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 FRAMLINGHAM: 
 
 A NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 IN FOUR CANTOS.
 
 YARMOUTH: 
 
 PRINTED BY CHARLES SLOMAM, 
 KING-STREET.
 
 
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 FRAMLINGHAM 
 
 NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE 
 
 IN" FOUR CANTOS. 
 
 BY JAMES BIRD. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BALDWIN AND CRADOCK. 
 
 M DCCC XXXI.
 
 '
 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 In again attempting to give a rhythmical illustration 
 of a portion of the history of my native county, I confi- 
 dently hope that the ancient, interesting, and well-known 
 spot which I have chosen for my subject, will be deemed 
 of sufficient historical importance to justify its selection. 
 I have only to regret, that my theme was not adopted and 
 treatect by a more able and efficient pen than mine, 
 employed only in the uncertain intervals of the varied 
 duties of active life, and under the alternate influence of 
 
 " Hopes and feares, that come and goe, 
 Like summer's heat, and winter's snowe." 
 
 I have much pleasure in presenting my readers with 
 a view of the Castle, drawn by a young and self-taught 
 Artist, residing in the neighbourhood ; and it is presumed, 
 that this specimen of his talents will evince that they are 
 of an order which may claim some commendation, and 
 which deserve encouragement. 
 
 Yoxford, March, 1831. 

 
 FRAMLINGHAM: 
 
 A NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 CANTO FIRST.
 
 FRAMLIJNTGHAM. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 Heir of Antiquity ! — fair castled Town, 
 Rare spot of beauty, grandeur, and renown, 
 Seat of East-Anglian kings ! — proud child of fame, 
 Hallowed by time, illustrious Framlinghame ! 
 I touch my lyre delighted, thus to bring- 
 To thee my heart's full homage while I sing ! 
 And thou, old Castle ! — thy bold turrets high, 
 Have shed their deep enchantment on mine eye, 
 
 B
 
 2 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 Though years have changed thee, I have gazed intent 
 In silent joy, on tower and battlement, 
 When all thy time-wom glories met my sight ; 
 Then have I felt such rapture, such delight, 
 That, had the splendour of thy days of yore 
 Flashed on my view, I had not loved thee more ! 
 Scene of immortal deeds ! thy walls have rung 
 To pealing shouts from many a warrior's tongue ; 
 When first thy founder, Redwald of the spear ', 
 Manned thy high towers, defied his foemen near, 
 When, girt with strength, East-Anglia's king of old, 
 The sainted Edmund 2 , sought thy sheltering hold, 
 When the proud Dane, fierce Hinguar, in his ire 
 Besieged the king, and wrapped thy walls in fire, 
 While Edmund fled, but left thee, with his name 
 Linked, and for ever, to the chain of fame : 
 Then wast thou great ! and long, in after years 
 Thy grandeur shone — thy portraiture appears 
 From history's pencil like a summer-night, 
 With much of shadow, but with more of light ! 
 
 Pile of departed days ! — my verse records, 
 Thy time of glory, thy illustrious Lords,
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 3 
 
 The fearless Bigods — Brotherton — De Vere 3 , 
 And Kings, who held thee in their pride, or fear, 
 And gallant Howards, 'neath whose ducal sway- 
 Proud rose thy towers, thy r rugged heights were gay 
 With glittering banners, costly trophies, rent 
 From men in war, or tilt, or tournament, 
 With all the pomp and splendour that could grace 
 The name, and honours of that warlike race. 
 Howards ! the rich ! the noble ! and the great ! 
 Most brave ! most happy ! most unfortunate ! 
 Kings were thy courtiers ! — Queens have sued to share 
 Thy wealth, thy triumphs — e'en thy name to bear ! 4 
 Tyrants have bowed thy children to the dust, 
 Some for their worth — and some who broke their trust! 
 And there was one among thy race, who died 
 To Henry's shame ! — his country's boast and pride : 
 Immortal Surrey ! — Offspring of the Muse ! 
 Bold as the lion, gentle as the dews 
 That fall on flowers to 'wake their odorous breath, 
 And shield their blossoms from the touch of death. 
 Surrey ! — thy fate was wept by countless eyes, 
 A nation's woe assailed the pitying skies,
 
