before its door an aged dame 
 Carol'd a song of rustic frame, 
 And while beside her cow she bent, 
 And fill'd, intent, the cleanly pail, 
 The morning music of content 
 Was echoed thro' the tiny vale, 
 A clownish ditty nor the tongue 
 Less rude and tuneless than the song ; 
 And yet that uncouth strain was fraught 
 
X 48 MARGARET CANTO 11. 
 
 With music ne'er by minstrel taught: 
 What -Aill, what cunning may impart, 
 What genius bright, or toilsome art, 
 The pure, brisk, genuine glee, fresh from a light- 
 some heart ! 
 
 LI. 
 
 Between her task and song, the dame 
 Wist not that stranger-footsteps came ; 
 Now she would pause, with fond caress, 
 Her mute companion to address, 
 And now resume her simple strain 
 And bid the valley ring again, 
 While chanticleer, with rosy crest, 
 With neck erect and golden breast, 
 Swelling and strutting by her side, 
 Ruffled his plumes, in conscious pride, 
 And ever and anon in the shrill descant vied. 
 
 LII. 
 
 With hollow, eager, craving eye 
 The Queen the teeming pail beheld; 
 She would have spoke but, parch'd and dry, 
 Her powerless tongue the word withheld, 
 And her wan lips, tho* op'd to ask, 
 Quivering and mute, refus'd the task ; 
 Yet while the milky streamlet flow'd, 
 Thro* every burning vein more fierce the fever 
 glow'd! 
 
 LIIT. 
 
 Still onward with his precious load, 
 The stout, unbending Rudolph strode, 
 And stood the unlatch'd door beside 
 Ere his dread form Dame Maudlin spied ; 
 With eye-lids wide and open mouth, 
 Breathless she eyed her guest uncouth, 
 Then sudden on the wind she sent, 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 4 
 
 In echoing: cries, her loud lament, 
 And every saint in heaven impior'd 
 To save her from the ruffian's sword ; 
 On Rudolph's ear the cry was lost, 
 Relentless, he the threshold cross'd, 
 Push'd wide the half-consenting door, 
 And, glad his toilsome task was o'er, 
 
 Laid his half-conscious charge upon the rush- 
 strewn floor. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Meanwhile the dame's bewildtr'd eye 
 Upon the speechless Margaret tVH, 
 Fix'd grew her g ze, and suddenly 
 Her tongue gave o'er its boist'rous cry 
 As bound by wizard spell ! 
 The stranger's wild and awful glance 
 Held her awhile in helpless trance, 
 The pail abandon'd, half o'erturn'd, 
 Shedding its milky treasure stood ; 
 The Queen in vain no longer yearn'd, 
 But springing towards the wasting flood, 
 
 Bath'd deep her parching lip, and cool'd he* 
 boiling blood ! 
 
 LV. 
 
 Ere yet the eager Queen forbore 
 The sweetest draught she e'er had tasted, 
 Lo ! Rudolph from the cottage door 
 With glad and urgent tidings hasted ! 
 " The boy revives ! no more he lies 
 With filmy, half-extinguish'd eyes ! 
 H .bte, Lady, haste ! with doubtful gaze 
 lie scans my rugged visage o'er, 
 And wildly towards the open door 
 His rapid glance impatient strays ! 
 Hark 1 he cries ' Mother !' Lady, hear ! 
 
50 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 I'll speed and tell him thou art near I" 
 He paus'd not, and, with lighten'd breast, 
 The Queen on his swift footstep press'd, 
 
 And pass'd the humble gate, an uninvited guest. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The Prince, tho' weak, to speech and sense 
 By kindly nutriment restored, 
 With many a quick yet broken word. 
 Gazing around in dark suspense, 
 The changes of his fate explored : 
 " How came we here ? Where have we been ? 
 What means this strange, unwonted scene ? 
 What evil chance has fallen, that I 
 Outstretched, unarmed, and bleeding lie ? 
 Save the <, my Mother, all is strange ! 
 Nay, while I gaze, methinks e'en thou, 
 Partaking in the general change, 
 Bend'st on thy son an alter'd brow ! 
 Wiience comes it ?" while he spake, the smart 
 Of festering wound thrill'd to his heart, 
 
 As 'twould the poignant truth in all its force im- 
 part ! 
 
 LV1I. 
 
 Hexham's red field and all its woes 
 Swift to his shuddering fancy rose ; 
 He heard the foe's insulting shout, 
 He saw the battle's deadly rout ; 
 The baffled struggles of the fight, 
 The foul defeat, the mingled flight, 
 
 All rush'd upon his brain, and swam before hb 
 sight 1 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 No longer pours his faltering tongue 
 Of questions wild a hurrying throng, 
 Memory had told him of the fall 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 51 
 
 Of crested fame, of hope, of all ! 
 A tear from each clos'd eye-lip gush'd, 
 In silence deep his voice was hnsh'd, 
 Save when the workings of his soul 
 Break loose too restless for controul ; 
 Then, hut half heard, mid smothering sighs 
 " Lost, lost !" from his wan lips in broken mur- 
 mur dies ! 
 
 LIX. 
 
 That roof of thatch had often rung 
 With rustic carol stoutly sung, 
 The glee-inspiring rebeck there 
 Of minstrel, stray'd from wake or fair ; 
 The simple, soft, complaining strain 
 From rustic reed of love-lorn swain, 
 The cheerful sound of neighbour's greeting. 
 The bagpipe's hum at merry-meeting 
 When dark Yule-tide had clos'd the door 
 Against the rattling tempest's roar ; 
 The blazing, crackling log, the laughing 
 Of merry souls the Yule-cup quaffing ; 
 The welcome wild of nymph and swain 
 When fragrant May is come again. 
 Such din, unknown to statelier halls, 
 Had often rock'd its humble walls, 
 But the heart- wasting sighs of care, 
 The central groan of deep despair, 
 Till Greatness trod its floor, had never echoed 
 there ! 
 
 LX. 
 
 Maudlin at length dismissal her fear, 
 And with unshrinking step drew near ; 
 No whisper to her thought reveal'd 
 What guests her tiny cottage held, 
 Nought knew she, but that grief and care 
 
52 MARGARET CANTO ir. 
 
 And weariness had shelter'd there; 
 Full little did she dream, I ween, 
 Of England's heir, and England's Queen ! 
 And yet, in Margaret's form, the eye 
 Of skill'd observance might espy 
 Midst that forlorn and woeful change, 
 A motley mingling, sad and strange, 
 Of grandeur and of misery ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Still round her waist, a costly zone, 
 The Orient's dazzling produce, shone, 
 Which scarce the tatter'd robe confined, 
 Whose loose shreds wav'd with every wind ; 
 Her matted, long, unbraided hair, 
 Her wounded feet, unshod and bare, 
 K'en these, some glittering toys display. 
 Sad remnants of a better clay ! 
 Idly they shine ! their gleam abhorr'd 
 But mocks with ghastly smile the fortunes ': r< 
 record 1 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Dame Maudlin, now no more unseen, 
 With rustic grace salutes the Queen, 
 " Good folk ! altho' ye crave it not, 
 I bid ye welcome to my cot i 
 Belike, had my old man been nigh 
 He might have blam'd your courtesy, 
 Well, well! mayhap your piteous piigut 
 Had put good manners out of sight: 
 Ah me ! what cruel caitiff's sword 
 Yon strippling's milk-white breast has gorM : 
 Alack! how like a drooping fiow'r 
 Too rudely dash'd by summer show'r, 
 He hangs his pretty head ! poor youth ! 
 Oh ! 'tb a ruthless deed ! a dismal sight in sooilu 
 
OANTO ii. OP ANJOU. 53 
 
 LXIIL 
 
 w Nay, grieve not. Lady 1 grieve not so ! 
 For tho' thou dost not sigh nor speak, 
 A tear is drying on thy cheek, 
 And, by thy trembling lip, I know, 
 Untold, thy bosom teems with woe ! 
 Good Lady ! be of better cheer ! 
 Old Oswald will anon be here ; 
 With him a shepherd lad, who knows 
 Each herb that in our meadows grows j 
 From humblest weeds his skill produces 
 Kind balms, and anguish-healing juices ; 
 He says the smallest blossom's bell 
 Bears treasure in its secret cell, 
 Nor talks he idly, for in sooth 
 His deed has often vouch'd his truth 1 
 
 Then grieve not, Lady, thus ! Gerald shall cure 
 the youth." 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Just then, the writhing Prince confest 
 What anguish stung his wounded breast ; 
 His feverish starts and twisted brows 
 Betray his sharp and arrowy throes ; 
 Rudolph, impatient, fiery, bold, 
 Brook'd not the suffering Prince's pain, 
 His fierce eyes on Jhe dame he roU'd, 
 " Do thou this drooping boy sustain, 
 
 Rudolph shall fly himself and seek the skilful 
 swain." 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Quick rising, he in haste resign'd 
 His charge to Maudlin's gentler care, 
 Whose bosom, honest, warm, and kind, 
 Supported England's royal heir ! 
 The mild caress, the cautious hand 
 F 
 
54 MARGARET CANTO . 
 
 That chaPd his temple's damp and faint, 
 Consoling whispers, soft and bland, 
 That hush'd, yet pitied his complaint, 
 All spoke the tender care, I ween, 
 Of one who had a mother been. 
 
 LXVL 
 
 With rocking, lulling, soothing motion. 
 Like the calm swell of unvex'd ocean, 
 Or bearded corn that waves beneath 
 The warm west wind's caressing breath. 
 And song monotonous, whose strain 
 Ne'er hush'd a cradled babe in vain, 
 Did Maudlin still the sufferer's pain ; 
 Lo ! Edward yields ! the gentle spell, 
 Resistless, on his senses fell, 
 Unconsciously each closing eye 
 The kind compulsion own'd of Maudlin's lullabp 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 And not alone o'er Edward's eyes 
 The silent friend of sorrow crept, 
 Margaret forgot her miseries, 
 And on the scatter'd rushes slept 1 
 Subdued, she dropt her royal head 
 Upon her hard uncurtain'd bed ! 
 Unseemly couch ! the cottage floor 
 Trod by the foot of rustic boor ! 
 Ambition ! here thy votaries lead, 
 Thy dazzled, flatter'd, pamper'd train, 
 The slaves who in thy pageants tread. 
 The proud, the sanguine, and the vain ! 
 Oh, bid them bend the aspiring eye 
 Low as the cottage floor, where lie 
 Yon victims of thy flattery ! 
 LXVII I 
 
 Well pleas'd, the hospitable crone 
 Still murmur'd on her drowsy scmg, 
 
*ANTO u. OF ANJOU. 55 
 
 Till, hark! she listens ! 'tis the tone 
 Of the old shepherd's grumbling tongue, 
 A churl in speech, his rugged growl 
 Belied a not ungentle soul ; 
 No smiling promiser was he, 
 In rough, ili-natur'd phrase he dealt, 
 While, all unseen, soft sympathy 
 Within his bosom dwelt ! 
 Asham'd, he harbour'd, unconfest, 
 In rude disguise, the lurking guest ; 
 Few words, I ween, to friends or foes 
 
 Did honest Oswald give, and right uncivil those, 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 But now, with real discord fraught, 
 The muttering carl his cottage sought ; 
 Tho' blunt himself, he brook'd but ill 
 The tongue of Rudolph, blunter still, 
 Who chid him, as with forc'd consent 
 Homeward with lagging pace he went ; 
 Nor did his moody muttering cease 
 Till, as he reach'd his cottage door, 
 Dame Maudlin pointed to the floor, 
 
 And beckon'd to be still, and softly whisper'd 
 " Peace I" 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Swift at the sight the gloomy frown 
 From his relaxing brow was chas'd, 
 Appeas'd and mute, the careful clown 
 Paus'd at the door, and bending down, 
 His heavy clattering shoon unbrac'd : 
 Ah 1 many a one mid lordlings bred 
 From that rude swain a hint might borrow, 
 With gentle footsteps how to tread 
 Beside the restless couch of sorrow I 
 
36 MARGARET CANTO n. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 And, lo ! again the latch is rais'd 
 By him whose skill Dame Maudlin prais'd I 
 His hands, his cap, his bosom bore 
 The precious vegetable store ; 
 The breeze his glossy hair had blown 
 In masses o'er his cheek of brown, 
 A cheek so tawny you might deem 
 Had sprum from India's sultry land, 
 Or that from Gypsey's roving band 
 Some ch?ince had snatch'd him, for, in sooth. 
 You'd seldom see a browner youth ; 
 Yet o'er that cheek of dusky hue. 
 His eyes of melancholy blue 
 A bright yet trembling lustre threw : 
 Seldom of smiles the sparkling grace 
 O'erdimpiect Gerald's cloudy face, 
 But if some favourite vision stole. 
 In bright surprise, upon his soul, 
 By transient gladness if beguil'd, 
 Gerald forgot to grieve, and smil'd, 
 Not heaven's own beam, when morning wakes 
 Amid the misty skies, with lovelier radiance 
 breaks 1 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 On tiptoe Gerald lightly crept 
 To where the Royal Mother slept, 
 And of green rushes, featly laid, 
 And heap'd with care, a pillow made ; 
 With noiseless, unobtrusive tread 
 He glided round the lowly bed, 
 And smoothed its ruggedness,- and wept 
 To think how hard the Lady slept, 
 To think that, haply, ne'er before 
 That head had presa'd a cottage floor. 
 
CAKTO in OF ANJOU. 57 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Yet gave he not the moments brief 
 To idle sighs and thriftless grief, 
 dlis was a better task, he knew 
 To pity, and to succour too : 
 Now with selective care he chose, 
 Amid his blooming fragrant heap, 
 Herbs, meet the burning wound to steep. 
 And soothe and lull its angry throes ; 
 And from the cowslip's bell he drew 
 A gentle, sleep-compelling dew> 
 For every flower and leaf he bruis'd 
 Some bless'd and potent juice beneath his hand 
 effus'd. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 While thus his kindly task he plied, 
 He sate the cottage door beside, 
 Where from his toil no jarring sound 
 Might reach the slumb'rers ; he had found, 
 Child as he was, that Sorrow's breast 
 By sleep's kind hand is seldom press'd, 
 But if, perchance, it come how welcome is the 
 guest ! 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Of life poor Gerald little knew ; 
 That little, grief had clouded o'er, 
 When from the troublous world he drew 
 His transient yet affrighted view, 
 And sought to know no more I 
 Fain like the heath-flower would he die, 
 The heath-flower on its lonely stalk, 
 Which decks the reckless peasant's walk. 
 Then withers in obscurity ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Still Gerald, as the weed he bruis'd, 
 F 2 
 
3d MARGARET CANTO it. 
 
 Upon the stranger's fortune mus'd, 
 Or pondering yet on visions flown 
 Mingled their sorrows with his own, 
 When from old Oswald's calm abode, 
 With summons loud, grim Rudolph strode 
 " Bestir thee, urchin 1 we would try 
 The wonders of thy ministry; 
 But, if thou fail, the idle boast 
 Full dear that stripling form shall cost ! 
 Know, if thou hast not happy speed, 
 Rudolph shall bid thee share the meed 
 Of yonder crush'd and bruised weed I" 
 Poor Gerald started, half-afraid, 
 
 As from his task he rose, and hastily obey'd. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 That Lady, o'er whose silent face, 
 Stretch'd as she lay on humble bed, 
 An awful, stern, imperial grace 
 E'en mid her slumbers spread, 
 Now met the trembling youth* her air 
 Mix'd greeting kind with frowning care. 
 The despot's nod and suppliant's pray'r ; 
 For thus her varying brow confest 
 
 How pride and fortune strove within her haughty 
 breast. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Her hapless, friendless, pow'rless lot 
 One sanguine moment was forgot ; 
 She clasp'd her hands : " Oh ! canst thou 
 
 stay 
 
 That spirit ere it flits away ! 
 Heal him ' and to thy utmost hope, 
 Thy wildest wish, gire range and scope ! 
 Turn o'er thy thoughts, and if thy breast 
 Yearn for some blessing unpossest, 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 59 
 
 Fear not ! restore my suffering child, 
 And never sigh again o'er visions unfulfill'd !" 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 To brutal threat, or empty strain 
 Of promise, liberal yet vain, 
 Alike in silence Gerald listened ; 
 But when his timid eyes he rais'd 
 And on the drooping Edward gaz'd, 
 A tear upon his eye-lash glisten'd ; 
 Yes, I will heal him ! for I feel, 
 By angels sent, the power to heal ! 
 Unbrib'd, unforc'd it comes ! 'tis given, 
 A free a gracious boon from heaven!" 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 With trembling care the swain unbound 
 (Unfelt his hand) the angry wound, 
 Then light the soothing unguent press'd 
 Upon the torn and throbbing breast ; 
 (The fingers of that hand so brown 
 Were soft as fleecy eider-down, 
 And small, as if some fairy sprite 
 Had lent them to the boy in spite ;) 
 That task completed, Gerald brought, 
 From cowslips press'd, the drowsy draught, 
 And, whispering low, the Prince besought 
 To tuste the kind oblivious bowl, 
 And bathe in dewy sleep his vex'd and restless 
 soul. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 The passive Prince the sleep-juice drank, 
 Then, feebly, rais'd his eyes to thank- 
 The being, whose benignant art 
 Had calm'd his grief and lulPd his smart, 
 Whose gentle hand had charm'd to rest 
 The stings which fester'd in his breast, 
 
60 MARGARET OANTO ir. 
 
 Whose voice had warbled on his ear 
 Such music as 'twas heaven to hear ! 
 He rais'd his eyes 'twixt hope and fear, 
 Hope, that some vision bright and fair 
 Stood nigh and look'd upon his care ; 
 And fear, lest to his languid thought 
 Fancy some formless dream had brought ; 
 He lifts, he rolls his anxious eyes 
 With wild research and mute surprize, 
 Then from the sun-burnt shepherd lad 
 
 Turns them in haste away,bewilder'd, vex'd, and 
 sad! 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Yet Gerald miss'd the cloudy look, 
 While from a dark and distant nook 
 An old half-stringed harp he took, 
 Whose plight, neglected and forlorn, 
 Full well its former story told, 
 Whilom thro' many a village borne 
 By vagrant minstrel, blind and old, 
 
 Now rested from his toil beneath the church- 
 yard mould. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Whence Gerald had the skill to bring 
 Such music from the time-worn string, 
 Why from its wreck'd and crazy frame 
 Such wild yet potent warbling came, 
 I know not ! sad, yet sweet it fell, 
 Till every breast began to swell, 
 And e'en o'er Rudolph's rugged soul 
 All unawares the influence stole ; 
 Forth from the cot he rush'd awhile, 
 Mistrustful of the urchin's guile, 
 Deeming that elfin hands alone 
 
CANTO ii. OF ANJOU. 61 
 
 Had pow'r to wake thut thrilling tone, 
 Margaret, on whom Dame Maudlin's care 
 Officious press'd her rustic fare, 
 Started, and gaz'd upon the swain, 
 Then on his broken harp, and marvell'd at the 
 strain. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 The sun has faded in the west, 
 And now the blackbird seeks his nest, 
 The owlet sails on heavy wing, 
 The bat flits by with restless swing, 
 And simple folk are gone to rest ; 
 The spider's dull unvarying tick, 
 Sad token for the old and sick ! 
 The cricket's chirrup, ceaseless, shrill, 
 The watch-dog's howl, or, ruder still, 
 The good-man's snore, whose drone profound 
 The cottage fills ; the tedious sound 
 Of gnats and night-flies buzzing round 
 Ceas'd not ; yet deep, unconscious rest 
 Each cottage inmate's eye-lids press'd, 
 Save Edward, who, in transient doze, 
 At times, his thrilling pangs would lose, 
 Or the brown shepherd-boy, who chose, 
 Thro' the dark hours, to watch and wake 
 For that unhappy stranger's sake. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Without, beneath a beech-tree's shade, 
 Rudolph his giant limbs had laid, 
 On the rude earth's unpillow'd bed, 
 Reckless, he flung his hardy head, 
 As thoughtless of to-morrow's tide 
 As the fierce watch-dog by his side. 
 And now, good night 1 for I would fain, 
 Like them, forget my task awhile, 
 
62 MARGARET. CANTO n. 
 
 And when the morn begins to smile, 
 And when the birds resume their strain, 
 I'll join the choir betimes and wake the lyre 
 
 again ! 
 
 JEND OF CANTO THE SECONB. 
 
NOTE TO CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 When dark Yule*tide had closed the door. 
 
 Stanza LIX,1. 9. 
 
 YULE, or Yule-tide, was a word formerly used to sig- 
 lify Christmas ; and it is still applied pretty generally 
 K> its ancient purpose throughout the north of England. 
 The huge log of wood thrown on the fire to make a 
 nerry blaze on Christmas Even is termed the Yule- 
 dog ; the pies or cakes baked for this great festival, 
 Tuledough ; the spiced ale, or whatever other beverage 
 irms the rustic libation on this occasion, is called the 
 lule-cup, &c Those who would explore the etymology 
 tfthis word, and inquire further respecting the social 
 cistoms in use amongst our ancestors at Christmas, 
 till find the subject copiously treated in Brand's Popu- 
 lr Antiquities, edited by Mr. Ellis. Vide page 359, 
 - 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOU. 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH no ! tho' every Muse but mine 
 Shall follow yonder plumed train, 
 Led by a victor, young and vain, 
 Yet must a nobler task be thine ! 
 Thou shall not follow in the crowd 
 Which tracks the footsteps of the proud ! 
 Fear not, my Muse ! Enow there be 
 To dog the heels of Victory I 
 There want not tongues to mingle praise 
 With every shout success can raise ! 
 We'll sit apart from yonder throng, 
 And sing our own unchorus'd song ! 
 What shall the burthen be ? We'll sing, 
 While yet our lyre retains a string, 
 The brave yet persecuted form 
 Which fronts the bursting cloud and struggle* 
 with the storm. 
 
 II. 
 
 Of power uprooted from its base, 
 And driven by whirlwinds from its place ;' 
 Of that stern smile by greatness worn 
 Thro* each reverse, in Fortune's scorn ; 
 Of those anointed ones, whose eyes 
 Have look'd on ull beneath the skies. 
 
CANTO in. OF ANJOU. 65 
 
 Now high uprais'd on gilded throne, 
 Now wandering, wretched and alone, 
 Stili Royal, while the soial defies 
 Misfortune's worst indignities 1 
 And, when the mighty spirit bends, 
 And, when at last the struggle ends, 
 When adverse stars can vex no more, 
 And Death proclaims the contest o'er, 
 When sorrow quits them in the grave, 
 We'll raise our loudest strain to save 
 All that their fate has left the memory of the 
 brave ! 
 
 III. 
 
 'Tis day! warm, ruddy, sparkling day ! 
 Lo ! night and drowsiness are fled, 
 The morn has cast her veil away, 
 And, smiling, doff'd her mantle grey 
 For robes of orient red ! 
 And now the goodman wields his flail, 
 And Maudlin seeks her cleanly pail, 
 Or scatters to the feather'd brood, 
 Which round her flock, their crumbled food : 
 Is there a living thing, whose eye 
 Beholds yon bright orb sullenly ? 
 Lo ! even the rude, unreasoning brute 
 Spontaneous pays his tribute mute ! 
 Man only, man's arerted eye 
 Dares view that bright orb sullenly ! 
 He scorns to share the general glee, 
 And spurns the present bliss, pondering on things 
 to be ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 With those whose slumbers earliest fled. 
 Queen Margaret started from the bed, 
 Where careful, restless, irksome dreams 
 
 G 
 
66 MARGARET CANTO in 
 
 Of deep resolves, and wond'rous schemes, 
 
 Had troubled sleep's oblivious calm, 
 
 And stolen half its blessed balm ; 
 
 With slight and unobservant eye 
 
 She pass'd in haste Dame Maudlin by. 
 
 Regardless of her courtesy, 
 
 But with relaxing brow she spied 
 
 Rudolph, her grim and fearful guide, 
 
 And with augmented speed she hastened to hU 
 side. 
 
 V. 
 
 The bloodhound darting on his prey 
 Checks when his master bids him stay, 
 Crouches and cow'rs at his command. 
 And licks with gory tongue his hand : 
 Rudolph, the forest's ruffian child, 
 As shaggy bloodhound fierce and wild, 
 Of lion heart and iron frame, 
 Beneath Queen Margaret's eye was tame, 
 And by mysterious impulse sway'd, 
 
 In unseen fetters held, he listen'd and obey'd ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Whilst he in mute observance stood, 
 The Queen her royal will reveal'd : 
 44 Cross thou, with speed, yon hallo w'd wood, 
 And hie to Hexham's bloody field, 
 And when thou stand'st amid my foes 
 Let not thine ear its office lose ! 
 Gain all thou may'st by craft or heed, 
 Then hither hie thee back with speed ; 
 Learn, if thou can'st, what friends are left, 
 
 That we may hope in them, and mourn for those 
 bereft. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Now mark me, Rudolph !" and her eye 
 Kindled with conscious majesty,* 
 
CANTO in. OF ANJOU. 67 
 
 " I fear thee not ! To thee I trust 
 Hope, empire, life, and dignity ! 
 Thy truth may save, thy perfidy 
 Will lay them in the dust ! 
 Save or betray the choice is thine ! 
 The ruin of a Royal Line 
 Is in thine hand ! A traitor's blow 
 Has often laid the mighty low, 
 And many a monarch has been sold 
 To quench a vassal's thirst for gold ! 
 Now, Rudolph, hasten 1 If thy breast 
 May wrestle with the potent test, 
 Then Heaven vouchsafe thee happy speed, 
 And may no adverse chance thy wish'd return 
 
 impede !" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Rudolph's bent brows and reddening eye, 
 And blanching cheek, at first reply, 
 Sterply he view'd the Queen awhile, 
 Then mutter'd deep, with mingled smile, 
 In moody accent low and hoarse, 
 " I hate the coward ways of guile ! 
 My weapon and my law is force ! 
 Lord of the desert, proud and free, 
 What need have I of treachery ? 
 Short space shall prove me false of true !*' 
 Then up the narrow path he flew ; 
 For howsoe'er his will was bent, 
 The deed swift follow'd the intent, 
 And, rapid as the sweeping wind, 
 Resolv'd, he never paus'd to breathe, or look be* 
 
 hind. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Methinks 'twere tedious to relate 
 What rustic cares the day divide, 
 
68 MARGARET CANTO in. 
 
 How, with a distaff at her side, 
 Watching- the Prince, Dame Maudlin sate, 
 Or how she bustled to prepare, 
 With much ado, her cottage fare ; 
 Oswald, with murmuring- discontent, 
 Off to his lonely laboors went, 
 For sleep had stol'n, in soft surprize, 
 On the brown sheep-hoy's heavy eyes. 
 
 X. 
 
 The youthfu? Prince, whose rouzing sense 
 Breaks thro' the vapour chill and dense 
 Which sorrow, wearriness, and pain 
 Have rais'd to cloud his dizzy brain, 
 Now feels the deep and inward smart 
 That rankled in his wounded heart 
 Relenting ; for the sunny gleams 
 Of smiling, healing Hope have visited his 
 dreams ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 And now he talk'd, in accents cheering, 
 Of rallying friends, and prospects clearing, 
 Of hosts who waited but to hear 
 Once more his trumpet's brazen sound, 
 To swarm with sword, and targe, and spear, 
 His banner-tree around ! 
 Of many a heart that panted yet 
 Toserve'the true PLmtagenet ! 
 
 XII 
 
 Now with a chieftain's pride he dwells, 
 While high his gallant bosom swells, 
 Upon the struggle brave and strong, 
 Tho' fruitless, of his loyal throng : 
 " Three times did v-iilmt John de Vere, 
 E'en mid the conllux of his foes, 
 Rest pantiug on his gory spear 
 
CANTO in. OF ANJOU. 69 
 
 And half unhelm his glowing brows, 
 
 Renewing then his bold career, 
 
 And plunging headlong mid the crowd, k 
 
 With thundering shout he cried aloud, 
 
 * For Oxford ! and for Lancaster 1 s 
 
 Yet much I fear that orb so bright 
 
 Shines not to gild a future fight I 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " The brave Lord Roos, I saw him ride 
 With gore from spur to baldric dyed, 
 And his own veins the stream supplied ; 
 When death was busy at his heart 
 And seem'd to warn him to give o'er, 
 Feebly he flung another dart 
 And rais'd his arm for one stroke more, 
 E'en then his foaming, smarting steed 
 Rush'd onward with ungovern'd speed, 
 By many a galling arrow stung, 
 And mid the battling hosts the lifeless warrior 
 flung ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Clifford ! but no, my feeble tongue 
 
 Would do that matchless soldier wrong I 
 Pride of our chivalry ! if e'er 
 Again this tarnish'd crest of mine, 
 If e'er this foil'd and blunted spear 
 Shall glitter mid the embattled line, 
 Then, from thy clouds look down, and see 
 If Edward's soul remembers thee i 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Twice sunder'd mid the mingling strife, 
 Borne back by the impetuous tide, 
 That guardian of his Prince's life 
 Was hurried struggling from my side ! 
 Thro* Hastings' iron lines we cleft, 
 & 2 
 
70 MARGARET CANTO m. 
 
 But soon again the column clos'cl, 
 
 And I amid the foe was left 
 
 Alone to hatred's storm expos'd, 
 
 And then it was, with iance in rest, 
 
 Like the rough cataract in its course, 
 
 Lord Hastings rush'd upon my breast 
 
 And dash'd me wounded from my horse ; 
 
 Trampled and stunn'd and bruis'd I lay, 
 
 And life seem'd ebbing fast away, 
 
 When Hastings from his courser sprung 
 
 And o'er his baffled victim hung, 
 
 And shew'd his glittering glaive, and cried 
 
 6 Now beg thy forfeit life, or this atones thy 
 pride !' 
 
 XVI. 
 
 u ' My life ! oh, never ! I was born 
 To hold dishonour'd life in scorn !' 
 I said, and swift the shining knife 
 Struck at the panting seat of life ! 
 Yet then, as if by scorpion stung, 
 Back from his prey the Baron sprung, 
 His helm was cleft, and from his brow 
 A purple stream began to flow ; 
 Staggering, dismay'd, he backward shrank 
 Or ere his thirsty weapon drank 
 The life-blood of his prostrate foe ! 
 As rapid as electric flame 
 
 Shot from a summer cloud th* unlook'd for res- 
 cue came ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Scarce knew I, for my dizzy brain 
 Rock'd like some steeple's restless vane, 
 If friend or foeman grasp'd me round 
 And snatch'd me from the gory ground, 
 When, looking up, a stranger Knight 
 
CANTO m. OFANJOU. 71 
 
 In sable harness met my sight ; 
 4 Rash Prince !' he cried, * one moment more, 
 And Lancaster's last hope was o'er. 
 And all our blood, and all our pain, 
 And all our struggles render'd vain ! 
 Think what a noble game we play, 
 Nor fling a nation's hopes away !' 
 Then lifting high his conquering arm, 
 Wild as the blast, he swept amid the rebel 
 swarm ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Yet oft, on that disastrous day, 
 I saw his black plume waving high, 
 Or thro' his visor met the ray 
 Which lightened from his eagle eye, 
 When friends and foes, a mingling host, 
 In horrid conflict, strove at last, 
 Or ere we felt that all was lost 
 And yielded to the whirling blast, 
 Wherever thickest beat the storm 
 I saw his tali majestic form, 
 And to the last I heard him cry 
 4 Plantagenet and Victory !' " 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Day wan'd ere Edward's tale was done, 
 Yet Margaret still was bent to hear, 
 She mark'd not the declining sun 
 While still with pleas'd and greedy ear 
 She hung upon his accents dear; 
 Again her eye with hope is bright, 
 " Why ! let the coward heart despair ! 
 Tho' baffled in th* unequal fight, 
 Sudden we'll rise with tenfold might 
 Again yon rebel chief to dare, 
 Yon gewgaw king, who, for an hour, 
 
72 MARGARET CANTO in. 
 
 May sport him with his borrow'd pow'r, 
 Till, headlong from his dizzy seat, 
 
 One sweeping blast shall lay the pageant at our 
 feet !" 
 
 XX. 
 
 Maudlin, in homely cares immers'd. 
 Now started, trembling and amaz'd, 
 And on the awful stranger gaz'd 
 As from her lip the menace burst, 
 Half-doubting lest its import dread 
 Might threat her unoffending head; 
 With faltering speech she had address'd> 
 And suppliant act, her stormy guest, 
 
 But Gerald to <his lip the warning linger press'd* 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The good old dame, tho' sore amaz'd, 
 In silence join'd her broken thread, 
 She deem'd her guest by sorrow craz'd, 
 And pity check'd the transient dread : 
 Twilight was falling, Maudlin's eye 
 Intently watch'd the cottage door, 
 For ever, as the night drew nigh, 
 .She look'd for Oswald from the moor: 
 The weary Prince, his story clone, 
 Now turns himself io mild repose, 
 The Queen bends musing o'er her son, 
 
 And o'er the silent group the evening shadows 
 .close. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 How still, how hush'd, how calm the seen e 
 <Close rapt in evening's dusky veil ! 
 And yet, I wot, that haunt serene, 
 "The cry of terror shall assail 
 lEre tthe moon rises on the dale ! 
 Cireatness is there ; where she abides. 
 
CANTO in. OF ANJOU. 73 
 
 There sudden danger lurking hides, 
 And rustic safety shuddering flies, 
 
 Scar'd by the meteor beams she scatters from 
 her eyes. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Thrice to the door the good old dame 
 With gentle pace on tiptoe crept, 
 (Mindful of those who mus'd or slept,) 
 To see if yet old Oswald came, 
 But all was still when on her ear 
 An unexpected sound was borne 
 Of clattering hoofs, which echoed near; 
 Now loud and hoarse a brazen horn 
 Fill'd all the vale ! In dread surprize 
 
 Breathless and wild, and pale, to warn her guesti 
 she hies ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 It needed not, that summons dread 
 Through Margaret's heart already thrill'd ; 
 A captive desperate and wild, 
 She saw the snares around her spread, 
 And heard the hunter's hated cry 
 Proclaim triumphant treachery ! 
 Inly she groan'd, " Betray'd ! betray'd 1" 
 Then springing on the Prince's spear, 
 (Beside his couch recumbent laid,) 
 Nought by the massive weight dismay'd, 
 Unaw'd, unchecked by woman's fear, 
 To meet the danger ere it came 
 
 Impetuous from the cot forth rush'd the Royal 
 Dame. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Sleep's heavy, dull, unbroken sway 
 Upon the Prince's eye-lids lay, 
 And Gerald, who, with trembling heart, 
 
<T4 MARGARET CANTO m. 
 
 Had seen the warlike Queen depart, 
 Now call'd on heaven for wit and power 
 To save from harm that faded flower, 
 That sweet, yet blighted rose, which lay 
 Helpless and prone in ruin's way ! 
 The hope, the generous hope to save, 
 Had made the timid stripling brave, 
 Nor pondering long in vain he sought 
 The helpful and redeeming thought, 
 Of Edward's face the ghastly hue, 
 Those slumbers, frozen, still, and deep, 
 All, all, a faithful picture drew 
 Of tranquil Death's un waking sleep! 
 And now, on Edward's humble bed 
 Was many a mourning symbol spread, 
 And flowers and herbs were scatter'd there 
 Like offerings on the village bier ; 
 School'd to assist the pious guile, 
 Dame Maudlin wept and wail'd the while, 
 And next, from Gerald's harp the sound, 
 Solemn and sad, of dirge profound, 
 
 Hymning the passing soul, was heard to float 
 around. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Gerald, with anxious, sickening heart, 
 Unequal pulse, and sudden start, 
 Now sends the mournful strain on high, 
 Now stops, and listens fearfully ! 
 Soon must the dread suspense be o'er ; 
 Advancing slow, the ponderous sound 
 Of armed footsteps smites the ground, 
 And now they pause beside the door ! 
 The latch uplifts, and lo! the Queen ! 
 For now the bright and silvery sheen 
 
 Of the late risen moon illumines all the scene. 
 
JANTO in. OF ANJOU. 75 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 With cautious step and backward glance, 
 Leaning on Edward's glittering lance. 
 Behold the Royal Dame advance ! 
 But not alone A stranger Knight 
 Press'd after ; on his lofty brows 
 The thick and sable plumage flows, 
 O'er his tall form the hue of night 
 Spreads darkness ; cognizance, nor crest. 
 Nor blazon bears he, but his breast 
 A raven scarf o'ershades, from brow to heel, 
 From spur to helm, the knight is clad in sable 
 steel 1 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 As Margaret view'd the altered scene, 
 And heard old Maudlin's funeral wail, 
 And Geralds's mourning harp, the Queen, 
 Struck to the heart, stood mute and pale ! 
 What might she think ? Had Death been there, 
 And all her fairest hopes destroy'd? 
 And had he left that casket bare, 
 PUmder'd, and treasureless, and void? 
 Silent the sable Knight survey'd 
 The couch where England's heir was laid, 
 Then starting from the gaze intent, 
 Beside the bed his knee he bent, 
 And gave the struggling sorrow vent : 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 u Oh, thou cold heap of human clay 1 
 Extinguish'd taper ! Thou being gone 
 'Tis time to fling the steel away ! 
 The work of blood is done ! 
 For thee, thou fragile, transient thing, 
 Thou silent, pale, and senseless corse, 
 For thee I bear of keen remorse 
 
76 MARGARET CAMTO in. 
 
 The never-dying sting ! 
 Was it for this a brother's blood 
 Pour'd at my feet the horrid flood 
 
 And all my guilty hand and shuddering soul im- 
 bued?" 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Poor Gerald on the Royal Dame 
 His anxious, timid glances cast, 
 All trembling, doubting, and aghast ; 
 Now fear'd he guile, now shrank from blame, 
 And sore repenting he beheld 
 What pangs the mother's bosom swell'd ; 
 But Maudlin could no more abide 
 That solemn scene of silent woe. 
 Her kindly tears began to flow, 
 And sobbing, to the Queen she cried, 
 " Oh, grieve not, Lady ! grieve not so ! 
 'Twas but a feint to shun the danger 
 We fear'd from yonder dismal stranger ! 
 Oh, look upon thy slumbering son ! 
 
 Hark ! thou may'st hear him breathe ! Lady, 
 he'll wake anon !" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With dreary* vague, unconscious stare 
 The Queen behold the weeping crone, 
 Her eager words were spent in air, 
 She pleaded to the senseless stone ; 
 Nor stirr'd, nor spake the Queen, each thought 
 Seem'd bound some horrid spell beneath, 
 And to her ear each sound came fraught 
 With that ill-omen'd hymn of death ! 
 No sight saw she but shrouded dust, 
 
 The wreck of Hope and Pride, Ambition's broken 
 trust ! 
 
CANTO in. OF ANJOU. 77 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Starting, as wak'd from hideous dream, 
 Forward she sprang with thrilling scream, 
 And, with impetuous effort, leapt 
 On the low couch where Edward slept ! 
 Edward awoke, for death alone 
 Against that shriek the ear might closej 
 Its piercing, harrowing, maniac tone 
 Now rouz'd him from his deep repose : 
 When, mingling pleasure, doubt, and awe. 
 The vision of his sleep he saw, 
 He rubb'd his misty eyes, afraid 
 Fancy had sent some cozening shade ; 
 'Twas him, indeed ! the bold, the brave, 
 Firm to support and strong to save 
 Who rais'd him as he lay beneath the uplifted 
 glaive ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Ye, who have sped with us along 
 Listening with willing ear the song ; 
 Ye kind and noble souls, who dare 
 The minstrel's holy trance to share ; 
 Ye genuine followers of the Muse, 
 Who watch to foster not accuse, 
 Pausing, she lifts her eyes to you, 
 To you she makes her mute appeal, 
 In you she hopes ! Ye are but few, 
 For who shall judge that cannot feel ! 
 Oh ! pardon if her faltering hand 
 Rest on the lyre unnerv'd and faint, 
 For scenes there are which were prophan'd 
 Should tongue or pen presume to paint i 
 Thus fares it now each to your breast ! 
 There, Sympathy shall tell the rest ! 
 H 
 
78 MARGARET CANTO in. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 For, oh ! when we approach the part 
 Where Nature is too strong 1 for Art, 
 Silence is skill ! There is a sorrow 
 Whose deep despair no art may borrow ; 
 There is a joy which never speech, 
 Nor Muse, nor tranced bard might reach, 
 It swells the breast, it lights the eye, 
 It comes from heaven ! 'tis extasy ! 
 Guess'd it may be by mortal mind, 
 But, (subtle as the fleeting wind,) 
 Angel or madman must he be 
 Who dare arrest its course and fix it ere he flee ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Now all was bliss ! When Edward spoke 
 Glad wonder hail'd each feeble word, 
 As if from death's cold prison broke 
 He sprang indeed to life restor'd ! 
 Snatching her darling from the grave, 
 The Queen the reins to transport gave. 
 Yet still between each fond caress 
 She mock'd at nature's .feebleness, 
 As with indignant shame she felt 
 Her heart within her bosom melt ! 
 With mute and melancholy joy 
 The Knight beheld the waking boy ; 
 He might not smile, stern, silent, sad, 
 In him 'twere impious to be glad ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The princely youth, with earnest speech, 
 (Affection's genuine courtesy,) 
 His brave deliverer did beseech 
 To lay his cumbrous harness by : 
 " Unhelm, Sir Knight ! that iron case, 
 Envious, conceals a noble face, 
 
GANTO III. OF ANJOU. 79 
 
 A face, where courage, honour, zeal, 
 And worth unmatch'd, have set their seal ! 
 Unhelm thy brows ! 'tis good to trace 
 
 The great and gallant soul stamp'd on a manly 
 face 1" 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " My Prince ! this crestless helmet hides 
 The abstract of a ruin'd mind ! 
 There Cain's polluting blot abides 
 And marks me out from human kind ! 
 Alas ! my life is in its morn ! 
 My cheek, scarce boasting manhood's down, 
 By Sorrow's scalding course is worn, 
 And wither'd by Remorse's frown 1 
 Ambition, Hope, and youthful Pride, 
 Crush'd by one blow, together died, 
 And left this breast, their native home, 
 A dark and melancholy tomb !" 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The Queen, unus'd to vain command, 
 Now wav'd with despot air her hand. 
 With tone that might not be denied 
 Of mingled courtesy and pride, 
 She bade him throw his casque aside. 
 The obedient Knight, with yielding grace, 
 Slowly remov'd the iron case 
 And gave to view his manly face ; 
 Nor did its lineaments belie 
 His form's sublime and martial mould, 
 For on his brow, erect and bold, 
 Full nobly trac'd you might behold 
 How Sorrow strove with Dignity ! 
 'Twas sad to look on thing so blooming 
 
 And think its goodly frame Grief's canker was 
 consuming ! 
 
80 MARGARET CANTO HI. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 With gracious look the admiring Queen 
 Surveyed the warlike stranger's mien, 
 And bade him to his Prince declare 
 What chance auspicious led his feet 
 To that remote, obscure retreat, 
 The changes of their state to share ; 
 Meanwhile, Dame Maudlin, who began 
 To think upon her own good-man, 
 Beheld the hour-glass with dismay 
 And marvell'd at his long delay ; 
 Gerald, to sooth the anxious crone, 
 To seek the tardy carl had flown, 
 When, by the dim and winking light 
 
 By rushen taper lent, began the stranger Knight. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " When panic rout, and trembling flight, 
 And carnage dire, clos'd Hexham's fight, 
 I turn'd, tho' late, my courser's head, 
 And from the dismal field I sped ; 
 By crowds pursued, like winged blast, 
 Thro' Dowill's narrow stream I pass'd; 
 Scarce had I dash'd the waters o'er, 
 And scarce achiev'd the friendly shore, 
 When, plunging after, I descried, 
 Foaming and hot in victory's pride, 
 A crested warrior; on mine ear 
 Came words no man ungall'd might hear, 
 4 Oh, spare thy spur, thou craven Knight I 
 Turn thee, and slack thy coward flight ! 
 Turn thee and yield, ere whelming blow 
 
 E'en at my courser's foot shall lay thatcrestless 
 brow !' 
 
 XLI. 
 " Silent I heard, for ill the tongue 
 
ANTO III. 
 
 OFANJOU. 81 
 
 May answer scorn, rebuke, and wrong ! 
 
 Silent I heard, but turn'd my steed 
 
 And answer made with rapid deed ; 
 
 With unpremeditated blow 
 
 I rush'd on the insulting foe, 
 
 The stroke was death my vengeful lance, 
 
 Tho' couch M in haste, and aim'd by chance, 
 
 Enter'd the narrow gates of light 
 
 And clos'd them in the shades of night ! 
 
 I pierc'd his eye-ball, and he fell 
 
 With agony's expiring yell ! 
 
 Now lies he st.retch'd 'mong Dowill's reeds, 
 
 A ghastly proof how boasting speeds! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " The moon now smil'd upon my flight 
 And o'er my pathway flung her light, 
 Yet still, how swift soe'er my course, 
 Still nearer press'd my eager foes, 
 Till spent at length, my panting horse 
 Fell staggering and no more he rose ! 
 Pondering I stood, to helpful thought 
 A moment given, my track I left, 
 And Dowill's stream returning sought. 
 And once again its waters cicft, 
 And having stemm'd the rapid flood, 
 Phmg'cl mid the shades of Walden's wood ; 
 Here nature fainted, o'er mine eyes 
 A mild, encroaching stupor crept, 
 I yielded, reckless of surprize, 
 And, curtain'd by the foliage, slept, 
 And heaven's choristers had long 
 Awak'd the day with matin song 
 Ere my restoring slumbers fled. 
 And springing from my grassy bed> 
 Mine orisons were sent on high 
 H 2 
 
82 MARGARET CANTO in. 
 
 To Him, whose omnipresent eye 
 
 My helpless slumbers watch'd e'en from His dis- 
 tant sky ! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Reckless, unweeting where I went, 
 Hopeless and fearless hied I on, 
 Close o'er my head the branches bent 
 And screen'd me from the noontide sun ; 
 Nor far I wander'd ere I spied 
 Some fallen chief's abandon'd pride ; 
 Here lay the gilded helm, and there, 
 Close by its side, the ponderous spear ; 
 Here glanc'd the gorget, and the shield 
 Display'd its richly chequer'd field I 
 Tho' one foul stain of human gore 
 Had splash'd the burnish'd harness o'er, 
 I knew and clropt a soldier's tear 
 That Clifford's spoils were scatter'd there I 
 The gallant beast, who yesterday 
 Had borne his master to the fray, 
 Dress'd for the battle, stiffening lay ! 
 'Twas but a little while since life, 
 
 Revenge, and pride- and strength, had prick'd 
 him to the strife. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Absorbed in mournful thought, mine eye 
 Survey 'd the empty blazonry, 
 Then wander'd where a little mound 
 Of withering branches strew'd the ground ; 
 I gaz'd, an i started, for I guess'd 
 Those boughs o'erspread a hero's breast ! 
 'Twas Clifford's tomb 1 the keen, the brave 
 Beneath those simple strewments slept. 
 And, fearless, o'er the recent grave 
 The lizard crawi'd, the squirrel leapt ! 
 I felt that not in vain I stood 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 OF ANJOU. 83 
 
 Alone mid Walden's silent wood ! 
 Why fate had led me there I knew ! 
 I hail'd my task, I linger'd not, 
 And, bending o'er the hallow'd spot, 
 Aside the fragile covering threw, 
 Small toil it was, the strong, the bold 
 Soon lay beneath my gaze, mute, motionless, and 
 cold! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " I laid him where the branches wove 
 With pleached arms a dark alcove, 
 Then turn'd me to my willing toil ; 
 Nor pick-axe needed I nor spade, 
 My trusty falchion lent its aid, 
 My helmet scoop'd the loosening soil ; 
 Nor breath'd I till in earth's cold breast 
 I carv'd the warrior's narrow bed 
 So deep, that never stranger's tread 
 His silent relics may molest ; 
 Then, bidding him farewell, the soil 
 Upon his frowning face I threw, 
 Nor paus'd nor slack'd the mournful toil 
 Till all the chasm clos'd and hid him from my 
 view. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " Nor done my task: an aged elm 
 Stretch J d o'er the grave a guardian shade, 
 And there of Clifford's shield and helm, 
 His buckler bright, and well worn blade, 
 (All bruis'd with hacks, with blood defil'd,) 
 My hands the martial trophy pil'd : 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " My rude, unnurtur'd soldier's tongue 
 In holy chant is little skill'd, 
 Yet I bethought rne of a song. 
 
84 MARGARET CANTO in. 
 
 Meet for the dead, solemn and wild, 
 Which, from among the faded heap 
 Of early things forgotten long, 
 Mem'ry amid her stores did keep- 
 It was my mother's widow-song ! 
 A song of sorrow for the brave, 
 Meet to be sung o'er Clifford's grave ! 
 And all night long, with measur'd pace, 
 My solemn lonely watch I kept, 
 And, as I pass'd the burial-place, 
 That dirge I sang, and singing wept ! 
 But not aione to Clifford's shade 
 Were those weak drops of sorrow paid, 
 That ancient chant, to childhood dear, 
 
 The secret spring had touch'd whence, gushes 
 Memory's tear. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Upon my watch the grey morn stole, 
 And all a soldier might was done, 
 I pray'd for peace to Clifford's soul 
 And clos'd each pious orison : 
 As if that peace, invok'd for him, 
 Lent half its balmy dews to me, 
 Sleep soon relax'd each weary limb, 
 And, stretch'd beneath a birchen tree, 
 I turn'd from day-light and its woes, 
 
 Existence and its cares, and yielded to repose. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " As half-unarm'd and prone I lay, 
 The day tow'rds fervid noon advanced, 
 And now a bright and dazzling ray 
 On my unshelter'd eye-lids glanced, 
 And, starting, T awoke when, lo ! 
 Before me stood a form so grim, 
 Shuddering, methought I look'd on him. 
 
CANTO in. OF ANJOU. 85 
 
 Man's everlasting foe ! 
 
 He had stolen on slumber's helpless hour 
 
 And watch'd me with malignant low'r ! 
 
 With struggle vain to rise I tried, 
 
 I lay beneath the ruffian's stride, 
 
 He held me in his pow'r ! 
 
 L. 
 
 " I gnash'd my teeth, I sought to clasp 
 Those giant limbs with sudden grasp 
 No ! moveless as the granite rock, 
 He stood my fury's baffled shock, 
 And laughing loud, in taunting phrase, 
 Goaded my breast with mock'ry's praise I 
 Rage, shame, and hatred banish'd fear, 
 I trembled, but 'twas phrenzy shook, 
 Reason my tortur'd mind forsook, 
 And passion's whirlwind triumph'd there ! 
 Stung to the inmost soul, at length 
 I yielded, for my treacherous strength 
 No more the struggle would maintain, 
 Low as the miscreant's foot, this brow was hurl'd 
 again ! 
 
 LI. 
 
 " My grim antagonist beheld 
 His victim baffled, spent, and quell'd ! 
 4 What ! do I trample on thy pride ! 
 And art thou pacified ?' he cried : 
 * Now, champion, listen to my word, 
 A single breath decides thy lot, 
 Uplifts thee, free, to life restor'd, 
 Or pins thee, writhing, to the spot ! 
 Rais'd thou that doughty arm of thine 
 For Lancaster's disputed line, 
 Or, did York's prosp'rous quarrel boast 
 Its matchless aid, itself an host ?' 
 Sullen I answer'd, ' He, who now 
 
86 MARGARET CANTO in. 
 
 By fraud lies vanqui$ji'd, not by might, 
 Has shrouded many a Yorkist's brow, 
 As grim as thine, in endless night ! 
 While life remains, my loyal spear 
 Shines by the side of Lancaster, 
 And when I fall, the prize of death, 
 
 In vows that he may speed shall waste my latest 
 breath !' 
 
 LIT. 
 
 " The brute releas'd me, and his hand 
 Uprais'd me from the posture vile, 
 While each hard feature did expand 
 To something like a human smile ; 
 " Then thou may'st live ! Nay fret not thou 
 Because I laid thy forehead low, 
 My arm is iron, and its blow 
 Might crush a thousand such as thee, 
 Albeit,* stripling as thou art, 
 Thine is a high and gallant heart, 
 And thou hast struggled manfully ! 
 So take thy life, nor need'st thou scorn, 
 With brow averse, the boon I give, 
 Whoe'er thou art, thy betters born 
 Smil'd as I bade them rise and live ! 
 'Twas England's Queen and England's heir 
 First taught this ruthless arm to spare ! 
 I sav'd them ! and shalt thou regret 
 
 Thy safety from the arm that sav'd Plantagenet ?* 
 
 L1II. 
 
 Sullen and motionless I stood 
 Choaking with rage, and mute from shame, 
 While thro' my veins the indignant blood 
 Fretted and boil'd like liquid flame ; 
 But now I started, for his word 
 Had stricken at length the answ'ring chord, 
 
CANTO in. OP ANJOU. 87 
 
 And didst thou save them ? Are they free ? 
 
 Then all thy insults I forgive, 
 
 And I will take my life of thee, 
 
 And thank thee that thou bidst me live ! 
 
 For yet methinks I would not die, 
 
 Till I shall see yon Red Rose thrive, 
 
 And downward strike its root, and bear its head 
 on high!' 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " Small parley follow'd, for my soul 
 But ill his ruffian pride might brook, 
 The misplaced language of controul, 
 The insolent and victor look; 
 And time it is the tale were told, 
 For what remains may well be guess'd, 
 Save, that or ere I cross'd the wold 
 A gallant courser's sides I press'd, 
 A steed, well used to bear the weight, 
 The ponderous charge of England's fate ! 
 It is Zerbino, the brave beast 
 Refresh'd by liberty and rest, 
 Mine eyes with eager joy espied 
 Ranging along the forest side; 
 I wound my horn, with sudden bound 
 He started at the warlike sound ; 
 Again I blew, with eyes of flame 
 Forward as to the charge he came ! 
 Familiar speech and kind caress 
 Soon soothed him into gentleness, 
 With hand outstretched, and plausive word 
 His near approach I did invite, 
 Till won at length he yielded quite, 
 
 And now beside the gate he greets his Royal 
 lord!" 
 
88 MARGARET GANTO in. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Tho' all unbroken we have brought 
 The stranger's story to its close. 
 With question keen and sudden thought 
 The Queen did often interpose ; 
 When the black warrior's vengeful hand 
 Had stretch'd his foe on Dowill's strand, 
 Her voice in ruthless triumph scream'd, 
 With ghastly joy her features gleam'd ; 
 But when, in mournful phrase, he said 
 How he poor Clifford's grave had made, 
 The languid Edward rais'd his head, 
 And, bending from his lowly bed, 
 Hid in the warrior's kind embrace 
 The tears that glisten'd on his face : 
 Nor did the Queen disdain a smile, 
 When his indignant tongue confest 
 The angry throbbings of his breast, 
 While prone, outstretched in durance vile, 
 He lay a baffled wight, by Rudolph's force op- 
 press'd! 
 
 Lvr. 
 
 Now slowly opes the cottage door ! 
 *Tis the old shepherd from the moor, 
 And Gerald, who not sent in vain, 
 Has led the lingerer home again : 
 Old Oswald now began to tell 
 The various troubles of the day, 
 How mid the flock some feeble fell, 
 While others stray'd so far away 
 That but the moon did lend her light, 
 Or he surprized had been by night. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The shepherd-boy, who not till now 
 Beheld unhelm'd the stranger's brow, 
 
CANTO HI. OF ANJOU. 89 
 
 Now met his eye, in wild amaze, 
 With rolling orbs, awhile they gaze, 
 They stand, to speech and motion loth, 
 As if some spell enchain'd them both, 
 Nay, you might think, such pale surprize 
 Glar'd from their wild and glassy eyes, 
 That, risen from the shades of night, 
 Some beckoning spectre met their sight ! 
 Now Gerald's knees together smote, 
 Thick mists around his senses float, 
 Fainting he falls ! his form supine 
 The stranger's iron arms entwine, 
 While sobbing loud he cries, " Revive, my Ger- 
 aldine I' 5 
 
 END OP CANTO THE TfilRD. 
 
NOTE TO CANTO THE THIftD. 
 
 Three times did valiant John de Fere. Stanza XII. 1. 5. 
 
 THE old Earl of Oxford the father, and Lord Au- 
 brey Vere, the elder brother of this John Earl of Oxford, 
 were attainted of high treason against the House of 
 York, and beheaded on the same scaffold, Ann. Dom. 
 1441. Tiiis John de Vere was a long and faithful suf- 
 ferer in the Lancastrian cause, and lived to be instru- 
 mental to the final subversion of the rival interest in the 
 battle of Bosworth Field. His crest was a Star sur- 
 rounded by rays. For information respecting this va- 
 liant and loyal nobleman, vide Fenn's Letters. 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOU. 
 
 CANTO THE FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHY, what a coil we mortals make 
 For wealth, and pow'r, and honour's sake, 
 And, how we run our rapid years 
 Through joys and sorrows, hopes and fears ! 
 With beating pulse, and eager eye, 
 And throbbing bosom, on we fly 
 Along'the pathway swept before 
 By crowds whose headlong course is o'er ! 
 Alas ! why need we run so fast ? 
 Why need we pant and tremble so? 
 Alike, the nimble and the slow, 
 All reach the goal at last ! 
 Of ail the millions who have run 
 Life's rapid race beneath the sun, 
 None miss'd the goal an equal meed 
 Or first, or last, rewards their speed 
 In silence each receives his lot, 
 His heap of crumbling mould, and rests, and is 
 forgot ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Who can resolve, a stander-by, 
 To look upon the giddy chace, 
 And mark with uudeluded eye 
 The humours of the race, 
 And wait till punctual time shall come 
 To take the calm spectator home ? 
 
92 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 None ! The philosopher, who knows 
 Where soon the thriftless speed must close, 
 Marvels how others persevere, 
 Yet joins himself the swift career, 
 On with the whirling crowd he hies, 
 And, as he moralizes, flies. 
 Stay, restless heart! stay, toiling brain ! 
 The prize for which ye run behold ! 
 A little mound of crumbling mould, 
 This is the earthly racer's gain ! 
 At least, look upward as ye fly 
 And snatch a promise from the sky 1 
 
 III. 
 
 The stranger to his iron breast 
 Tenacious strain'd the lifeless boy, 
 While all his varying face contest 
 A warfare strange of doubt and joy ; 
 Now he the raven hair divides, 
 Whose thick and clustering curtain hides 
 The sheep-boy's russet brows, 
 And kiss'd the cold, unconscious face, 
 While down his manly cheek apace 
 The rapid rain- drop flows ; 
 Nor shame, nor apathy, nor pride 
 Might then forbid the briny tide, 
 Uncheck'd it trickles down his cheeks; 
 3 Tis still in tears that transport speaks I 
 With soothing, pleading voice he cries, 
 Tho' smother'd half with stifling sighs, 
 u My Geraldine, revive ! Sweet sister, ope thine 
 eyes !" 
 
 IV. 
 
 But no ! so still and cold she lay, 
 It seem'd as tho' she breath'd no more, 
 And, fill'd with terror and dismay, 
 
ANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 93 
 
 The stranger snatch'd her from the floor, 
 And flinging wide the cottage door 
 Call'd the fresh night-breeze to his aid, 
 And bade it fan the lifeless maid ; 
 And now the death-like slumbers fled, 
 And now she lifts her languid head, 
 A furtive glance of pale affright 
 Upon the sable Knight she threw, 
 Then shrinking, shuddering at his sight, 
 Her timid eyes withdrew. 
 
 V. 
 
 <c Why dost thou take the precious form 
 Of him who perish'd in the storm ? 
 Why dost thou come ? the gulph profound 
 Roli'd all its waves that form around ! 
 I saw them roll ! I heard them roar; 
 I caught, amid the tempest's swell, 
 My brother's long and last farewel ! 
 
 The surge clos'd o'er his head ! Oh God ! it op'd 
 no more." 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Nay, Geraldine ! And if indeed / 
 
 Thy brother slept beneath the wave, 
 Methinks thy danger, or thy need, 
 Would call him even from the grave ! 
 And couldst thou view that sprite with loathing 
 Which e^ver in its mortal cloathing 
 Clung round its sister and its friend, 
 Still bent to cherish and defend ? 
 Alas 1 methought that helpless head 
 Had clone with man's defence for aye, 
 And, rock'd by murm'ring billows, lay 
 
 Full many a fathom deep in ocean's oozy bed 1" 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Yes ! thou art Gerald ! now I know 
 12 
 
94 MARGARET CANTO iv, 
 
 That mild fraternal voice again, 
 But silent, solitary woe 
 Had craz'd my feeble brain ! 
 Alas ! my brother 1 it was hard 
 To bear the grief no mortal shar'd, 
 And many an hour, since thou wert gone, 
 Poor Geraldine has wept alone I 
 Sure thou art alter'd ! and thy front 
 More grim and stern than it was wont ! 
 Hollow and dark, those eyes of thine, 
 So wont with youthful hope to shine, 
 Gaze sadly on thy Geraldine ! 
 How art thou thriven in size and might! 
 Thy form has towr'd to manhood's height I 
 Oh Gerald ! What a smile is there ! 
 That smile tells not of joy 1 its language is de- 
 spair !" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Hush, Geraldine ! Whatever change 
 Affection's vigilance may trace, 
 Whatever of transformation strange 
 Has mark'd my form and face, 
 Alas ! but feebly they impart 
 The changes in my alter'd heart ! 
 But smile, my sister ! Ill it were 
 In blistering tears this hour to steep ! 
 Smile, Geraldine I we need not fear, 
 We shall have time to weep !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 The lady now with timid eyes 
 Surveys abash'd her rude disguise, 
 Falters and shrinks and hangs her head, 
 Aw'd by the Queen's imperious look, 
 Her trembling hand as Gerald took, 
 And towards his Royal Mistress led ; 
 
CANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 95 
 
 They knelt ; the Knight's revolting soul 
 The humble homage half-denied ; 
 Well had he mark'd the haughty scowl 
 And with quick flash of jealous pride 
 His dark reproving eye replied, 
 The pulse so long by grief subdued 
 Now throbb'd, awaken'd and renew'd, 
 And not in vain his bosom swell'd ; 
 Pride shrinks by answering pride repell'd. 
 With biight'ning brow the Queen inclined 
 Her lofty suppliant's pray'r to heed, 
 The smile, compliant, gracious, kind 
 Already speaks the soften'd mind, 
 For he who dares, shall always speed. 
 
 Jv* 
 
 " If in thy quarrel I have bled, 
 If on its dismal altar-stone 
 This rash and impious hand has shed 
 A life-drop dearer than its own ! 
 By all I've lavish'd on thy part, 
 My blighted hopes, my broken heart, 
 Oh Lady ! let thy royal bosom 
 Protect and shield this fragile blossom ! 
 Foster'd by thy benignant hand 
 Its pale corolla shall expand, 
 E'en when, by life's rude tempest laid, 
 The kindred plant must cease to shelter and to 
 shade 1 
 
 XL 
 
 " Yet hear me Lady !" and the glow 
 Of mounting blood suffus'd his brow, 
 " Of Erin's noblest, proudest race 
 Our father stood amongst the best ; 
 And the red stream that warm'cl his breast 
 Thro* many an age he lov'd to trace, 
 
96 MARGARET CANTO iv 
 
 Nor paus'd he, as he track'd its course, 
 Till he had found a royal source. 
 This maid is noble ! Nay, her dress, 
 Unseemly, rude, of rustic kind, 
 111 hides the native nobleness 
 Within her soul enshrin'd ! 
 The clear, bright spirit sparkles through 
 That dusky, dim, eclipsing hue : 
 Methinks that no disguise may shade 
 The grace, sublime yet mild, that decks the high- 
 born maid !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 Margaret's mute answer well replied, 
 It sooth'd his heart, and calm'd his pride, 
 For, rising, her majestic face 
 Bright with consoling smiles, the Queen, 
 As with a mother's kind embrace, 
 Greeted the gentle Geraldine ; 
 And haply, was about to pour 
 Of promises a gracious store ; 
 But Edward, in impetuous tone. 
 And hurried voice, the parley claim'd 
 " When in the battle overthrown 
 And life and hope were almost gone, 
 Thy falchion to my rescue flam'cl ! 
 Mark well the vow, compos'd of breath 
 Thy gallant arm redeem'd from death ! 
 By all the host of heaven I swear 
 With thee a brother's task to share ! 
 
 XHI. 
 
 Sweet maid ! no rival sister's frown 
 Thy soft acceptance shall upbraid ; 
 The love I offer is mine own, 
 Wilt thou reject it, noble maid ? 
 Ours, lady, is a dangerous trade 
 
CANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 97 
 
 How oft must timid beauty see 
 The warlike, bold, and boastful trust 
 On which she leans, crush'd in the dust, 
 Struck down by ruthless destiny ! 
 One brother ! 'Tis a feeble stay 
 In battle's fierce, tumultuous day ! 
 Nay, lady, answer not with tears ; 
 Weep not, I would but bribe thy fears I" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Who might deny when Edward sued ? 
 His voice such mellow music own'd. 
 With forceful magic so endued, 
 Each heart, in pleas'd subjection bound, 
 Still waited fondly on the sound ; 
 And if the Lady Geraldine 
 In silence, and in tears replied ; 
 Whatever cause we may assign, 
 It was not scorn, it was not pride, 
 For Edward heard a grateful sigh 
 Low answering to his courtesy. 
 Why should we give the sophist praise 
 Who moulds and turns the subtle phrase, 
 Since ne'er his labour'd eloquence 
 Flowed half so sweetly o'er the sense, 
 As that low tremulous sigh of virgin inno- 
 cence I 
 
 XV. 
 
 But Margaret's darkening brow behold 1 
 One glance may well suffice to tell 
 Within her bosom's troubled hold, 
 What rankling, restless passions dwell. 
 A smile, a ghastly, withering smile 
 Convulsive o'er her features play'd, 
 And her disdainful eye the while 
 With menace smote the noble maid; 
 
98 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 Nor needed language to convey 
 What that dark, deadly look would say ; 
 It spoke mistrust, and scorn, and hate, 
 And this, methinks, its import dread, 
 " Oh ! were I wing'd with sudden fate, 
 Swift should my lightning-bolt be sped, 
 Audacious stranger, on thine head ; 
 For, meek and gentle as thou art, 
 
 Thy glance has fill d with doubt a royal mother's 
 heart 1" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 She waited, for they are but fools 
 Who break the pause till passion cools ; 
 Then, in a pois'd and studied tone 
 Where pity and surprise contended, 
 And chidings mild, with soothings blended, 
 Bespake she her offending son : 
 " Oh Prince ! that wasting wound has gpent 
 Such torrents of thy generous blood, 
 Methinks that in the ebbing flood 
 Some portion of thy soul had vent, 
 For thy high mind and manly sense 
 Seem dwindling into impotence ! 
 Has pain so queil'd thy royal heart 
 That thou forgett'st what man thou art ? 
 Or dost thou prize a lady's glove 
 An empire and a crown above ? 
 Sickens thy spirit with thy frame ? 
 Would thou wert of thy mother's mood ! 
 Storm after storm my soul has stood, 
 
 Yet still amid the blast bright glows ambition's 
 flame 1" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 She paus'cL for like a pointed lance 
 She felt Sir Gerald's answering glance ; 
 
GANTO IV. OF ANJOU. 99 
 
 " Pardon, dread Lady ! 'Tis man's pride, 
 His highest, worthiest, noblest boast, 
 The privilege he prizes most, 
 To stand by helpless woman's side ; 
 Nor is he worthy of a crown 
 That privilege who would disown ! 
 Nay, frown not, Lady ! This poor maid 
 May found in blood a dreadful claim 
 E'en in a Ynurder'd brother's name 
 Upon thy Royal house's aid ! 
 Yea ! writ in blood by this rash hand, 
 Her bond against thy soul shall stand, 
 If thou with hard neglect forget 
 My sister's heavy claim, her deeply-written debt !' !> 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A light was in Sir Gerald's eye 
 Which reason own'd not, 'twas the glare, 
 Wavering, yet bright, of lunacy, 
 The rapid meteor of despair ! 
 Now all was silent Geraldine 
 In speechless horror trembling stood ; 
 Her brother's stern, unwonted mien, 
 His dark and dismal speech I ween 
 Ran chilly thro' her blood ! 
 Save him, on earth, no living thing 
 Had Geraldine whereon to cling, 
 None else to love and trust, yet now, 
 From the grim terrors of his brow 
 She shrank appalTd, for, of his eye 
 The unsocial language, did defy 
 E'en the meek cherub Sympathy ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " What 1 dost thou tremble, Geraldine ! 
 Oh ! what a ruthless lot is mine ! 
 One helpless, fragile thing to me 
 
loo MARGARET 
 
 CA% T TO IV. 
 
 To shield and cherish fate has given ? 
 No other refuge can she see 
 Beneath the wide expanse of heaven. 
 And I am mad ! Oh that the, wave 
 Roll'd o'er us both, that fast asleep, 
 Rock'd by the cold and billowy deep, 
 
 All still and calm we lay in ocean's secret cave i 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Oh ! when the demon and his train 
 Usurp it o'er my heart and brain, 
 All goes to wreck ! The ruthless fiend 
 Scatters each record to the wind 1 
 Nor duty, then, nor love I know, 
 Sway'd by the wild blasts as they blow ! 
 Then all is chaos, all a blot, 
 All that has been, or is, forgot, 
 
 All save that gory stain, that red and btaodr 
 spot ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Look on this hand nay, look again ! 
 Can ye no stain of blood perceive ? 
 Nay, then the fiends are in my brain, 
 And still my wandering sense deceive 1 
 Methinks, yet 'tis not so* for ye 
 Have senses uncontrolled and free, 
 Methinks mine eyes can trace the stain 
 My brother's gushing life-stream left, 
 When, by this hand accursed cleft, 
 
 He fell, to rise no more, upon the crimson plain * 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The queen now urg'd him to disclose 
 The dreadful secret of his woes, 
 " Perchance," she cried, "the grief suppres: 
 Lies all too heavy on thy breast ; 
 Within the dungeon's imsunn'd cell. 
 
CANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 101 
 
 Thick, noisome damps in darkness dwell, 
 But draw the bolts, let air and light 
 The dungeon's darksome depths explore, 
 The fetid vapour wings its flight, 
 Disperses, and is felt no more ! 
 Be not a niggard of thy care, 
 Open thy dreary heart and give thy sorrows air!" 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Alas, the tale I shall unfold 
 Will taint the genial breath of May, 
 Turn the kind hour of noontide cold, 
 And dim the bright and smiling day !" 
 Then, turning from the trembling maid, 
 As if to trust his strength, afraid, 
 With steadied voice, and firmer mien, 
 Bespake he thus the listening Queen : 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " We are of Erin ! of a sire 
 Belov'd in hall, and fear'd in field, 
 Dreadful the menace of his ire, 
 And wide the shelter of his shield ! 
 Such was our father ! envious fate 
 Abridged too soon his glory's date, 
 And when for him the death bell rung, 
 And when for him the mass was sung, 
 A widow'd wife's heaven-piercing cries 
 Mix'd with Lord Edrick's obsequies I 
 
 XXV. 
 
 u Then were we three, a bright-hair'd child 
 Methinks my sister yet I see, 
 As with a cherub lip she smil'd 
 A fondling on my mother's knee ! 
 My mother's eye so sad, yet kind, 
 Beams even yet upon my mind ; 
 Her voice, like music's melting fall, 
 K 
 
102 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 Memory methinks may yet recall, 
 When, blending censure and caress, 
 She check'd my boyhood's forwardness, 
 While I, well skill'd in urchin wile 
 Her meek displeasure to beguile, 
 My curly brow e'en while she chid 
 Within her gentle bosom hid, 
 Or slyly stole a glance to spy 
 If real anger fill'd her eye : 
 Pardon, dread Lady ! memory fain 
 Would linger with the shadowy train, 
 Fair forms of innocence and bliss 
 
 Long, long ago engulph'd in time's profound 
 abyss ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " My mother died and years are fled 
 Since low in earth they laid her head, 
 And yet" he paus'd, for passion's tide 
 His speech the wonted course denied, 
 He paus'd one moment, and no more, 
 A silent struggle quickly o'er ! 
 " Of Edric's love the elder born 
 Had now full sixteen summers seen, 
 Bright was he as the blush of morn, 
 And pleasant, as the breath of e'en : 
 How oft in Edwin's form and face 
 Would our young hopes delight to trace 
 
 Our father's manly might, our mothers yielding 
 grace ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " While Edwin sorrowing hung his head 
 Beside his mother's dying bed, 
 Bending on him her latest look 
 A relique from her breast she took, 
 And thus she said, u Ere o'er my grave 
 
CANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 103 
 
 Five winters' rushing storms shall rave, 
 Hie thou across the billowy brine 
 And seek Saint Jago's holy shrine, 
 And, as thou hold'st thy mother dear, 
 This sacred relique offer there, 
 So shall my soul in peace arise 
 And bless thee from the distant skies ! 
 But go not yet, thy pious care, 
 Alas ! those orphan babes require, 
 And rather mid the purging fire 
 
 My soul would wait for thee than they should 
 rudely fare !' 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " When o'er the lady Eva's tomb 
 Four winters' skies had shed their gloom, 
 And new-born birds on vernal spray 
 Uail'd the fifth bright and blooming May, 
 Fair breath'd the winds, the sky was blue, 
 The halcyon hover'd o'er the main, 
 Our brother wav'd a mute adieu 
 And steer'd away for distant Spain : 
 Then, Geraldine, did thou and I 
 Linger upon the pebbly strand 
 While we his tall ship might descry, 
 Then homeward wander'd, hand in hand, 
 With heavy heart and swimming eye : 
 Brief heaviness ! 'Twas childhood's sorrow! 
 
 Which sobs itself to sleep, and all is well to- 
 morrow ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " But childhood's woe, tho' slight and frail 
 As is the film upon the thorn 
 Whose thin web stretches o'er the vale 
 And glances in the early morn, 
 Hints but at Ireavier ills to come, 
 
104 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 For manhood's breast is sorrow's home ! 
 A neighbour Baron, fierce and bold, 
 The royal warrant did obtain 
 That he our youth in ward should hold 
 Till age mature should break the chain ; 
 Safe, as beneath the eagle's care 
 The feeble, new-yean'd lamb would fare ; 
 Safe, as the roosted hen would lie 
 When the false fox is lurking nigh ; 
 So safe were we ! Sir Huberts love 
 
 Watch'd o'er his helpless charge as vulture 
 watcheth dove ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " An adverse planet ruPd the hour 
 Which plac'd us in Sir Hubert's pow'r ; 
 Long had his bosom, stern and dark, 
 In secret nourish'd hatred's spark ! 
 Well might we find a guardian dire 
 In him, whose envy curs'd our sire ! 
 He lov'd my mother, if, indeed, 
 Love in his flinty breast might dwell, 
 She graced his love with little heed, 
 But he, her scorn remember'd well : 
 He look'd on those she left behind, 
 And vengeance brooded in his mind ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " How often have I mark'd him trace, 
 With eager gaze, each opening grace, 
 Which dawn'd upon my sister's face, 
 Then, turn'd him from th* unconcious maid 
 With eager haste, as tho' afraid, 
 Lest e'en our pure and sinless eyes 
 From that rude gaze might catch alarm, 
 Wake to the meditated harm, 
 
 And track his secret soul's unhallow'd myste- 
 
CANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 105 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " In distant climes a plant there grows, 
 Which from the touch its leaves will close, 
 And trembling, turn itself away, 
 If aught approach its fragile spray ; 
 Its kindred plant, they say, abides, 
 Unseen, our northern clime beneath, 
 From every idle gaze it hides, 
 And shrinks at every ruder breath ; 
 Amid the snows it thrives the best 
 Which guard the virgin's spotless breast, 
 'Tis Modesty ! a lovelier flower 
 
 Than spring's first snow-drop, born mid Febru- 
 ary's shower. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Soon Geraldine, by instinct taught, 
 Shrank from the Baron's near advance, 
 Her eye, with cold aversion fraught, 
 RepelPd his frequent glance ; 
 Fearless at first, the ingenuous maid 
 Each movement of her heart betray'd, 
 But quickly was she doom 'd to learn 
 To shudder at his aspect stern ; 
 Too soon his threatening scowling glance 
 Disarm'd the youthful petulance ; 
 Then from her cheek the roses fled 
 
 When first the task she learn'd, with hate to min- 
 gle dread. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " But, Oeraldine's was not the fear 
 Which in the abject bosom cow'rs, 
 Her ivory brow began to bear 
 The impress stern of pride austere, 
 Her courage summon 'd all its pow'rs ; 
 The dimples fled, and in their place 
 
 K2 
 
106 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 Rose womanhood's maturer grace, 
 Her playful, lightsome, elfin tread 
 Which scarcely bow'd the daisy's head, 
 The music, which a merry heart 
 Did to an artless tongue impart, 
 All, all was chang'd I and innocence 
 Rose aweful in its own defence ! 
 Oh ! how I gloried, when her pride 
 The tyrant in his wrath defied, 
 To see Lord Edric's spirit rise, 
 Resplendent, in his daughter's eyes ! 
 Then, taught by her, I first began 
 To prize my native strength, and feel myself a 
 man ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Lord Edric's vassals all were gone, 
 Or lur'd, or threaten'd from our side. 
 And yet there linger'd only one 
 Who menace and who guile defied ; 
 Old Connal in my father's tow'rs 
 Had travell'd on from youth to age, 
 And now life's dull and dusky hours 
 Were closing on his pilgrimage ; 
 A strange and fearful man he was ! 
 With shapes invisible he walk'd, 
 With tongues inaudible he talk'd, 
 And to his keen and gifced gaze 
 The secrets of the future day 
 Unshrouded, like the present, lay ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Old Connal long with wary heed 
 Had mark'd the Baron, and he knew 
 By many a token, safe and true, 
 When thought was ripening into deed : 
 Whether experience lent him lore 
 
ANTOIV. OFANJOU. 107 
 
 From past events, in days of yore, 
 Whether his pondering, toiling mind 
 By what had been the future read, 
 Or, that when blew the midnight wind, 
 With him, the spirits of the dead, 
 Unseen, held counsel, strange and dread, 
 It boots not, since he ne'er did bend 
 His wondrous lore to evil end ; 
 And now, the scheme by malice plann'd 
 
 Lay frustrate and destroy 'cl beneath his feeble 
 hand ! 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " While all lay wrapp'd in sable fold, 
 One night, an hour ere midnight toll'd, 
 All silent and unseen we gave 
 Our fortunes to the bounding wave : 
 W T e fled, since nought but .sudden flight 
 Might shield us from our tyrant's might ! 
 O'er the broad deep our path we took. 
 And calling Providence to aid, 
 Our guardian's dangerous towers forsook, 
 
 And to our native haunts a mournful farewell 
 bade! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " The morning's bright and flaunting beam 
 Wak'd us from musings sad and strange, 
 As starting from some troubled dream 
 Wildly we hail'd the wondrous change ! 
 Year after year, the morning light 
 Had open'd on the self-same scene, 
 Or bleak and chill in wintry white, 
 Or cloth'd in summer's sprightly green, 
 'Twas still the same, no change we knew 
 But of the season's shifting hue ! 
 A few swift hours, and all that was 
 
108 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 Had shrunk and vanish'd from our gaze ! 
 I turn'd on Geraldine mine eyes . 
 E'en she was wrapt in rude disguise ! 
 Yet one heart-cheering smile there came 
 To tell me she was still the same, 
 A noble smile, meet to console, 
 And raise and calm the troubled soul 1 
 * My friend and brother by my side, 
 Howe'er unwonted or untried, 
 
 Whatever fortune sends, my courage shall abide !' 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Deep wrapp'd in thought, we little reck'cl 
 How thro' the lowering, sullen day, 
 Our frail bark laboured on her way 
 While adverse winds her progress checked ; 
 But now, the day was well nigh do?e, 
 And wan and wat'ry set the sun, 
 And, as his farewell glance he gave 
 Sinking beneath the western wave, 
 Triumphant on his pitchy cloud 
 The storm's fell demon, yelling loud, 
 Loos'd all his blasts, and bade them sweep 
 The pale and agitated deep ! 
 The night was closing, overhead 
 A funeral canopy was spread, 
 And all beneath, the gulphy wave 
 Disclos'd a cold and hideous grave, 
 While the shrill winds, in chorus drear, 
 
 A dismal death-song pour'd on fancy's shudder- 
 ing ear ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 " The seamen's rude and boist'rous cries 
 Mix'd with the clamour of the skies, 
 As stubborn still the bark they urge 
 Agahibt the wild opposing surge ; * 
 
iv. 
 
 OF ANJOU. 109 
 
 Tho' little skill'd, my share I took, 
 And eager, lent my humble aid, 
 And strove and labour'd as they bade 
 Till every hope our breasts forsook ! 
 My sister ! Oh ! if terror's pow'r 
 O'erwhelm'd me in that ghastly hour, 
 Chill'd the warm stream in every vein, 
 And bade distraction seize my brain, 
 It was for her ! all still she sate, 
 And having pour'd the inward pray'r, 
 Calm and submiss, expected fate 
 In resignation not despair ! 
 As to mine eyes the flash betray'd 
 E'en then, sublime and undismay'd, 
 In act devout the noble maid, 
 Methought that sure the ruffian storm 
 
 Relenting in its wrath would spare that angel 
 form ! 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Helpless before the tempest driving, 
 Our ruin'd bark the surface kept, 
 Against destruction feebly striving, 
 Not one delusive hope surviving, 
 When o'er the deck the cataract swept ! 
 One frantic death-cry, wild and shrill, 
 
 Rose on the wailing blast, we sank ! and all was 
 still ! 
 