 4 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 When thy pure srjirit left this scene of strife, 
 And soared to him who breathed it into life : 
 Thy funeral knell pealed o'er the world ! — thy fall 
 Was mourned by hearts that loved thee, mourned by all- 
 All, save thy murderers ! — thou hast won thy crown : 
 And thou, fair Framlinghame ! a bright renown, 
 Yes ! thy rich temple holds the stately tomb 5 , 
 Where sleeps the Poet in his lasting home, 
 Lamented Surrey ! — hero, bard divine, 
 Pride, grace, and glory of brave Norfolk's fine. 
 Departed spirit ! — Oh ! I love to hold 
 Communion sweet with lofty minds of old, 
 To catch a spark of that celestial fire 
 Which glows and kindles in thy rapturous lyre ; 
 Though varying themes demand my future lays, 
 Yet thus my soul a willing homage pays 
 To that bright glory which illumes thy name, 
 
 1 nought can raise the splendour of thy fame ! 
 
 . astle's Lord, by Henry's tyrant power, 
 in the gloomy fortress of the Tower 6 , 
 A crushed and hapless prisoner of the state, 
 He lay, and mourned his gallant Surrey's fate,
 
 CANTO I. FSAMLINGHAM. 5 
 
 His murdered Son ! — and deemed the bloody, grim, 
 
 Remorseless axe, would fall alike on him ! 
 
 Long withering years had passed since Norfolk's sight 
 
 Hailed the sweet rapture of the sunbeam's light ; 
 
 And now, though Henry to the silent tomb 
 
 Had passed, the dungeon still was Howard's doom, 
 
 He breathed not yet with happy hearts and free, 
 
 His Dukedom vanished — lost his liberty — 
 
 His name attainted — all his honours gone, 
 
 Doomed to bear grief — and fated to bear on ! 
 
 The sportive Thames that laved his prison's wall, 
 
 Seemed to his mind to triumph in his fall, 
 
 As, in their joy its chartered waves rushed by 
 
 Bounding and/zee, as though in mockery ! 
 
 Oil ! how the soul o'erwhelmed by sorrow clings 
 
 To all that adds new venom to her stings ! 
 
 The captive longed for verdant hill and plain, 
 
 And all the beauty of his wide domain, 
 
 His heart still clung to lovely scenes, where rose 
 
 His stately Castle — to that sweet repose 
 
 Which charmed his spirit, but which charms no more, 
 
 Beside the stream of softly flowing Ore 7 ,
 
 0' FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 That washed the Castle's ample base, and there 
 Spread to a lake, so bright, and calmly fair, 
 As though it paused in silence, to admire 
 Turret and tower, and battlement aspire 
 Proudly to mingle with the spacious sky, 
 And leave the earth for loftier worlds on high ! 
 Yes ! the lone Duke now sighed for happier hours, 
 For light, for freedom, and his green-wood bowers, 
 He owned, with anguish, that ambition's strife 
 Brings the wild storm that wrecks the bark of life ! 
 
 Now the sixth Edward o'er the realm held sway, 
 And freedom's dawn was brightening into day, 
 When superstition bowed her gorgon head, 
 Appalled by light that o'er the nations spread, 
 And purer faith, and holier hopes were given 
 To glad the earth, and point the path to Heaven. 
 Still o'er our land, a remnant of that fold 
 Which held the Pope its shepherd, as of old, 
 Strove to restore the Romish rite, and creed, 
 Mass, Priest, and Friar, and holidam and bead ; 
 But Edward's Counsellors, though haply swayed, 
 By false ambition, which their aims betrayed,
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. ' 
 
 Yet were they zealous in that cause whose might 
 
 Subdued the heart, while reformation's light 
 
 Flashed o'er the grand but tottering Church of Rome, 
 
 As though to show the ruins of its dome ! 
 