 XLII. 
 " Down, down we went ! strength, sense, and 
 
 life, 
 
 All yielding in the horrid strife ! 
 Down, down we went ! With furious roar, 
 Above, around the waters pour, 
 I heard, I saw, I felt no more ! 
 Strong seated on the treacherous coast, 
 
1 10 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 Where our ill-destin'd bark was lost, 
 An English Baron's massy tow'rs 
 Defied the threat'ning tempest's pow'rs ; 
 The watchful warder did descry 
 Our struggling vessel's jeopardy ; 
 And rapid to his summons flew, 
 Bred to the toil, a fearless crew, 
 Who from the wild, unpitying storm 
 
 And yawning gulph, redeem'd one victim's sink- 
 ing form 1 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Dripping and lifeless from the wave 
 The hardy vassals bore their prize 
 To glad their good old master's eyes, 
 Who liv'd but to protect and save ; 
 Albeit, in youth a gallant part 
 Amid the warring world he bore, 
 Now, every hostile feeling o'er, 
 Age calm'd, but had not chill'd his heart, 
 And few can guess the blessed rest, 
 
 The soft and Sabbath smile that wrapt that old 
 man's breast ! 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Awhile on fair Lancastria's coast 
 I lingered with my noble host ; 
 The good old Baron, with delight, 
 Perceiv'd that time flowed smoothly on. 
 While I, regardless of its flight, 
 Scarce felt that days and weeks were gone ; 
 And now he smil'd and call'd me son, 
 For he was childless and alone ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Meanwhile, e'en here the din of war 
 Burst on our slumbers from afar ; 
 From time to time some wretched wight, 
 
CANTO iv. OFANJOU. Ill 
 
 From adverse conflict hardly sav'd, 
 Wing'd hither his disastrous flight, 
 And shelter here and succour crav'd : 
 Lord A.len, to the Red Rose true, 
 Lov'd those who bore its colour best, 
 But kindly nature in his breast 
 Still rose to succour the distrest, 
 Nor only on the favourite hue 
 Shed pity's heart-reviving dew ! 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 " The proud, the emulous, the bold 
 Full many a gallant story told, 
 And soon I burn'd to meet the foe 
 And hear the deafening war-horn blow ; 
 As yet my brow, all white and smooth, 
 Bore witness to inglorious youth, 
 But now my pulse beat quick to share 
 The manly bronze of toil, the valour-hinting 
 scar I 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " With grief Lord Allen heard me ask 
 What every noble youth may claim, 
 That with a knight's illustrious name 
 I too might seek the field of fame j 
 And now, to his reluctant task 
 He turn'd with sorrow, not with blame, 
 His own good sword consign'd to rust, 
 Was rescued from ignoble dust, 
 And with the long neglected blade 
 \Vas knighthood on my shoulder laid I 
 
 XLV1II. 
 
 " Impetuous, panting to be gone, 
 My evil genius urg'd me on, 
 Another soul, a soul of flame, 
 Did seem to animate my frame, 
 
112 MARGARET CANTO IY 
 
 As harness'd well, from helm to heel, 
 I prick'd me forth, a man of steel ! 
 
 No raven croak'd, and not a cloud 
 
 Darken'cl that morning's brilliant sky, 
 
 And all within, elate and proud, 
 
 Of triumph breath'd and victory ! 
 
 Each bough with promises was hung, 
 
 With hope's gay song the welkin rung, 
 And hope o'er all the scene her golden glances 
 flung! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 u 'Twas now the season of the year 
 
 When heavy nods the ripen'd ear, 
 
 When honest labour's dewy brow 
 
 Is wont to brave the noontide glow, 
 
 Exulting while his peaceful toils 
 
 Are crown'd with autumn's tawny spoils ; 
 
 But now the hoary carl no more 
 
 His rustic train to harvest led, 
 
 Plunder had reap'd the golden store, 
 
 Or, on the stalk, it withered ! 
 
 Who once the guiltless scythe did wield. 
 
 Now fled, dismay'd by war's alarm, 
 
 Or, reaping in a bloody field, 
 
 Beheld a breathing harvest yield 
 
 Beneath his sturdy toil-strung arm ! 
 
 Alas ! in silence and dismay 
 
 The desolated hamlet lay, 
 
 No more the blue and wreathing smoke 
 
 At eve from cottage chimney broke, 
 
 Nor milk-maid on her homeward way 
 Pour'd o'er the twilight scene contentment's art- 
 less lay ! 
 
 L. 
 
 Sore groan'cl the Prince, " Alas !" cried he, 
 
 " Alas ! for England's misery !" 
 
SANTO IV. OP ANJOU. 113 
 
 Sir Gerald paus'd " My royal lord, 
 
 Might princely virtue expiate 
 
 A people's crimes, relenting fate 
 
 Would quickly sheathe th 5 avenging sword ! 
 
 Might Crowned Holiness prevail 
 
 To change heaven's counsels and decrees, 
 
 Could Henry's meek implorings fail 
 
 Mysterious justice to appease, 
 
 That crimeless King, round whose meek brow 
 
 Fate's storms in all their fury blow ?" 
 
 LI. 
 
 " Alas," replied the Queen, " too well 
 Our own disastrous wanderings paint 
 The virtues of the royal saint, 
 And all superfluous 'twere to tell 
 How mutter'd pray'r, and counted bead, 
 And monkish orisons succeed, 
 When grim rebellion, gaunt and fell, 
 Strides o'er the land with daring deed I 
 Heaven's cold approval may descend 
 On him who only lives to bend, 
 But life's experience still declares 
 Heaven's smile is with the wight who dares ! 
 Proceed, Sir Knight, the impatient ear 
 Chides the digressing tongue which swerves in 
 its career!" 
 
 LII. 
 
 " Not he who, toiling underneath 
 The fiery dog-star's raging beam, 
 Scarce fann'd by zephyr's lazy breath, 
 More panted for the quenching stream 
 Than I to gain the field of death, 
 To slake that burning thirst for fame 
 Which chang'd my blood to liquid flame 1 
 Perverse and rash ! we little guess* 
 
114 MARGARET CANTO iv, 
 
 E'en as we touch the wish'd for brink 
 And bend our eager lips to drink, 
 The serpent spawn and deadly cress 
 Which in the dimpling waters hide, 
 And, unsuspected, taint the brisk and sparkling 
 tide! 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " Blore Heath ! May never harrow come 
 O'er thy accurs'd, detested plain ! 
 There, never wave the golden grain, 
 Nor ever may the jocund swain 
 Keep there the merry harvest-home ! 
 On that day's deeds I need not dwell, 
 Alas ! already have your eyes 
 Bedew'd that morning's miseries, 
 And each sad heart remembers well 
 The dismal hour when Audley fell I 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " Stoutly we strove, till hope declined 
 In every brave Lancastrian's mind, 
 No more to conquer then we fought, 
 That thought, that cheering thought was chill'd, 
 And now the prize for which we sought 
 Was death upon the hostile field ! 
 Yet ill to strife like this enur'd 
 My manly strength but half-matur'd, 
 And stung with sorrow and disdain 
 To find we had but striv'n in vain, 
 I paus'd a little while to breathe 
 And cast a hopeless look around that dismal heath ! 
 
 LV. 
 
 " While thus I stood, for long before 
 My steed had dropp'd to rise no more, 
 A brook's refreshing murmurs stole 
 Like music o'er my harassed soul ; 
 I turn'd to seek the cooling tide 
 
CAKTO iv. OFANJOU. 115 
 
 Resolv'd to taste it ere I died ; 
 Alas I commission'd from on high, 
 That brook entic'd my steps, its voice was destiny ! 
 
 LVL 
 
 " Just as I gain'd the sparkling flood, 
 A martial form beside it stood, 
 Whose tow'ring mien and bearing bold, 
 A noble soldier's presence told : 
 ' That rill,' he said, l to toil and pain 
 Lends grateful solace ! Bright success 
 May only for a while sustain 
 Man's feeble spirit ! Weariness 
 E'en Fortune's minions must confess I 
 Our task is over 1' I perceiv'd 
 My badgeless coat his eye deceiv'd ; 
 While, all unwittingly, his tongue 
 Thus with a victor's boast, a foe's proud bosom 
 stung ! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 " ' Thou dost mistake ! One struggle more 
 Awaits us ere our task is o'er I 
 Oh ! ere yon glorious orb shall set, 
 One struggle for the Red Rose yet !' 
 4 Alas ! young Knight,' he cried, ' methinks 
 Too much of precious British blood 
 The mother soil already drinks ! 
 If but hope's shadow lingered yet 
 To nerve thine arm and edge thy sword, 
 I am no recreant, and my word 
 Should ne'er oppose thy gallant will 1* 
 
 LVI1I. 
 
 " ' What ! thinkest thou to see me led 
 Thy rebel party's scorn and mock, 
 Meekly to lay my captive head 
 An offering OB your tyrant's block ! 
 
1 1 S MARGARET CANTO i v. 
 
 Oh no ! that felon lot to shun 
 I'll perish with my armour on !' 
 
 LIX. 
 
 u < Brave youth, be rul'd ! Seem but to yield, 
 Quit thou this blood-stain'd heath with me, 
 This night my voice shall be thy shield. 
 To-morrow thou shalt wander free 1* 
 A fatal fire was in my heart, 
 Lit by the Furies ; ' From my grasp/ 
 I cried, ' this sword shall ne'er depart 
 Till I have breath'd life's latest gasp 1 
 And yet, methinks. I too would fain 
 From slaughter and from toil refrain ; 
 And since to thee it seems not vile 
 To yield up liberty awhile, 
 Give me thy sword and purchase peace, 
 And do thou follow me, and let our parley cease !' 
 
 LX. 
 
 " His soul was rouz'd : < Insulting boy ! 
 I would have spar'd thee ! Heaven record 
 How all unwilling to destroy, 
 Provok'd, I lift the sated sword, 
 Which, to the hilt in slaughter dyed, 
 Appeas'd, would fain have turn'd aside 
 And shunn'd the useless homicide I* 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " We fought : and tho* the stranger's brand 
 Seem'd wielded with a veteran's hand, 
 Tho' all my strokes were spent in air, 
 Incens'd I saw his skilful care 
 Was bent his foeman's life to spare : 
 I paus'd c Come on, Sir Knight,' I cried, 
 ' By heaven ! thou boldest me at bay 1 
 I cannot brook thy scornful pride, 
 Mock not a man with childish play ?' 
 Again we strove, a mortal stroke 
 
OANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 1 \r 
 
 The stranger's brittle cuirass broke ! 
 
 Backward he reel'd, and from his side 
 
 Impetuous rush'd the boiling tide ; 
 
 Oh I why do I survive to tell, 
 
 The stroke was death ! The stranger fell ! 
 
 LXII. 
 
 " Then, all too late, wrath's wasteful flame 
 Expir'd extinguish'cl and supprest, 
 And a still voice within my breast 
 Did greet me with the murderer's name ! 
 The fury, which had urg'd me on, 
 Forsook me when her work was done. 
 Now by the fallen warrior's side 
 I knelt, and gently rais'd his head 
 From off its cold and bloody bed, 
 And many a fruitless aid supplied ; 
 And, eager in the futile task, 
 I flung aside the heavy casque, 
 And vainly hop'd the evening breath 
 Would chase away the damps of death ! 
 I met the stranger's lifted eye, 
 It beam'd forgiveness ; yet, methought, 
 With heaven's blue bolt that glance was 
 
 fraught 1 
 
 I turn'cl me shuddering from his look, 
 The solid earth beneath me shook, 
 I shriek'd ' My brother !' Oh ! my hand 
 Was with a brother's life-blood stain'd, 
 And my accursed sword its noble source had 
 
 drain'd 1" 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Sir Gerald paus'd awhile, to chase 
 The anguish drops that bath'd his face; 
 His sister, whose misgiving breast 
 Too well the dreadful sequel guess'd, 
 L2 
 
118 MARGARET CANTO iv. 
 
 Mistrustful of her strength, had gone 
 To weep each brother's lot alone, 
 And Edward groaning cried, " For me 
 That England's wreath my brow may clasp, 
 To place a sceptre in my grasp, 
 
 How many a gallant soul is plung'd in misery 1" 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Here, 5 ' said the Queen, " thy story close, 
 And draw the curtain o'er thy woes, 
 And let this thought suffice to soothe 
 Thy wounded spirit, noble youth ; 
 That hand which in a nation's cause 
 The patriot's sacred weapon draws, 
 Obeys an impulse far above 
 The little claims of private love, 
 And duty's voice imperative 
 
 Far from the hero's breast each selfish thought 
 should drive !" 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " Not all the glory, all the praise 
 Which decks the prosperous hero's days, 
 The shout of man, the laurel crown, 
 The pealing echoes of renown, 
 May conscience' dreadful sentence drown ! 
 No trophy of the patriot's pride 
 Could ever teach me to abide 
 
 That never-ceasing cry, c Woe to the fratricide !* 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " Oh ! when my dying brother found 
 What hand had dealt the fatal wound, 
 And when he saw the frantic woe 
 Which tortur'd his unnatural foe, 
 The hero melting into man, 
 Swift down his cheeks the big drop ran ; 
 * Oh Gerald ! while mine eyes can see, 
 
CANTO iv. OF ANJOU. 119 
 
 Oh ! quick that envious helm unbrace ! 
 Alas 1 I yearn to look on thee, 
 And gaze once more upon thy face ! 
 Where is our sister ?' * Drown'd !' I cried, 
 
 * And would to God my bones lay bleaching by 
 her side!' 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 " < Cheer thee, my brother ! Fate, not thou } 
 Kindly remits my task below ! 
 But if that dying voice is dear 
 Which now sounds faintly on thine ear, 
 Thou single column ! if in thee 
 Abides one spark of native flame, 
 I charge thee, by our ancestry, 
 Support our venerable name ! 
 Our house leans on thee ! if thou fail, 
 The ancient fabric nods and falls, 
 For ever sink its aged walls, 
 
 And in the grass-grown courts the desert blast: 
 shall wail ! 
 
 LXVIIL 
 
 " < Thy courage, even as a foe, 
 Had my heart's reverence while we strove, 
 Think how that heart must hail thee now, 
 Oh ! brother of my pride and love I 
 Thy part is chosen, hie thee on 
 While aught remaineth to be done, 
 And turn thou not ! In one career 
 Be stedfast still, and persevere, 
 So shall renown thy struggles bless, 
 For honour shines on steadiness ! 
 Come nigh, my Gerald ! for I feel 
 I must not look upon thee long, 
 Death's mist will soon mine eye-lids seal, 
 Death's frost will soon enchain my tongue, 
 
120 MARGARET. OANTO iv. 
 
 Thou precious relique of our race, 
 My soul would wing her flight from thy belov'd 
 embrace !" 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " Even to the last his failing sight 
 Dwelt on my face with strange delight. 
 And even to the final grasp 
 His bloodless arms my form did clasp I- 
 Till then, methought 'twas all a dream ; 
 But when at length he ceas'd to speak, 
 And when I felt his frozen cheek, 
 I started from the ground with wild and piercing 
 scream ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " But what imports it now to tell 
 What next my wretched frame befel ? 
 Suffice it, that I live to shew 
 How long the victim may survive, 
 His heart while hell-born tortures rive j 
 Against the springs of life, how slow 
 The poison works of human woe !" 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FOURTH- 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THE FOURTH. 
 
 That crimeless king, round whose ineek brow. 
 
 Stanza L.I. 11. 
 
 " In both states," (prosperity and adversity,) " he was 
 patient and vertuous, that hee may be a patterne of 
 most perfect vertue, as hee was a worthy example of 
 fortune's inconstancy : he was plaine, upright, farre 
 from fraud, wholly given to prayer, reading- of scripture 
 and almes-deedes ; of such integrity f life that the 
 Bishop whiche had beene his confessor tenne yeere, 
 avouch eth, that hee had not all that time committed any 
 mortall crime. So farre was he from covetousnesse, 
 that when the executors of his uncle the Bishop of 
 Winchester, surnamed the rich Cardinal, would have 
 given to him two thousand pound, hee plainely refused it, 
 willing them to discharge the Will of the departed. 
 He was so religiously affected, that on principal holy dales 
 he would were sacke -cloth next his skin. Oath he 
 used none, but in most earnest matters these words, 
 " Forsooth, and forsooth " He was soe pitiful that 
 when comming from St. Albon's, hee saw the quarter of 
 a traytor against his crowne, over Cripplegate, he willed 
 it to be taken away with these words, * c 1 w;ll not have 
 any Christian so cruelly handled for my sake !" Many 
 great offences he willingly pardoutd, and receiving at a 
 time a great blow by a wicked man which compassed 
 his death, hee only said, *' Forsooth and forsooth, yee 
 doe fouly to smite a King anoynted so'" Of his owne 
 naturall inclination, hee abhorred all the vices, as well 
 of the body as> of the soule. Stow's Annals, page 425. 
 
 Blore Heath ! may never harrow come- 
 
 Stanza LULL 1. 
 
 " The Queen appointed Sir James Touchet Lord 
 Audely (because his power lay in those parts) to raise 
 an host of men, and to give battaile to the same Earle 
 (Salisbury) if he saw cause and place convenient : she 
 allied unto her all Knights and Esquiers of Chestershire 
 
122 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
 
 for to have their favour: she held open household 
 among them and made her sonne the Prince to give a 
 livery of swans to all the gentlemen of that country, and 
 to many other through the land. Lord Audely had the 
 leading of them into the field called Blore Heath near 
 unto Mucklestone, by the which the Duke of York and 
 Earle of Salisbury must needs passe. There both hosts 
 met, and fought a mortall battell, wherein the Lord 
 Audely was slain, with Hugh Venables of Kinderton, 
 Thomas Button of Button, Richard Molyneux of Ses- 
 ton, William Troutbeck, John Legh of Booth, John 
 Donne of Tikington, and John Egerton of Egerton, 
 Knights, &c But the greatest losse fell on them of 
 Chestershire who had received the Prince's livery of 
 Swans." Stow's Annals, page 405. 
 
 Blore Heath, celebrated for the defeat of the Lancas- 
 trians under James Touchet Lord Audley by the York- 
 ist army led by the Earl of Salisbury, now forms part of 
 the property of Sir John Chetwode, Bart, of Oakley in 
 Staffordshire, in whose grounds much of the field of 
 battle is enclosed, whereon is standing, in excellent 
 preservation, a Funeral Cross, erected apparently in 
 commemoration of the Lancastrian leader, as his 
 name only is mentioned on the tablet. 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOIL 
 
 CANTO THE FIFTH. 
 
 THERE be who, murm'ring as they go, 
 With heavy step life's path-way tread, 
 In vain for them, with golden glow 
 The bright sky sparkles overhead, 
 They look not up! For them in vain 
 The vernal scene, the daisied plain, 
 The breath of May, the woodland strain I 
 For them in vain ! whose eyes intent 
 With grovelling gaze to earth are bent ! 
 In vain for them the seasons roll, 
 With winter ever in their soul ; 
 While towards the final bourn they fare, 
 Care clings to them, and they to care 1 
 What do they know of life ? They know 
 That toil and trouble dwell below, 
 They know that weariness and gloom 
 And strife walk with them to the tomb ; 
 They thank not heaven* for heav'n's smile 
 Beams warmth upon the world, unfelt by them 
 the while ! 
 
 II. 
 
 They know not, that, of heavenly birth, 
 With mortal man there walks on earth 
 A pow'r, which to their twilight day 
 
124 MARGARET CANTO v* 
 
 Light, warmth, and rapture could impart, 
 
 And melt the wintry snows away 
 
 Which hang about the sullen heart ! 
 
 They know not love ! love's sighs and tears, 
 
 Love's doubtings, tremblings, hopes and fears, 
 
 Love's very pangs expand the breast 
 
 And lend dull life its noblest zest! 
 
 That heart which in love's kindling smile 
 
 Has never deign'd to bask awhile, 
 
 That sullen heart may well complain, 
 
 Scarce has it liv'd, or liv'd in vain i 
 
 III. 
 
 While Edward trac'd with speechless heed 
 The gallant stranger's hapless lot, 
 His mind from selfish sorrows freed 
 Awhile its own sad cares forgot, 
 His smarting wounds' incessant throes, 
 And e'en his bosom's mightier woes, 
 All, in a stranger's griefs ingross'd. 
 Awhile forgotten were and lost ; 
 Upon Sir Gerald's mournful tongue 
 A charm of wondrous virtue hung, 
 Thro' Edward's throbbing heart it sent 
 A strange and mingled sentiment, 
 It glided swift thro' every vein, 
 And scarcely could he tell, if pleasure 'twere, or 
 pain 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 His captive fancy dwelt enslav'd 
 Upon that meek, celestial form, 
 Who., while around the tempest rav'd, 
 Sate calm amid the hovyling storm, 
 On her, who 'mid the forked fire, 
 Thro' yawning waves by tempests driven. 
 Could from that conflict wild and dire 
 
CANTO v. OF ANJOU. 125 
 
 To her own spotless heart retire 
 
 And commune, undismay'd, with heaven ! 
 
 He deem'd this sublunary sphere, 
 
 Of thing so noble, own'd but one, 
 
 And thought, how bless'd that mortal were 
 
 Who call'd that perfect thing his own ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Ambition and his pompous train, 
 Thrones, empires, flitted from his niindj 
 And to his heart and to his brain 
 Came hope with her illusions vain ; 
 And trembling joy, and pleasing pain 
 Were in the wond'ring soul enshrin'd ; 
 For new-born love still leads along 
 Of painted forms a numerous throng, 
 A welcome group of dear deceits, 
 Fond fantasies, and smiling cheats ! 
 Edward had felt the generous glow 
 That weakens at the trumpet's sound, 
 And, when the helmet press'd his brow, 
 Had felt his pulse to battle bound ; 
 Much had he learn'd, yet knew he not 
 Till now the wonders of that pow'r, 
 Who can transform the wretch's lot 
 And dress with beams the darkest hour, 
 Can agony to bliss translate, 
 And in the sinking heart, create 
 New wishes, and new hopes, and almost conquer 
 fute I 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Prince in silence lay resign'd 
 To blissful musings, while the Queen 
 Rejoic'd that slumbers so serene 
 Refreshed his frame and calm'd his mind : 
 But now the wasting taper tells 
 
 M 
 
126 MARGARET CAWTOV. 
 
 That half the night is worn away, 
 And sleep each weary wight compels, 
 With gentle force, to own his sway ; 
 The good old pair, whose lowly lot 
 Misfortune deign 'd not to molest, 
 Such little cares had long forgot 
 As wont to haunt the rustic breast; 
 They seldom own'd that wayward pow'r 
 Which troubles slumber's peaceful hour, 
 And bids the sleeper act again 
 Day's task of labour and of pain ; 
 The tranquil mind, the vacant breast, 
 The simple brain unvex'd by schemes. 
 Alone may taste that placid rest, 
 Those precious slumbers, balmy, blest, 
 
 By fever's start unbroke, unvisited by dreams. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Peace! modest Peace! the sons of earth 
 From thy meek form indignant turn, 
 They view with scorn thy boastless worth. 
 And at thy humble offering spurn ; 
 Ambition knows thee not, and Pride 
 Would blush to see thee at her side ! 
 Nay, what have we with peace to do ! 
 We tell of ruin and of woe ; 
 And, as our daring hand we fling 
 Impetuous o'er the echoing string, 
 
 Disaster and reverse, and waste and war we singl 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The day begins. The Carl is gone 
 To tend his fleecy charge alone, 
 The sun-burnt boy, who us'd to share 
 The good old shepherd's daily care, 
 Transform'd is to a lady fair ! 
 And Oswald, whistling on his way, 
 
SANTO- v. OF ANJOU. 127 
 
 Bethinks him how for many a day 
 
 That little sheep boy's ditty wild. 
 
 Floating across the broomy heath 
 
 And mingling with the summer breath, 
 
 His toil of weariness beguil'd ; 
 
 " Well, well," he cried, " I lov'd the child ; 
 
 But what of that ! All here, they say, 
 
 Is giv'n but to be ta'en away !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now scarcely was old Maudlin gone 
 On halting steed to market town, 
 Thun Geraldine, from brief repose 
 On rushen couch, refresh'd arose ; 
 Lightly she sprang across the floor 
 And cautious op'd the creaking door, 
 And sought her brother, who was laid 
 Recumbent in the beechen shade : 
 He slept, yet sorrow at his heart, 
 E'en as he slept, seem'd busy still ; 
 The sudden, strong, convulsive start, 
 The smother'd groan, and shuddering thrill, 
 Declar'd that gentle sleep in vain 
 Would lighten misery's galling chain. 
 As Geraldine beside him stood, 
 And gaz'd upon the noble wreck 
 Of all that once was fair and good, 
 Her pitying tears in rapid flood 
 Bedew'd her brother's livid cheek ; 
 Then, kneeling on the verdant sod, 
 She lifted up her heart to God ! 
 
 X. 
 
 On deep and earnest pray'r intent 
 She knew not how the moments went ; 
 Thrice had she counted every bead, 
 When sudden sounded on her ear 
 
128 MARGARET SANTO v. 
 
 The heavy hoof of coming steed, 
 
 And spoke some strange intruder near ; 
 
 Starting she rose, averse that eye 
 
 Her secret worship should espy : 
 
 Now Maudlin from her steed alighted, 
 
 Along the narrow path advanc'd, 
 
 Her mind with wondrous weight seem'd. 
 
 freighted, 
 
 Her eye with strange impatience glanc'd> 
 And as she stood amid the glade, 
 With cautious mien as if afraid, 
 And many a mute, mysterious sign, 
 She call'd the wondering Geraldine ; 
 In silence Geraldine obey'd 
 And follow'd thro' the closing shade. 
 
 XL 
 
 Nor comet's blaze, nor shooting star 9 
 Nor armies striving in the air, 
 More fearful portents were, I ween, 
 Than Maadlin's silence, for, alone 
 Or social, still from morn till e'en 
 Pray'd, sung, or talk'd the unwearied crone ; 
 But now, in vain the astonish'd maid 
 One little word to win, with earnest speech es- 
 
 say'd. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Yet soon they halt ; a moss-grown shed 
 Rear'd in their path its humble head, 
 The ivy and the wall-flow'r dress'd 
 In gaudy tints the verdant nest, 
 Its trembling shade the mountain ash 
 Flung o'er it, and beside it fled 
 A narrow rill, whose current rash 
 Dash'd wildly o'er its rocky bed. 
 
CANTO v. OFANJOU. 129 
 
 XIII. 
 
 They entered, and beheld the floor 
 With virgin vestments scatter'd o'er, 
 Kirtle, and coif, and wimple white, 
 And hat of straw with ribbons dight, 
 And mittens green, and buckles bright ; 
 Nor lack'd the shining brooch to hold 
 The decent kerchief's snowy fold, 
 Nor miss'd there 'mid the rustic weed 
 Aught that a village maid might need : 
 Bright did the glancing tear-drop shine 
 In the blue eye of Geraldine, 
 In sigR of thankfulness it fell, 
 And Maudlin knew its meaning well ; 
 Unskill'd in courtly phrase, or smooth, 
 As her heart bade, her tongue replied, 
 And in the homely phrase of truth, 
 " Sure thou art welcome, child," the honest ma- 
 tron cried. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 That artless welcome gave away 4 
 
 The thrift of many a lab'ring year, 
 Hard earn'd by many a weary day 
 Of frugal fare and toil severe I 
 When Greatness gives, from forth his store 
 He takes a little, and his meed 
 Is flattery's song, which o'er and o'er 
 To the wide world proclaims the deed ! 
 But this was all ! life's autumn past, 
 And strength and spirit failing fast, 
 And winter nigh, she hop'd no more 
 To renovate her little store ! 
 'Twas the heart's gift, as freely given 
 \s to the thirsty plain the blessed rain from 
 heaven ! 
 
130 MARGARET CANTO v. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The stream which fled so swiftly by, 
 Sparkling and murmuring in its race, 
 Soon from the lady's bright'ning face 
 Dismiss'd the dun and dusky dye 
 Which hid beneath it purer snow 
 Than winter heaps on Skiddaw's brow ; 
 Tints, from the blush-rose stoFn, shine 
 On the fair cheek of Geraldine, 
 And as she quits her loath'd disguise 
 New lustre trembles in her eyes : 
 The crone uplifts her withered hands 
 Marv'iing as each new grace expands, 
 And half suspects some angel guest, 
 
 In mortal semblance hid, her lowly roof haL 
 bless'd. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 How proudly beat the sculptor's heart 
 Exulting in triumphant art, 
 When, rais'd by his creative hand, 
 > He saw the marble Venus stand, 
 Upspringing from the shapeless stone. 
 The pride, the magic, all his own ! 
 Thus proud, old Maudlin's eye survey VK 
 Beneath her ministry, the maid 
 Her sex's garb, her native bloom, 
 
 Her own rose-tinted hue and lovely form 
 sume ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Each tress, its coal-black hue resign'-cl, 
 Light waves of floating goid display'd, 
 Bright in the morning glance they shin'd 
 And o'er her cheek and bosom stray'd ; 
 Yet pass'd a cloud o'er Muucllin's jov* 
 As, vainly on the lady's face 
 
CANTO v. OF ANJOU. 131 
 
 She sought with earnest heed a trace 
 Of him so well-belov'd, her tawny shepherd- 
 boy ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The mystery over, from the shed 
 Where silently the change was wrought, 
 Smiling the blushing maid she led, 
 And now her guests impatient sought; 
 By her own honest, ardent breast, 
 What pass'd in other hearts she guess'd, 
 And much she yearn'd, in other eyes 
 To reap the meed of glad surprise : 
 The dazzling sun had pour'd his light 
 On the young warrior's glancing mail. 
 And, startled by the summons bright, 
 From mossy pillow sprang the Knight 
 To bid the glorious morning hail ; 
 The iong, long exil'd smile is fain 
 To visit his wan cheek again 
 As his fraternal arms entwine 
 His sister's form, exclaiming, " Now, j 
 
 My own, my earliest friend I know ! 
 Now, thou art she indeed 1 my very Geraldine l w 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Gazing upon his sister's face, 
 Back rush'd his wayward thoughts to trace 
 Full many a form for ever flown, 
 Alive to memory's eye alone ! 
 Long mus'd he not, for lo I the Queen 
 Recalls him to the present scene 1 
 Awhile upon the alter'd maid 
 Her royal glances coldly stay'd, 
 Then, frowning, she in haste withdrew 
 As from some hated thing* her view ; 
 She look'd, as if an adder lay 
 
132 MARGARET CANTO v 
 
 Hissing and coiling in her way 1 
 Looks kill not, but they can destroy 
 With fatal blight the buds of joy, 
 Had Margaret's glance the pow'r to kill, 
 
 How had the wasted world deplor'd her deadly 
 skill ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Why stand ye here while England's heir 
 Awaking claims your duteous care ? 
 Such ministry, as hands unskill'd, 
 Untaught, and inexpert, may yield, 
 Haste and bestow ! but," and a smile 
 Malignant curl'd her lip the while, 
 " Take thou good heed, lest thou forget 
 Thou dost but pay a subject's debt ! 5> 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Poor Geraldine ! In vain she tried 
 The conflict in her soul to hide 
 Of love insulted, wounded pride ! 
 She dash'd aside the coward tear, 
 , But now the white rose, now the red 
 The lady's changing cheek did wear ; 
 As pride and weakness combated ; 
 For still within her breast enshrin'd 
 With woman's softness, she combined 
 
 Such firm and lofty thoughts as suit the high- 
 born mind ! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 With throbbing heart the wounded max? 
 In silence towards the cottage turn'd, 
 Her secret soul indignant spurn'd 
 The haughty mandate she obey'd, 
 For love and all his ft at t' ring train 
 Fled frighted at the royal frown, 
 And Geraldine in high disdain 
 
CANTO v. OF ANJOU. 133 
 
 Would fain the lurking guest disown : 
 Meanwhile the Prince impatient lies 
 Counting the minutes with his sighs, 
 And eager watching while the sand 
 With slow and measur'd progress wan'd; 
 But see, he starts ! for nigh the door, 
 
 The long expected step proclaims his watching 
 o'er ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 5 Tis not the little shepherd-boy 
 With sun-burnt cheek, and ebon hair, 
 And down-cast glances, bright yet coy, 
 The rustic's humble, timid air ! 
 Edward's keen eye impatient fell 
 Upon the entering stranger's mien, 
 But felt the same resistless spell, 
 And own'd his heart's elected Queen ! 
 She who, eclips'd by strange disguise, 
 Already sway'd his bosom's throne, 
 How did his kindling fancy prize 
 
 When bursting on his gaze in native grace she 
 shone I 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 He who admires, in polish'd phrase 
 His mind's approval may declare, 
 His fluent tongue his thought obeys, 
 And decks, in fairer tints, the fair ! 
 He who adores, can ne'er find speech 
 His soul's idolatry to reach ! 
 The worship of the imploring eye, 
 The timid heart-betraying sigh, 
 These, swifter than the viewless wind, 
 
 Th* unerring couriers are, which post from mind 
 to mind ! 
 
1 34 MARGARET CANTO v. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But idly now their tale they tell, 
 For Geraldine bethinks her well 
 Of her high source, and noble name, 
 And startled pride's indignant flame 
 Is on her cheek ; the azure light 
 Which o'er the senses softly stole, 
 Whose temper'd radiance, mild yet bright* 
 Shone but to heal and to console, 
 Now, cold as wintry sunbeams fall 
 On the hoar top of mountain tall, 
 Or as the moon, when from her height 
 She looks upon the world below, 
 And sees her own pale, shimmering light 
 Reflected in December's snow, 
 So stern, so cold, so wintry, shine 
 The late benignant eyes of Lady Geraldine ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 With mingled lowliness and pride 
 Her mute obeisance duly paid, 
 Her humble ministry she plied 
 E'en as the haughty Margaret bade, 
 While her averted glances shun 
 The troubled gaze of Margaret's son, 
 Lest they might teach her to forget 
 She " did but pay a subject's debt!" 
 
 xxvir. 
 
 The Prince at length, with mournful speech, 
 Timid, bespake his lovely leech : 
 " Lady ! beneath thy gentle care 
 My outward wound is closing fast, 
 Nay, even now its pangs are past, 
 And well the irksome toil may spare 
 Of one so noble, and so fair ! 
 Oh lady ! let thy hand resign 
 To humbler ministry a task unmeet for thine ! 
 
CANTO v. OFANJOU. 135 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 The lady lifted not her eyes 
 While slowly, thus her tongue replies, 
 ** My royal lord ! such duteous aid 
 As simple loyalty may give, 
 To lend, becomes a subject maid, 
 And well befits thee to receive ! 
 Nay, wert thou lowliest in the land 
 Which thou art destin'd to command, 
 Unnurtur'd, poor, of p asants born, 
 Think'st thou a Christian maid should scorn 
 To yield that succour all may claim 
 From one who boasts a Christian's name ? 
 If then, from an untimely grave 
 'Tis bliss the meanest life to save, 
 Well may she thank indulgent heaven, 
 
 To whose unskilful cares a nation's hope is 
 given 1" 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 * Deep sigh'd the Prince ; " Alas !" cried he, 
 " E'en with this precious boon of life, 
 What hours of sorrow and of strife, 
 Oh lady 1 hast thou given to me 1 
 How many nights are yet to spend 
 In anxious vigils ! From mine eyes 
 What drops of anguish must descend, 
 What weary, health-consuming sighs 
 This sorely burthen'd heart must rend, 
 Ere I have struggled to the end ! 
 E'en now, mid yonder village dead, 
 Methinks 'twere sweet to rest my head ! 
 Then, might the White Rose chaplet wave 
 Triumphant o'er my quiet grave, 
 York's hostile badge, the rose of snow, 
 
136 MARGARET CANTO v. 
 
 In pledge that he who slept below 
 
 In stainless youth had left a world of crime and 
 woe !" 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Oh Prince ! and wouldst thou thus betray 
 The glorious post, the station high 
 Where thou art plac'd by destiny, 
 So early on the battle-day ! 
 'Tis morn with thee ! ere night descends 
 Thou hast a brave career to run, 
 And when thy race of glory ends, 
 
 In splendour shalt thou cease, as sets the golden 
 sun!" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Bless'd prophetess 1 Oh that mine eye 
 Could pierce the clouds that round me roll, 
 Whose vapours quench my spirit high 
 And hang about my aspiring soul 1 
 What art thou, lady ? At thy sway 
 The body's keenest tortures cease ! 
 Thy voice my inmost thoughts obey 
 And rouze for war, or sink to peace ! 
 E'en now, my heart-pulse feebly beat 
 Oppress'd beneath the gathering gloom ; 
 And, as amid the battle's heat, 
 The coward seeks some sure retreat, 
 I turn'cl me tow'rds the sheltering tomb, 
 But wak'd by thy resistless charm 
 My heart leaps up, and hopes again, 
 I feel my blood to combat warm 
 As at the war-horn's shrill alarm, 
 
 And long to rush in arms amid the embattled 
 plain !" 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 By terror and delight assail'd 
 And scarcely conscious which prevail'd, 
 
CANTO v. OF ANJOU. 137 
 
 Fair Geraldine at. once beheld 
 Her royal captive's heart reveal'd, 
 She knew that in a magic snare 
 She held the thought of England's heir ! 
 Some joy there is, whose sudden force 
 O'erwhelms like anguish, and o'erthrows 
 The astonish'd spirits in its course 
 Till reason scarce her office knows ; 
 So fares it now with Geraldine ; 
 A thousand streams of wavering light 
 Flash quick before her dazzled sight, 
 And with bewild'ring lustre shine ; 
 While hoping half, and half-afraid, 
 
 Edward, with anxious gaze, beheld the tremb- 
 ling maid ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The blushing morn, the twilight pale, 
 Noon's blaze intense, night's sable veil, 
 -JEach in its turn had three times past 
 *J^ver the cottage in the dale 
 Since bold Sir Gerald told his tale ; 
 And many an eager look was cast 
 Up tow'rds the steepy path in vain 
 To see if Rudolph came again, 
 Rudolph came not, nor came there aught 
 But gales with songs and fragrance fraught) 
 The carol of the full-voic'd thrush, 
 The fragrance of the hawthorn bush, 
 
 But nought that might direct the aimless glance 
 of thought. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But not in vain the moments sped, 
 Wing'd with returning health they came. 
 And, springing from his lowly bed, 
 Edward uplifts his royal head 
 N 
 
138 MARGARET CANTO v 
 
 Exulting in his strengthening frame : 
 Once more the late enfeebled hand, 
 Impatient, grasp'd the pond'rous brand, 
 And, as he view'd the glittering blade, 
 Thus to himself the hero said : 
 " On my last field 1 fought and fail'd, 
 For then Ambition led me on, 
 I fought for vengeance and a throne, 
 I fought in vain, the foe prevail'd! 
 Now, more than empire, more than glory, 
 More than a deathless life in story, 
 Beckons me forward ! For success 
 My bosom's fondest hopes shall biess, 
 And who shall bid him turn, who fights for hap- 
 piness ?" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 One evening when the vesper-bell 
 Toll'd sullen from the distant tow'r, 
 When twilight's misty, musing hour ^^ 
 Dim o'er the shelter'd valley fell, 
 What time the white owl wings her way 
 From ivied nook in turret grey, 
 The Queen, \vho long absorb'd had seem'd 
 In thought, like one who waking clream'd, 
 Starting cried, " Rudolph ! may it be ! 
 For he, or some less weicome comes than he I" 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 All listen'd eager, for, indeed, 
 The heavy trampling hoof of steed 
 Close to the opening of the dell, 
 On every ear that listen'd fell. 
 The Prince cried," Be he friend or foe, 
 We are not unprepar'cl to shew 
 Such welcome as the brave bestow 1" 
 ^Ie spake, and wav'd his faulchion bright^ 
 
CANTO v. OFANJOU. 139 
 
 And tow'rds the narrow path-way sprung, 
 
 But Erin's keen, and gallant knight 
 
 His form before his master flung, 
 
 " What ! rash as the remorseless wind, 
 
 Prince ! wilt thou never bear in mind 
 
 The debt thou ow'st to human kind, 
 
 Thus to expose so dear a life 
 
 To some night-prowling ruffian's knife ! 
 
 Nay, pardon me, 'twere treason now 
 
 To stagger at the frown that clouds thy royal 
 brow 1" 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 As thus they strove in generous wrath, 
 Lo ! dimly in the twilight seen, 
 A form descends the narrow path 
 With footsteps slow, and harmless mien ! 
 The cowled head, and mantle grey, 
 And cord-encircled waist, profess 
 "hat he who hither wends his way, 
 las vow'd to live in holiness ; 
 Yet when he saw the glittering brand 
 Which flash'd in either warrior's hand. 
 Starting, it seem'd as tho' he sought, 
 By some mysterious impulse sway'd, 
 To grasp in haste the opposing blade, 
 But, checking such vindictive thought. 
 Unmeet for holy breast, I ween* 
 Calmly he view'd the bounded scene 
 And cross'd his bosom, and bestow 'd 
 
 His " Benedicite" on all who there abode ! 
 
 XXX\ 7 III. 
 
 The Prince the greeting meek repaid, 
 And, smiling, sheath'd the useless blade. 
 And bade the wandering Carmelite 
 To shelter from the coming night : 
 
140 MARGARET CANTO v. 
 
 Not so Sir Gerald, for his breast 
 
 Mistrusted sore the holy guest, 
 
 " Heaven grant," he pray'd, " yon muffling cowl 
 
 Hide not the brow of traitor foul ! 
 
 Heaven grant yon folded stole within 
 
 Lurk not the secret man of sin ! 
 
 Good father, bear thee warily ! 
 
 I do suspect thee, and mine eye 
 
 With comment close and keen shall track thy 
 subtlety !" 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Entering the cot, the friar told 
 How as the bleak and barren wold 
 He with uncertain footstep trac'd, 
 Much fearing lest the night should close 
 Ere he had pass'd the unknown waste, 
 And just as he began to lose 
 AH hope of shelter and repose, 
 A man, uncouth in garb and mien, 
 O'ertook him in that cheerless scene ; 
 " Secure in humble poverty, 
 I hail'd him as he gallop'd nigh ; 
 He brought me hither, when his steed 
 Is from the encumb'ring harness freed 
 He will appear, for he doth bear 
 
 Message of import high to some who tarry here!" 
 
 XL 
 
 " 'Tis Rudolph !" the impetuous word 
 Burst from each lip with glad accord : 
 " 'Tis Rudolph !" said the musing Knight, 
 " Good father, many a one had fain 
 Roam'd trackless o'er the dusky plain 
 Ere they had rouz'd so grim a wight ! 
 Aye, e'en tho* winter's fleecy wreath 
 Were driven across the howling heath 1 
 
CANTO v, OF ANJOU. 141 
 
 Why should'st thou tremble lest a night 
 So soft, so calm, so heavenly mild 
 It might not chill a naked child, 
 Should catch thee 'mid the broomy wild !*' 
 " Tremble !" so loud the echo came, 
 
 Its strong vibration shook each wondering listen- 
 er's frame 1 
 
 XLI. 
 
 'tVas true, from forth the Friar's hood 
 Sudden that thundering echo came! 
 But silent now, and sad, he stood, 
 As if rebuk'd by inward blame : 
 All marvell'd, but Sir Gerald's heart 
 Exulted in defeated art, 
 Yet rested satisfied to know 
 How near him lurk'd th' insidious foe, , 
 And Rudolph's entrance put to flight, 
 Save in the breast of Erin's Knight, 
 All thoughts but those with which suspense 
 
 Greets him whose tongue is fraught with dear 
 intelligence ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Oh, welcome I welcome !" Margaret cried 
 While hope and gladness lit her glance, 
 " Oh ! say whate'er thine eye has spied ! 
 Or be it good, or evil chance, 
 All may be borne save ignorance!" 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Soft, Lady ! while I count the gold 
 For which this lucre-loving hand 
 Thou and thy royal heir has sold 
 To yon young tyrant and his band !" 
 " I wrong'd thee, Rudolph ! Come ! No more ! 
 
 Ah I quick, I charge thee, friend, unlock thy 
 bosom's store !" 
 
 N 2 
 
142 MARGARET CANTO v. 
 
 . XLIV. 
 
 " What chance first met me on my way, 
 Methinks it needeth not to say, 
 Albeit, yon Knight, for memory's sake, 
 May yearn to hear the story told 
 How on a spectre grim and bold 
 One dazzling morn his eyes did wake !" 
 The Prince arose, " Rudolph, forbear ! 
 We may not brook thy contumely ! 
 It would become thy speech to wear 
 A meeker purport, in the ear, 
 The sacred ear of Majesty ! 
 Respect the Queen ! and let thy tongue 
 Forbear with bitter sneer to do a hero wrong ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Like one accustom'd to command, 
 The Prince, reseated, wav'd his hand, 
 " Rudolph, proceed ! for much we long 
 To hear of that dispersed throng, 
 The loyal, generous few, who yet 
 Cleave to the true Plantagenet 1" 
 Rudolph, surpriz'd, perus'd the face 
 Of him from whom the mandate came, 
 There, mingled with youth's softest grace 
 Of majesty an awful trace, 
 Lit by a spark of anger's flame ; 
 Never till now had Rudolph's ear 
 Heard of reproof the voice austere, 
 Awhile he stood with eye-lids wide, 
 Gazing upon the Prince, then, wond'ring why, 
 complied 1 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 ;< The moon had risen, when mid the slain 
 I stood alone on Livel's plain ! 
 The waning moon 1 like meteor red 
 
CANTO v. OFANJOU. 143 
 
 It hung above the scattered dead 
 Who slept on that uncurtain'd bed ! 
 Full oft of pity and of fear 
 I've heard, unweeting what they were ; 
 I knew them never, save that now 
 A strange, bewildering, shudd'ring thrill, 
 A sudden touch of wintry chili 
 Struck to my heart and damp'd my brow ! 
 Beshrew me ! for awhile I stood 
 Irresolute in coward mood, 
 
 Eyeing that dismal scene of silence, death, and 
 ' blood ! 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " My halt was short, for on I rush'd 
 Along the red and slippery way, 
 Trampling on mahy a gallant gay 
 Who there outstretch'd and silent lay 
 Beneath my reckless footstep crush'd ! 
 Yet not alone of living things 
 Among those ghastly heaps I stood ; 
 For there the raven pois'd her wings 
 And revell'd in a feast of blood, 
 While hovering o'er the silent corse 
 She shriek'd a death-song wild and hoarse ; 
 And stealing to his banquet foul 
 Shrill came the night-dog's hungry howl ; 
 Nor only these, for she was there, 
 Of whom the feeble shrink to hear, 
 Wandering amid the corses cold, 
 The haggard Woman of the Wold ! 
 Strange talk,methought, she held with those 
 Whose sense was fled, whose ear was froze! 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " In Hexham's wails a boastful crew 
 Were resting from their stubborn toils 
 
144 MARGARET CANTO v 
 
 Their languid vigour to renew, 
 To tend their wounds and count their spoils ; 
 Loud rang the bells in Hexham's tow'rs, 
 Loud rose the shout from Hexham's throng, 
 And busy hands were scattering flow'rs, 
 And welcome flow'd from every tongue i 
 Fools ! pliant slaves ! their vile caress 
 Still crowns prosperity ! They bless 
 
 The victor, not the man, not merit, but suc- 
 cess ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " For many a rugged year I've stood 
 At distance from such motley brood, 
 And now a curious glance I threw 
 Upon the noisy, busy, crew ; 
 The mute inquirer could not find 
 One man who seem'd of Rudolph's kind, 
 Mid shouting thousands he was still 
 Alone in semblance and in will I 
 Oh, what a heap of mummery, 
 What tinsel gauds ! what foolery ! 
 What toys for crowing infants meet 
 
 Did flattery lavish there the full-grown babes to 
 greet 1 
 
 L. 
 
 " But soon the wayward thing threw by 
 The harmless rattle, and began 
 For such stern pageantry to cry 
 As soothes and feeds destructive man ! 
 For vengeance ! Let the scaffold rise ! 
 Oh, let not the auspicious skies 
 Wait longer for the sacrifice ! 
 The scaffold rose ! I saw it wet 
 With the brave blood of Somerset ! 
 
CANTO v. OF ANJOU. 145 
 
 Calmly he laid him down to death, 
 And sniil'd the glittering axe beneath ! 
 
 LL 
 
 " * I go,' he said, < life's conflict past, 
 I go to seek my sire in heaven ! 
 Happy that even to the last, 
 Howe'er by stormy fortune driven, 
 Still stedfast in my father's track, 
 No adverse gale might turn me back ! 
 In the same cause for which he bled 
 With joy my vital stream I shed ! 
 Ye rebel crew, exult not yet, 
 All is not o'er with Somerset ! 
 Till the last drop of Beaufort blood 
 Has York's rebellious hand imbrued, 
 It is not o'er ! and impious York 
 Has but commenced his rugged work !' 
 
 LI I. 
 
 " Then, with an aspect firm and proud, 
 ~" turn'd him from the gathering crowd 
 Till holy friar his soul had shriven, 
 And yielded him the pass to heaven, 
 Then 'twas concluded Father, say ! 
 Hast thou not wash'd the drops away 
 Which sprinkling o'er thy garments spread, 
 When the aspiring soul from Beaufort's body 
 
 fled?" 
 
 LIIL 
 "< No,' groan'd the Friar, * while Beaufort's 
 
 tree 
 
 Yet stands, that stain unwash'd shall be !' 
 Then, drawing nigh the feeble light 
 From winking taper dimly shed, 
 He pointed to each shuddering sight 
 The ghastly drops of livid red 
 
 HJ 
 
146 MARGARET. CANTO v. 
 
 Which o'er his sleeve and bosom spread ! 
 
 Prince Edward to his swelling breast 
 
 Eager the precious relique press'cl, 
 
 In silence, for impetuous rush'd 
 Grief, gratitude, and wrath, and struggling utter- 
 ance crush'd. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Sir Gerald view'd the stranger-guest, 
 
 Bewilder'd where surmise might rest ; 
 
 In vain his glances strove to trace 
 
 One line upon the Friar's face, 
 
 The shadowy cowl defied his eye 
 
 And mock'd his eager scrutiny ; 
 
 From time to time, with jealous care, 
 
 Still deeper down his hood he drew, 
 
 Perchance the Father was aware 
 How many a piercing glance Sir Gerald tow'rds 
 him threw I 
 
 END OF CANTO THE FIFTH. 
 
NOTE TO CANTO THE FIFTH. 
 
 Then might the white rose chapkt wave* 
 
 Stanza XXIX. 1. 13. 
 
 THIS passage alludes to a custom formerly prevalent 
 in the northern and midland counties of England, and 
 almost universally in Wales, (where, perhaps, it may yet 
 be regained,) of hanging garlands of white paper roses in 
 the churches when any of the village maidens or bache- 
 lors died. The author has met with a trace of the above 
 custom in the church of the village of Middleton in 
 Derbyshire. 
 
 " Now the low beams with paper garlands hung 1 , 
 In memory of some village youth or maid, 
 
 Draw the soft tear from thrilm remembrance sprung ; 
 How oft my childhood mark'd that tribute paid !" 
 
 MISS SEWA-BD. 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOU. 
 
 CANTO THE SIXTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Is it not sweet awhile to turn 
 From life's realities I to flee 
 From sober truth with visage stern 
 To sport with gentle fantasy ! 
 To shun the irksome things that are, 
 And mock the cold rebuke ot care ! 
 Who would not, lur'd by Fancy's smile, 
 Cast down his burthen for awhile ? 
 Who would not for awhile forget 
 To fear what future hours may bring, 
 To trace the past with vain regret, 
 Or groan, whilst present sorrows wring, 
 And twist, and strain, each bosom string ? 
 Who would not listen to the song 
 Which lulls to fairy dreams our visionary throng 
 
 My Muse ! I thank thee t^iat thy cloud, 
 Hovering so oft o'er things that be, 
 Doth o'er them cast its rainbow shroud, 
 And hide the irksome train from me ! 
 My Muse ! I thank thee that thy hand 
 Of care so oft had loos'd the chain, 
 And led me to thine own bright land 
 Where care would seek his prey in vain ! 
 Alas ! I pray thee quit me not!/* 
 Wend with me till I touch the brink 
 
SANTO vr. OF ANJOU. 149 
 
 Where every mortal lip shall drink, 
 The gulph where all things are forgot ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Rudolph resumed, " My nature's pride 
 Rose as I mark'd the fickle tide ; 
 I bless'd the silent star which shone 
 On the wild night when I was born, 
 Which bade me run my course alone, 
 And view earth's dust-form'd race with scorn ! 
 But vengeance now in joy was drown'd, 
 The sparkling wassail-cup went round, 
 And steep'd in hypocras, the eye 
 Fiash'd fire, the brain rock'd merrily, 
 For now the inebriate victors roar'd 
 
 Their songs of senseless mirth round many a 
 festive board. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " To quit me of their shout awhile 
 I wandered where a scathed pile 
 Rear'd its grey brow, and seem'd like me 
 To hate the distant revelry : 
 'Twas sile/it ! Once the holy din 
 Of song and pray'r was heard within, 
 But wrath and time had riven the wall, 
 And frail, and nodding to the fall, 
 'Twas nigh the hour which comes to all ; 
 In narrow mounds on every side 
 Lay those who knew it in its pride, 
 It was a solitary place, 
 
 Meet haunt for one like me, unown'd by kin or 
 race! 
 
 V. 
 
 <; But I was not alone the while ; 
 For, as I mus'd, a murmuring sound 
 Came from within the mould'ring pile 
 O 
 
150 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 And echoed o'er the hollow ground ! 
 It might have been the wind that brake 
 Thro' the long vaults, and hoarsely spake, 
 Or else, perchance, mine ear had heard 
 The hooting of the lonely bird, 
 I knew not but with quicken'd breath 
 I pluck'd my dagger from its sheath, 
 And hastening thro' a yawning cleft 
 Which time and slow neglect had left. 
 Trod the dim aisles, resolv'd to find 
 If aught had ta'en its lurking place 
 Within that solemn, sullen space, 
 Save wailing owl or raving wind 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Nor from the fitful, eddying blast 
 Which thro' the narrow cloisters past, 
 Nor from the bird, whose nightly wail 
 Frights silence from those cloisters pale, 
 But from a heavy laden soul 
 Those murmurs, deep and dreary, stole ! 
 Where once the holy altar stood, 
 And where its ruins still are strew'd, 
 Beside it, prone and prostrate, lay 
 What seem'd a Friar of orders grey; 
 Strange was that Friar's orison, 
 Mingled of pray'r, and threat, and groan I 
 He never heard my footsteps glide 
 E'en till they halted by his side, 
 And little dreamed what eye hib strange devotion 
 spied ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Half-rising from the chequer'd stone 
 His floating drapery he unroll'd, 
 And from beneath its seen t fold 
 A warrior's glittering wettpon shoue, 
 
OANTO vi. OF ANJOU. 151 
 
 Then flinging back his cowl's deep shade, 
 He kiss'd its cross, he kiss'd its blade, 
 And breath'd a curse ! From hatred's flame 
 Fed to the height by outrage dire, 
 Sure never curse more deadly came 
 
 Than blanch'd the quivering lip of that grey-sto- 
 led Friar ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " He call'd on those who all unseen 
 Peopled that dim mysterious scene, 
 On those whose soundless footsteps stray'd 
 Round many a once emblazon'd stone 
 (Defac'd with damps, with weeds o'ergrown) 
 Where slow their mortal spoils decay 'd ; 
 On them he call'd the bond to keep 
 Of that fell curse so dire and deep, 
 And when he paus'd as tho' to hear 
 What strange response should greet his ear 
 From that unseen, unearthly brood, 
 
 Rudolph before his eyes a living witness stood ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " One instant did dismay prevail, 
 The Friar's cheek turn'd icy pale, 
 One instant a convulsive start 
 Drove back the life-blood to his hearty- 
 One instant only, for 'twas awe, 
 Not fear that thro* his spirits ran, 
 And swift they rallied, when he saw 
 He only gaz'd on mortal man : 
 He snatch'd his falchion from its sheath, 
 ' Well then ! since thus it is,' he cries, 
 * At least we'll have a tilt with death I 
 Thou shalt not lightly win the prize ! 
 Where do thy fellows lurking stand ? 
 / fall not to a single hand !' 
 
152 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 Not lightly might my efforts stay 
 His rash assault's impetuous sway, 
 For fiercer courage ne'er did warm 
 A soldier's heart, or nerve his arm, 
 Than now enkindled to the fray 
 The holy Friar of orders grey ! 
 
 .&. 
 
 " That live-long night, the Friar and I 
 Did thro* those mould'ring cloisters roam 
 E'en till the moon's half-veiled eye 
 Look'd on us thro' the riven dome : 
 'Twas that same Friar who bless'd the sprite 
 Of Beaufort ere it wing'd its flight, 
 'Twas that same Friar whose garb retains 
 The drops which gush'd from Beaufort's 
 veins I 
 
 XI. 
 
 " When morning came, I mix'd again 
 Amid the motley noisy train, 
 Who still with triumph's deaf'ning peal 
 Made Hexhain's tow'rs and turrets reel ; 
 But every tongue was hush'd and stay'd, 
 For now a warning trumpet bray'd 
 And silence and attention bade : 
 Then did a herald's loud acclaim 
 Brand many a high and noble name, 
 Then did he tempt the sordid sprite 
 Of many a base and earth-sprung wight, 
 And many a wretch, in fancy, sold 
 His soul to grasp the proffcr'd gold ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Thou, .Lady, and the Royal Youth 
 Who some bright clay shall rule our isle, 
 Were menac'd by the villain's mouth 
 In terms of outrage foul and vile ! 
 
CANTO vi. OF ANJOU. 153 
 
 A felon's death the man shall die 
 
 Who yields thee succour in thy need ; 
 
 But he whose tveach'rous hand shall lead 
 
 Thy steps iiito captivity, 
 
 Or bring thee to disastrous end, 
 
 On him shall fortune's show'rs descend I 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Next did the herald's voice proscribe 
 The Percy and his gallant tribe 
 Of blooming brothers, all who stood 
 Nigh Percy, or in love or blood ; 
 Young Oxford, and the fierce cadet 
 Of the late fallen Somerset, 
 With more of lesser note, but most 
 Of whom their land might make its boast. 
 Were mark'd for ruin, at a price 
 
 Well fitted to inflame the thirst of avarice 1" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A slight convulsion seem'd to shake 
 Queen Margaret's frame as Rudolph spake ; 
 Her pale lip quiver'd, " Now," she cries, 
 " Now is existence clear indeed, 
 Since every breath we draw defies 
 The sentence which would bid us bleed ! 
 Since every hour of life is worn 
 Triumphant in rebellion's scorn!" 
 " Oh, rather," cried the princely youth, 
 " Oh, rather hold thy being dear 
 In token fair of loyal truth, 
 Of British honour bright and clear, 
 
 Of stern, firm-rooted faith, invincible, sincere 1" 
 
 XV. 
 
 Responsive to the gracious word, 
 Sir Gerald, kneeling, kiss'd his sword, 
 u Hear, heaven ! while life my veins shall warm, 
 o 2 
 
154 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 Play thro' my heart and nerve mine arm, 
 
 Danger may threat and treason lay 
 
 Her meshes in my master's way, 
 
 But till this throbbing pulse is still, 
 
 And till this burning heart is chill, 
 
 On danger's threat, and treachery's wile, 
 
 Secure shall Royal Edward smile ! 
 
 Ere the proud citadel shall fall, 
 Ruin's resistless weight must crush th' embattled 
 wall !" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " For me," cried Rudolph, " 'tis my trade 
 
 To cope with numbers undisrnay'd ; 
 
 He merits not the victor's name 
 
 Who triumphs in an even game ! 
 
 Till this tough trunk shall piece-meal spread 
 
 The earth beneath some rebel's tread, 
 In vain shall malice bend her bow 
 Against the royal stripling's brow i 
 Fain would I see some villain dare 
 Uplift his luckless hand to scathe one golden 
 hair !" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Mute, hidden beneath his muffling cowl, 
 The workings of the Friar's soul 
 No man beheld, but now some string . 
 Was smitten e'en to answering. 
 Backward with sudden act he flung 
 The hood which o'er his features hung, 
 And cried, " Behold me, Edward ! thou 
 Need'st not from me the deep-breath'd vow ! 
 Thy foes, thy friends, thy hopes are mine ! 
 My sword, my strength, my being, thine ! 
 These still are left ! Thine are they all, 
 With thee to stand, with thee to fall I 
 
CANTO vi. OF ANJOU. 155 
 
 Till the last Somerseris down, 
 Yon vile usurper's brow shall find a thorny 
 crown !'* 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Lord Edmund !" and the Queen with joy 
 Beheld the brave, impetuous boy ; 
 For whoever look'd upon the faee 
 Of him, the glory of his race, 
 Hop'd as they gaz'd. His spirit high 
 Still seem'd to challenge victory, 
 And he did bear aloft his brow 
 As tho j he thought his lightning eye 
 Could wither the rais'd arm ere it might strike 
 the blow. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Well," cried the Queen, " ye are but few, 
 But iron-temper'd, stern, and true, 
 And full of manly hope, I dare 
 Lean firmly on you ! Few ye are, 
 But ye are sure ; and, mark me well, 
 Would yon crown'd traitor barter free 
 His crowd of veering vassalry, 
 The wavering slaves his ranks who swell, 
 And yield the base apostate crew 
 E'en for my gallant, trusted few, 
 My faithful warriors, brave and bold, 
 I'd spurn his counters vile, and keep my fire- 
 tried gold !" 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Alas ! not tried" cried Somerset, 
 " We are but wordy boasters yet, 
 Breathing secure the unheard threat! 
 Would that some wizard's mystic pow'r 
 From mortal film mine orbs would free. 
 That I might trace the future hour. 
 
156 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 And catch one glimpse of things to be ! 
 Oh, Providence 1 and yet, perchance, 
 
 Thy mercy to our eyes forbids the forward 
 glance !" 
 
 XXL 
 Rough Rudolph laugh'd, " What recks it 
 
 when, 
 
 Or where, or how the chances fall ! 
 Or why impatient strain the ken 
 To see what shall be seen by all ! 
 Be patient, ruin or success 
 Is nigh. Thou hast not long to guess I 
 Yet, if thou needs must look within 
 Some doting wizard's book of sin, 
 Content thee, I will point thy ken 
 To where (abhorred by common men) 
 Frowns the unhallowed dreamer's den ; 
 I'll pilot thee where thou may'st read 
 
 Of many a yet unborn, unperpetrated deed 1" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 But Beaufort heard him not ; his mind, 
 Acuve and restless, turn'd its heed 
 From dark conjecture, vague and blind, 
 To the bold plan and daring deed ; 
 " Why, even now," he said, " the foe 
 Strikes o'er our unseen heads the blow I 
 We are surrounded ! Bambro's tow'rs 
 Are sore beleaguer'd by his pow'rs ! 
 Fair Alnwick is no longer ours ; 
 And lovely Prudhoe, once our own, 
 Scowls on us with a rebel's frown 1 
 What say ye, gallants ! who will go 
 With me a Maying thro' the foe ? 
 Those \vho will go with me shall shake 
 Their morris bells at Bambro' wake, 
 
CANTO vi. OF ANJOU. 157 
 
 And cheer and gladden with their play 
 
 The anxious eyes of warlike Grey ; 
 
 Aye, by the rood ! we'll forth anon, 
 And have our frolic yet, ere merry May be gone !" 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Young Beaufort," cried th' approving Queen, 
 
 " Bold is thy thought, not rash, I ween ! 
 
 Who would sit cow'ring here, while round 
 
 The foe's insulting trumpets sound ! 
 
 And should his bloodhounds track us here, 
 
 Nestling in secrecy and fear, 
 
 Like timid sheep for slaughter penn'd, 
 Then Esperance, good night ! the war is at an 
 end ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " And yet we would not tempt our fate, 
 
 Let us be bold, not desperate ; 
 
 Ere forth we wend, 'tis meet we know 
 
 Each point and station of the foe ; 
 
 Experience tells us that surprize 
 
 May shock the brave and stun the wise ; 
 
 Prepar'd, let the worst come, and try 
 
 The temper of our constancy !" 
 
 " 'Tis Pallas speaks i" young Beaufort cried, 
 
 " The soldier's counsellor and guide ! 
 
 Come then we'll scour the country thro', 
 And having track'd our route, strike tents for 
 Bambro' 1" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Prince Edward smii'd : " Thy deeds and name, 
 
 Thy prowess and thy wrongs, may claim 
 
 Alike, in conference or in fight, 
 
 To speak or strike, the foremost right! 
 
 Who shall dispute that right with thee. 
 
 Illustrious branch of noble tree ? 
 
158 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 No voice, save that of royalty ! 
 Nay, my best soldier ! if we sate 
 Where now a rebel sits in state, 
 Thou should'st have scope ; but, as we are, 
 We must be proud, we may not spare 
 One jot of that which will be ours 
 When fortune sends us sunshine hours ! 
 It is the fallen Prince who brooks, 
 Like goads, the glance of equal looks, 
 But, oh, how priz'd the homage free ! 
 Oh, how ennobled is the knee 
 Which bends before adversity ! 
 JVbw, Beaufort, to thy master bend ! 
 
 Once thron'd, behold in us thy brother and thy 
 friend !" 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " My Prince !" cried Beaufort, and his knee 
 Swift press'd at Edward's feet the dust, 
 " May my arm shrink, and my sword rust 
 When my heart fails to render thee 
 Meet subject fear and fealty ! 
 When thou sitt'st highest, when thine eye 
 Sees nought above thee save the sky, 
 Mid that fair-weather crew who stay 
 Till fortune's sunshine warms the day, 
 That crowding, climbing, cringing rout 
 Which then shall gird thy throne about, 
 Oh, may another heart as sound, 
 As humbly to thy service bound, 
 Amid those smiling ranks be found, 
 As that which now, 'twixt grief and shame, 
 
 Bears shrinking and oppress'd a much-lov'd mas- 
 ter's blame !" 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Well know we, Beaufort, what thou art, 
 How strong thine arm, how true thine heart ! 
 
GANTO VI. OF ANJOU. 159 
 
 Well know we what thine House has done 
 To prop a tottering, falling throne ! 
 Oh, had ye stood on fortune's side, 
 And on the prosperous party striven, 
 Those noble pledges, now in heaven, 
 This hour might shine in earthly pride 1 
 I've lean'd on thee, and still shall lean, 
 My friend, thro* many a chequer'd scene. 
 For something tells me we shall steer, 
 Still link'd by fate, a joint career, 
 Together conqu'rors at the last, 
 Or both to ruin swept by one resistless blast !" 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The knights besought the Prince to rest 
 Contented in the woodland nest, 
 While they at dawn of day were bound 
 To spy the foe-encumber'd ground ; 
 " A few short hours to prudence yield, 
 Think on thy yet scarce healed wound, 
 And keep thy strength for glory's field t 
 At best 'tis but a vassal's part, 
 111 suited to the regal heart, 
 In thickets and, in glens to lie, 
 Creeping near earth, a silent spy, 
 With treach'rous, fox-like, wily eye 1 
 The task is honourless, but need 
 Imperious bids us to the deed 1" 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Prince replied, " I had blush'd to ask 
 Exemption from the irksome task, 
 Yet is my spirit idly bent, 
 And ye have won its glad consent 1" 
 Queen Margaret frown'd : " What ! hast thou 
 
 slept 
 Till sloth's vile rust has o'er thee crept ! 
 
160 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 Coward thou art not ! but the vice 
 The next akin to cowardice, 
 Wearing its craven mein and gait, 
 The vice which next the valiant hate, 
 Is Indolence ! A soldier thou, 
 And let such vapour dull thy brow ! 
 Arouse thee, Edward ! I might brook 
 Upon thy lifeless form to look, 
 But to behold thine honours shorn, 
 To live to look on thee with scorn, 
 Would task even my strength my blood 
 
 E'en at a thought so base boils like a lava flood I" 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Young Somerset and Erin's Knight 
 To earth their hasty glances bent, 
 Each standing mute like truant wight 
 By ruthless master roughly shent ; 
 Not so the Prince, thus calmly he 
 Repell'd the hateful obloquy, 
 " Content thee, Lady ! thou shalt live, 
 Perchance, o'er this cold form to grieve, 
 But not to weep that taint of shame 
 Has left its mildew on my name ! 
 Meanwhile, with all observance meet, 
 Our Mother and our Queen we greet ! 
 Oh, Mother, thou shall oft persuade 
 When we should startle at command, 
 And if thou still wilt be obey'd, 
 
 Beware, lest till it snap thou strain the fil'al 
 band ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 " Friends ! fast towards morning wears the 
 
 night, 
 
 And when forth sets the golden sun, 
 Exulting, on his journey bright, 
 
CANTO vi. OF ANJOU. 161 
 
 Be your appointed task begun ! 
 So fare ye well ! When eve again 
 With curtain grey obscures the plain, 
 About that hour, when failing clay 
 Shall bid the busy crone prepare 
 To wake her taper's twinkling ray, 
 And mutter o'er her vesper pray'r, 
 We will expect ye, now, good night ! 
 
 Go snatch till morning dawns your slumbers brief 
 and light !" 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Then forth went either loyal knight, 
 Dismissal with many a kind " Good night 1" 
 A thousand dew-drops gemm'd their bed, 
 And heaven's wide cope stretch 'd o'er their 
 
 head, 
 
 Their curtain, the white thorn of May 
 Shedding its blossoms as the spray 
 Trembled beneath the zephyr's sway ; 
 And ne'er did golden censer fling 
 On velvet couch of slumb'ring king 
 Such perfume as that zephyr's wing ! 
 If there be truth in gossip's tale, 
 The Fairy monarch loves the vale, 
 And oft, where now the knights are sleeping^ 
 His tiny elves are featly tripping, 
 An emerald circlet on the sod 
 Marks where the little feet have trod, 
 Nought else, except that softer glows 
 The blush upon the summer rose, 
 And sweeter breathes the eglantine, , 
 
 And brighter there the dew drops shine, 
 
 A greener, lovelier vale blooms not from Tweed 
 to Tync ! 
 
162 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 As Rudolph follow'd, Margaret stay'd 
 His hand which on the latch was laid, 
 " Stay, trusty Rudolph, we would try 
 Once more thy truth and secrecy, 
 Nay nearer ! To thy ear alone 
 We trust our bidding ! E'en our son 
 Knows not our purpose ;" and the while 
 She ey'd the Prince with scornful smile, 
 " Tho' to our eye stands full confest 
 The boyish secret of his breast, 
 Howe'er his puny art would fain 
 Conceal it from our just disdain 1" 
 Rudolph his dark and shaggy brow 
 Bent tow'rds the Queen, who whisper'cl low ;-~ 
 The words, methinks, must needs be strange 
 Which bade the outlaw's colour change. 
 Who stood 'twixt terror and surprise. 
 With stiffen'd form, and rolling eyes ! 
 " How ! dost thou mark me ?" Margaret sakl s 
 " Or is thy faltering soul afraid ? 
 Nay, if it be so, speak ! We do not need thii r 
 aid?" 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Rudolph breath'd quick : " Lady, this arm 
 Ne'er falter'd yet at human harm. 
 Nor ever shrank this iron frame 
 From blow, which mortal might could aim ! 
 Yet bears that woman's breast of thine 
 A heart whose courage mocks at mine. 
 For powers there be, of man unborn. 
 Who mortal daring laugh to scorn, 
 And these thou bravest ! Lady, well. 
 When tolls the village curfew-bell, 
 Expect me ! Now, toother heed, 
 
CANTO vi. OF ANJOU. 163 
 
 For he who thinks before his deed 
 Ever goes halting on, with weak, unprosperous 
 speed 1" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Another day ascends the sky, 
 The dew is fled, the sun is high, 
 The birds are singing merrily ! 
 Yet all unheard the warbler's strain, 
 And the bright day but smiles in vain 
 To him, who, turning from the sky, 
 Perversely bends his wayward eye 
 Upon the troubled sphere within, 
 That narrow world of care and sin ! 
 How few who inward turn their view. 
 Behold reflected there yon welkin's cloudless 
 blue! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Queen Margaret's heart with labYmg thought 
 Intense seem'd, e'en to bursting, fraught ; 
 The astonish'd Prince, awhile set free, 
 Escap'd her jealous scrutiny, 
 And many a sigh upheav'd his breast, 
 His eyes full many a love-glance threw, 
 And almost e'en his tongue confest 
 The passion, fervent, deep, and true, 
 Which did his princely soul subdue ; 
 Yet Margaret either mark'd him not, 
 Or every jealous fear forgot : 
 Sometimes with quick, impatient hand 
 She turn'd the slowly ebbing sand, 
 And sometimes watch'd the travelling sun 
 To see how far his course was run, 
 Save these, nor outward form, nor act, 
 That Lady's deep-fix'd thought one moment 
 might attract I 
 
164 MARGARET CANTO vi. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The bleating flock that morning stray'd 
 Untended ; their paternal guide 
 In dainty sabbath gear array'd, 
 At dawning bound him forth to ride; 
 Murm'ring at Dobbin's drowsy gait, 
 Behind her spouse old Maudlin sate, 
 And on they jogg'd, the silent clown 
 And thrifty crone for Swinborne town. 
 Who that beheld the sober pair 
 Might their ill-sorted errand guess, 
 Or deem that they so tar would fare, 
 All negligent of daily care, 
 
 To seek the motley weeds of sport and idleness ? 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Yet so, in sooth, it is ! They ride 
 In quest of folly's livery, 
 Vizors and bells, and aught beside 
 That sorts with rustic revelry ; 
 Gloves, badge, and belt, and coat of green, 
 Bright cristofre. and arrows keen, 
 The sylvan garb of Robin Hood ; 
 Maid Marian's kirtle, scarfe, and hood. 
 And folly's peaked cap set round 
 With jingling bells of tuneless sound, 
 And doublet strip'd and raied ; and book. 
 And beads, and cowl of Friar Tuck ; 
 Grim, horned masks of Mawmetry, 
 The glittering pole, the pride of May ! 
 
 And ribbons floating fair of many a rainbow dye I 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Oh ! world of care 1 Thy wild extremes ! 
 Thy wakings dire from golden dreams ! 
 Those motley robes are doomed to hide 
 The stateman's brow the warrior's pride ! 
 
CAXTO vi. OF ANJOU. 165 
 
 Lo ! Wisdom, driv'n by sad mishap, 
 Conceals his brow in Folly's cap ! 
 Pride ! regal pride, must stoop to wear 
 The hedge-born swain's ignoble gear ! 
 Those trappings which, till now in scorn 
 Of carking care were ever borne, 
 Those jingling, mirth-betokening toys. 
 Those symbols erst of village joys, 
 The gaudy many-colour'd vest 
 So wont to wrap a thoughtless breast, 
 Now, to the form of lofty sadness 
 Must lend the mien of homely gladness ! 
 Bless'cl, with the garb, might greatness borrow 
 The artless soul of mirth, unvex'd by strife or 
 sorrow ! 
 
 END OF CANTO THE SIXTH. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THE SIXTH. 
 
 Fair Alnwick is no longer ours, 
 And lovely Prudhoe, &c. Stanza XXII, 1 9. 
 AGAINST these castles, as well as that of Dunstan- 
 burgh, were sent the Earl of Warwick, Marquis Mon- 
 tague, the Lords Falconbridge, Scroop, and divers 
 others, and they were soon severally reduced, that of 
 Bamborotigh holding out the longest, being stoutly de- 
 fended by Sir Ralph Grey, and being, according to 
 Grose, unrivalled, in point of natural strength, by any 
 other situation in Northumberland. 
 
 The silvangarb of Robin Hood Stanza XXXVIII. 1. 7. 
 The following description of a forester by Chaucer 
 may serve to convey an idea of the appearance of this im- 
 portant personage in the old English May-games : 
 " And he was cladde in cote and hode of greene", 
 A shefe of pecocke arwes bright andkene 
 Under his belt he bore ful thriftily, 
 Wei coude he dresse his takel yewmanly. 
 His arwes drouped not with fetheres low, 
 And in his hand he bare a mighty bowe, 
 Of wood-craft could he wel all the usage, 
 A not-hed hadde with broune visage, 
 Upon his arme he had a gai bracer, 
 And by his side, a sword and a bokeler, 
 And on the other side a gai daggere 
 Harneised wel and sharpe as pointe of spere, 
 A Cristofre on his breast of silver shene, 
 An horn he bare, the baudric was of grene, 
 A forester was he sothely as I guesse," &c. 
 
 Maid Marian's kirtle> scarfe, and hood. 
 
 Stanza XXX VIII. 1. 8; 
 
 Her coif is purple, her surcoat blue, her cuffs white 
 the skirts of her robe yellow, the sleeves carnation co- 
 
NOTES TO CANTO VI. 1 6T 
 
 lour, and her stomacher red with a yellow lace in cross 
 bars. Friar Tuck was exhibited in the clerical tonsure, 
 with a chaplet of white and red beads, his corded gir- 
 dle and russet habit denoting him of the Franciscan Or- 
 der ; his stockings are red, and his red girdle orna- 
 mented with golden twist, and a golden tassel ; at his 
 girdle hangs a wallet, &c. 
 
 The Fool has a blue peaked hood and bells, Sec. ; the 
 hood is guarded, or edged with yellow at its scalloped 
 bottom ; his doublet is red, striped across, or rayed, 
 with a deeper red, and edged with yellow ; his girdle 
 yellow ; his left-side hose yellow with a red shoe, and 
 his right- side hose blue, soled with red leather. 
 
 From Mr Tollett's account of the Morris Dancers in 
 his window. Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. I. page 206, 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOIL 
 
 CANTO THE SEVENTH* 
 
 I. 
 
 THE sun has reach'd the western heaven, 
 Nor dews arise, nor zephyrs fly, 
 A sullen, sultry, breathless even 
 On all that live hangs heavily ! 
 Scarce did the sky lend breath to move 
 The lightest leaflet of the grove ; 
 The little rill which lately stray'd 
 Sparkling, and murm'ring thro' the glade, 
 Now languished lazily along ; 
 The thrush withheld his evening song, 
 And mute despondence seem'd to reign 
 Along the parch'd and gasping plain I 
 
 II. 
 
 Of those who in the cottage stay'd 
 Each seem'd to own the fervid hour ; 
 Mute sate the Queen, and mute the maid, 
 As tho' each passive sense obey'cl 
 The leaden sky's oppressive pow'r. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now trust me," cried the Prince, " the gale 
 Which visits not this pent up vale 
 Flutters with cool and fragrant breath 
 Upon the wide, unshaded heath ! 
 
ANTO vn. OF ANJOU. 169 
 
 Oh, let us forth ! I pant to taste 
 The freshness of the upland waste ! 
 Besides their hoary guide away. 
 Old Oswald's flocks untended stray ; 
 Come, let us hasten to the wold 
 And call the wanderers to their fold ! 
 The shepherd's crook my hand shall grace, 
 Come, let us forth ! I fain would try 
 If yonder harmless, peaceful race 
 Will from my call rebellious fly, 
 Or to my summons yield their simple fealty 1" 
 
 IV. 
 
 " My Liege !" replied the maid, " in vain 
 Thy voice would lure the timid train! 
 No, to their long-lov'd pastor true, 
 They startle at each accent new ; 
 The factious still are prone to change, 
 But these with fond adherence cling, 
 Mistrusting voice, or accent strange, 
 To their long-follow'd pastoral king ; 
 Thou lack'st the shepherd's humble skill, 
 Thou hast not learn'd the cadence shrill 
 With which, at eventide, the swain 
 
 From thymy pasture calls his people home 
 again I" 
 
 V. 
 
 " Oh, come ! and teach me then the strain 
 With which, at eventide, the swain 
 Wins his mute people home again ! 
 They know thee, Geraldine, and oft 
 When the flow'rs close, and the dews glisten, 
 Have left their fragrant food to listen, 
 Enchanted, to thy warbling soft, 
 Then, from each knoll, or leafy hollow, 
 
 Have gather'd far and near, the spell divine to 
 follow I 
 
170 MARGARET CANTO vii. 
 
 VI. 
 
 a Oh let us go ! my temples beat, 
 Press'd by the dense and smothering heat ! 
 Come, Madam ! let us lead you where, 
 FannM by a fresher, freer air, 
 Our spirits may revive, these boughs 
 With twisted arms, which o'er us close, 
 Keep off* the zephyr, and refuse 
 
 All access to the gale, which at the barrier sues I" 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Go, restless boy !" the Queen replies, 
 " Go, if thou wilt ! In me, the skies, 
 Blow as they list, shall ever find 
 Superior to each shifting wind, 
 The courage of a regal mind ! 
 I shrink not when the bois'trous north 
 Pours all his gather'd whirlwinds forth, 
 Nor droop I, when the dog-star's glare, 
 With sulphurous heat, inflames the air ! 
 Yet few there be, whose mortal mould 
 Melts not by heat nor shakes at cold : 
 Content ye, Be it as ye will, 
 Do ye your feebler thoughts fulfil, 
 Here will I rest, the time draws nigh 
 When our good Knights shall homeward hie, 
 I will await them, ye the while 
 
 Upon the upland fell the sultry hour beguile 1" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For added word they waited not ; 
 The Queen sate lonely in the cot, 
 And, as she eyed the closing door, 
 A dark smile gleam'd her features o'er ; 
 " Why, this is well !" the Lady said, 
 " Lo ! e'en the skies vouchsafe their aid ! 
 The skies ! No, rather from below 
 
ANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 171 
 
 Exhales this thick, sulphureous glow ! 
 But what of that ! to learned fools 
 The drowsy drones of cells and schools, 
 Such questions leave 1 In time of need 
 Whence helps arise I little heed, 
 If from earth's central caves they rise, 
 
 Or unintreated come, free tribute from the skies ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Hark ! 'tis a falling step ! At last 
 Comes Rudolph 1" and a shivering thrill 
 Past o'er her like a northern blast, 
 Shaking awhile her firmer will ! 
 It passes quick ! 'tis gone ! And now 
 A sterner meaning bends her brow, 
 As Rudolph enters ; nought they spake. 
 But swift exchang'd a silent glance, 
 A look of dark significance, 
 Then from the cot their way they take 
 
 And up the narrow path, and thro' the tangled 
 brake. 
 
 X. 
 