 And there were men who saw the gathering storm, 
 
 Whose bursting rage might soon the state deform, 
 
 If Edward, borne by timeless suffering down, 
 
 Should yield his earthly for a brighter crown, 
 
 And Mary rule them with that proud controul, 
 
 That wide disdain, but narrowness of soul, 
 
 Which marks the bigot, and the bigot's power : 
 
 To ward the evil of that coming hour, 
 
 They vowed to strive through chance, and change, and dare 
 
 Like men to triumph, or like men to bear ; 
 
 And, as their dying, honoured King, drew near 
 
 The final bound that stayed his brief career, 
 
 Their hearts, revolting at the Papal sway, 
 
 Were fixed on Jane — the good, the lovely Grey ! 
 
 Devoted Lady ! — victim of the pride, 
 
 And wild ambition of thy Sire ! — young bride 
 
 Of noble Dudley ! — meteor of a sky 
 
 Whose clouds rained blood ! — Thou fair divinity
 
 8 FEAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 Of hearts that beat with pure emotions free, 
 In sad remembrance, hapless Jane, of thee ! 
 Hallowed by time, thy name becomes a spell 
 Holy, and cherished, in the soul to dwell, 
 Thy life an epoch of the heart ! — thy fate 
 The death of liberty ! — the birth of hate ! 
 
 The sun had set, and o'er the Castle wall 
 The timid twilight hung her dappled pall, 
 While softly rising from the lake beneath 
 The white mist curled in many a shadowy wreath ; 
 So calm, so silent, so serene the horn*, 
 That, the wide banner on the northern tower 
 Drooped its dark folds, for not a breeze awoke 
 To stir the green leaf on the summer oak, 
 Nor wave the wall-flower on the turrets grey : — 
 The twilight lingered, loth to tear away 
 The tints of beauty, which the sun above 
 Spread, as though left as tokens of his love 
 For that fair clime, which had for ages given 
 Earth's loveliest pictures to his light from heaven !
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 9 
 
 On this calm eve, this farewell of the day, 
 High on the ramparts in their steel array 
 Paced men-at-arms, and, on the guarded wall, 
 Close by the watch-tower, stood the Seneschal, 
 Norris the Treasurer, and Schemyng there s , 
 The trusty Constable — and one more fair, 
 Whose form among the warricr group displayed, 
 Like a young vine amid the oak-wood shade, 
 Or like a soft and beauteous stream of light, 
 Amid the grand but sterner clouds of night ! 
 So shone sweet Helen in the grace and pride 
 Of youth, and beauty, as by Schemyng's side 
 She stood, delighted with the earth and sky, 
 Enchanting realms of light and majesty ! 
 Deeply her soul felt all the hallowed power 
 Of varied Deity. — The summer hour 
 Of soothing influence, and the wintry cry 
 Of winds, that howled among the turrets high, 
 And wailed aroimd the battlements, and shook 
 The figured arras o'er the panelled oak 9 , 
 And sighed through lofty arches, till its sound 
 Died faint and solemnly, while more profound 
 
 c
 
 10 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 Darkness came down, and spread her sable wings 
 In awful silence o'er all earthly things ! 
 Yes ! Helen's soul had worshipped at the shrine 
 Of nature's beauty, and its truths divine 
 Soothed, charmed, exalted, gave a loftier tone 
 To thoughts conceived by noble minds alone ! 
 Her form was lovely, and a nameless grace, 
 Born of the heart, played o'er her beaming face, 
 Dark was her hair, in glossy ringlets flowing, 
 Fair the white bosom, warm beneath them, glowing 
 With hope, and happiness, and youthful joy, 
 Life's golden age, without its base alloy ! 
 Her eye looked ecstacy — her every thought 
 Spoke in its light, as though its influence caught 
 The electric fire while kindling in her breast, 
 And told its ardour, ere the tongue expressed 
 The warmth, the energy of feelings, given 
 To sway the heart — the eloquence of heaven ! 
 Schemyng ! could man, contentless man, desire 
 A lovelier daughter — or a happier sire ! 
 