 Still silent on their way they hold 
 Across the desert, trackless wold ; 
 The sun was down, but yet 'twas light ; 
 A lurid, pale, and ghastly glare 
 Display'd to each mute wand'rer's sight 
 The wide heath desolate and bare ; 
 The outlaw o'er the desert scene 
 Now, pausing, flung his glances keen, 
 Then stamping, with a felon blow 
 Rudely he struck his shaggy brow ; 
 " Fool !'' he exclaimed in sudden wrath, 
 *< Have I so often cross'd the moor, 
 Now, like a dull and blundering boor 
 Perplexed to wander from my path I" 
 
172 MARGARET CANTO vn. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Just then the village curfew knell 
 Swept by with faint and lingering swell, 
 He listened, u Oh, in happy time, 
 To guide our footsteps o'er the fell 
 Yon steeple wakes its drowsy chime ! 
 Two things its leaden tongue has told,- 
 East must we bend across the wold ; 
 It warns us too that o'er the waste 
 We have but half our journey past, 
 For ne'er may night-hag build her cell 
 Within the sound of hallow'd bell. 
 And she we seek abideth whc 
 No wind's officious breath can bear 
 Its echo on her loathed ear : 
 Mark where yon pitchy current glides 
 Slow struggling with its weedy sides ; 
 Trace we its dull and sluggish roll, 
 'Twill prove a trusty guide, and bring us to the 
 goal !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 All nature sleeping seem'd, or dead ; 
 The air was motionless, unheard 
 Or insects' hum, or song of bird, 
 And underneath or overhead 
 No living thing around them stirr'd I 
 E'en the strange bird, whose circling flighv 
 Still heralds in approaching night, 
 His task forewent, nor heavily 
 The drowsy dorr fled buzzing by : 
 Still on they trod, the ghastly light 
 Which hither led them, past away, 
 Thick rolling clouds obscur'd the night:, 
 And to assist their baffled sight 
 Not one small star shot forth its ray. 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 173 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Aye !" growl'd the robber, " now 'tis plain 
 The beldame flouts us ! They who deal 
 With hell's dark progeny are fain 
 Their goblin mockery to feel ! 
 Blood have I shed ! and dyed my blade 
 In many a midnight ambuscade ! 
 Man's pow'r I know I may abide, 
 But this dark race, unknown, untried, 
 I am not brave for them ! e'en now 
 Mine arm shrinks nerveless ! at my side 
 Fast knocks my heart ! a feeble foe 
 Might quell me with an infant's blow ! 
 Mine arm has lost its strength, iny soul has lost 
 its pride !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Thick darkness cover'd them : the hand, 
 By many a bloody outrage stain'd, 
 Faltering and weak, was lifted now, 
 With purpose strange, to Rudolph's brow ; 
 He rais'd it, by despair impell'd, 
 To trace upon his rugged front 
 That sign, which ne'er at holy font 
 On that unchristen'd brow was seaPd ! 
 Yet ere his unaccustom'd tongue 
 Cried " Pardon !" ere his rugged brow 
 Bore the blest token, loud and long, 
 Above, around them, and below, 
 Burst a wild chorus ! Earth seem'd rent 
 Till its foundations rock'd with fiendish mer- 
 riment ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 At once upon the darkness burst 
 A blaze so dazzling that each eye, 
 Abash'd and baffled, clos'd at first, 
 
 Q 
 
174 MARGARET CANTO vu. 
 
 Abiding not its brilliancy ! 
 
 Their senses reel'd for every sound 
 
 Which the ear loves not, fill'd the air j 
 
 Each din that reason might confound 
 
 Echoed in ceaseless tumult there ! 
 
 Swift whirling wheels, the shriek intense 
 
 Of one who dies by violence ! 
 
 Yells, hoarse and deep, from blood-hound's 
 
 throat ; 
 
 The night-crow's evil boding note ; 
 Such wild and chattering sounds as throng 
 Upon the moon-struck ideot's tongue ; 
 The roar of bursting flames, the dash 
 Of waters wildly swelling round, 
 Which, unrestrain'd by dyke or mound, 
 Leap down at once with hideous crash, 
 And sounds without a name, so drear, 
 So full of wonder and of fear, 
 
 As seldom come to those who walk this middle 
 sphere ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 This din unearthly so prevail'd 
 That e'en the Queen's high spirit fail'd; 
 With fainting heart, and freezing blood, 
 And trembling limbs, the Lady stood ! 
 As yet nor she nor Rudolph rais'd 
 Their eye-lids lest some hideous sight 
 Might quell their tottering senses quite, 
 By that dire chorus sore amaz'd : 
 At once it ceas'd, for, over all 
 They heard a voice in thunder call 
 " Silence !" Once, twice, and thrice it cried, 
 
 Then all those deafening sounds sank on the ear 
 and died ! 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 175 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " If my word has force to bind 
 The riders of the midnight wind, 
 If from ocean's weltering wave, 
 If from the firm earth's midmost cave, 
 If from that region, cold and dim, 
 The wintry land of Fiacim, 
 Where all is still, and frozen sleep 
 Chains e'en the billows of the deep ; 
 Whether amid the halo pale 
 Around the wat'ry moon ye sail, 
 Or ye be they who love to dwell 
 In some dank cemetery's cell, 
 And drink the yellow dews that fall 
 In slow drops from the stained wall, 
 If each has felt that word of might 
 Which quells the disobedient sprite, 
 And grasps him in his swiftest flight : 
 If Balkin, and if Luridane, 
 Strong spirits, tremble in my chain, 
 And tread my circle, now let all, 
 Mute and unseen attend my call, 
 And all within, around, and over 
 The magic ringlet, closely hover ! 
 Lady 1 now unclose thine eyes ! 
 Behold I behold our mysteries !" 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 One strong, internal effort made, 
 The Queen recall'd each scatter'd^sense, 
 She rouz'd her povv'rs with force intense, 
 Shook off fear's aguish impotence, 
 And that appalling scene survey 'd ! 
 She knew, she ftlt, that round her stood, 
 Invisible, hell's evil brood, 
 Yet she had call'd herself again. 
 
176 MARGARET CANTO vn. 
 
 And once set free from terror's chain, 
 Stood firm and shook not ! yet, behold, 
 How drooping, death-like, by her side, 
 Wan, terror-smitten, pow'rless, cold, 
 With every rigid nerve untied, 
 
 Stands feeble and aghast, the once ferocious 
 guide ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Still side by side they stood, beyond 
 That awful ch\ k-'s charmed round; 
 The light which on their eyes at first 
 Too fiercely on the darkness burst, 
 Had ceas'd to dazzle, yet it threw 
 Around a wild and various hue, 
 Now like the blue and vagrant ray 
 Which the night- wand'rer leads astray, 
 Now like the red glare, which, they say. 
 Glows quenchless in that murky den 
 Where howl the souls of wicked men : 
 Nine tapers, each in hideous frame, 
 Emit that wild and various flame ; 
 For those nine wond'rous tapers stand 
 Each in a dead man's shrouded hand ! 
 Three on the left, three on the right, 
 And in the circle's centre three, 
 Do lend their grim, portentous light 
 To that unhaliow'd mystery, 
 And nigh the central three she stood 
 Whose spell enkindled them \ her hood 
 O'erhung her face, a funeral pall 
 
 Wrapt in its dismal folds her form so gauut and 
 tall! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Yet not on her, in fix'd surprize, 
 Dwelt Margaret's lately open'd eyes. 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. Ifr 
 
 For, as she trac'd the circle's rim, 
 Her sight astonish'd fell on him, 
 On him, or one his form who bore, 
 Who deep within her bosom's core 
 In deadliest hate she did abhor ! 
 Strange 'twas, that leftward of the Queen, 
 Unarm'd, two ghastly lights between, 
 
 Stood Richard ! Nature's foulest work, 
 That dark, mis-shapen son of York ! 
 
 His wide stretch'd orbs, and upright frame 
 Alone the waking man proclaim, 
 
 For that fell woman's wond'rous skill 
 
 Had fix'd him motionless and still, 
 
 As tho' the fiery soul had flown, 
 And left its earthy mould deserted and alone 
 XXI. 
 
 Now Margaret felt a mingling breath 
 
 Hot as the choaking sulphur-blast, 
 
 Chill as the night-gust on the heath. 
 
 And shudder'd as it pass'd, 
 
 " They corne, they come-"' the sorceress cries, 
 
 And from her head the hood she tears, 
 
 While all the fury of her eyes, 
 
 All that might dazzle, scare, surprize, 
 
 On her unveiled face appears ! 
 XXII. 
 
 u Children of the dust, arouze ! 
 
 Long has hell heard your mutter'd vows ! 
 
 Why droop ye are ye not the care 
 
 Of the dark tribes that rule the air ? 
 
 Where can our mighty master find, 
 
 Mid the dull ranks of human kind, 
 
 One, who, like Margaret, from her birth, 
 
 Unfaltering does his work on earth ? 
 
 Margaret ! Thou hast his favour won 
 * 2 
 
178 MARGARET CANTO vn. 
 
 By all the deeds that them hast done ! 
 Smile, son of York ! he loves thee too 
 For many a deed thou art to do ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Children of the dust ! I know, 
 Tho' each be other's mortal foe, 
 That one same purpose, aim, and end, 
 Hitherward your footsteps bend ! 
 I know that each indignant soul 
 Time's slow disclosures doth abhor, 
 Your eyes the path would fain explore 
 Which yet remains to travel o'er 
 Between ye arid the goal ! 
 Ye come to break mild nature's laws, 
 And mock the great Eternal Cause I 
 For this ye come ! Behold ! Behold ! 
 Behold the scroll of fate unroli'd ! 
 Lo ! where my skilful sprites the future hours 
 unfold !" 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Now bright, and brighter still, I ween, 
 The magic tapers blaze ! 
 
 And with wondering heart the dauntless Queen 
 Beholds how quickly shifts the scene, 
 Beneath her deep-fix'd gaze ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 On either side, in double row, 
 Do massy pillars rise ! 
 Majestic o'er the Lady's brow 
 The high roof arches ! and below 
 A chequer'd pavement lies ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And hark ! for the trumpet brays without,, 
 And the organ peals within ! 
 And louder vet from & festive rout 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 179 
 
 Echoes the wild triumphant shout, 
 A joy-proclaiming din ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Now open spreads the pond'rous door, 
 And lo ! a princely band, 
 With golden censers toss'd before, 
 Come sweeping o'er the. chequer'd floor, 
 Link'd kindly hand in hand ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Now Margaret well her sight may strain, 
 And doubt if sooth il be, 
 Or some strange error of the brain 
 That first, amid that pompous train, 
 Her haughty self she see ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Oh ! scarce might the indignant tide 
 Within her breast be stay'd, 
 When by that shadowy Lady's side, 
 Like gallant bridegroom leading bride, 
 Earl Warwick she survey'd ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Next Edward comes, of Lancaster, 
 The only hope and pride, 
 But his cheek was wan, and his look was drear. 
 And a tear-drop dimm'd his eye so clear, 
 And heavily he sigb'd ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Now wherefore, wherefore sigheth he ? 
 Why wet with tears the hour ? 
 Since, smiling by his side, ye see 
 Of all that noble company 
 The bright and peerless flow'r ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 For by the lily hand he held 
 Proud Warwick's beauteous heir ! 
 
180 MARGARET CANTO vii- 
 
 While joy, by fair decorum quell'd, 
 Within the Lady's bosom swell'd, 
 His foster'd black despair ! 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Anon that fair and princely pair 
 Were link'd in golden chain ! 
 Then all the pageant shrank in air, 
 Nor aught of all that glitter'd there 
 E'en now, doth now remain ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The high-arch'd dome, the chequer'd floor, 
 The organ's peal, the choral song, 
 The gorgeous, grave, and stately throng, 
 With golden censers toss'd before, 
 The baffled eye surveys no more ! 
 Lost in amaze, by Margaret's side 
 Still Rudolph stood, the ruffian guide, 
 And still, two ghastly lights between, 
 Richard of York, with unmov'd mien ! 
 And in the midst the wondrous one 
 Who rais'd that pile of seeming stone, 
 And call'd that glitt'ring troop which even now 
 are gone ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " How may it be!" Queen Margaret cried, 
 " How may it be ! Exist there pow'rs 
 Whose skill may soften hate like ours ? 
 May Warwick's child be Edward's bride I 
 Shall son of mine call Warwick sire? 
 Forbid it pride ! forbid it ire !" 
 But yet the smile upon her brow 
 Did those harsh murmurs disavow, 
 For quickly rush upon her view 
 Hope's dazzling visions, bright and new, 
 She cries, " Oh, wondrous woman, more I 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 181 
 
 Let me Fate's awful page explore ! 
 Leaf after leaf would I unfold, 
 E'en to the final word ! till ail the tale be told!" 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Scarce had she spoken, when behold 
 The gloomy night seem'd fled away ! 
 Two mighty armies, fierce and bold, 
 Await the sign in firm array, 
 And armour glanc'd, and coursers neigh'd ; 
 And the sun on many a bickering blade 
 And many a gaudy banner play'd ! 
 On this side rear'd Lancastria's flow'r 
 Its bright and blushing head ; 
 And high aboVe th' opposing pow'r 
 Her paler leaf the rival spread ! 
 And, hark ! the signal ! Now begin, 
 Of those who lose and those who win, 
 The strife, the shout, the mortal din ! 
 Behold ! they meet ! they clash ! they 
 
 close ! 
 
 They mix ! Sworn friends and deadly foes, 
 In one dire mass, one struggling host, 
 All order and distinction lost, 
 Roll headlong, guicleless, blind, like waves 
 
 together toss'd ' 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 But mark the Queen ! the hue of death 
 Blanches her cheek ! her laboring breath, 
 Her hard-clasp'd hands, her biood-shot eye, 
 Speak nature's utmost agony ! 
 The cold drops on her writhed brow 
 Her heart's convulsive struggles shew, 
 And hark! that scream ! scarce can the ear 
 Its shrill and piercing echo bear ! 
 
182 MARGARET CANTO VH. 
 
 " Hold, monsters 1 fiends in human mould ! 
 
 Oh, stay your bloody hands! remorseless mons- 
 ters, hold 1" 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Come, cheer thee ! cheer thee, mighty Dame ! 
 These are but toys of airy frame ; 
 Faint shadowings forth of things to be ; 
 Mere mockings of futurity ! 
 But see ! like morning mists they fly, 
 See how they melt in vacancy ! 
 
 Oh, bid them quit thy mind as they elude thine 
 eye ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Now, ere our royal guests go hence, 
 One pageant more our art must shew, 
 Come, let us stir each mortal sense 
 Till rage or transport, joy or woe, 
 In either bosom overflow ! 
 Night wanes apace ! prepare, prepare ! 
 *Tis time 'tis time our task were done 1 
 My sprites and I must journey far 
 Ere the grey da\vning shall declare 
 The coming of the sun i 
 Prepare !" 
 
 XL. 
 
 With crowned head, and ermin'd robe, 
 Grasping the sceptre and the globe, 
 While a vile rabble's unchecked tide 
 Roll'd after swells his regal pride, 
 Stalks slowly round the charmed ring, 
 What seems in act and state a king ! 
 Amid the gems which deck his brow 
 Triumphant nods the Rose of Snow, 
 While, crush'd beneath the despot's tread, 
 The Red Rose droops her blushing head ! 
 
CANTO vn. OF ANJOU. 183 
 
 What lightnings flash from Margaret's eyes, 
 
 While, " Long live Richard 1" rends the skies ! 
 
 For he it is, in shapeless frame, 
 
 Dark scowl, and halting step the same, 
 
 Before him waves his well known crest. 
 That symbol of his soul, the grizzly arctic beast! 
 XLI. 
 
 Now Margaret wondering turn'd her glance 
 
 With keen inquiry fraught, on him 
 
 Who whilom on the circle's rim 
 
 Survey'd the scene in speechless trance ; 
 
 There silent yet he stood, but now 
 
 Trirnphant smiles expand his brow, 
 
 Smiles which to phrenzy wake the fire 
 In Margaret's tortur'd breast of vengeance and 
 of ire ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And shall fate threaten ere it wound ? 
 
 What unseen fetters web me round 
 
 That I must all the future know, 
 
 Yet tamely wait the coming blow 
 
 That smites me to the ground ! 
 
 These may be toys, by sorc'ry wove, 
 
 The temper of my soul to prove ! 
 
 Mere painted vapour ! which the fiend 
 
 Can mould and colour to his will, 
 
 Till mortal sense, all gross and blind. 
 
 Surrenders to the false one's skill ; 
 
 If it be so, and who may spell 
 
 The cheats and forgeries of hell ? 
 
 Shall we not try if human might 
 
 For once may baffle fiendish spite ? 
 
 And tho' we fail, 'twill prove at least 
 How resolute a heart mav fill a woman's breast!" 
 
184 MARGARET CANTO vn. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 In haste from forth her zone she drew 
 A blade whose temper well she knew, 
 Her secret friend, her foeman's bane, 
 Ne'er had she sought its help in vain, 
 Once felt its point no skill might save 
 Its hapless victim from the grave ! 
 One look of keen intelligence 
 Her will convey'd to Rudolph's sense, 
 One quick and crafty motion gave 
 To Rudolph's grasp the poison'd glaive, 
 While in his ear she whisper'd low, 
 " Strike home, and falter not ! the blow 
 Shall rid me of a deadly foe !" 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The outlaw smil'd a grim reply, 
 And, follow'd by the Lady's eye, 
 Crept his unconscious victim nigh, 
 He aims I he strikes ! 'tis clone ! but, no 
 For ere descends the mortal blow, 
 High overhead a deafening peal 
 Of thunder rolls ! th' uplifted steel, 
 Touch'd by a rapid fiery gleam, 
 Falls trickling from the hilt a glittering liquid 
 stream ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Sudden the whirlwind bursts its chain, 
 In whelming floods descends the rain. 
 The red bolt fires the welkin round, 
 Or runs along the slippery ground ! 
 Distracted and pcrplex'd, the Queen, 
 Each sense confounded, deafen'd, blind. 
 Driven by the wildly warring wind, 
 Had lost the balance of her mind 
 In that bewildering scene ! 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 185 
 
 Eecl fiash'd the fire, cold pour'd the flood, 
 She knew not if she moved or stood, 
 When, lo ! a laugh of bitter scorn 
 Swept o'er her on the night-blast borne, 
 A laugh of insult ! At the sound 
 The Queen arouz'd and gaz'd around, 
 And, if she dream'd not, she espied, 
 (Scarce might she in the sight confide,) 
 Hard by, the good old shepherd's nest, 
 And now the well known latch beneath her hand 
 
 she press'd. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But, ah ! a softer claim invites, 
 And gladly does the Muse return 
 From sorcery's wild and fearful rites, 
 Where hell-blasts breathe, and corpse-lights 
 
 burn, 
 
 To trace the fairer paths where rove 
 Bright Hope, and Innocence, and Love ! 
 No more the Prince and Geraldine 
 Reproach the dull and lifeless air 
 As up the mountain -path they fare, 
 Love waves his wings, and gales divine 
 Seem hovering round the conscious pair : 
 
 XLVIL 
 
 Why," cried the Prince, " did adverse fate 
 Oppress rny lot with toys of state 1 
 Oh ! I could curse the star that shone 
 Upon the inauspicious morn, 
 When to the cares of England's throne 
 A hapless heir was born ! 
 While every rude and rustic youth 
 May taste the joys of love and truth, 
 My life, a struggle and a drearn, 
 A sable cloud, or ghastly gleam, 
 R 
 
186 MARGARET CANTO vii. 
 
 Droops like a taper in the blast ! 
 
 Oh I would the spark were out ! Oh ! may it 
 quickly waste !" 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 Thus pour'd the Prince his mournful strain; 
 'Tis still love's license to complain, 
 And cunning lovers wot full well 
 The pow'r of Pity's gentle spell ! 
 Still with unclosing lips the maid 
 Her, craggy path in silence held, 
 Whatever thought her bosom sway'd, 
 Yet rested mute, and unreveal'd ; 
 She even check'd the rising sigh 
 
 Which waken'd at his word, and struggled to 
 reply ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Oh, lady 1 canst thou riot afford 
 One pitying sigh, one soothing word ? 
 Is cold and comfortless disdain 
 Sole answer to a Prince's pain ? 
 Oh, hear me, lady ! 'twas thy hand 
 Renew'd my quickly ebbing sand. 
 My glass was run, my task was o'er, 
 My pulse had stopp'd to throb no more, 
 But thou didst envy me the rest 
 Which crept so kindly o'er my breast, 
 And thou didst drag- me buck to prove 
 
 Tortures unknown till now, the pangs of hope- 
 less love i" 
 
 L. 
 
 " Not I, but heaven detained thee here ! 
 Not mine, but heaven's all-pow'rful hand 
 Renew'd, ere spent, the precious sand, 
 And sav*d a life to thousands dear, 
 The hope, the bulwark of the land ! 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 187 
 
 The star which cheer'd thy natal morn 
 Beheld a man to glory born ! 
 And shall some feeble, transient care 
 Usurp the soul of glory's heir ? 
 Alas ! if York could view thee now 
 With folded arms and drooping brow, 
 With triumph kindling in his breast 
 He'd snatch thy bright and sanguine crest, 
 
 And fling thee in exchange his pallid rose of 
 snow 1" 
 
 LI. 
 
 " What, dost thou hold me childish, tame, 
 That thou wouldst bribe me with a name ? 
 Glory ! What is't ? All kinder joys 
 Forsake the breast by glory fill'd, 
 Its fierce and dazzling blaze destroys 
 All that is lovely, simple, mild ! 
 Believe me, not the trumpet's sound, 
 The foe's defiance, nor the cry 
 Of those who throng their leader round, 
 And cheer him on to victory, 
 Would so arouze, my Geraldine, 
 
 As one indulgent word, one tender smile of thine !** 
 
 LII. 
 
 " Oh, my liege lord ! no female art 
 Shall vex or blind thy princely heart ! 
 Mine, freed from each disguising fold, 
 Let heaven's just eye, and thine behold ! 
 Alas ! 'twere arrogance to hide 
 That Edward has not vainly sigh'd I 
 But why exult ? My fervent pray'r, 
 My secret blessing, these alone 
 May follow thee where'er thou fare, 
 And trace thee, even to a throne, 
 
188 MARGARET CANTO VIT 
 
 For well thou know'st what barrier wide 
 Doth, fix'd by fate's decree, our separate paths 
 divide !" 
 
 LIIL 
 
 Sudden as w r hen from forth the cloud 
 That veils his splendour bursts the day, 
 Flings back the thin eclipsing shroud 
 And on the glad world pours his ray, 
 On Edward's lately clouded cheek 
 Did hope in all her radiance break ! 
 He bent his royal knee, Oh, Thou !" 
 He cried, " who, thron'd in clouds above, 
 Hast yet look'd down and bless'd my love, 
 Vouchsafe to ratify my vow ! 
 If, save this maid, whom, next to thee, 
 My soul does worship, other bride 
 Shall ever share my destiny, 
 Then from my hopes thy favour hide ! 
 Be gracious to my foe and fight thou on his side I" 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " What hast thou done !" the lady cries, 
 " What hast thou done ! Nor will the skies 
 Seal the rash word, nor yet may'st thou 
 Fulfil that ruin-breathing vow ! 
 That morn shall never rise, nor ray 
 On England's isle shall ever shine 
 To welcome in the nuptial day 
 Which binds thy splendid lot with mine ! 
 Edward, mistake me not! Thy fame, 
 Thy virtue, thine illustrious name, 
 These are my hope, my pride, my care, 
 And trust me, never will I share, 
 Even by thy side, the country's blame I 
 Oh, bid thy love resemble mine, 
 Oh, let it light thee to renown, 
 
n. OFANJOU. 189 
 
 Oh, let it in thine actions shine, 
 Edge thy resistless sword and sparkle on thy 
 crown ! 
 
 LV. 
 
 " Nay, Edward, hear ! This heart has felt 
 What none might bid it feel but thou, 
 And in that shrine where thou hast dwelt 
 No baser flame shall ever glow ! 
 No 1 I will seek some hallow 'd fane 
 And join the virgins' votive train, 
 And consecrate to love divine 
 That heart which now is fill'd with thine 1" 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Upon the fair enthusiast's tongue 
 A mild and holy force did dwell, 
 Which o'er each word she utter'd flung 
 A strange resistless spell ; 
 And Edward gaz'd on her as tho', 
 Already past the fatal vow, 
 The sacred fillet bound her brow ; 
 As if the world and he had lost, 
 For ever from their grasp, their loveliest, brightest 
 boast ? 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Cold-hearted, cruel Geraldine ! 
 Are these my hopes ? was it for this 
 Thou bad'st thy smile a moment shine, 
 A moment on despair's abyss, 
 But to withdraw the treacherous light 
 And leave me plung'din tenfold night ! 
 What were a crown unshar'd by thee ? 
 What ! but conspicuous misery ! 
 No, let York take the worthless thing I 
 I 'will not be a wretched king ! 
 1 will not, Geraldine I and thou, 
 R 2 
 
190 MARGARET CANTO vn. 
 
 Who calmly canst pronounce my doom, 
 Shalt sooner see this throbbing brow 
 Laid tranquil in an early tomb, 
 Than circled with that wreath of care, 
 
 That glittering mockery, which thou dost scorn 
 to share ! 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " With thee, whate'er the utmost force 
 Of human arm and human will 
 May work to gild our mutual course, 
 My quenchless ardour shall fulfil 1 
 Deeds which the desperate might behold 
 With eyes averse and bosom cold 
 Shall seem but pastime to mine arm, 
 ImpelPd by thy resistless charm ! 
 Without thee, short will be my story I 
 Then farewel, life, and farewel, glory ! 
 York's enmity, and Warwick's ire, 
 At once, with Edward shall expire, 
 Yet, guiltl-ess of my early fate, 
 
 Shall Warwick's rancour be, and York's rebel- 
 lious hate 1" 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Scarce had he spoken, when the storm, 
 Long hurtling in the murky cloud, 
 Burst over each unsiielter'd form 
 With menace fierce and loud ! 
 Trom every point the shrill winds blew, 
 Jn rattling show'rs the hail was driven, 
 Each instant on the dazzled view 
 Glanc'd alight flame of pallid blue, 
 The arrowy fire of heaven ! 
 " How may I shield thee, Geraldine 1" 
 O'erwhelm'd with anguish, Edward cries ; 
 How may I guard that form divine 
 
rANTO VII. 
 
 OFANJOIL 191 
 
 From the fell fury of the skies! 
 
 Death borne on every blast around thy forehead 
 flies 1" 
 
 LX. 
 
 But Geraldine bethought her well 
 How from the down a pathway led 
 To where a hermit's lonely cell, 
 By holy meekness tenanted, 
 Would grant them shelter ; to her breast 
 Our Lady's blessed form she press'd, 
 And, whisp'ring low a pray'r for aid, 
 New courage arm'd the noble maid ; 
 " Now follow me, my Prince !" she cried, 
 " Be heavenly confidence our guide ! 
 Trust me, disarm'd of terror now 
 The fiery bolt assails my brow, 
 I do not fear, then fear not thou !" 
 Her lover's manly arm sustained 
 Down the steep path her slender frame, 
 And soon the wish'd-for bourn they gain'd, 
 
 Safe from the pattering hail, and heaven's de- 
 structive flante ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 The tenant of this lone abode 
 Heard not, or reck'd not, when the feet 
 Of strangers stole on his retreat, 
 And nearer now and nearer trod ; 
 He look'd not up, his downcast eyes 
 Seem'd anchor'd in the rocky floor, 
 Deep, heavy, life-consuming sighs 
 Each other chas'd ; an evil store 
 
 Of sorrow and unrest his troubled bosom bore ! 
 
 LXII. 
 
 With hard, tenacious hand he press'd 
 Against that sorely burthen'd breast 
 
192 MARGARET CANTO vn, 
 
 The sign by every Christian borne, 
 
 The priceless wealth of those who mourn ! 
 
 Grief's winter, not the chills of time, 
 
 Frosted the hermit's drooping brow, 
 
 And you might trace the auburn glow 
 
 E'en yet beneath the silvery rime ; 
 
 It seem'd as in life's pilgrimage 
 
 He scarce had journey'd half the way, 
 
 Scarce past the noon-tide of his day, 
 
 But sorrow's heavy hand had done the task of 
 age! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Good Father !" cried the Prince, behold, 
 All trembling, weary, wet, and cold, 
 One whose slight texture droops beneath 
 The fury of the whirlwind's breath ! 
 One little fitted to sustain 
 The fiery blast or whelming rain ! 
 No wilful trespassers are we, 
 From yon unfriendly wold we flee ; 
 Oh, then, I pray thee, hasten thou 
 The fuel heap, and bid her know, 
 Ere yet too late, its kindly glow ! 
 That cheek, how frozen and how pale ! 
 
 Good Father, haste, I pray, while yet it may a- 
 vail !" 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 The hermit started, sigh'd, and took 
 In haste a faggot from the nook, 
 And Edward, kneeling, fann'cl the blaze 
 That silent, sorrowing man did raise, 
 Then lilting his exulting eyes, 
 " Come near, my Geraldine !" he cries, 
 " Oh ! come, sweet maid ! how bright 1 how 
 warm I 
 
ANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 193 
 
 Its friendly force shall quickly charm 
 The affrighted life-blood to its place, 
 Comfort thy shivering frame, and tint thy lovely 
 face !" 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Yet all the while, the mournful host 
 To look on those he serv'd forbore, 
 His thoughts in bitter musings lost, 
 His glance still anchor'd on the floor, 
 And Edward only gaz'd on her, 
 The object jof his hope and fear; 
 When that/sad stranger shriek 'd aloud 
 " Mother/of God ! has earth no place, 
 No wilderness, where I may shroud 
 The bimhen of my dire disgrace! 
 Who/sent thee hither ? Who reveal'd 
 
 /father's lurking place, the den 
 fiere from the scoffs and taunts of men, 
 thy upbraiding s keen, I hop'd to lie con- 
 ceal'd ?" 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " My king ! my Father ! Bless'd be heaven, 
 By whose resistless mandate driven, 
 Unsought I find thee ! Do I see 
 My Sire alive, unscath'd and free ? 
 Why do thine eyes, averted, shun 
 The only relic of our race ? 
 Why dost thou turn aside thy face, 
 Avoid his filial arms, and shrink from his em- 
 brace !" 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 " How, my wrong'd Edward, may I brook 
 On thy upbraiding smiles to look ? 
 I, whose infirm and coward mind, 
 Gave thy fair fortunes to the wind ! 
 
194 MARGARET CANTO vn. 
 
 Wert thou less good, and kind, and fair, 
 Less poignant were my heart's despair ! 
 Has not thy mother taught thy tongue 
 
 What scornful greeting fits the author of thy 
 wrong ?" 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " Rouze thee, my Sire ! We will not waste 
 Our breath in wailing o'er the past ! 
 No ! let us, sword in hand, explore 
 What secret time has yet in store 1 
 Now when the storm shall cease to beat, 
 Forth from this dim, obscure retreat 
 We'll lead thee, father, where the Queen 
 And some who love the blushing rose 
 In secrecy and hope repose, 
 
 With spirits yet unquench'd, bold, ardent, true,, 
 and keen." 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " One hope yet lives, the single guest 
 That cheers thy father's dreary breast, 
 And by that hope, the hope of heaven, 
 I swear I will not hence be riven ! 
 Nay, urge me not! My feebleness 
 Is strong and resolute in this ! 
 The Queen ! the Queen ! her very name 
 With ague shakes my inmost frame ! 
 Ah ! sooner would I drag again 
 The Rebel's ignominious chain 
 Than bear her hatred and disdain ! 
 Forget a sire, my hapless boy, 
 Whose aspect serves but to destroy ! 
 Nor thought, nor deed of mine avails, 
 Whate'er I touch withers and fails 1 
 I will not hang a bane and curse, 
 My Edward, on thy gallant course ! 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 195 
 
 I have not heart to fight, nor head 
 To marshal others to the fray^ 
 Thou little think'st what icy dread 
 Comes o'er me on the battle-day ! 
 Oh ! how I hate the field with human slaughter 
 red !" 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " I yield, my father ! May the hour 
 Soon visit this distracted land, 
 Which calls thee back to peaceful pow'r, 
 And fixes in thy gentle hand 
 The outrag'd sceptre ! Even now 
 Thou hast not lost the pow'r to bless ; 
 Oh, even yet, thou canst bestow 
 What millions covet, happiness ! 
 Give me but that, and doubt not thou 
 But we will soon uncrown the brow 
 Of yon Usurper ! Geraldine ! 
 The King commands, the Father's eye 
 Drops holy balm upon the tie 
 Which must our destinies entwine ! 
 Ah 1 yet art thou averse ! Speak ! wilt thou not 
 be mine?" 
 
 LXXL 
 
 " What, dost thou beg a blessing, boy, 
 From him who has but liv'd to waste 
 The springing harvest of thy joy, 
 And scatter all thy hopes to waste? 
 And may /bless thee ! Shall a word 
 These lips can utter make thee bless'd ! 
 Oh! thou hast struck the sweetest chord 
 That ever trembled in my breast ! 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " Fearest thou, lady ? Lift thy brow 
 And look on me ! I am not stern ; 
 
196 MARGARET CANTO vn. 
 
 E'en yet my bosom has to learn 
 The fierce excess of anger's glow ; 
 And thou, whom sure the forest brute 
 Would harmless pass, appeas'd and mute, 
 Why should I frown on thee ? Come nigh ! 
 Oh ! how I yearn for once to know 
 The bliss of blessing ! How mine eye 
 Aches for one glimpse of joy thro' this long 
 night of woe 1" 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 They knelt in silence, Henry laid 
 His innocent and holy hand 
 On each fair forehead, and he bade 
 The angels bless the sacred band, 
 While solemn, chaste, yet fervent vows 
 From either heart tow'rds heaven arose ; 
 And now did Edward claim the bliss 
 Of sanction'd love's first yielded kiss. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 The bride was paler than the flow'r 
 That sprang beneath the winter show'r, 
 And colder than the drop that fell 
 Upon that pallid blossom's bell ; 
 She smil'd, and sadder smile, I wot, 
 Did never gleam on nuptial knot ! 
 Alas ! the bride's prophetic sight 
 Pierc'd far beyond the mystic rite ! 
 E'en mid her vows her shudd'ring ear 
 Ill-boding whispers seem'd to hear 
 From blood-stain'd phantoms gliding near ! 
 Far other are the thoughts which roll 
 With headlong tide thro' Edward's soul, 
 Of all his heart aclor'd possest, 
 He snatch'd his treasure to his breast, 
 " And now," he cried, " thou art mine own ! 
 Heaven knows I never lov'd but one, 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOU. 197 
 
 And she, my sole belov'd, is mine, and mine 
 alone i" 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 The parting moment came and past, 
 The hermit-king is left alone, 
 And o'er the dim and dusky waste, 
 With throbbing hearts, in trembling haste, 
 The youthful pair are gone ; 
 And while across the moor they speed 
 We'll turn aside to other heed. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Well laden with their motley gear, 
 Nor ribbon, bell, nor mask forgot, 
 The good old pair, with weary cheer, 
 At night-fall gain'd their lowly cot ; 
 But Maudlin now perpiex'd surveys 
 A silent, dark, deserted scene, 
 No smiling welcome met her gaze, 
 No voice return'd her kind " Good e'en !" 
 With trembling hand she struck the spark 
 To chase away the shadows dark, 
 And now her beads she told, and now 
 Swift cross'd her bosom and her brow. 
 Low mutt'ring ever and anon 
 " Protect us from the evil one !" 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 But, hark ! who comes ? for armed feet 
 In haste approach, and Maudlin's dread 
 Subsides as now the clanging tread 
 Halts close beside her lone retreat 
 She guesses well, ere yet her sight 
 Greets Somerset and Erin's Knight ; 
 Alas 1 cold tidings did they bear ! 
 Ci Where is the Queen I Prince Edward, 
 where ?" 
 
 S 
 
198 MARGARET CANTO VH. 
 
 Cried Beaufort, wildly u Do they sleep ! 
 
 Arouze them quickly ! God knows 
 
 What vigils it behoves us keep ! 
 We must bestir us, or our foes 
 Will rock us, ere we wot, to long and last re- 
 pose 1" 
 
 Lxxvni. 
 
 " The Virgin shield them I" cried the crone, 
 " Where'er they be ! Small time is fled 
 Since home I far'd, my errand done ; 
 But all was silent as the dead, 
 For living mortal found I none, 
 The lady and the youth were gone 1" 
 Scarce had she said, when open flung 
 The door and in Prince Edward sprung, 
 With that fair conqueror whose might, 
 In unseen fetters, led her young and royal knight! 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 " And art them safe, Plantagenet - 
 Be them our fortress then ! for know 
 Bambro' has paid a subject's debt, 
 Her tow'rs are trampled by the foe, 
 And Grey, the true, the gallant Grey, 
 Survives its fall ! (alas ! the day !) 
 Survives to glut the rage of York 
 With slow revenge's bloody work ! 
 Nay, worse, for on his noble name, 
 His loyal, bright, illustrious fame, 
 Cold malice drops the ink of shame ! 
 They hold him fast 1 and, if yon skiei 
 Forbid it not, disgrac'd he dies. 
 Gods ! what his noble breast must feel 
 When the vile menial from his heel 
 Hacks off the golden spur, while scorn 
 Hold up his scutcheon stain'd and torn. 
 
CANTO vii. OF ANJOtL 199 
 
 Or with contempt's degrading word 
 Flings to the earth his broken sword ! 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " Edward ! like deer at bay we stand, 
 Surrounded by the hunter band ! 
 With conquest flush'd, keen Warwick's men 
 Scour every valley, hill, and glen 
 For many a mile ! Thy banners fair, 
 Which flaunted late on many a tow'r, 
 No longer court the fickle air I 
 Oh, 'as a wild and stormy hour ! 
 Bur. while thou art, whatever may chance. 
 Still, with a tirm-fix'd, upward glance, 
 We'll glory in our cause, and follow Esperance ! 
 
 LXXXL 
 
 " Where is the Queen ? We needs must hold 
 Brief counsel now our destiny ' 
 
 Calls louiliy for a prompt decree ! 
 At once precipitate and bold, 
 Yet artful too, our course must be ! 
 Where is the Queen ? methinks 'tis strange 
 At such an hour as this to range ! 
 A sky of more uncertain mood 
 Did ne'er o'er wand'ring lady brood ! 
 Heaven speed her hither !" As he pray'd, 
 The Queen, by other pow'rs convey'd, 
 With Rudolph, op'd the cottage door, 
 And sudden stood their eyes before ! 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 There lack'd the time to wonder now 
 At 9i!ht that wonder might arouze, 
 The 11 tie group to council go 
 Wkh oeating hearts and knitted brows, 
 Then, soon resolv'd and soon prepared, 
 From Oswald's sheltering roof with cautious 
 footstep far'd. 
 
200 MARGARET. CANTO vir. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Yet ere they ventur'd forth, a change 
 Was wrought full marvellous and strange ! 
 The Queen forsook, without a sigh, 
 Each outward relic of her pride, 
 Well pleas'd her dangerous dignity 
 In Maudlin's coarse attire to hide ; 
 Again young Beaufort's glitt'ring steel 
 A friar's muffling weeds conceal, 
 The little shepherd-boy was there 
 With tawny cheek and raven hair ; 
 And all besought the skilful aid 
 Which might discovery's ken evade : 
 The Prince and bold Sir Gerald took 
 Their gear from Maudlin's motley store, 
 And all who left old Oswald's nook 
 Some quaint disguising bore, 
 Save Rudolph, who, unchang'd, his own grim 
 fashion wore. 
 
 END OF CANTO THE SEVENTH* 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THE SEVENTH. 
 
 The wintry land ofFiacim. St. XVII. 1. 6. 
 
 "WE can mention one kingdom more admirable than 
 the rest, viz. the kingdom ofFiacim, at the Northern 
 Pole, where all the' counsellors are magicians, and the 
 names which they use in invocations are mathemati- 
 cally disposed in a wonderful harmony and efficacy to 
 the performance of magical operations." Reginald Scot's 
 Discourse of the nature of Devils and Spirits, bookii. p. 60. 
 
 IfBalkin andifLuridane.St. XVII. 1. 18. 
 
 " Luridane is a familiar domestic spirit of the north, 
 who is now become servant to Balkin, Lord and King 
 of the Northern Mountains ; he calls himself the Astral 
 Genius of Pomona, an island among the Orcades, but he 
 is not particularly resident there, for in the days of Solo- 
 man, and David he was in Jerusalem or Salem, being then 
 under ihe name of Belilah : after that he came over with 
 Julius Caesar, and remained some hundred of years in 
 Cambria, instructing their prophetical poets in British 
 rhymes, being then surnamed Urthin-Wad Elgin : from 
 thence he betook himself into this island, anno 1500, and 
 continued there for h'fty years, after which he resigned 
 his dominion to Balkin, imd hath continued ever since an 
 attendant upon this prince. 
 
 ' Balkin is able to inform the exorcist of all questions 
 concerning thunder and lightning, the motions of the 
 heavens, the comets and apparitions in the air, pestilence 
 and famine, noxious and malevolent blasts, as also of the 
 inhabitants of the north pole, and the wonders undis- 
 covered throughout the world." Reginald Scot's Disco- 
 very of Witchcraft, chap. ix. book 15. 
 
 Each in a dead mans shrouded hand. 
 
 St. XIX. 1. 15. 
 
 The use of the hand of glory was to stupify those to 
 whom it was presented and to render them motionless. 
 The hand of a person hanged, or exposed on the high- 
 s 3 
 
202 NOTES TO CANTO VII. 
 
 way, must be wrapt up in apiece of shroud, or winding- 
 sheet, in which it must be squeezed to get out any small 
 quantity of blood that may have remained in it, then put 
 it into an earthen vessel with zimat, saltpetre, salt, and 
 long-pepper, leaving 1 it fifteen days in that vessel ; then 
 expose it to the noon-tide sun in the dog-days till it is 
 thoroughly dry, or, if the sun is not sufficient, put it into 
 an oven heated with fern and vervain, then compose a can- 
 dle with the fat of a hanged man, virgin wax, and sisame 
 of Lapland : the hand of glory is used as a candlestick 
 to hold this candle when lighted, &,c. Notes to Brand's 
 Popular Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 583 . 
 
 Hacks off the golden spur, &c. 
 
 Stanza LXXIX.l. 16. 
 
 " For that Sir Ralph Grey had sworne to be true to 
 King Henry he was condemned and had judgment given 
 upon him by the Earle of Worcester, High -Constable of 
 Englande, as followeth : 
 
 ' Sir Ralph Grey, for thy treason the King had or- 
 dained that thou should'st have had thy spurres taken 
 off by the hard heeles, by the hand of the masler-cooke, 
 who is here ready to doe as was promised thee at the 
 time that he took off thy spurres, and said to thee as is 
 .accustomed, That and thou be not true to thy soveraigne 
 lord, hee shall smite off thy spurres with his knife, hard 
 by the heeles,' (and soe shewed him the master-cooke 
 ready to do his office, with his apron and his knife.) 
 Moreover, Sir Ralph Grey, the King had ordained here, 
 thou maiest see, the kings of armes and heralds, and 
 thine own proper coat of armes which they should tear 
 off thy body, and soe should'st thou as well be disgraded 
 of thy worship, nobles, and armes, as of thy order of 
 knighthood. Alsoe there is another coat of thy armes 
 reversed, the which thou should'st have worn on thy 
 body going to thy death -wards, for that belongeth to 
 thee after the law : notwithstanding the disgrading 
 of knighthood and of thine armes and nobles, tlie King 
 pardoneth that for thy noble grandfather, who suffered 
 trouble for the King's most noble predecessors. Now, 
 Sir Ralph Grey, this shall be thy penance thou shalt 
 
NOTES TO CANTO VII. 203 
 
 goe on thy feete unto the towne's end, and there thou 
 shall be laid downe and drawne to a scaffolcle made for 
 thee, and thou shalt have thy head smitten off, thy body 
 to be buried in the Frier's, thy head where the King's 
 pleasure shall be.' 
 
 " This judgment was pronounced at Doncaster against 
 the said Ralph Grey for rebelling' and keeping- of the Cas- 
 tle of Bamborough against King Edward." Stow's An- 
 nals, p. 418. 
 
 Hall says " He was disgraded of the high order of 
 knighthode at Dancaster by cuttynge off his gy It spurres, 
 renting his coat of armes, and breakyng his sword over 
 his hed : and finally there his bodie was shorted by the 
 length of his hed, and had no more harme." 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOU. 
 
 CANTO THE EIGHTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, England ! years are fled since first 
 Wide o'er thy plains the war-cloud burst ! 
 Long years are fled ! yet following years 
 Still hear thy groans, still mark thy tears ! 
 Yet where are they whose fatal shout 
 To havoc rous'd the madd'ning rout ? 
 Where they who toss'd the fatal brand 
 Of discord on their hapless land ? 
 They are gone ! and follow in their place 
 Another and another race, 
 But peace, peace comes net ! they repose 
 Who kindled first their country's woes, 
 But, ere they slept, they left behind 
 A fatal present to mankind ! 
 
 II. 
 
 What did he gain, the mighty man* 
 Whose pride the woeful work began, 
 To quench whose fierce and fiery thirst 
 These blood-streams on the nations burst? 
 What to appease his craving soul ? 
 The gall-drop from affliction's bowl ! 
 A paper crown! a shameful doom! 
 A death of pangs!" a timeless tomb I 
 
 * Richard Duke of York. 
 
CANTO viii. OF ANJOU. 205 
 
 IIL 
 
 Where are the sickle and the scythe, 
 The meadow bright with golden grain. 
 The echoing laugh, the carol blythc, 
 Rude rapture of the rustic train, 
 Who follow home the teeming wain ? 
 No harvests ripen now ! no more 
 The stoutly wielded flail beneath 
 Resounds the dusty threshing floor ; 
 No longer does the ev'ning breath, 
 From pipe of home ward -faring swain. 
 Waft music o'er the twilight plain 1 
 Alas, alas ! such sounds would ill 
 The desolated land beseem ! 
 Let fate the dreadful hour fulfil, 
 Then, wak'd from her distracted dream, 
 England may hear those sounds again, 
 May welcome back her pastoral train, 
 And count her nodding sheaves which ripen not 
 in vain I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Long ages hence, Plantagenet ! 
 When thy ambitious line has run 
 Its utmost course beneath the sun, 
 Thy race extinct, thy glory set; 
 When that proud name shall cease to be 
 The war-cry of a striving land ; 
 When Time, who mocks the proud, on thee 
 And thine has laid his withering hand, 
 In those calm hours, the eyes which trace 
 The records of thy restless race, 
 Shall, weeping, bless the love divine 
 Which cut from earth the fatal line I 
 Nor deadly nightshade's dusky bell, 
 Nor aconite, nor hemlock fell, 
 
206 MARGARET CANTO via. 
 
 Nor weed which springs on ground accurs'd 
 By wizard hands in darkness uurs'd, 
 E'er wrought such dolour, woe, and dread, 
 As thro' old England's frame the fatal broom- 
 plant shed ! 
 
 V. 
 
 St. Alban ! on thy haliowM fane 
 How ghastly gleam'd that morning's sun 
 Which first beheld of England's bane 
 The dismal work begun ! 
 England ! the sword unsheathed there 
 Has mown thy ranks for many a year. 
 Nor ceaseth yet ; the human race 
 Shall fail methinks, and this good land 
 Become one vast unpeopled space, 
 Ere wrath shall stay his bloody hand I 
 The mariner shall look no more 
 Impatient tow'rd the well known shore, 
 But, oh ! when, distant to his eyes, 
 Thy white cliffs 'mid the billows rise, 
 He'll woo the winds to waft him far 
 From the dire wreck of waste and war, 
 The ghastly dwelling of the dead, 
 The land of silence and of sleep, 
 The tomb which rears its lonely head 
 Amid the stormy deep I 
 VI. 
 
 York, for whose sake the whirlwind rose 
 That sweeps destroying thro' the land, 
 Hears not the tempest as it blows, 
 His heart is cold, unnerv'd his hand, 
 And blunt and edgeless lies his brand ! 
 Reft of his spirit, hope, and pride, 
 He sank, heart-smitten ere he died ; 
 He wept,- but 'twas a father's tear 
 
CANTO via. OF ANJOIL 207 
 
 That dimm'd the warrior's eye, 
 
 He wept, ^nd human fiend stood near 
 
 And mock'Zbis misery, 
 
 And bade him dry his sorrow's flood 
 
 E'en with a 'kerchief steep'd in his fair offspring's 
 blood 1 
 
 VII. 
 
 Old Salisbury ! thy frosty head 
 Rebellion's cause did ill beseem ! 
 But it is o'er, the ruffian dream ! 
 And in thy dark and bloody bed, 
 The peace thou hatedst hovers now, 
 Unbroken, o'er thy silver brow ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, Worster ! it avail'd thee nought, 
 Thy brain, with hoarded science fraught, 
 Thy memory, bright with precious lore, 
 The plunder choice of Wisdom's store, 
 For thou did'st close the warning page, 
 And, swelling with rebellious rage, 
 All the rich harvest of thy mind 
 To blind and wasteful wrath consign'd ; 
 And, wise thyself, by folly led, 
 Met folly's fate, and laid thine head 
 Beneath the axe, whose stroke has driven 
 
 Full many a soul from earth, unripe, 1 ween, for 
 heaven ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Bright Rose of Lancaster ! thy brow 
 May lose its bloom, thy stem may droop 
 In sorrow o'er the gallant troop 
 For ever in thy cause laid low ! 
 The blood of Beaufort's princely line, 
 How has it stream'd for love of thee ! 
 Qh ? for that fatal right of thine, 
 
208 MARGARET CAKTO vni. 
 
 Two branches from its spreading tree, 
 
 Majestic as the forest oak, ^ 
 
 Have fall'n beneath the woodnrt|*'s stroke ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Two hardy Cliffords, sire and son, 
 Their fierce, relentless course have run, 
 Yet, ere they gave the havoc o'er, 
 Their souls were clogg'd with hostile gore ; 
 Old Oxford claims the Muse's tear, 
 And his brave first-born, young De Vere ; 
 On the same block their heads repos'd, 
 One shroud their bleeding forms o'erspreacl, 
 One hour their task of sorrow clos'd, 
 And thus, in union kind, their souls tovV 
 heaven lied ! 
 
 XL 
 
 Percy ! two lions of thy breed 
 Have ceas'd to waste their hostile fold, 
 Yet strives the third, with gallant deed, 
 To win the death-bed of the bold ! 
 When were the Percies of the north 
 Found lingering when the war-horn blew ? 
 When weie they slow to gallop forth 
 When scouts proclaim'd the game in view ? 
 From England's dawn the Percies were,- 
 They sparkle in their country's story, 
 With her they run their proud career, 
 And but wuhher's shall set their glory : 
 
 XII. 
 
 York ! on the warm and sunny side 
 Of fortune does thy quarrel lie, 
 Thou hast woo'd, and won her for thy bri(i< > 
 And dost command thy destiny ! 
 Bold art thou, for thy sword and v 
 \rc: all the laws thou dost fulfil. 
 
CANTO vin. OF ANJOU. 209 
 
 And wily, for thine eye and tongue 
 Are sweet accomplices in guile, 
 That even they who feel thy wrong, 
 Young robber, murmur not the while, 
 Fed by thy honied words, and dazzled by thy 
 smile. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A lip where smiles are never wanting, 
 A tongue, for flatt'ry, or for vaunting, 
 A breast, whose fiery spirit cries 
 " Hark forward ! forward to the prize !" 
 A cheek where beauty's pride is flaunting ! 
 A hand for scatt'ring, and an eye 
 Defiance on the foe to dart, 
 Or, aided by a treach'rous sigh, 
 To steal into a lady's heart, 
 And win the citadel, or ere 
 The warder dreams of danger near ! 
 Thus, was th' aspiring son of York 
 Accomplish'd for his daring work ! 
 But, trace ye all whose sanguine thought 
 Have glory's meed thro' havoc sought, 
 From him who now for England strove, 
 To the mad son of Libyan Jove, 
 Whate'er the climate, race, or name, 
 All stamp'd and character'd the same, 
 Are those blind, headlong souls who only live fr 
 fame ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Is there a river in the land 
 Can boast a clear and guiltless wave, 
 Pure from the life-blood of the brave, 
 Where no man wash'd his gory hand t 
 I fear me, no ! Is there a plain, 
 By shepherd's lonely footstep trod, 
 T 
 
.10 MARGARET CANTO via 
 
 Where some huge heap of native slain 
 Swells not the turfy sod? 
 Is there a valley so remote, 
 To silence and repose so clear, 
 That never war-cry's thrilling note, 
 Nor heavy clang of mailed coat, 
 Was heard to echo there ? 
 Still to that virgin spot be given 
 The mildest smile of fav'ring heaven, 
 There, gently let the year descend, 
 Its bowers may never tempest rend, 
 Short be its winter, be its spring 
 Still fann'd by young Favonius' wing, 
 And no lament come there, save ring-dove's 
 wail at even ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 Oh, Rose ! who long hast bloom'd the pride 
 Of England's garden, hang thy head! 
 The dew upon thy leaves is dried ! 
 The generous, bright, exulting red, 
 The triumph of thy cheek is fled ! 
 And one less beautiful shall raise 
 Her stem where now thy bloom decays ! 
 York's Rose is now the garden's queen ! 
 
 York's star to fortune lights the way ! 
 Nay, heaven is pledg'd ! York's eyes have 
 seen, 
 
 Eesponsive to their glances keen, 
 Three golden, glorious suns at once illume his 
 day! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When Hexham's glad result he knew, 
 
 Securely smil'd the victor boy, 
 
 His scatter'd foes, forlorn and few, 
 
 Molested not his dream of joy, 
 
 Or ii they crossed his thoughts awhile, 
 
CAMTOVIII. OFANJOU. 211 
 
 The brighter play'd his dimpled smile I 
 That languishing, complaining boy, 
 Allur'd by every gaudy toy, 
 That humble boy who breathes so sweet, 
 And sighs so soft at lady's feet, 
 His heart is iron ! Mercy ne'er, 
 Nor kind remorse, found entrance there 1 
 That fond, caressing tongue can doom 
 Warm thousands to the joyless tomb, 
 And that bright eye can sparkling see 
 Fulfilled the cruel tongue's decree ! 
 Oft has he felt his bosom swell 
 With hatred's dire and deadly bliss, 
 Oft has he known those transports fell, 
 Those joys, to demons dear, which crown the 
 merciless ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Fly, friends of Lancaster! the cry 
 Of York's hot blood-hounds follow nigh ! 
 Fly, ye forlorn, defeated crew, 
 - Your own land i$ no place for you ! 
 Oh, hide not here ! the unseen snare 
 E'en now is weaving round your hold,* 
 Lo ! he you trust in counts his share 
 Of dazzling, life-betraying gold ! 
 Ah, trust not oaths 1 that oaths are wind 
 Full many a victim nds too late 
 Fly then, nor cast a glance behind, 
 And listen not to man, but f.te ! 
 Flee fast, poor aliens ! flee afar, 
 Sad remnants of unnatural war ! 
 Flee, hunted, persecuted few! 
 Your own land is no place for you ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Oh, chance and change ! 'tis Fortune's jest 
 To watch the mighty while they smile, 
 
MARGARET CANTO v|ii. 
 
 LAnd pow'r and pride lift high the breast, 
 Then, break the prop on which they rest, 
 v And hurl them to the vile ! 
 ^\nd as they fall, to mo~k them more, 
 Down to the dust she bends her gaze, 
 And thence some minion foul doth raise 
 To wear the robes they wore ; 
 Then loud laughs Fortune to behold 
 Prostrate the high-born and the l$old, 
 While, seated in their tott'ring place, 
 The new-sprung creatures of he^ grace 
 
 Laugh too, and as they laugh forget their cradle 
 base I 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oh, Exeter ! what human breast 
 But heaves to think upon the woe 
 That ere thy spirit found its rest 
 It struggled with below ! 
 Fortune and hope were perjur'd then 
 When in thy smiling mother's ear 
 They swore that thou, almighty men, 
 Should'st run a high ca^W ! 
 Born mid the noblest, thou should'st keep 
 The promise fair thy birth had given, 
 And when life's golden thread was riven, 
 With kindred princes lay thee down, 
 
 And mingle dust, with dust illustrious as thine 
 own ! 
 
 XX. jr ' 
 
 Blind ! blind to all the future brings, 
 What from the present may we guess ! 
 The prosp'rous hour has twofold wings, 
 And what ivas full is emptiness ! 
 Oh, Exeter ! so poor of soul, 
 That wand'ring in a foreign land, 
 
CANTO viii. OFANJOU. 213 
 
 Thou begg'st with tears the scanty dole. 
 And tak'st it from a stranger's hand ! 
 Oh ! baffled, ruin'd, exil'd wight, 
 To beggary and despair consigned, 
 Bewilder'd in affliction's night, 
 With broken heart, and cow'ring mind ! 
 She who thy short-liv'd splendours shar'd 
 Turns from the wretch, and wisely blends 
 Her smiles with Fortune's ; all discard 
 The Briton who unseemly bends ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Helpless, forgot, without a friend, 
 Where shall thy piteous story end ? 
 When thou hast suck'd the dregs of sorrow 
 Thro' many a long and tedious morrow, 
 The surge that bathes thy native land 
 Shall fling thy cold corse on her strand, 
 For Providence directs the wave 
 To roll thee tow'rds a native grave I 
 The land that threw thee from her breast, 
 An outcast and a wanderer, 
 Shall lend a little earth to rest 
 All that remains of thee, once mighty Exeter 1 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Still o'er the young Usurper's throne 
 The sky a golden light has pour'd, 
 Success has mark'd him for her own, 
 And bless'd his sceptre and his sword ! 
 Lux'ry and Vengeance share his hours 
 " What shall we fear ? the realm is ours ! , 
 Ours is the realm ! Our foot below 
 Ignobly lies our foe-man's brow ! 
 Now, minstrels, sing ! now, beauty, smile, 
 The regal warrior to beguile ! 
 Around his thoughts twine Pleasure's wreath, 
 
 T-3 
 
214 MARGARET CANTO vm 
 
 And fan them with the west wind's breath, 
 Bid him forget what toils have worn 
 His hours of prime, his dewy morn ! 
 Bid him forget the irksome strife 
 That vex'd the sun-rise of his life ! 
 Let no presumptuous care intrude 
 Upon his glory's plenitude, 
 But let his cup with bliss run o'er, 
 Ere youth's quick pulses beat no more 1 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But hark ! methinks the soft west wind 
 Is yielding to a shrewder breath, 
 That blows ungenial and unkind 
 O'er Pleasure's wjth'ring wreath ! 
 Too sure it comes^ the heavy cloud 
 Bursts o'er the thoughtless monarch's head! 
 Now, where are Lux'ry's flimsy crowd ! 
 Dismay'd, dispers'd, and fled ! 
 Their fragile texture, may not bear 
 The searching, keen, and wintry air ! 
 They are for summer, when the boughs 
 Are bending%ith the ruddy spoil, 
 When every hedgerow yields, its rose, 
 And tawny harvests wave o'er all the generous 
 soil! P-V. 
 
 XXIVT 
 
 Now where's the brain, and where's the hand, 
 And where's the heart which, once thine own, 
 Taught thee againftthe world to standj 
 i And lifted thee to England's throne ? 
 Warwick, where art thou? Gird thy sword. 
 And spur amain thy courser fleet, 
 For he, thy self-elected lord, 
 Shakes in his lofty seat ! 
 
CANTO VHI. OF ANJOU. 215 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Ingratitude in Warwick's breast 
 
 Has fix'd its deadly viper fang, 
 
 And raging, madd'ning with the pang, 
 
 He turns his victor crest! 
 
 While gentler spirits droop and die, 
 
 ChilPd by neglect's inclemency, 
 
 A thousand thoughts of service true 
 
 By broken faith repaid, 
 
 Bursting at once to memory's view, 
 
 The impetuous soul invade ! 
 
 Remorseless wrath the bosom rends, 
 
 And love, to hate its fuel lends ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Edward ! the man who toil'd and bled 
 To make thee what thou art, 
 Withdraws the counsels of his head, 
 The homage of his heart ! 
 Edward, beware ! Of alien love, 
 More fell than inborn, native hate, 
 The quenchless rage prepamto prove, 
 Warwick 4^g flung his steered glove 1 
 He braves tn^jfcikthe fietfl ! Ho^L firm thy 
 toti'Ag*p 1 
 
 ^- XXVII. 
 
 Nor yet, alone to Lancaster, 
 The milk-white bear is gone ! 
 Will Clarence too the banner rear 
 Against his father's son ? 
 Yet faints not Edward : " Let them go ! 
 Yea ! let the shallow Clarence fly ! 
 For Warwick, rather would we know 
 His aspect as an open foe, 
 Than brook his friendship's tyranny ! J> 
 Yet, there's another knot untied. 
 
2 1 5 MARGARET CANTO vni. 
 
 A kinder, closer tie, 
 
 Lo : Montague forsakes thy side, 
 
 And seeks thine enemy ! 
 
 Thou trernblest now, light-hearted king I 
 
 That stroke has reach'd thee ! Montague 
 
 Does pay thee back the festering sting 
 
 From injured Warwick due 1 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 When Fortune shifts, the human race. 
 Like ebbing waves, recede ; 
 Lo ! they who throve in Edward's grace, 
 Roll refluent from his need ! 
 Lord Hastings 1 tho' thy polished brow, 
 And courtly bearing, might beseem 
 Such fragile, flaunting things as grow 
 Beneath the summer beam, 
 Despite that soothing, silken tongue. 
 Despite that form so fair, 
 Thou hast a spirit bold and strong 
 To front the frosty air ! 
 Thou dar'st beside thy friend to stay 
 While treacherous thousands fall away ! 
 The blast from which these recreants flee 
 Appall'd and shudd'ring, braces thee ! T 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Sad exile in a foreign land, 
 With form supine and drooping crest, 
 Did many a pale Lancastrian stand, 
 For hope was faint in every breast ! 
 E'en Margaret, if some projects wild 
 Her restless bosom still did share, 
 O'er which her fancy sternly smil'd, 
 They were the offspring of Despair ! 
 Such shapeless, threat'ning crowds, as rise 
 From Hope's cold ashes when she dies 
 
GANTO viii. OF ANJOU. Sir 
 
 To soothe the desolated soul 
 
 With strange suggestions, fierce and foul, 
 
 Visions of vengeance ! meet to sate 
 
 The cravings of the desperate ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 To Gallia's court, where Margaret sate 
 Dark brooding o'er her alter'd state, 
 What tidings may yon herald bear 
 To rouze the thoughts of Lancaster ? 
 The badge upon that herald's breast 
 Is Warwick's well-known hated crest ! 
 u Rebellious Nevil ! deemest thou 
 Thy Queen so poor of soul, 
 That she will deign one glance to throw 
 On sentence which from thee does flow ? 
 Take back the hated scroll ! 
 And hence ! or Margaret's awful wrath, 
 Vile worm, shall crush thee in its path 1" 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Not so," the pensive Edward cries, 
 " Passion may dictate to the tongue 
 Whose warm and uncheck'd energies 
 Upbraid a private wrong ! 
 As man to man, my heart would fain 
 Give utterance to its just disdain, 
 But he whose birth-right is a throne 
 Must quell each impulse of his own ! 
 Say, herald ! what does Warwick send 
 To greet the outrag'd Lancaster ? 
 Tires he of treason ? Does he bend ? 
 Or dost thou to our presence bear 
 New insults, such as cowards dare 
 Lance on an ursarm'd foe, 
 Who, all unfurnish'd for the war, 
 
218 MARGARET CANTO vm. 
 
 Safely he strikes, nor fears return'd the dastard 
 blow !" 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " My Liege, no warrant do I bring 
 To guess the counsels of my lord ! 
 Yet do 1 think the new-made king 
 Hath rudely cut the well-knit string 
 Which held them in accord ! 
 A cloud on Warwick's brow is spread, 
 And I do think my master feeds 
 Upon such sour and leaven'd bread 
 As stern Repentance kneads : 
 Please you, this scroll shall well express 
 What I may but at distance guess 1" 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 " Ah, is it so !'* Queen Margaret cries, 
 While new-born triumph lights her eyes-, 
 " Warwick ! I revel in thy smart, 
 Thou hast a viper in thy heart ! 
 But, soft ye ! Deigns that mighty lord, 
 The arbiter of England's fate, 
 Deigns he, with meek and honied word, 
 To soothe the ear of hate ! 
 Oh, hour of bliss ! oh, moment sweet ! 
 Proud Warwick's soul is at our feet !" 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 See Edward's keen and rapid eye 
 The eventful page explore, 
 See from his cheek the colour fly, 
 While many a hard convulsive sigh 
 Betrays his conflict sore ! 
 He gnaws his lip and twists his brows. 
 And to his foot the tablet throws, 
 And passion laughs to feel his soul 
 Trembling once more in her controul .' 
 
CANTO vni. OF ANJOU. 219 
 
 XXX V ; 
 
 "Never, by heaven ! Perish first 
 Each hope that on my cradle shone, 
 False hopes, by servile flatt'ry nurs'd, 
 To teed a monarch's son ! 
 Uncrush'd, unbroken by my fall, 
 Fond phantoms ! I renounce ye all ! 
 Ambition's air-built fabrics perish 1 
 While still tenacious in my breast 
 One sweetly smiling form I'll cherish, 
 And, recking little of the rest, 
 Forego such tinsel toys, contented to be bless'd 1" 
 
 xxxyi. 
 
 The Queen with wond'ring gaze beheld 
 That gentle breast to tumult swell'd ; 
 The trampled scroll in haste she seeks 
 To find from whence the tempest breaks ; 
 She smiles exulting ! " Welcome home, 
 Ye long-fled hopes ! Each glorious thought, 
 With empire and with vengeance fraught, 
 Return ye to your home ! to Margaret's bosom 
 come! 51 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 She stands entranc'd her heart dilates, 
 As fancy to her view creates 
 Such- lofty forms, as pleas'd her eye 
 In her noon -dream of prosperity ; 
 Her hand again the sceptre grasps, 
 The regal wreath her temples clasps ; 
 Lo ! how her dark eye rolls disdain 
 On crowds of kneeling slaves again ! 
 So skilfully doth fancy frapie, 
 That all seems real, and 'twere well, 
 If grim conviction never came 
 Her tidings cold to tell ; 
 
220 MARGARET CANTO vm. 
 
 Thrice happy dupes ! if cheated on 
 The show might last till time is done I 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Still rapt in hope's delicious trance, 
 Aloft she threw each kindling glance, 
 Nor deign'd her ear one sigh receive 
 Which did from Edward's bosom heave. 
 Nor deign'd her dazzled eye behold, 
 His drooping aspect, wan and cold ! 
 He, heir of England ! was the hand, 
 The engine mov'd by her command, 
 By fate created to fulfil 
 The mighty workings of her will ! 
 Nor less than madness 'twere to deem 
 A beardless boy's love-woven dream 
 Its puny forms might raise, to thwart ambition's 
 scheme ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Still did the valiant high-soul'd few, 
 Who ever thro* success and sorrow 
 Had kept that deep-sworn vow in view 
 Which held them to one sovereign true, 
 Tho* long from hope they ceas'd to borrow 
 The presage of a brighter morrow, 
 Becoming well their title high, 
 The courtiers of adversity, 
 Still punctual hold their grave resort 
 To bow the knee in Margaret's court ; 
 Of these, to seek the Royal Dame, 
 With Somerset and bold De Vere, , 
 Sir Gerald and tl\e Percy came, 
 Led by a sound which busy fame 
 Had blown abroad in every ear, 
 Of news from England, and the Qeeen 
 Well understood the anxious mien. 
 
CANTO vni. OF ANJOU. 221 
 
 Half-spoken word, and glance full fraught with 
 question keen. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Now, welcome, nobles ! welcome, all ! 
 Ye who have shared our sorrows long, 
 And, fellow-mourners, borne the pall, 
 And sung the doleful requiem song, 
 O'er fallen grandeur! J Tis decreed 
 Ye cast away the funeral weed ! 
 Wash from your cheek the staining tear, 
 Our fortune changes ! Ye shall wear 
 Such vesture as beseems the guest 
 Bid to a royal bridal feast ! 
 Why do ye stand in wild amaze 
 With such unfixt and doubting gaze ? 
 J am no prophetess, to rave 
 Of what the lagging future brings ! 
 Nought certain brings it but a grave ! 
 But I do speak of real things, 
 Substantial, palpable ! Read, read ! 
 
 Yon tablet shall confirm your yet unsettled 
 creed !" 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Th' impetuous Beaufort quickly pour'd 
 On every greedy ear 
 Each gladd'ning, hope-enkindling word 
 That welcome scroll did bear ! 
 His fervent spirit never prov'd 
 The sober check of reason's rein, 
 To death he hated or he lov'd, 
 His joy was rapture, and his pain 
 Was writhing agony ! He press'd 
 The tablet to his bounding breast, 
 And, even in his sov'reign's sight, 
 fndulg'd the madness of delight '. 
 
222 MARGARET CANTO vin. 
 
 All, save the Prince, rejoiced, and he, 
 Stung by the boisterous extasy, 
 Frowning, had left the irksome scene, 
 
 But halted in his path, arrested by the Queen ! 
 
 XLII 
 
 " Stay, Prince ! delay may dull the gloss 
 Of our new hopes ! Let us prepare, 
 Ere envious chance the compact cross, 
 Our prompt approvals, kind and fair I 
 Herald, retire ! we pray thee wait 
 The issue of a brief debate ; 
 We do but counsel on the words 
 W ich best may speak our fair accords : 
 Ourself will yield such meet reply 
 As suits Earl Warwick's courtesy, 
 The while our princely son shall frame 
 His own heart's message to the dame, 
 Who well, may royal homage claim : 
 Retire, good herald, while our care 
 Doth for thy home return prepare 
 A lightsome load of lover's sighs, 
 
 Of cancell'd griefs and wrongs, and new-knit 
 amities !" 
 
 XLIIL 
 
 Now ev'ry eye was anchored keen 
 In Edward's strange and grief-struck mien, 
 While each benign and smiling grace, 
 Like lightening, fled from Margaret's face, 
 And every soft persuasive tone 
 That warbled on her lip was gone ! 
 " Now mark me, Prince ! and mark me welL 
 Thou art colleagued with England's foes ! 
 Thy base, degenerate thoughts rebel 
 Against thine o,wn illustrious Rose ! 
 A child, a wayward boy art thou, 
 
CANTO vni. OF ANJOU. 223 
 
 And we will treat thee as them art, 
 
 Till thou canst act man's firmer part, 
 
 And off this baby mood shah throw! 
 
 Meanwhile, -no time have we to chide, 
 
 Nor yet to woo thee to decicl*-, 
 
 The sentence is gone forth ! Fair Nevil is thy 
 
 bride !" 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " My Liege," said Oxford, " we have stood 
 Between thee and destruction's flood, 
 And from the same embitter'd chalice 
 Have drank with thee of Fortune's malice ! 
 That self same cup our fathers quaff 'd 
 Till death was mingled in the draught, 
 Nor from the mortal beverage shrank, 
 And, e'en to death, would we have drank ! 
 Nor was gur duty less, the cost 
 Were cancell'd by one vaunting boast ! 
 But hear a Briton, royal youth, 
 Nor let thy soul abhor the truth, 
 If, in the councils of thy heart, 
 Thou hid'st a rebel ! If, when fate 
 Calls thee to act a noble part, 
 Then thou dost shrink and hesitate, 
 False to thyself! where is our trust ! 
 Lost ! broken 1 trampled in the dtist ! 
 A mock for traitors ! No ! my soul, 
 Recoiling, spurns a thought so foul ! 
 By heaven we do thee wrong ! And yet 
 Thou art that true Plantagenet, 
 To whom our vows are pledg'd, on whom our 
 
 hearts are set !" 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Oxford ! thy words do press me sore ! 
 And I do tell thee, valiant lord, 
 
224 MARGARET CANTO vm. 
 
 'Twere light to feel thy pointed sword 
 Within my bosom's core ! 
 Yes ! Ye did nobly, firmly strive, 
 True to my cause, while hope did live, 
 And, faithful, even when she died, 
 Ye did not quit your master's side ! 
 Illustrious boast ! Ah ! cancel not 
 A debt so glorious ! do not blot 
 So fair a record ! Hard it were 
 To rate your services too high, 
 Yet were they mightier still, I swear 
 They shall not teach my soul to wear, 
 E'en tho' ye forge the chain, the badge of sla- 
 very ! 
 
 XLVL 
 
 " But one word more ! Earl Warwick's heir 
 Can ne'er be Edward's bride, 
 Nor e'er shall blood of Nevil share 
 Our good, or evil tide ! 
 Heaven has receiv'd my plighted vows, 
 And, mother, thine anointed spouse 
 The solemn rite did bless, 
 While from his meek and holy eye 
 Did fall, that rite to sanctify, 
 The dew of gentleness." 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " Lords," said the queen, " ye do but waste 
 In idle colloquy the day, 
 And manly reason were disgrac'd 
 If it should cast one hour away 
 On such a trifle r, who seems born 
 To bring a glorious cause to scorn ! 
 I pray ye heed him not ! The boy 
 Shall quickly yield his vulgar toy ! 
 Meanwhile, the task is ours, to soothe 
 
CANTO vin. OF ANJOU. 225 
 
 Our ancient foe with greeting smooth, x 
 
 And tho* our son be somewhat slack 
 
 Of knightly courtesy? 
 
 It irks not us ; what he doth lack 
 
 Ourself shall well supply ! 
 
 Would heaven we had a worthier son 
 
 To match with Warwick's heir, and fill Britan- 
 nia's throne ! 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Illustrious Peers," North umbria cries, 
 " Ours is the fate of darkling men, 
 Who chase the bog-fire as it ilies 
 O'er brake, and moor, and fen ; 
 Thro' deep and dangerous ways we came, 
 Pursuing still the flickering flame, 
 And, as the bright illusion past 
 O'er the unsound and gtilphy waste, 
 Rash travellers,- we follow 'd fast, 
 And still were following, when, no more 
 The futile phantom flits before, 
 But leaves us, where such phantoms leave 
 The fools who to their guidance cleave, 
 In darkness ! and each wiser knave 
 
 Who kept the beaten path, laughs as he hears us 
 rave !" 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " Plantagenet ! one more appeal !" 
 Cried Oxford : " 'Tis no moment now 
 In flattery's garb to clothe our zeal ! 
 Tho' thou may'st stagger at the blow, 
 I'll aim it where thou best canst feel 1 
 Look at yon king of revels! he, 
 Who yesterday, caress'd, ador'd, 
 Thy fickle England's worshipp'd lord, 
 Mock'cl from his distant throne at thee ! 
 u 2 
 
226 MARGARET CANTO vm. 
 
 That flatter'd, pamper'd, prosp'rous thing*, 
 That blooming, glitt'ring, summer king I 
 The multitude* but yesterday, 
 Did glow and tremble at his nod, 
 And on his crowded altars lay 
 Meet incense for a God ! 
 And, save our little faithful band, 
 All that is noblest in the land 
 Fenc'd him around with heart and arm, 
 (Strong arms, and hearts with courage warm,) 
 To guard the throne they rear'd from insult and 
 from harm. 
 
 L. 
 
 " Lo 1 while we breathe, the show is past ! 
 The frost-work melts ! and we may cast 
 Our eyes bewilder'd on the place 
 That gorgeous pageantry did grace, 
 And marvel at the empty space ! 
 \Vho wrought the ruin ? who did fling 
 To earth, the lofty seated king ? 
 What bade the fickie people, turn 
 The puppet they had dress'd, to spurn f 
 Where are they scr.tter'd. who did swear 
 His glory or disgrace *o share ? 
 'Tis love ! 'twas wily woman's love 
 This mighty web of mischief wove ! 
 
 LI. 
 
 " Oh Edward ! let the lesson deep, 
 Deep in thy inmost heart descend ! 
 Twill be too late, when thou shah wetp. 
 Alone, o'er many an alien friend ! 
 Oh ! for a woman's smile wiit thou 
 Thy biith-vight and thy hopes betray, 
 And for a toy, so poorly throw 
 Thy fame and friends away ? 
 
ANTO vin. OF ANJOU. 227 
 
 Thou wilt not I If thou wilt good night ! 
 I will not share thine honour's blight! 
 De Vere turns from thee ! thou shalt need 
 No friend to guard thee ! e'en thy foes 
 Shall bid thy harmlessness ' God speed/ 
 And scorn to ruffie thy repose ! 
 Northumberland and Beaufort, come 
 Forbidden to seek our native home, 
 The wide world is our way, and we are free to 
 roam." 
 
 LII. 
 
 With misty eyes and cloudy brow, 
 In silent thought young Beaufort stood, 
 But starting now, his generous blood 
 Spread o'er his cheek the crimson glow : 
 " Dost thou forsake him, rough De Vere 1 
 Why, fare thee well ! for Somerset, 
 Pie has not paid his father's debt, 
 His duty anchors here." 
 LIII. 
 
 Edward in sullen sorrow bore 
 Each hard reproof, and insult sore, 
 Perchance a voice within combin'd 
 To goad and sting his tortur'd mind, 
 But now the faithful Beaufort's word 
 Fell trembling on a kindlier chord ; 
 To bursting swell'd that struggling breast 
 To which the generous friend he pressed ; 
 " Oh Beaufort 1 I conjure thee fly 1 
 Mine, is an ill-starred destiny ! 
 No less, to grateful memory dear, 
 Seek with the rest a new career, 
 Nor thus to ruin persevere ! 
 I do absolve thee ! thou alone, 
 Strong as thou art in arm and will, 
 
228 MARGARET CANTO vni. 
 
 Canst thou uplift a fallen throne ? 
 
 No ! let yon frowning heav'n the dark decree 
 fulfil 1" 
 
 LIV. 
 
 While yet he spake, the beauteous cause 
 Of Edward's biiss, and Eel ward's bane, 
 Led by her brother, seeks the train 
 Of angry peers, and in the pause 
 With which surprize her presence greets 
 (For many a bosom breathless beats 
 With anxious wonder, what might lead 
 Her meekness to so bold a deed) 
 Sir Gerald speaks u Ye English lords, 
 I do beseech ye to suspend, 
 Till ye have listen J d to my words, 
 Or breath, or glance that may o fiend I 
 This lady's honour must not brook 
 The touch of one misgiving look 1" 
 
 LV. 
 
 But Gcraldine could well sustain, 
 Unhurt, the glance of fierce disdain, 
 Far other fear her soul does move, 
 She only shuns the glance of love, 
 And, shrinking, trembles at the thought 
 Of Edward's look with anguish fraught ; 
 Sublime of soul, for him alone 
 She pours the deep, internal groan, 
 
 And shudders at his panels, forgetful of her .own ! 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Pale yet resolved she stood, like one 
 Hopeless and fearless, who had done 
 With life's emotions ! Who can tell, 
 Beneath the calm and frozen rest 
 That seem'd to sway the marble breast, 
 If all within were well ? 
 
CANTO viii. OF ANJOU. 229 
 
 Yes, all was well ! for she had striven 
 With her own heart, and conquered ! Still 
 She walk'd on earth, 'twas heaven's will, 
 But ev'ry thought from earth was riven, 
 Her soul, with all its hopes, securely dwelt in 
 heaven ! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Sir Gerald paus'd, a rushing tide 
 Of soften'd thought his speech enchain'd, 
 And, struggling with the warrior's pride, 
 The solemn word detain'd : 
 You might have deem'd the lady's heart 
 Had stol'n from his the sterner part, 
 And to his manly breast had given 
 The feelings she from her's had driven, 
 For, lo ! her mild, upbraiding eye, 
 With calm yet mournful dignity, 
 Bids him be firm 1 Nay, e'en a smile, 
 A wan and wintry gleam, play'd o'er her lip the 
 while ! 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " My Royal Liege i" Sir Gerald cries, 
 As to the ground he bent his knee, 
 " From hence thou shalt not see me rise 
 Till I have won a grace ol thee ! 
 My noble sister hath a vow 
 Which thou did'st witness, only thou 
 That vow may'st cancel ; it doth weigh 
 Hard on her spirit, and I pray 
 Absolve my sister ! for her soul, 
 Touch'd by a heavenly messenger, 
 All earthly bondage would forswear, 
 And give a heart to heaven, untroubled, pure, and 
 whole 1" 
 
230 MARGARET CANTO viii. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 " Oh, think not, think not," Edward cried, 
 
 " To cheat me with such puny art I 
 
 My Geraldine ! my bosom's bride, 
 
 My hope, my happiness, my pride 1 
 
 Is thine a fickle, fleeting heart ? 
 
 Ah, no ! The wavering world, and all 
 
 That wavering world may precious call, 
 
 For thy bright sake, I do resign ! 
 
 And would'st thou quit me, Geraldine ? 
 
 Sir Gerald ! I do know thee well ! 
 
 This is tny work ! thou dost compel 
 
 Her gentle nature 1 but resign 
 
 Thy rugged sway, for she is mine ! 
 
 Mine, e'en in thy despite ! art thou not, Geral- 
 dine r 
 
 LX. 
 
 " My Liege ! I came prepared to prove 
 The struggle of unhappy love ! 
 And tho* these proud and fiery lords 
 May marvel at a brother's words, 
 I tell them, he who could forego 
 A gem so bright, a prize so high, 
 Untouch'd by passion's agony, 
 May boast a nature, which doth know 
 No kindlier impulse than the brute 
 
 Who crops earth's verdant gifts, insensible and 
 mute !" 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Oh, God !" cri-d Edward, " Thou dost know 
 Why it cloth please thee, that my life 
 A dark and turbid stream shall flow 
 Amid the rocks of strife ! 
 Mark'd for thy vengeance, I have borne 
 The sentence from my earliest morn. 
 
OANTO viii. OF ANJOU. 231 
 
 And borne unmurm'ring, but my brain 
 No more the conflict may sustain; 
 It whirls distracted ! Geraldine, 
 Exult ! exult I the work is thine ! 
 Why dost thou linger ? Give it breath, 
 I do but wait the word, which madness brings, 
 or death ! 
 
 LXII. 
 