 Near Helen's side a graceful youth was seen, 
 Gentle his eve, and mild his noble mien,
 
 CANTO I. FKAMLINGHAM. 11 
 
 Loosely his mantle o'er his form was flung, 
 Beneath its folds a polished dagger hung, 
 Its hilt embossed with sparkling gems, its blade 
 With many a flower and rare device inlaid ; 
 Now o'er his cheek a ray of pensive pleasure 
 Passed as he gazed on Helen — all the treasure 
 Of his heart's pride, his soul's ambitious glow, 
 His share of glory and of good below, 
 His hope of happiness in worlds above 
 Were bound, and centred in his sister's love ! 
 With hers his first bright days of boyhood passed, 
 With hers his sorrows and his joys were cast, 
 To both the same high-minded thoughts were given, 
 Both in one hour, beheld the light of heaven ; 
 They grew like young twin flowerets on one stem, 
 Alike the sunshine and the storm to them, 
 Alike their tastes, their wishes, and their fears, 
 As though dark fate had bound their circling years 
 In the strong charm of one endearing spell, 
 Unchanged, unchanging, indivisible ! 
 He loved the scenes where nature's wondrous hand 
 Displayed her forms, most solemn, and most grand,
 
 12 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 From these his soul deep inspiration drew, 
 
 His brow was shaded though his days were few ; 
 
 As though pale melancholy's touch had wrought 
 
 Her witching spells o'er all his world of thought : 
 
 And in his eye awoke that living fire 
 
 Which marks the votary of the thrilling lyre, 
 
 That light which springs from fancy's torch, and beams 
 
 O'er the rapt soul ineffably, while dreams 
 
 Of gladness undefined, and visions bright 
 
 Of realms elysian, wherein young delight 
 
 Dwells, all unclouded by the world's controul, 
 
 Breathed their wild rapture o'er the Poet's soul ! 
 
 Thus Aleyn lived entranced ! — and, when with skill 
 
 He touched his harp, obedient to his will 
 
 The wild notes floated o'er the ivied towers, 
 
 Or sweetly warbled from the green-wood bowers, 
 
 Awoke high strains that to the camp belong, 
 
 Or gently murmured to a softer song ; 
 
 Then would fair Helen listen to the strain, 
 
 And urge the minstrel to his task again ; 
 
 Till by his rare and glowing themes inspired, 
 
 Subdued by pity, or by glory fired,
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 13 
 
 She felt a spark of that undying flame 
 From which his light of inspiration came, 
 And deemed the world could never boast another 
 So proud, yet gentle as that gifted brother ! 
 
 Still lingered twilight with her blush serene, 
 Still from the ramparts, on the varied scene 
 Gazed Schemyng with his friends — the landscape bright 
 Spread far beneath them — valleys of delight 
 And wood-crowned hills appeared — and there with grace 
 Huge oaks, the loftiest of their lofty race, 
 Reared their proud heads o'er upland and o'er vale : 
 Records of ages ! — the inconstant gale 
 Greets, in its pilgrimage from land to land 
 No forest-kings so beautiful, so grand 10 ! 
 And Helen felt the witchery of that hour, 
 To which deep silence gave a holier power 
 To charm the heart, for e'en the stream below 
 So softly lapsed, the music of its flow 
 Woke not the echoes of the hills around. 
 Hark ! — hark ! — that swelling note ! — a trumpet's sound 
 Rose from the distant slope, and loud on high 
 Rang 'mid the towers, and, ere the quick reply
 