 " What, dost thou weep ? Oh, let thine eye 
 Renounce the barbarous mockery ! 
 Weep not for me ! I cannot bear, 
 False maid, the insult of thy tear! 
 Weep not, but speak ! repeal thy vow ! 
 Oh, linger not, but strike the blow ! 
 Strike, Geraldine ! and feast thine eye 
 Upon thy victim's agony !" 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " Oh, Royal Edward ! 'tis not scorn, 
 But hard-earn'd fortitude 
 That arms my heart to see thee torn 
 By conflicts, terrible and rude ; 
 But conflicts / have borne ! 
 There is a pang which mortal force 
 May never twice sustain, 
 That overpast, our vital course 
 Has done with joy or pain ! 
 Thro' that rough passage I have gone, 
 And now with joy and pain have done ! 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Edward ! the sternest, hardiest breast ^ 
 That ever burnish'd cuirass press'd, 
 Was never nerv'd by firmer will 
 Than doth my woman's bosorn fill 1 
 Edward, I go ! a heavenly spouse 
 
232 MARGARET. CANTO vin. 
 
 Reclaims the rashly utter'd vows 
 Of human passion, and my breast 
 Doth hail the pure and holy rest 
 
 That consecrates the shrine for its Immortal 
 Guest ! 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " Oh, Edward ! if a virgin pray'r 
 May speed a warrior, God shall bless 
 Thy path, as onward thou dost fare, 
 With smiling hope and glad success I 
 And when each little joy and grief, 
 Time's offspring, fugitive and brief, 
 Is past, and thou shalt wing thy way 
 To regions of eternal day, 
 Then will we meet ! Farewell, till then ! 
 
 For in this nether world we never meet again \ 9> 
 
 END OF CANTO THE EIGHTH. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THE EIGHTH. 
 
 Long ages hence Plant agenet. Stanza IV. 1. 1. 
 
 " ALL agree that the name of Plantagenet signifies a 
 broom plant, and Buck tells us that Folk, the head of the 
 family, about a century before the Conquest, was en- 
 joined by the priest, as a punishment for his sins, to lash 
 himself with that weapon, from which he acquired its 
 name. 
 
 " This self-afflictor furnished England with seventy- 
 four male descendants, of his own name ; fourteen of 
 whom were sovereign princes, who filled the throne 
 three hundred and thirty years, among- whom only three 
 lived to old age. 
 
 " In the contest between the houses of York and Lan- 
 caster, without including those who suffered in cold 
 blood, by the axe and the halter, 105,000 Englishmen 
 perished." Hutton's Bosworth Field. 
 
 Oh y Worster ! it availed thee nought. Stanza VIII. 1. 1. 
 
 " It is memorable of Tibetot, or Tiptoft, Earl of 
 Worster, that, having been bred a student in Baliol Col- 
 lege, Oxon, and attained to an high degree of learning-, 
 he went to Jerusalem, and there made his abode for 
 some time . Thence travelling into other countries, he 
 came to Venice and Padua, as also to Rome out of a 
 great affection he had to see the Vatican Library, where 
 he made such an elegant, oration to Pope Pius II. that it 
 drew tears from the eyes of his Holiness- Likewise 
 that he translated into English the Orations of Publius 
 Cornelius and Cains Flaminius, and wrote divers learned 
 tracts, whereof Bale maketh mention. 
 
 " On the restoration of the house of Lancaster through 
 the potency of Nevil, Earl of Warwick, he was necessi- 
 tated to shift for himself, so that being- found on the top 
 of a high tree, in the forest of Waybridge, in the county 
 of Huntingdon, he was brought to London, and judged 
 to suffer death, whereupon he lost his head on Tower- 
 hiU." Dugdaltfs Baronage of 'England ', vol. ii. p- 41. 
 X 
 
234 NOTES TO CANTO VIII. 
 
 Oh, Exeter* what human breast. Stanza. XIX. 1. 1. 
 
 In the 13th of the reign of Edward IV. he was found 
 dead in the sea, betwixt Dover and Calais, though not 
 known how he came thither. It is reported by Comines, 
 that he saw this Duke in such great distress that he ran 
 on foot, bare -legged, after the Duke of Burgundy's train, 
 begging his bread for God's sake, but that he uttered 
 not his name ; and that when he was known, (being 
 the nearest of the house of Lancaster, and that he had 
 married a sister of King Edward IV.) he gave him a 
 small pension to maintain his estate. This Duke of 
 Exeter married Anne, daughter of Richard, Duke of 
 York, and sister to King Edward IV., which Anne, at 
 her own suit, was divorced from him, November 12th, 
 ami. 1472, and married Sir Thomas St. Leger, Knight 
 of the body to King Edward IV. Dugdale's Baronage nf 
 England, vol. ii. p. 82. 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOtL 
 
 CANTO THE NINTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 LOVE ! get thee hence ! Is this a clime 
 For thee to breathe in ? Wilt thou dare 
 To wrestle with the boist'rous time ? 
 How will thy myrtle blossoms bear 
 Th* encounter of so keen an air ? 
 The gathering sky portentous scowls, 
 Wide o'er the land the war-blast howls, 
 A man, defying and defied, 
 Scorns to be led by gentler guide 
 Than ruthless, rash, remorseless Pride I 
 Love, get thee hence ! Thy fickle star 
 Should vanish mid the clouds of war ! 
 Oh, Love ! thy dewy pinions spread, 
 And hide thee in the distant groves, 
 Where Peace still feeds the silver doves 
 Thy smiling mother bred ! 
 Unwelcome stranger ! Banish'd guest ! 
 Vengeance usurps each panting breast, 
 And triumphs in the home where thou wert wont 
 to rest ! 
 
 II, 
 
 Now, warriors ! search your souls, and there 
 If one remorseless thought ye find, 
 One ling'ring impulse, fond and kind, 
 Oh ! give the trembler to the wind, 
 
336 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 Lest it impede your bold career ! 
 
 For you, life's charities are o'er ! 
 
 The smile and tear of social life, 
 
 Scar'd by the grim, unnatural strife, 
 
 Exist for you no more ! 
 
 Well, let them go ! Fate waves ye on i 
 
 Look not behind I on, on ye brave ! 
 
 The prize your burning wishes crave, 
 
 That meed by many a warrior won, 
 
 Shall crown your headlong course anon,* 
 
 Or vengeance, or a grave ! 
 
 in. 
 
 To Gallia's shores fair Nevil came 
 Her cold, reluctant lord to meet, 
 And ne'er did fainter welcome greet 
 So bright, so proud a dame ! 
 The bridegroom's tongue in secret swore 
 To breathe the breath of love no more, 
 No whisper'd sighs, no soft caress, 
 No tear, the happy heart's excess, 
 Did that ungenial hymen bless 1 
 What boots it, that in solemn tone 
 The mitred priest proclaims them one ? 
 Heaven knows 'tis perjury ! for ne'er 
 Those hearts the mutual bond shall wear, 
 Nor e'er one mingled thought in fond commu- 
 nion share ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ambition triumphs ! Edward's tongue 
 Has given the fatal sentence breath ! 
 His hand is bound in fetters strong 
 Which nought shall break but death ! 
 Chain'd by irrevocable vows, 
 A loveless, joyless, heartless spouse ! 
 But let the secret canker prey 
 
CANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 237 
 
 Deep in the centre, tho* it eat 
 The very springs of life away, 
 Throw but the world beneath our feet ! 
 Once crown the brow ! and who dares guess 
 That glory is not happiness ! 
 Unseen the heart consumes, but all, 
 Applauding, view the golden ball, 
 On every dazzled gazer's sight 
 The regal circlet flashes bright ! 
 When shouting thousands hail us blest, 
 'Twere folly to believe the whisp'rer in our 
 breast ! 
 
 V. 
 
 " What fear we now ?" Prince Edward cries, 
 u Come peril ! for despair is brave i 
 WVll ride the whirlwind, stem the wave, 
 And wrest from fate the shining prize ! 
 My heart is empty ! glory come, 
 Oh 1 make the joyless void your home ! 
 Lay me, where hearts forget to beat, 
 Or, lift me to the lofty seat, 
 Where fond regrets, weak memory's brood 
 Dare not upon our state intrude ! 
 Swift on mine ear your tumult pour ! 
 Anticipate the stormy hour ! 
 I pant to plunge me in the fight 
 And prove the warrior's fell delight, 
 I long to drown the voice within 
 Amid the battle's deafening din ! 
 Thou canst not cheat me, Glory ! though 
 Thy crown may never press my brow, 
 I'll claim thee v\iti v jiiy latest breath, 
 And grasp thee in the pangs of death !" 
 
 x 2 
 
23$ MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Edward was mild as summer show'r 
 
 That falls at evening's fragrant hour, 
 
 And wakes to life the languid flow'r ; 
 
 Now sudden, wayward, fierce, and strange, 
 
 All marvel at his nature's change ! 
 
 His hurried step and fiery eyes, 
 
 The flushing of his hollow cheek, 
 
 His rapid, harsh, abrupt replies 
 
 An alter'd mood bespeak ! 
 
 His smile is fled, his brow is bent, 
 
 And each august and modest grace 
 
 By partial nature early lent, 
 
 Has vanish'd from his frowning face ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Butlo! the hurrying, busy world 
 Cries out for action ! War again 
 Her gauntlet on the field has hurl'd, 
 Her bloody banner is unfurl'd ! 
 Her vultures hover o'er the plain ! 
 Hark ! England calls her exiles home, 
 " Come, Royal Margaret ! Edward come !'* 
 Rous'd by the summons, what shall stay 
 Their progress o'er the wat'ry way I 
 Already to their longing eye 
 Fair England's silver cliffs arise, 
 And lo 1 the long estranged band 
 Press once again their native strand ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Loud welcomes hail the wand'rers home, 
 " Come, Royal Edward ! Margaret, come! 1 * 
 Ten thousand caps are hiirl'd on high, 
 Ten thousand voices relief the sky, 
 " Yea, and are these who shout so loud, 
 The same perverse and rebel crowd, 
 
CANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 239 
 
 Who, thirsting for our sacred blood, 
 Brave us for shelter o'er the flood ? 
 'Tis even so ! But catch the gleam, 
 And drink ye of the running stream, 
 Nor sigh to think the stream shall fail, 
 And clouds the shining welkin veil ! 
 The past, the present, are our own, 
 Fate cannot reach them ! For the rest } 
 Let apathy's impervious zone 
 Wrap every mortal breast 1 
 
 IX. 
 
 Earl Warwick, with a mighty host. 
 In England's centre holds his post : 
 York, late-repentant, vainly tried, 
 With many a wily, winning art, 
 To soften that vindictive heart, 
 And melt its frozen pride : 
 'Twas all too late, the die is cast, 
 And Warwick's sacred word is past ' 
 However his yearning thoughts may strive, 
 He never, never must forgive 1 
 
 X. 
 
 Tho' York, with many a message mild, 
 For pardon and for peace implores, 
 Yet waits he not, till hoarse and wild, 
 Above his head the tempest roars ; 
 Again his banner waves ! Again 
 He courts the crowd in flatt'ring strain, 
 Well skill'd to dazzle and deceive, 
 And thousands listen and believe 1 
 Gloster, with reasons blunt and strong, 
 Compels and awes the wavering throng, 
 And Hastings, with auspicious smiles. 
 Partaker in his master's wiles, 
 The silly multitude beguiles ! 
 
240 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 XL 
 
 Still Warwick, with bis mighty band, 
 The pride and promise of the land, 
 Awaits, with heart prepaid in vain, 
 The coming of the hostile- train : 
 In vain, with loud and echoing vaunt, 
 In vain, with sharp and pointed taunt, 
 Did Warwick from his hold invite 
 His crafty rival to the fight ; 
 York, smiling, heard and understood, 
 And, witli unchaf'cl and temp'rate blood, 
 Wide, wide away from Warwick's towers 
 He leads his swift increasing powers 1 
 Forc'd from his den, the anc^ry bear* 
 Roaring pursues his wily prey, 
 Who now, with gay and gallant cheer, 
 With bended bow, and glancing spear, 
 Turns, and awaits the fi ay ! 
 
 XII, 
 
 The sun which lit that morning's sky 
 A tearful tragedy beheld, 
 Ne'er did th' eternal traveler's eye 
 Look down on direr field ! 
 On Barnet's ghastly plain contend 
 Brother with brother, friend with friend ! 
 Full many a warrior's soul doth yearn 
 On him who bleeds beneath his steel, 
 But wrath and honour bid him spurn 
 At nature's soft appeal ! 
 Spare may he not, tho' at his feet 
 His mother's son imploring lies, 
 He chides his heart, he shuts his eyes, 
 And o'er the breathing corse he spurs his cour- 
 ser fleet 1 
 
 * Warwick's badge. 
 
CANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 24 1 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Forth on that morn did Warwick ride, 
 Elate in hope, and swell'd with pride ; 
 He felt as if the world in vain 
 Might wrestle with his matchless train, 
 Victorious ere the fight began, 
 His thoughts to greet the future ran ; 
 He gaz'd on York's expectant bands, 
 As men whose fate was in his hands, 
 A victim host to slaughter come, 
 A mute, redeemless hecatomb 1 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With him rode Montague, no pride, 
 No hope within his bosom glow'd, 
 Scarce might that gallant breast abide 
 The heart's encumb'ring load ! 
 His bright and plumed casque did press 
 A cheek all wan and colourless, 
 And as he heard the death-word given 
 And prick'd his courser to the charge, 
 Flinging to earth his shdt'ring targe, 
 One silent prayer he sent to heaven, 
 " Oh, Virgin Mother ! bless the yew 
 Whose shaft brings peace to Montague 1" 
 
 XV. 
 
 With spirits light, as tho* endow J d 
 With God's high attribute, their sight 
 Did reach the issue of the fight, 
 And saw beneath their banners bow'd 
 A prostrate, breathless, lifeless crowd, 
 I)e Vere and Beaufort gallopp'd forth 
 With the bold lion of the north, 
 As men on sportive warfare bent 
 Of chase, or gaudy tournament, 
 Ail sure, quite sure that fortune's smile 
 
242 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 Dar'd not that day their hopes beguile, 
 How vain the boast of man, if heaven frowns the 
 while ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 On Dorset's coast the Prince and Queen, 
 Unconscious of th f eventful scene, 
 Still doubtful, linger on the strand 
 And wait Earl Warwick's beck'ning hand : 
 Oh, in that craving, keen suspense 
 How ready is the ear to seize 
 Each futile, wild intelligence 
 Opinion scatters on the breeze 1 
 Then with what piercing scrutiny 
 Do hope and fear endue the eye 
 Which seeks in every stranger's face 
 Some note of good or ill to trace ! 
 How does the busy, restless mind 
 Take hints from every murm'ring wind, 
 Well skill'd. from nothing to produce 
 Strange toys for f reward fancy's use ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Yet while suspense the hour doth chide, 
 That hour, which only seern'd to stay, 
 Is swept with all its cares away 
 Down time's oblivious tide ! 
 So fares it now, returning scouts 
 Dispel their vague and aimless doubts, 
 For each brings comfort, each has seen 
 Some fluttering presage : one had been 
 Where Warwick's tow'rs in hoary pride 
 Frown o'er the dark Leam's winding tide. 
 And heard the ancient vassals boast 
 Their gallant earl's resistless host, 
 So strong, so true, it might have hurPd 
 Its battle-gage against the world ! 
 
CANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 243 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 One scout by happy chance had met, 
 Beaming with hope, warm, sanguine, gay, 
 The bold and blooming Somerset, 
 As forth he led his stout array 
 Of rugged Cambrians, vassals all 
 Who swore with him to stand or fall 1 
 Impatient of the spur's assault, 
 Scarce would his fiery charger halt, 
 While the brief message Beaufort sends 
 Of comfort to his royal friends ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Tell them we strike the final blow i 
 This struggle ends the tedious strife 1 
 York's star declines ! Upon my life 
 To-morrow sees his overthrow ! 
 We have done with wild and wav'ring chance, 
 Now we strike sure 1 And it is meet 
 That straight from Weymouth they advance. 
 For many a gallant heart will beat 
 To lay the garhnd at their feet 1 
 Bid them tow'rds Beaulieu, let them rest 
 Securely in the woodland nest, 
 Till shouts disturb their brief repose, 
 Of Long live Lancaster ! All hail the vermil 
 Rose!" 
 
 XX. 
 
 Sweet Hope ! how easily thy tale 
 Wins credence from the charmed ear I 
 How dost thou teach thy dupes to rail 
 On thy cold rival, halting Fear i 
 And they who cling to thee are wise, 
 Tho' still from fraud to fraud they go, 
 Since what can truth and reason shew 
 To match thy fallacies ! 
 
244 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 More needed not, the Prince and Queen, 
 Forgetful what their eyes have seen, 
 Convinc'd by Beaufort's sanguine boast, 
 March inland, and forsake the coast, 
 Arid they do lead with them along 
 A motley, haste-collected throng 
 Of Gallic troops by Lewis lent, 
 Of mariners as wild and rude 
 As their own stormy element, 
 And men ne'er stain'd with warmer blood 
 Than oozes from the scaly prey, 
 When helpless on the sand it struggles life 
 away ! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Hope quickly steps soon overhead 
 The forest's* giant boughs are spread. 
 And o'er the turfy glade they tread 
 Where Tyrrel's chance-directed dart 
 Did pierce the hunter-king of yore, 
 And, guiltless, from the cruel heart, 
 Mid mortal pangs and writhing smart, 
 Distili'd the vital gore ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Those emerald gems which bounteous spring 
 Is wont to scatter from her wing, 
 The anxious year in vain expects, 
 For spring her wonted gift neglects, 
 And wide the forest arms are toss'd, 
 Despairing of their vernal boast, 
 Those broad grey arms, uncouth and drear. 
 Which still their brumal livery wear i 
 And ever as their limbs robust 
 
 * The New Forest. 
 
CANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 245 
 
 Contended with the warring gust, 
 Advancing now, and now retreating, 
 By turns defeated and defeating, 
 The bands who march'd below beheld 
 The image of a well-fought field 
 Where neither conquer, neither yield, 
 And as they eyed the struggling grove, 
 
 Much did they muse on those in mortal coil whs 
 strove. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Now clothe pure and blameless group 
 Of cowled brethren meekly greet 
 Of stranger-guests a warlike troop, 
 In Beaulieu's hallow'd seat: 
 The men of peace their home do share 
 With those who wave the torch of war, 
 Each humble cell and lowly bed 
 Lends shelter to some haughty head ; 
 Where barefoot monks did silent glide, 
 Loud clangs the step of martial pride I 
 Now many a hoarse and noisy vaunt 
 Disturbs the full and solemn chaunt, 
 Mingling with arrogance the song 
 Sent heav'nward by the cloister'd throng : 
 Oh ! evil are the days when those 
 Whom heaven for peace and worship chose, 
 E'en in their own sequester'd aisles, 
 
 Hear war's discordant voice, and meet her 
 glittering files ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Twice over Beaulieu's hoary pile 
 The night has fall'n, and mornings twain 
 Peep'd thro' the boughs with sparkling snvih 
 To gild the ancient fane I 
 'Tis noon, and since the earliest day 
 Y 
 
246 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 In woundless fight and mimic fray, 
 Beneath their royal chief's command, 
 Strive emulant the motley band : 
 Forth with the rest Queen Margaret rode 
 To solace her impatient mind, 
 And for an hour to cast the load 
 Of keen suspense behind : 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Enough, enough !" she cries. " 'Tis now 
 No season for the mimic fight ! 
 Forbear ! Disperse ye quick ! For lo ! 
 The harbinger of weal or woe 
 Doth greet our anxious sight ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 u Who art thou, stranger ? Quickly say, 
 And what thy tidings ? Thou dost bear 
 Rude tokens of a desperate day ! 
 Oh, speak ! Beshrew thy silence drear !'* 
 The stranger from his saddle leapt, 
 And bent at Margaret's foot the knee, 
 Who back in dire amazement stept, 
 Mistrusting what her eyes did see, 
 " Beaufort! it may not, cannot be ! 
 I know it now, thou com'st to tell 
 A tale of ruin, and to toll 
 Of our fair hopes the dismal knell ! 
 Rise Beaufort, and uplift thy soul ! 
 Trembling and speechless ! Somerset ! 
 Nay then the tale is told ! our ruin is complete I" 
 
 xxvan. 
 
 'Twas Somerset! In sooth the eye 
 Might on his form dwell doubtingly, 
 And e'en a brother's tongue might ask, 
 Who art thou ? On his batter'd casque 
 The snowy plume has ceas'd to float, 
 
OANTO ix, OF ANJOU. 247 
 
 Unseemly hangs his hlazon'd coat 
 
 In blood-stain'd remnants ! his right hand 
 
 Still grasps the fragment of his brand, 
 
 But lance, nor battle-axe, nor shield 
 
 Bears Beaufort from the deadly field ! 
 
 O'er his rich armour's glitt'ring pride 
 
 A foul, ensanguined crust has dried, 
 
 And now, the lifted aventayle 
 
 Reveals a cheek so icy pale, 
 
 An eye so eloquent, the tongue 
 
 May well the faltering pause prolong ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " My friend," cried Edward, " thou hast stood 
 Unmov'd in many a field of blood ; 
 Nay, I have seen thee smile, while fate 
 Pursued us with her bitt'rest hate, 
 But never did mine eye behold 
 So blanch'd thy cheek, thy cheer so cold !" 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Yea, am I pale ? Alas ! my heart 
 But feebly takes my manhood's part! 
 Oil! I have seen the blackest hour 
 That ever on our hopes did low'r ! 
 Renown looks pale ! the thief who long 
 Was the proud burthen of her song, 
 Has vail'd his might, has clos'd his eyes, 
 And sleeps, on earth no more to rise I 
 Mingling their life blood, side by side 
 Lie the brave Nevils, ne'er to wake 
 Till that dread trumpet echoeth wide 
 Which must this evil world to its foundations 
 shake ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " When the lastNevil dropt, my brain 
 Lost all its counsel, and my steed, 
 
248 MARGARET CANTO ix 
 
 Goaded by phrenzy, blind and vain, 
 Piung'd on with hot and headlong speed 
 I knew not whither ! Ne'er before 
 Did I so pant for human gore ! 
 As on I rush'd, a well-known tongue 
 Cried feebly from the trampled throng, 
 " Oh turn thee, Somerset ! and save 
 One true Lancastrian from the grave, 
 For e'en the hungry grave to-day 
 Is sated with illustrious prey ! 
 It was the Irish knight, my hand 
 Had fain his dying fingers wrung, 
 But as I stoop'd, some coward brand, 
 Aini'd from behind, my charger stung; 
 Mad with the smart, he started wide 
 And flung me in the tepid tide 
 That gush'd from many a gaping wound 
 Of those who prostrate lay around 1 
 What more I know not, but I know 
 That, scap'd from yon unsparing strife, 
 I stand, with motion, strength, and life, 
 To Rudolph's pow'rful arm, and valiant heart I 
 owe 1" 
 
 XXXII 
 
 lie ceas'd for Percy and De Vere 
 With drooping crests, and sullen cheer, 
 Slow fugitives, together came, 
 Blushing to live, as life were shame ! 
 With them rode Wenlock : as the eye 
 Surveyed his spotless panoply, 
 His broiderd cincture floating fair, 
 His light plume dancing in the air, 
 The trapping of his umir'd steed 
 Whose chanfron blaz'd with jewels rare, 
 
CANTO ix. OFANJOU. 249 
 
 Alight not that eye, with doubting heed, 
 Make question of Lord Wenlock's deed ? 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Wrapt for a while in musings deep 
 The Prince stood silent : now, like one 
 Who starts from long absorbing sleep, 
 And finds the recent vision gone, 
 He looks around, " Is it e'en so ? 
 Does that proud forehead lie so low ? 
 Methinks, I scarce can comprehend 
 The wondrous change ! Does Warwick rest ? 
 Warwick ? within thy mighty breast 
 Do wrath and pride no more contend ? 
 Why then, if thou canst sleep so sound, 
 So dreamless, on the naked ground, 
 
 There's hope for ev'ry heart ! all strife shall 
 find an end I 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Come, rouze ye, Lords ! nor let mischance 
 Amaze us with her withering glance ! 
 Our cause survives, and we will try 
 One struggle more with destiny ! 
 Speak, Beaufort ! did we lose the day 
 In gallant, hard, and even play, 
 Or was there treason ? Montague 
 Lies near his brother ; he was true ; 
 But where was Clarence ? did he stand 
 Where honour station'cl him or, fann'd 
 By rlatt'ry's breath, dissolve away, 
 
 And show the flouting world that princes can 
 betray ?" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " My Royal Liege, no time had I 
 To look around for treachery ! 
 My o\vn brave Cambrians, where they stood, 
 ir 2 
 
250 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 Their duty done, lie heap'd in blood. 
 Their leader's sorrow, and his pride! 
 The noble Montague, he died 
 Bright honour's martyr ! Every art 
 That e'er successful flatt'ry knew 
 Was practis'd on his generous heart, 
 He stood them all, and perish'd true ! 
 He stood, immutable and stern, 
 E'en while his inmost soul did yearn 
 On him, whose long-lov'd voice besought him to 
 return ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " I cannot tell ! But there be those 
 Of cooler spirits, who might stay 
 To scan the order of the fray, 
 Men brave of speech, who for the blows 
 Which mid the peril of the field, 
 Remorseful, they forbore to wield, 
 Will give ye words ! Lord Wenlock, thou 
 Hast wip'd the toil-drops from thy brow, 
 And doff'd the harness thou didst wear 
 On Barnet Plain for fresher gear, 
 Thou hast had breathing- time, and well 
 Mayst play the orator, and tell 
 How this disastrous chance befell !" 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The varying hue of Wenlock's cheek 
 A craven conscience did bespeak, 
 And he did cast a wistful glance 
 On his unstain'd, unbroken lance ; 
 He could have curs'd the spotless weed 
 That so betray'd him, and the speed 
 Devoid of council and of heed, 
 Which bade him quit the battle-plain 
 Ere he had borrowed glory's staiu ! 
 
CANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 251 
 
 His spirit sickcn'd, but his tongue 
 In martial phrase repHl'cl the wrong : 
 ^ XXXVIII. 
 
 jurious Beaufort ! By the brand 
 That kr ighthood on my shoulder press'd, 
 I do adjure thee, hand to hand, 
 Here, .in the presence where we stand, 
 To take thy insult from my crest ! 
 Lo, at thy foot my gauntlet lies ! 
 I do defy thee ! ami will teach 
 Thy tongue the use of safer speech ! 
 Ere fades the light in yonder skies 
 Thou shall retract thy base, unknightly calum- 
 nies !" 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Peace, gentle lord 1 Some tilting day, 
 Whence this our rugged work -is past, 
 I'll break a lance with thee, but stay 
 Till leisure lends us hours to waste ! 
 Then will I don my bravest gear, 
 And hang a streamer on my spear, 
 And we will run a bold career, 
 While lordlings gay, and ladies bright. 
 Shall wonder at each warrior's might 1" 
 
 XL. 
 
 " What ! are ye both the friends of York ! 
 Fie, Beaufort ! leave this factious work !" 
 Prince Edward cries, " and, Wenlock, thou. 
 Resume thy gage, and clear thy brow ! 
 By heaven, whichever of the twain 
 Shall wake this irksome broil again, 
 Is half a traitor ! Brave de Vere, 
 Pour thou into thy Prince's ear 
 The heavy story ! Say, did force 
 Or guile impede our fortune's course t 
 
252 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 Why did we fail ? Say, how did fate 
 Accomplish its relentless hater" 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " Oh, my liege Lord 1 the stars in vain / 
 Had frovm'd upon our matchless tram, 
 Had all been true ! Your rival's art 
 Did find the path to Clarence' heart : 
 That courteous, kind, fair-spoken lord 
 Did swallow back his honour's word, 
 And England's annals shall record 
 Clarence a traitor ! May the blood 
 Of his renowned father* rest 
 For ever on his burthen'd breast, 
 And ever, in his lighter mood, 
 When his heart laughs, may conscience tell, 
 
 To dash his short-UVd mirth, how the brave Nc- 
 viis fell I" 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Now, by my knighthood,'* Beaufort cries, 
 <; I never trusted him ! His eyes, 
 Methought, did ever look askance 
 With such unsettled, furtive glance 
 As if he fear'd they might betray 
 What mischief in the centre lay, 
 And teli the world, how wide apart 
 Were his smooth tongue and hollow heart I 
 Did ye ne'er mark how soft and slow 
 His speech upon the ear did flow ? 
 Why did we trust him ? Were we blind ? 
 The man is character'd and sign'd 
 
 With ev'ry mark and note that hints a double 
 mind 1" 
 
 * His father-in-law the Earl of Warwick, 
 
CANTO ix. OFANJOU. 253 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Well, Lords! and shall we stand to gaze 
 On our own ruin, reasoning slow 
 Whence the bolt fell ? Enough we know, 
 Our hopes have perish'd in the blaze ! 
 'Tis o'er with us 1 Yea, e'en tho' fate 
 Relenting view'd the work of hate, 
 The blow is struck ! 'Twere now too late ! 
 I am a woman ! Witness all, 
 Ye, who do gaze upon my fall, 
 How I have trod ; my spirits' force 
 Still wrestling with misfortune's course ; 
 When from yon skies the thunder broke, 
 Fronting its very aim and stroke ! 
 A glorious warfare ! But 'tis o'er ! 
 
 Strong is the arm of fate ! We fall to rise no 
 no more ! 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Still, mid the wreck of mightier things, 
 One humble wish tenacious clings 
 To our quell'd bosom! From our pride 
 Has heav'n, still frowning, turn'd aside, 
 But this is nature's pray'r, no claim 
 For crowns or sceptres, pow'r or fame ! 
 God grant, that soon yon briny flood 
 May roll its blessed wave between 
 My Edward, and those hunters keen, 
 
 Who follow in his track, and pant to drink his 
 blood! 5 ' 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Immortal Anjou ! does thy heart 
 Espouse yon vile Usurper's part ? 
 No, no ! 'tis but a feint to prove 
 The mould and mettle of our love !" 
 Cried Somerset. " Why, thou hast been 
 
254 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 Our sunshine thro' each arduous scene ! 
 Thy voice did rouze the dullest clod , 
 
 That e'er in havoc's footsteps trod ! 
 Warm'd by thy smile, each lumpish clown 
 Fought, as he struggled for a crown, 
 Or knew the meaning 1 of renown ! 
 What, thou ! the soldier's heart and soul ! 
 Wilt thou forsake us at the goal ? 
 Trust me, thy speech blows colder breath 
 Than Clarence' flight, or Warwick's death. 
 And heaven forfend the winds should bear 
 Such whisper on the common ear ! 
 Grant me thy patience, Royal Dame, 
 And I will shew thee, tho' our cause 
 Now for a little while doth pause, 
 We need not lower our lofty aim 
 Ours are the chances yet, and we shall win the 
 game ! 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " Now mark, I pray ! Yon boasting York, 
 Right weary of the rugged work, 
 His task of yesterday, doth now 
 In London rest his unhelm'd brow ! 
 Those shallow burghers soon forget 
 OF sugar'd speech the heavy cost. 
 They love yon false Plantagenet, 
 I know their gates are open set 
 For him, and his rebellious host ! 
 Gross-witted knaves ! But mark my words ! 
 Yon train of frolic, feasting lords, 
 E'en now have dofiPcl their iron coats, 
 And feed their ears with softer notes 
 Than the war trumpet breathes ! Not one 
 But dreams the glorious game is won I 
 
SANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 255 
 
 And let them dream, we'll wind a horn 
 Shall rouze them yet, some summer morn! 
 
 XLyn. 
 
 " Now, while these minions of success 
 Lay by their lances, and repose 
 In their hard-purchas'd idleness, 
 We will he husy ! for the blows 
 Their falchions on our harness laid 
 Must he with triple measure paid ! 
 Now mark the means ! Northumberland, 
 The unquell'd lion of the north, 
 Still holds reserv'd a hardy hand, 
 Prompt when he roars to issue forth, 
 Fierce border-men, whose daily food 
 Insipid were, unbought with blood ! 
 He shall go rouse them ! Bold de Verc 
 Must to the midland country wend, 
 There let him once his banner rear, 
 And many a lurking, secret friend 
 Will start from covert ! Tow'rds the west 
 My errand lies .-this well-known crest, 
 Bruis'd as it is, shall welcome swarms 
 Of loyal Welch men bred to arms ! 
 There too brave Jasper, Pembroke's Earl, 
 A native banner shall unfurl : 
 What! panic-smitten, shall we cow'r, 
 Dishearten'd by a cloudy hour, 
 With means like these, and leave the land, 
 Free pasture, to yon wasteful band I 
 No ! the base tale would never die ! 
 We should be chronicled, and live 
 In shame thro' all futurity, 
 
 For ev'ry coward's act would our disgrace 
 revive I" 
 
256 MARGARET CANTO ix. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " Why I was born where eagles build," 
 Said Percy, u and they taught my glance 
 Still to gaze sunward, fate nor chance 
 Shall ever raze from Percy's shield 
 The true heart's motto, ' Esperance 1* 
 No time to muse and reason now 
 Of what may fall, th' unbending will, 
 The hardy, upright, open brow, 
 The foot that forward wendeth still 
 Shall aye a glorious lot fulfil, 
 Alike to fame and honour dear, 
 However closes its career, 
 
 In regal state inthron'd, or stretch'd on timeless 
 bier I 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " I am with thee, Beaufort ! And my soul, 
 Full of Hope's promises, would fain 
 E'en now stretch forward to the goal, 
 And try the gallant race again ! 
 Yet, Beaufort, shall we risk the whole 
 On one brief stroke ? Mcthinks 'twere good 
 These vials fair of sacred blood 
 Were kept unbroken and unspent, 
 Till Time reveals th' unborn event ! 
 Let them again to Gallia's court 
 Where danger's arm is all to short 
 To strike their safety, while we toil 
 To make this rank and weedy soil 
 A goodly garden, meet to bear 
 
 Our bright and fragrant Rose, the glory of the 
 year 1" 
 
 L. 
 
 " Earl Percy," cried the royal youths 
 " I tell thee thou dost grossly err. 
 
CANTO ix. OF ANJOU. 257 
 
 If thus them deem'st of Lancaster [ 
 
 No ! When we flee the coming fight, 
 
 They are fools who shall defend our right ! 
 
 Is life so precious, we must fain 
 
 Redeem a forfeit year or twain 
 
 On such foul terms ! Thou dost mistake ! 
 
 I tell thee, Earl, the rocky pile, 
 
 The root and basis of our isle, 
 
 Vex'd by the wave, shall sooner shake, 
 
 Than we our honour's pledge so meanly will 
 forsake 1" 
 
 LI. 
 
 " And I do tell thee thou wert sent 
 To govern heroes !" Beaufort cries. 
 " Fate does but try thee, the event 
 Shall prove heav'ns counsels just and wise! 3 * 
 " Hush, Beaufort hush ! Nor thou nor I 
 May scan the secrets of the sky, 
 Nor may we call that Povv'r unkind 
 Who gives us the unshrinking mind, 
 A gift of more enduring grace 
 Than all the smiles on Fortune's face I 
 Yes ! Heav'n shall still reward the brave, 
 For even tho' it may deny 
 The kindling bliss of victory, 
 
 One prize we needs must win, a proud and glori- 
 ous grave! 
 
 tii. 
 
 " Now, Lords, we part ! Oh ! that the day 
 Of our last trial were at hand ! 
 Our soul, impatient of delay, 
 Counts wearily the sluggish sand ! 
 Oh! be not dull ! Remember, friends, 
 And faster urge your coursers' speed, 
 How slow with him the minute wends 
 
258 MARGARET. CANTO ix, 
 
 Whose panting heart expects the deed ! 
 Farewel, farewel i When next we meet 
 'Twill be to end this feverish coil, 
 To lift us to our native seat, 
 Or lay us in that common soil 
 Where life's tir'd lab'rer rests from sublunary 
 toil L 
 
 ENB OF CANTO THE NINTH* 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THE NINTH. 
 
 Lie the brave Nevils ne'er to wake. Stanza XXX 1. 10. 
 
 Hall says, "He" (Warwick) "comforted his men 
 beyng wery, sharpely quicknyng and earnestly desiryng 
 them with hardy stomackes to here out this laste and 
 finall brunt of the battaill, and that the feld was even at 
 an ende : but when his souldiers beyng sore wounded, 
 weried with so long a conflict, did geve little regarde to 
 his wordes, hee beyng a man of a mynde invincible 
 rushed into the middest of his enemies, where as he 
 aventured so farre from his awne compaignie to kill and 
 sley his adversaries, that he could not be rescued, was 
 in the middes of his enemies striken downe and slaine. 
 The Marques Montacute thynkyng to succor his brother 
 whiche he sawe was in grete jeopardey, and yet in hope 
 to obtein the victory, was likewise overthrowen and 
 slaine." Hall's Chronicle, p. 246. 
 
 On him whose long-lov'd voice besought him to return. 
 
 St. XXXV. 1. 13, 
 
 " The common people saied that the Kyng was not so 
 jocund nor so joyous for the destruccion of Therle, but 
 he was more sorrowful and dolorous for the death of the 
 Marques, whom both he knew, and it appered to other, 
 to be inwardly his faithful friend : for whose sake only he 
 caused bothe their bodies to bee with their aunceslors 
 solemnly entered at the Priory of Bissam." Halls 
 Chronicle, p. 297- 
 
 Strong is the arm of fate ! we fall to rise no more ! 
 
 St. XLIII. 1. 15* 
 
 " When Margaret harde all these miserable chaunces 
 and misfortunes, so sodainly, one in another's necke to 
 have taken their effect, she, like a woman all disinaied 
 
260 NOTES TO CANTO IX. 
 
 for feare, fell to the ground, her harte was perced with 
 sorowe, her speache was in a maner passed, all her 
 spirites were tormented with malencholy. The calami- 
 tie and misery of her time she detested and abhorred, 
 her unstable and contrariant fortune she stedfastly 
 blamed and accused," &c. Hall's Chronicle, p. 297. 
 
MARGARET OF ANJOTL 
 
 CANTO THE TENTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 ALAS ! how beautiful ! how strong ! 
 
 How flush'd with hope ! how warm with life . f 
 
 Yon glitt'ring, sparkling, victim-throng 
 
 Press forward to the strife ! 
 
 What nervous arms ! what lofty crests ! 
 
 What beaming eyes ! what throbbing breasts I 
 
 Hark ! how they boast ! mark 1 how they 
 
 tread 1 
 
 Yet heav'n has pass'd their sentence dread, 
 'Tis doomsday ! Like a morning dream, 
 A flush, a breath, an April gleam, 
 They were, and are not 1 All the throng. 
 So proud, so beautiful, so strong, 
 Their place is void, their forms are fled ! 
 Fate frowns from yonder skies, and they are wi- 
 thered ! 
 
 II. 
 
 *Tis May ! A bright and cloudless morn 
 Smiles on the world, on ev'ry thorn 
 The newly open'd blossom glows, 
 And rich the woodland music flows 1 
 Each hails the promise for his own f 
 As if the beam on nature's face 
 
 7.2 
 
262 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 Shone forth his single crest to grace, 
 And spake to him alone ! 
 Alas ! the welkin's dazzling eye 
 But mocks the fleeting pageantry ! 
 
 III. 
 
 In weary march the night had pass'd, 
 And Lancaster with joy espied 
 Fair Tewksbury's hoary tow'rs at last 
 Reflected in Sabrina's tide. 
 Gloster had clos'd her gates, and sent 
 Loud insults from each battlement, 
 Nor did the rebel town make known 
 Her enmity in scoffs alone, 
 For many a mile, from copse and dell, 
 As onward pass'd the armed train, 
 An arrowy show'r around them fell, 
 And many a gallant form lay slain, 
 Unseen the hand that wrought his bane ; 
 But as the shades of night withdrew 
 And morn's wide prospects burst to view, 
 Of day's revealing glance afraid, 
 Dispers'd each darkling ambuscade. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Night's cares and toils, and lurking foes, 
 Were vanish'd ; each elastic mind, 
 Refresh'd and cheer'di already throws 
 The weary thought behind : 
 Bold Beaufort, who the vaward held, 
 As morning's dewy mists dispell'd, 
 And Tewksb'ry's turrets tipt with light 
 Rose on his view, a welcome sight, 
 Thro' all his host the signal past, 
 That signal to the soldier dear, 
 Which bids him from his toils forbear 
 And pause a little while, to taste 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 263 
 
 The brief repose and light repast ! 
 The shrilling horn in echoes loud 
 From line to line the message sent, 
 When, lo ! unmarshall'd and unbent, 
 The mute and pompous armament 
 Tumultuous mix, a murm'ring crowd i 
 
 V. 
 
 On Severn's banks in gladsome groups, 
 In thoughtless mirth, the scatter'd troops 
 Waste the free hour ; some cast aside 
 Their heavy harness, and divide 
 With vigorous arm th' opposing tide ; 
 Outstretch'd in idleness, a few 
 The busier throng supinely view ; 
 O'er some, the transient slumbers steal. 
 While tougher hearts, averse and loth 
 Mild nature's gentle rule to feel, 
 
 Do mock their prostrate comrades' sloth ; 
 Loud laughter, song, and jest make known 
 That freedom hails the hour her own. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nor did the crested chieftains scorn 
 Their cumbrous helms aside to throw. 
 And woo the freshness of the morn 
 To fan each galled brow, 
 And many a richly blazon'd shield 
 Lay scatter'd on the dewy field ; 
 But the loud laugh, the song, the jest, 
 Blythe echoes of the careless breast, 
 Rose from the humbler swarm, the rest. 
 Tho' thrown aside^their outward gear, 
 Did still their bosom-burthens bear 1 
 
 VII. 
 
 Prince Edward in the centre line 
 With Wenlock's did his pow'rs combine, 
 
264 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 And Margaret, with her Royal Heir, 
 The weary midnight march did share: 
 Behold ! on milk-white palfrey borne, 
 Her light casque sparkling in the morn, 
 With rested lance, her slender waist 
 Within the golden cuirass cas'd, 
 Upraising her undazzled eye 
 To meet the fair and flatt'ring sky, 
 By hours of irksome toil unquejl'd, 
 The English Pallas ! Hark I how loud 
 The trumpet peal, and shouting crowd, 
 Proclaim her presence on the field ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now many a Knight, with duteous heed, 
 Press'd forward, emulant to gain 
 From Margaret's hand the gemmed rein, 
 Or from the golden stirrup freed, 
 To lift her from the barded steed, 
 And proud and prosp'rous was his chance 
 Whose speed obtained a fav'ring glance, 
 Or won the charge of shield or lance I 
 Nor did their ardent strife aspire 
 To loftier meed, or title higher 
 Than matchless Anjou's trusted squire, 
 
 IX. 
 
 Mid all those chieftains, scarce a brow 
 The lapse of so much time might boast 
 As robs youth's ringlets of their glow, 
 O'ersprinkling them with autumn's frost! 
 They were the sons of sires who all 
 Had early heard the fatal call 
 Which bade them to their stripling heirs 
 Forego their troubles, toils, and cares 1 
 War's blast had o'er their cradles blown 
 Its hoarse stern lullaby ; the brand 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 265 
 
 Flash'cl in the unscar'd infant's hand, 
 The tiny morion grac'd his brow ; 
 Each lisping orison implor'd 
 The God of battles to impart 
 An iron arm, a lion heart, 
 
 A foot which might not turn, a ruin-dealing 
 sword ! 
 
 X. 
 
 And now as varying nature sways, 
 Ea,h Knight the hour of pause bestows, 
 While one in fierce indignant phrase 
 The losses of the night displays, 
 And counts the unavenged blows, 
 Another quits the past to scan, 
 With wiser heed, the future plan ; 
 In social parley some combine, 
 While others, mute and saturnine, 
 With pleached arms, and eye, whose beam 
 To anchor in the earth does seem, 
 In secret commune with their heart. 
 Nor deign its whispers to impart : 
 
 XI. 
 
 Butlo ! with every foaming steed 
 Press'd onward to its utmost speed, 
 As rushing to the charge, De Vere 
 And Devon's Earl lead up the rear ! 
 Anon the trumpet brays aloud, 
 And soon the wide-dispersed crowd 
 Start from their idleness, the call 
 Of that shrill horn doth rouze them all ! 
 " 'Tis stirring time IThe foe is nigh ! 
 York comes apace ! This hour demands 
 Keen heads I trow, and busy bands ! 
 The next decides your destiny ! 
 
266 MARGARET CANTO x 
 
 XII. 
 
 Inur'd to battle, every heart 
 The signal hails ! In rapid change. 
 The scattered squadrons form and range, 
 And spear, and battle-axe, and dart, 
 Each knows its station ; those who lay 
 Slumb'ring or sportive on the mead, 
 Now form the close and bright array, 
 Prepare the shaft, or rule the steed, 
 And wait, with breast resolv'd, the deed 
 
 Which stills that breast for aye, or bids another 
 bleed ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The chiefs who lead the triple host, 
 A brief yet solemn parley hold, 
 When Somerset, fierce, sanguine, bold, 
 Each cooler counsel cross'd 
 " For me," cried Oxford, u I have bought, 
 And will maintain with lance and sword, 
 The right to speak my bosom's thought 
 With free, unquestion'd word ! 
 God sees my heart ! Its pulses beat 
 Keen for the charge with gen'rous heat, 
 But pausing judgment does arrest 
 The rapid motion of my breast ! 
 By heav'n, to-day we must not fight I 
 Wait but a few swift- waning hours, 
 To-morrow brings us Tudor's pow'rs, 
 Then shall ye strive with equal might, 
 But if ye now persist, ye'll think of this ere 
 night 1" 
 
 * XIV. 
 
 " Not fight to-day 1" cried Somerset. 
 " Thy words would tempt me to forget 
 That I have seen thee play a part 
 Which vouches for thy manly heart I 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 267 
 
 Think on't ere night ! Why what care I ? 
 'Tis now we're cull'd by destiny, 
 And we are ready ! Say, De Vere, 
 Could'st thou endure, like timid deer. 
 To hold in view the breathless race, 
 With York's hot blood-hounds full in chase ? 
 Lord Oxford, I do hope thy sword, 
 Ere this bright morn is pass'd away, 
 Shall proudly contradict thy word, 
 For, Oxford, we must fight to-day 1" 
 
 XV.' 
 
 " Yea," cried the Prince, behold at last 
 That hour which crowns the strife of years ! 
 And it shall end the woeful waste 
 Of England's blood, and England's tears 1 
 I hail its advent ! Even now 
 I feel a stranger in my soul, 
 A wild, exulting, kindling glow, 
 A transport, such as conquerors know, 
 When glory crowns them at the goal! 
 Blest be the omen ! Is't not time 
 To close the scene of woe and crime ? 
 This hour shall close it ! Ne'er again 
 Will I turn back from battle-plain, 
 A beaten fugitive ! Ere even 
 With parting smile shall gild the west, 
 This sword shall triumph win, or rest, 
 Victory on earth, or, peace in heaven I" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Give me earth's triumphs 1" Margaret cries^, 
 " This nether world concludes my schemes. 
 Ne'er could I teach my soul to prize 
 The moping beadsman's dreams ! 
 Victory on earth ! Friends ! to this hour 
 A whole life's energies are du^ ! 
 
268 MARGARET CANTO x 
 
 Whate'er of ardour, skill, or pow'r 
 
 Your noble breasts imbue, 
 
 Call to the conflict ! Loudly call ! 
 
 This grasping hour demands them all ! 
 
 'Tis a vast moment ! 'Tis the goal 
 
 Tow'rds which, thro* striving years, the soul 
 
 With untir'd vigour bent its force, 
 
 We touch the limits of the course!" 
 
 XVIL 
 
 Was it the smile of hope that play'd 
 O'er Margaret's brow as thus she said ? 
 3 Twas not the bright auspicious ray 
 That warms the fair and cloudless day, 
 And o'er the tranquil prospect glows/- 
 'Twas sudden, transient, ominous ! 
 But Beaufort, blind to portents ill. 
 Presumptuous, confident, obey'd 
 His own warm heart's impetuous thrill, 
 By nought oppos'd, by nought dismay 'd, 
 He deem'd the glare of Margaret's eye 
 The beacon-light to victory ! 
 
 XVIIi. 
 
 As thro* the martial ranks she rode, 
 To praise the keen, the slow to goad, 
 With kindling words to heat the cold, 
 To madden and inflame the bold, 
 Beaufort with flashing glance beheld 
 War's Genius tow'ring Ver the field ! 
 " Margaret!" he cried, " our hopes we fix 
 On thee, our high Imperatrix! 
 Did Pallas rouze her Greeks to war, 
 And shalt thou vainly bid us dare I 
 Undaunted woman ! May his name 
 Be branded with eternal shame, 
 Whose lukewarm blood can feel thy smile 
 
CA*TO x. OF ANJOU. 269 
 
 And keep its lazy course the while ! 
 Nay, an 'twere heaven's sublime decree, 
 'Twere pride enough to die for thee ! 
 But we do hope to win the race, 
 And sun us in the dazzling grace 
 Elicited by joy from thy victorious face I" 
 
 XIX. 
 
 From soul to soul the spirit flies ! 
 Like stricken flint, the dullest hind 
 Sends forth in sparkles from his eyes 
 The new-sprung ardours of his mind ; 
 Thus eager for the fray they stand, 
 Impatient for the coming storm, 
 When lo ! a venerable form 
 With mitred brow, and crozier'd hand, 
 Meekly salutes the threatening band : 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Alas!" he said, " if tear or pray'r 
 Might quench the bursting flames of war, 
 Long, long had England ceas'd to feei . 
 The wounds her cruel children deal ! 
 I come not here to bid ye stay, 
 No, no ! pursue your wasteful way ! 
 Ruthless, unhumaniz'd, and stern, 
 Stay not to think, to feel, to yearn 1 
 Yon vulture hovering in the air 
 Expects from you his horrid fare, 
 God's image, mangled, marr'd, defac'd, 
 Nor waits in vain the dire repast! 
 Go on ! your mad career fulfil ! 
 I may not curb your impious will ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Unhappy Queen ! to thee I come, 
 To save thee from this hideous hour. 
 And lead thee \o our hallow 'd home, 
 
 A a 
 
MARGARET CANTO s. 
 
 Where, peaceful, thou may'st seek the Pow'r 
 Whose voice can soothe each warring sense, 
 And calm the anguish of suspense ! 
 And we will weep with thee, for ne'er 
 In vain did sorrow claim our tear; 
 And we with thine our knees will bend, 
 And we with thine our pray'rs will blend 
 That heaven with patient humbleness 
 The long resisting heart may bless, 
 And teach it, whatsoe'er betide, 
 
 To mourn without despair, or triumph without 
 pride!" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Oh holy father ! if indeed 
 To mutter'd pray'r, or counted bead, 
 The distant pow'rs of heaven give heed, 
 I know not : But 'tis now too late 
 By humbleness to conquer fate ! 
 Long since these eyes have done with tears ! 
 Harden'd by many wintry years, 
 My heart its wrongs unshrinking bears ! 
 My lips haveceas'd to supplicate, 
 My knees to bend, and I do wait 
 With resolute and settled soul 
 Till I have seen, and prov'd the whole ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 2< Know, holy father, at my birth 
 Fate chose me from the forms of earth, 
 Chose me, to tread while wand'ring here 
 A high, a wonderful career, 
 And on I must, till envious time 
 Shall quench me in my path sublime I 
 No after-chronicle shall say, 
 That peril turn'd me from my way ! 
 I will go on ! My spirit high 
 
 'phus meets in bold response the call of destiny ! 
 
. OP ANJOU. 271 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Hark ! they are coming ! Did'st thou hear ? 
 It was York's trumpet-peal that rang ! 
 Nay list ! Methinks the heavy clang 
 Of armed thousands, trampling near, 
 Advancing fills my anxious ear I 
 Eventful crisis ! in my breast, 
 How my heart bounds ! Oh Somerset ! 
 This moment cancels many a debt I 
 No pardon now, our after-hours 
 We'll lend to mercy I but to-day 
 Let rebel blood descend in show'rs ! 
 Give famish'd vengeance scope and sway 
 And let her sweep the cumber'd way 1" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Beaufort had form'd, in order good, 
 Upon a fair and sloping down, 
 His battle westward of the town, 
 Of ancient elms a spreading wood, 
 All smiling in the pride of spring, 
 Wav'd o'er the rear, and dexter wing ; 
 Already did a trench profound, 
 Protecting, gird the camp around, 
 For many a chief's illustrious hand 
 Had laboured with the common band : 
 The Abbey bells were pealing loud, 
 And from the tow'rs and ramparts high 
 The Red Rose pennons flaunted proud 
 To flout the coming enemy : 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But, thro' the iron files below 
 A ghastly stillness does prevail, 
 As tho' each bright and gHtt'ring row 
 Of men and steeds encas'd in mail 
 Were but a lifeless pageant show 1 
 
272 MARGARET CANTO x 
 
 A deadlier threat that pause conveys 
 Than anger's loudest, bitterest phrase I 
 Such silence holds the sulph'rous sky 
 Ere falls the bolt mid deaf 'ning peals 3 
 Or, torn by inward agony, 
 The globe beneath our footstep reels. 
 And shudd'ring time and nature fear 
 The limit of their reign is near i 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Led briskly on by hope and ire 
 York's squadrons to the charge advance. 
 And many an eye-ball flashes fire 
 Responsive to the morning's glance : 
 The Bristled Boar their vaward leads, 
 Grim, fatal, bloody '.Next succeeds, 
 With jewelPd crest and gilded casque, 
 Meet for the tourney or the masque, 
 The White Rose Monarch ; near him rides 
 The whirling Clarence, while the rear, 
 With heart unknown to care or fear, 
 The gallant Hastings guides ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 As on the mighty mass doth roll, 
 Mute, motionless, the expectant band, 
 Prepared in body and in soul, 
 In grim array do stand ; 
 With settled gaze they mark the foe 
 And aim in thought the fatal blow ; 
 But the foe halts, an arrow's reach 
 Doth scarce each hostile front divide, 
 When Gloster's trumpet echoing wide 
 Suspends at once the following tide, 
 And claims the previous speech ! 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 273 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Ye men of England ! from your king 
 
 Of bosom placable and soft, 
 
 Oft outrag'd, yet relenting oft, 
 
 A kind appeal I bring ! 
 
 Renounce your rebel thoughts, and leave 
 
 Yon Boy, to whom ye madly cleave ! 
 
 Bid this unquiet spirit cease ! 
 
 Go I till your fathers' fields in peace, 
 
 And from your widow'd mothers' face 
 
 With pious hand the tear-drop chase 1 
 
 Go, go 1 repent and be forgiven ! 
 
 Our mercy, like the beam of heaven, 
 
 Shines on ye all ! on all but those 
 
 From whose rash pride the mischief flows ; 
 
 But they have so deform'd the time, 
 
 So stain'd the land with woe and crime, 
 
 The long abhorring sky demands 
 
 Their expiatory blood from our avenging hands! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 a My gentle countrymen ! I feel 
 Your hearts confess the kind appeal I 
 Misled awhile, but not perverse, 
 Convinc'd and touch'd with gen'rous shame, 
 Ye own your injur'd sov'reigns claim, 
 And, as remorseful ye disperse, 
 Your own mistaken thoughts ye blame, 
 And your deluders curse I 
 Well may ye curse them ! What are ye 
 But breathing counters, cast away 
 
 From yon young gamester's hand in this most 
 desp'rate play ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Redeem yourselves ! From sleep awake ! 
 Your ruin, and your bane, forsake ! 
 A a 2 
 
274 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 Yield up yon Tigress, who for years 
 On England's blood, and England's tears. 
 Has fed, yet still, with hungry roar, 
 Hark ! unappeas'd, she raves for more ! 
 Yield her, and with his dam, resign 
 Yon sprout of Gaunt's usurping line, 
 A meet sin-offering to assuage 
 Th' exterminating Spirit's rage, 
 Ere yet across a land of graves 
 The gust that sweeps our isle, unfelt and lonely, 
 raves !" 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Now do the Red Rose squadrons pour 
 Their stormy answer, the mute crowd 
 No more in silent anger low'r, 
 But with defiance stern and loud, 
 With shaken spear and clashing shield, 
 Wrath's bursting thunder, rings the field I 
 Ten thousand tongues with one accord 
 Lift to the skies the battle-word, 
 Wide echo doubling on the ear 
 " England ! St. George ! and Lancaster 1" 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Thou hast thy answer !" Beaufort cries, 
 " No ! not a peasant in our host 
 But thy false offer dares despise 
 And laughs to scorn thy thriftless boast ! 
 Since Clarence left us, in cur bands 
 Not one disloyal traitor stands ! 
 Misshapen Richard! tho' thy soul 
 Doth well be St its lodging foul, 
 Yet would I fain the tenant chase 
 K'en from its writh'd and loathed case 
 To that dark world, where, haplv, chveM 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 275 
 
 Shapes that resemble thine, abhorr'd, prodigious, 
 fell! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " And, for this war effeminate 
 My fiery soul cloth execrate, 
 Oh ! let us quit this strife of words, 
 And trust our meaning to our swords I" 
 " Content!" cried Richard. " Ye who wear 
 The White Rose in each loyal breast, 
 Come on ! and let your strokes attest 
 What cause ye serve, whose men ye are ! 
 And mark me, friends, the fate of years 
 Hangs on the deeds we do to-day ! 
 Fast bar your bosoms and your ears, 
 That no weak pleadings find their way ! 
 This hydra-headed mischief now 
 To one resolv'd, home-driv'n blow 
 Shall yield for ever, and the hand 
 
 That spares one foe to day, doth wound its native 
 land !" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Loud blow the trumpets ! Still the band, 
 By Beaufort led, unshrinking stand, 
 Presenting to the charging foe 
 Of glitt'ring spears a bristly row : 
 The troops, as yet scarce warm with fight, 
 Before the yawning trench recoil, 
 But when the blood begins to boil, 
 Inflam'd by rage, and smart, and toil, 
 I ween 'twill prove a barrier slight ; 
 And e'en divided thus, their wrath 
 Finds thro* the air a distant path, 
 Already many a shaft is dyed 
 In life's red tincture, many a spear 
 Comes whizzing on the destin'd ear 
 
276 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 Its fatal message, tho* the tide 
 Of rushing war suspended hangs, 
 
 Nor on the deafen'd sense the shock of battle 
 clangs ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Cold-blooded Gloster inly laugh'd 
 To think how angry Beaufort chaf'd, 
 For well he knew, his ardent breast 
 Such pausing warfare did detest ; 
 Fresh fuel on the fire he flings, 
 Av;d goads him with a thousand stings, 
 Hoping, from Beaufort's rash disdain, 
 To borrow vantage, and anon 
 To mock his reason from her throne, 
 
 Till passion's phrenzied voice should urge him 
 to his bane. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " By all the saints, it may not be 
 That yon dull, lifeless effigy 
 Howbeit, his presumptuous shield 
 Bears royal blazon on its field 
 Is that same Somerset, whose name 
 So glitters on the roll of fame, 
 Audacious, rapid, fiery, rash, 
 War's quick-destroying lightning flash ! 
 It may not be ! 'tis Beaufort's coat, > 
 But either fame with false applause 
 Hath Beaufort gilded, or, I wot, 
 His spirit, generous, keen, and hot 
 Would ill endure th' ignoble pause ! 
 No, no 1 If Somerset were here, 
 Ne'er would he sit yon trench behind, 
 In drowsy apathy, and wear 
 In idle rest that dreadful spear, 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 277 
 
 As if some wizard spell his dormant pow'rs did 
 bind ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Be whom it may, if Gloster's lance, 
 May rouze the dreamer from his trance, 
 We will assail him ! Trumpets, sound 
 A gallant challenge ! Now let those 
 Who hate, when foes are nigh, to doze, 
 With Gloster leap yon trenched ground i" 
 Wild wakes the conflict I Not a man 
 Who hears the summons, waits to scan 
 The gulph before him yawning deep, 
 Each spurs his charger to the leap, 
 While u Gloster ! Giosterl" sweeps the clouds. 
 And animates the martial crowds 1 
 Still Beaufort, like the flinty shore, 
 Deaf to the rude wave's threat'ning roar, 
 
 Inflexible the shock of rushing thousands bore ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But dearly Gloster's squadrons paid 
 The forfeit of their desperate deed, 
 For many a man, and many a steed, 
 Check'd in their blind, unbridled speed, 
 Within the gulph is laid ! 
 Those who the dang'rous chasm pass'd 
 Are flung with fatal headlong haste 
 On Beaufort's lances, and their foe 
 Sees hundreds drop without a blow ! 
 Rebounding from the iron wall, 
 Slunri'd and repuls'd, they backward fall ; 
 While some the cold life-drinking steel 
 Within their glowing bosoms feel, 
 At once to death's dark regions hurl'd, 
 
 With scarcely time to groan their farewel to 
 the world ! 
 
278 Mx\RGARET CANTO x. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The clashing of the meeting hosts, 
 The dying shrieks, the victors' boast, 
 The whizzing spears, the bowstring's twang. 
 The heavy, loud, resounding clang 
 Of armour ringing on the ground, 
 Of iron strokes the frequent sound, 
 All spoke at once ! Yet yon red heap, 
 Yon mangled, gore-besprinkled mound, 
 Doth mid the dreadful hurly sleep ! 
 Ah ! even now, their eyes were bright, 
 Their breasts were heaving, and each tongue 
 With taunts defied the hostile throng 
 To grapple with their boasted might ! 
 Now trampled o'er by friends and foes, 
 No insult breaks their meek repose ! 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Repuls'd and baffled, Gloster's host 
 Full dearly rue their leader's boast ; 
 A broken crowd by shame uncheck'd 
 Regardless of their honour's loss, 
 Again the fatal gulph they cross 
 Where many a gallant form lies wrecked I 
 As by the whirlwind swept along, 
 E'en Gloster grac'd the flying throng, 
 The vaunting Richard ! Beaufort's breast 
 With pride almost to bursting swell'd, 
 When his exulting eyes beheld 
 The haughty boaster's well-known crest, 
 Conspicuous in disgrace, receding with the rest ! 
 
 XLII^ 
 
 " Now, now !" he cried, " my. valiant friends, 
 Does heaven vouchsafe us proud amends I 
 Oh 1 by St. George, the wide wra Id o'er 
 Shall Beaufort hunt the Bristled Boar ! 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 279 
 
 Come merry hunters ! Let's pursue ! 
 Wind horns ! and lift the blythe halloo I" 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 When Beaufort in his charger's side 
 Did plunge his golden spur, 
 Fate from the clouds look'd down and cried 
 'Tis o'er with Lancaster ! 
 Insidious Richard! as he fled, 
 Anxious he turn'd his plotting head, 
 And laugh'd to see proud Somerset 
 Entangling in the well-spun net ! 
 His brother king, dismay'd, beheld 
 His scatter'd van in shameful flight, 
 Scudding like deer across the field, 
 The hunter-band in sight; 
 As Gloster heard his rallying shout 
 And saw his pow'rs prepar'd to move, 
 "All's well!" he cried. Dismiss thy doubt ! 
 Stir not ! Hold firm thy steely grove ! 
 Farewel ! Farewel ! Our seeming shame 
 Ere night shall brighten into fame, 
 And burn upon our crest a never-dying flame !'* 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 So fast he rode, his barded horse 
 With foam bedew'd the arduous track, 
 While Beaufort's wild, impetuous course 
 Drave like a whirlwind on his back, 
 And much the thinn'd and wasted rear 
 Deplor'd the Hero's stern career ! 
 Even so, October's stormy wrath 
 The trembling grove relentless sweeps, 
 Drifting the leaves in mournful heaps 
 Along the forest-path ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Oh Beaufort! What a fatal cloud 
 Is roiling o'er thy radiant morn ! 
 
280 MARGARET CANTO x, 
 
 Lo ! smother'd in a vapoury shroud, 
 Thy sun declines, its beams are shorn ! 
 Repent not now ! -Thy race is run ! 
 Alas ! alas ! thou art undone ! 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 As on he sped with fury blind, 
 A ghastly murmur from behind 
 His ear assaii'd ; rous'd by the sound, 
 Hecurb'd his steed and gaz'd around, 
 Then all beneath his aventayle 
 His glowing cheek turn'd deadly pale, 
 And if, within a heart so bold, 
 Despair e'er breath'd his whisper cold, 
 ? Twas then his chilling tale to Somerset he told! 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 When the wild waters in their wrath 
 Fierce bursting from the ruin'd mound. 
 Come whelming on with sullen sound, 
 And close around the traveller's path, 
 Where'er he turns, destruction's roar 
 Stuns his bewilder'd sense ; the wave 
 Behind o'ertakes him, and before 
 Swells in his sight the gulphy grave ! 
 Speechless, he views death's hideous shape 
 Nor dreams of refuge or escape ! 
 'Twas thus with Beaufort ! Round him close* 
 File after file, his wily foes, 
 And Gloster from his feign'd disgrace, 
 Now turns the noble prey to face I 
 Fast, fast, the ruthless battle-storm 
 Beats thick on Beaufort's dauntless form I 
 In vain, his faithful followers try 
 To ward from him th' impending wound. 
 Like snow-flakes from December's sky 
 They drop their hapless chief around, 
 
CAN i ox. OFANJOU. 281 
 
 And soon, the Lion of the field 
 Must vail his lofty crest, by countless numbers 
 quell'd ! 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 When youthful Lancaster espied 
 Of Gloster's men the hasty flight, 
 While Beaufort, with victorious might . 
 Roll'd on their rear a whelming tide, 
 Elate, and eager to combine 
 His forces with the vaward line, 
 With kindling heart, and glowing face, 
 He rouz'd his squadrons to the chase, 
 And on he dash'd, mistrusting nought, 
 For conquest brighten'd every thought ! 
 Already o'er the trench he flies 
 And halts, his glitt'ring line to form, 
 And not till then, his soul descries 
 The coming of the storm ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Unhappy Prince ! he little guess'd 
 How few his gallant call obey'd, 
 But now, within his freezing breast 
 He feels he is betray'd ! 
 No prouder train his steps attend, 
 Than if, his Falcon's wing 10 try, 
 Or wake the echoing woodland cry 
 In careless sport he forth did wend ; 
 The rest were traitors ; mute and cold, 
 By Wenlock poison'd, they behold 
 In sullen apathy the course 
 Which bears with such resistless force 
 On ruin's rugged rocks, their leader, young and 
 bold! 
 
 L. 
 
 What might he do ? Should he return 
 Bb 
 
282 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 False Wenlock to revile and spurn, 
 
 And try if yet the traitor throng, 
 
 Repentant, will amend their wrong ! 
 
 Alas ! he could not ! for the space 
 
 Brave Beaufort's troops erewhile had held, 
 
 Is now by hostile thousands fill'd, 
 
 Who, shouting, leave their lurking place, 
 
 The covert of the woodland shade, 
 
 Where long their crouching ambush laid : 
 
 " Well !" cried the Prince, " we'll on ! the brand 
 
 Must carve us out a bloody way I 
 
 If one of Beaufort's valiant band 
 
 Still lifts his eye to yonder ray, 
 
 We'll seek him out, and with him share 
 
 A glorious end, the prize which crowns diastrous 
 war !" 
 
 LI. 
 
 Resolv'd and desp'rate, side by side 
 The little band of heroes ride 
 With hearts unshrinking, warm, and brave, 
 As if the red and ghastly grave 
 Ya\vn'd not before them ! On the foe, 
 Who wond'ring views their bold advance. 
 Headlong they drive the shiv'ring lance, 
 Then, back recoiling from the blow, 
 To earth their broken spears they throw, 
 And waving each his brand on high, 
 
 To closer, deadlier war, th' admiring hosts defy 1 
 
 LII. 
 
 Alas ! the heart that might behold 
 That hopeless struggle, nor lament 
 Th' inevitable, dire event 
 May boast its hard and flinty mould ! 
 Methinks, e'en hatred, keen and stern, 
 Must on the glorious victims yearn ! 
 Where are they gone, the gallant few I 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 283 
 
 Alas ! the gory earth they strew ! 
 The souls which lit their cold remains 
 Are fled to yonder azure plains ! 
 Their bodies never fled ! In blood 
 
 On that same spot they lie, where late they nobly 
 stood ! 
 
 LI1L 
 
 With them lies Rudolph ; struggling hard 
 The death-stroke from his Prince to ward. 
 He reck'd not of the pond'rous blow 
 That smote his own neglected brow, 
 It riv'd his morion's steel in twain 
 And enter'd deep the dizzy brain, 
 And, backward from his barded horse, 
 .Sank on the earth the grizly corse ! 
 His rough and stubborn love had stood 
 Between his master's breast and harm, 
 Long, with a tough and sinewy arm 
 He beat aside destruction's flood, 
 And, when he fell, his single fall 
 Was hail'd by thousands ! So, when long 
 With arduous strife, th' assailing throng 
 Have toil'd to shake some bastion tall 
 With mine unseen, or engine strong, 
 If yields at length th' embattled wall, 
 Such shouts exultant lend the skies 
 
 When prostrate at their feet the mighty bulwark 
 lies! 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Now many a voice accordant cried 
 " Yield, Lancaster ! 'tis vain to strive ! 
 Thou art alone I Nor strength nor pride 
 May aught avail thce, and alive, 
 Yea, and uninjur'd if we may, 
 We swear to bear thee from the fray, 
 The proudest trophy of the day !" 
 
284 MARGARET CANTO x 
 
 LV. 
 
 " Never 1" cried Edward, and his shield 
 He cast indignant on the field ; 
 " Will not my bleeding ruins sate 
 Your rebel chiefs inveterate hate ? 
 Nay, if 'tis heaven's resistless will, 
 Come on ! th' insulting boast fulfil ! 
 I am alone ! Methinks ye fear 
 To buy your royal captive dear, 
 That ye do falter thus ! Come on ! 
 What stays ye, rebels ? Do ye quail 
 An injur'd master to assail ? 
 Fear not, brave multitudes ! for Edward is 
 
 alone I" 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Some dastard's blow, e'en while he spoke, 
 Loud on his charger's harness rang, 
 The poitrinal to shivers broke, 
 And, starting from the sudden pang, 
 Regardless of the unfelt rein, 
 He whhi'd around, and mad with pain 
 Along the wreck-strewn, slipp'ry plain, 
 O'er broken weapons, prostrate steeds, 
 And mangled men, uncheck'd he speeds ! 
 And now the well-known trench is nigh, 
 But wasted veins and failing strength 
 Oppose the headlong race at length, 
 And in the crimson gulph both horse and rider 
 
 lie! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Steep'd in the gore of friends and foes. 
 The hapless Prince forgot his woes, 
 His sense was stunn'd, but still unquafFd 
 The dregs remain of sorrow's draught, 
 Still does the nauseous cup contain 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 285 
 
 Some deadly drops of grief and pain, 
 And he must drink them ! Murmur not 
 Nor marvel at his ruthless lot, 
 Nor call the doom of heaven unjust, 
 Ye erring children of the dust! 
 Submit, and question not ! for ne'er, 
 This nether world of conflict rude, 
 Of frailty and vicissitude, 
 Of virtue's triumphs is the sphere ! 
 
 Why should we envy vice her short-liv'd tro- 
 phies here 1 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Oh 1 never till the heart is cold 
 Does hope relax her stubborn hold ! 
 With life she lights the mutual fire, 
 And, but with life, does hope expire ! 
 Yet for awhile her task is done, 
 The struggle's o'er, the battle's won ! 
 Indifferent to her promises, 
 The conqu'ror but the present sees ; 
 The vanquished need her not, her tale 
 With them no longer may avail, 
 For them 'tis finish'd. They have found 
 A friend who flutters not, whose breath 
 Of no false promise bears the sound, 
 
 No soothing smiler he ! man's true deliverer 
 Death 1 
 
 LIX. 
 
 The brave are fallen ! Shall we weep 
 To see their still and frozen sleep ? 
 And would we wake them to begin 
 Anew the race of strife and sin ? 
 This morning saw the blooming throng, 
 Presumptuous, fiery, rash, and strong, 
 Keen for the battle ! Short and bright, 
 B b 2 
 
286 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 And brittle as the hero's thread ! 
 Lo ! all his ardour and his might, * 
 His glory and his pomp are fled ! 
 Yet who shall sorrow o'er the grave 
 Of those who fell, as fail the brave ? 
 
 LX. 
 
 At last the conqu'ror's wasteful hand 
 Blood-sated rests the vengeful brand ; 
 But let no dream of mercy mock 
 The sad survivors of the war, 
 The sharpen'd axe, the sable block, 
 Claim from the sword their wonted share ! 
 A bitter task their strength must try, 
 To look on death with pausing eye, 
 With cold, yet settled heart to wait 
 The lingering stroke of certain fate ! 
 A sterner, soberer courage now 
 Must aid them than the kindling glow 
 Which bore them thro* the conflict rude, 
 The silent force of fortitude ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 The wretched Edward opes again 
 His eye-lids on a world of pain, 
 Officious care the unwilling sense 
 Awakens from its kind suspense, 
 That he may learn how much of woe 
 Man's nature may endure below ! 
 The spirit, almost fled, by force 
 Returns to light the pallid corse, 
 Dragg'd back to prove one struggle more 
 Ere fate proclaims the conflict o'er, 
 Back, from eternity to time, 
 Back> from repose and bliss, to outrage, woe, and 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 287 
 
 LXII. 
 
 In Tewksbury's walls triumphant York 
 Refreshed him from his bloody work, 
 While Gloster, Clarence, Hastings, Grey, 
 Blythe sharers in th' eventful fray, 
 Boast o'er the perils of the clay ; 
 And they have wash'd their crimson hands, 
 And sheath'd their weary swords, when lo ! 
 In helpless plight before them stands 
 The battle's crown, their royal foe ! 
 He, who the princely captive held, 
 A sordid knight, the slave of gold, 
 Whose bosom, honourless and cold, 
 No touch of generous pity swell'd, 
 To win the dross his soul aclor'd 
 
 Now basely sells the life his cruel care restored t 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Alone, defenceless, Edward stood 
 Encompass'd by those men of blood ! 
 E'en yet a spark of royal pride 
 Flash'd from his eye, the hectic bloom 
 Rush'd o'er his features, and defied, 
 With gallant shew, th' impending doom ; 
 Such mournful, stern, majestic grace 
 Dwells on the ruin'd prince's face, 
 That they who hate him, half respect 
 The virtue by their fury wreck'd ! 
 E'en York deliberates, and surveys 
 His victim's form with troubled gaze, 
 Did he relent ? No ! From his breast 
 He drove in scorn th' intrusive guest, 
 
 And thus, in thund'ring voice, his captive foe, 
 adclrrss'd : 
 
288 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Who art thou, stripling ? What impelPd 
 Thy puny pride to wake the ire 
 Which has consum'd thee in its fire ? 
 Who taught thy boyish arm to wield 
 Rebellion's blade ? Wiiat frantic rage, 
 What demon was't, who bade thee dare 
 With fate the desperate fight to wage, 
 And brave thy sov'reign to the war ? 
 Kneel, stubborn traitor 1 and confess 
 
 What message from below piovok'd thee to 
 transgress !" 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " Dost thou not know me, York ? 'Tis strange 
 How mem'ry fails with fortune's change ! 
 But I will tell thee, I anrrjnc 
 To whom thy knee, unbid, should bend ; 
 I came to claim my father's throne, 
 And my fair birth-right to defend, 
 And, with God's favour, to chastise 
 Mine own and England's enemies ! 
 Now thou art answered ! and my tongue 
 Would do its royal office wrong 
 To parley with thee more ! Thou knowest 
 
 Full well, usurping York, to whom that plact 
 thou owcst 1" 
 
 LXV I. 
 
 Nor needed farther to provoke 
 Of fell revenge the savage stroke ; 
 York rush'd upon the unarm'd youth 
 And smote him rudely on the mouth 
 With mailed hand ; that outrage borne> 
 The rest was easy 1 Edward's soul 
 Rejoicing, from its* spoils forlorn, 
 Escapes to its eternal goal. 
 
CANTO x. OF ANJOU. 389 
 
 And closes, with a thankful sigh, 
 Life's long and lingering tragedy ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Each noble ruffian claim'd his part 
 In the brave exploit ; none disdain'd 
 To strike an undefended heart, 
 Not one did blush to lift his hand 
 With that inglorious slaughter stain'd! 
 " Behold," cried Gloster, " overthrown 
 The mighty barrier, which alone 
 Arose between thee and a throne ! 
 There lies the Red and thorny Rose 
 Which did thy royal hopes oppose, 
 Uprooted like a baleful weed! 
 God save thy Majesty ! for thou art King in- 
 deed ! 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Scarce had each tongue, with glad accord ? 
 Re-echoed: the insulting word, 
 Than from without, a parley rude 
 Does on their wond'ring ears intrude : 
 York shudder'd, e'en his callous breast 
 Trembled to meet th' unwelcome guest 
 Whose voice claim'd entrance ! It was she, 
 She who was Queen of England ! late 
 The people's gaze, the voice of fate, 
 To whom the loftiest bent his knee ! 
 A fond, fallacious hope had led 
 The mother's frantic footsteps thither, 
 She looked upon the weapons red, 
 She guess'd what blood their points had shed, 
 And felt that fond hope wither ! 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " Then ye have done the deed !" she said : 
 " I come too late ! Ye might have staid 
 One moment longer ! I would fain 
 
290 MARGARET CANTO x. 
 
 Have kiss'cl my living son again, 
 
 And whisper'd somewhat in his ear 
 
 Ere he began th' unknown career 
 
 On which ye sent him ! Hark ye, Lords 1 
 
 I long to feel those reeking swords ! 
 
 In mercy kill me ! Will ye not ? 
 
 Ye sons of York, have ye forgot 
 
 How many a deep and bitter debt 
 
 Ye owe the hated Margaret ? 
 
 Where is my child ? Mine only one 1 
 
 Oh, God ! Oh, God ! Is this my son ? 
 
 LXX. 
 
 <; Cold, cold and pale ! Some flatt'rer said 
 That heaven still guards the holy head ! 
 Why this grim heap did late contain 
 A soul which never crime did stain, 
 Pure, gentle, innocent ! And yet 
 Your swords are with his life-blood wet, 
 And heaven the while look'd smiling on 
 Nor aim'd its thunderbolts, when the black deed 
 
 was done ! 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Monsters! A mother's curse lie strong 
 And heavy on you ! May the tongue, 
 The ceaseless tongue which well I ween 
 Lives in the murd'rer's murky breast, 
 With goading whispers, fell and keen, 
 Make havoc of your rest! 
 Forever in your midnight dream 
 May the wan, wintry smile, which stays 
 On yon cold lips, appal your gaze, 
 And may a madden 'd mother's scream 
 Ring in your ears, till ye awake 
 And ev'ry unstrung limb with horror's palsy 
 
 shake !" 
 
ANTOX. OFANJOU. 291 
 
 LXX1I. 
 
 An impulse like the grasp of death 
 Now hardly held her gasping breath 1 
 Dire was the conflict ! Mute she stood, 
 Striving, and fain to utter more, 
 Her writhing features struggled sore 
 With hlack convulsions ; till the blood 
 Burst from her lips, a ghastly flood, 
 Then, nature gave the combat o'er, 
 And the heart-stricken Queen fell senseless on 
 the ' floor ! 
 
 END OF THE POEM. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO THE TENTH. 
 
 Fair Tewhbury's hoary tovfrs at last. Stanza III. 1. 3. 
 
 On the 4th of May, 1471, twenty days after the battle 
 of Barnet, ,was fought the yet more decisive one of 
 Tewkshury. The Queen with Prince Edward had land- 
 ed on Easter day at Weymouth, and having" from thence 
 proceeded to Beaulieu Abbey in the New Forest, 
 Hants, where they rested, they there received the over- 
 whelming intelligence of the defeat and death of both 
 the Nevils. Still preserved from despair by the zeal of 
 their adherents, especially of Edmund, Duke of Somer- 
 set, the great prop of their cause, they retreated through 
 Devonshire and Somersetshire, to the city of Bristol, 
 their powers accumulating on their march ; they pro- 
 posed joining Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, in Wales, but 
 having- proceeded to Gloster, and there meeting with 
 repulse and insult, they marched forward to Tewks- 
 bury, where they intended to cross the Severn. King 
 Edward, with his brothers Clarence and Gloster, fol- 
 lowed them closely,, and in this emergency, Margaret 
 called a council of war, when the impetuosity of Somer- 
 
292 NOTES TO CANTO X. 
 
 set prevailing- over cooler opinions, they drew up in or- 
 der of battle on a slope near the town, in face of the 
 enemy; the first line, or van, being- commanded by the 
 rash and gallant Beaufort, the second by the Prince and 
 Lord Wenlock, and the third by the Earl of Devon. 
 The Lancastrian camp was surrounded by a deep trench 
 which presented a considerable obstacle to the assail- 
 ants, who had likewise formed their battle in three lines, 
 the first led by Richard, Duke of Gloster, the second 
 by the king- and Clarence, and the rear by the Lord Has- 
 tings The crafty Gloster took advantage of the im- 
 petuous temper of Somerset, whom by a pretended flight 
 he decoyed from his entrenchments, and by this skilful 
 manoeuvre of the enemy was this last and desperate ef- 
 fort of the Lancastrians brought to a most disastrous 
 and melancholy issue. See Rudder's Glosterahire* page 
 735 / Huttorfs Boswortk Field, page 36 ; and Hall'' a 
 Chronicle' 
 
 When Prince Edward was brought into the presence 
 of his Conqueror, being, says Hall, "a goodly, feme- 
 nine, and a well feautered yonge gentelman," the King 
 demanded of him, " e how he durst so presumptuously 
 enter into his realme with banner displayed.' The 
 Prince, beyng bold of stomacke and of a good courage, 
 answered, sayinge : "To recover my father's kyngdome 
 and enheritage, from his father and grandfather to him, 
 and from him, after him to me lyneally divoluted.' At 
 which wordes Kyng Edward sayd nothing, but with his 
 hand thrust him from him, or as some say, stroke him 
 with his gauntlet, whom incontinent they that stode 
 about, which were George, Duke of Clarence, Rychard, 
 Duke of Gloster, the Marquess of Dorset, and the Lord 
 Hastyngs, sodaynly murtheredandpiteously manquelled. 
 The bitternesse of which murder some of the actors* 
 after in their latter days tasted." Hall's Chronicle, 
 page 301. 
 
 * .Each of them, the. King excepted, met an untimely and tragi- 
 cal end. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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