 14 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 Leaped from the Warder's horn, with desperate speed 
 O'er the south -hill a horseman urged his steed, 
 Fast, and more fast, as though his courser's feet 
 Swift as the wind, nay, as the lightning fleet, 
 Were far out-stripped by his desire to gain 
 The Castle walls — along the swarthy plain 
 He wildly bounded — from his trumpet gushed 
 Loud mellowed notes, as now his charger rushed 
 Beside the park n , in which the timid deer 
 Started, the warning of those sounds to hear ; 
 The antlered stag upreared his head, and sprang 
 With sudden terror at the warlike clang, 
 As on the steep, and near the Castle fosse 
 Paused steed and rider — while from polished boss 
 And shining bit, like gathering flakes of snow 
 Fell the white foam, as from his saddle-bow 
 Sprang the bold Herald. — From his restless eye 
 Impatience flashed, in modest dignity 
 Erect he stood, while his commanding form 
 Proclaimed him one that bowed not when the storm 
 Of adverse fate raged o'er him, as though pride 
 Of conscious worth, and ardent feelings, tried
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 15 
 
 In the world's furnace, had sublimed his soul 
 Above the fears that weaker minds controul ! 
 Quick came the Warder's challenge — then was heard 
 From lofty battlements the ready word, 
 " Down with the draw -bridge ! Porter ! down ! — aloft 
 Hoist the portcullis !" — Now the stranger doffed 
 His dark-plumed helm, and with complacent air, 
 Owned that he felt the courteous welcome there. 
 
 He left his panting steed — passed quickly by 
 Moat, bridge, and barbican, and turret high, 
 Portal, embrasure, tower, and guarded wall : — 
 He reached the chapel — gained the spacious hall, 
 When Schemyng kindly spoke : — "Brave stranger ! tell 
 Thy name — thy tidings ?" — " Warwick greets thee well ! 
 Sad beats my heart — my lips, though loth, must be 
 Heralds of grief, sir Constable ! to thee ! 
 Edward, our Lord, our gracious King — is dead !" 
 The youth in silent sorrow bowed his head, 
 And sighed in bitterness of soul for one 
 Who, to the realm, was as the rising sun 
 Is to the dawning glory of the day, 
 Splendour, and light, and life — now passed away !
 
 10 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 The stranger thus resumed — " To Britain's Isle 
 Woe is the portion, if the bigot's guile 
 Plunge her in darkness, and enslave our minds 
 With gloomy chains, a gloomier priesthood binds 
 Around the soul, that struggles in despair ! 
 Yet hearts aspire, and will all nobly dare 
 Sword, fire, and torture, nay, the pangs of death, 
 To guard that happier worship, purer faith, 
 Which claims within the free-born heart a home, 
 Unchained, untainted by the power of Rome ! 
 Blessed may we bve beneath the lenient sway 
 Of Dudley's Queen — the peerless Lady Grey ! 
 Her right why need I urge ? — A charm is thrown 
 Around her name, which glory makes her own. 
 Her cause is righteous — and her fearless band, 
 Arrayed, and led by bold Northumberland, 
 Encamped, lie ready in their valour, near 
 St. Edmund's Bury. — May the sword and spear, 
 And God defend the right ! — I need not tell 
 My mission here — ye guess it, brave ones, well ! 
 Choose your true antidote, or grasp your bane, 
 Beat your bold hearts for Mary ? — or for Jane ?"
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 17 
 
 Then spoke the Constable, a man, whose years 
 
 Had been more marked by joyousness than tears, 
 
 Age had not bowed his manly spirit now, 
 
 But, placid, sat upon his lofty brow, 
 
 Like sun-light resting on an ancient pine, 
 
 Green in its years, and bright in its decline ! 
 
 Long had he dwelt within the Castle's bound, 
 
 The trusty Governor, all faithful found, 
 
 Cautious in action, dauntless in the right, 
 
 Conscience his mentor, sacred truth his light. 
 
 He courteous gazed upon the youth, who stood 
 
 In deep solicitude's expecting mood, 
 
 Whose face was brightening with the flush of haste, 
 
 Rarely his form by nature's hand was graced, 
 
 His baldric o'er his shoulder hung — beneath 
 
 His polished rapier slept, in gilded sheath, 
 
 Swift from his eye the soul's impatience broke 
 
 All eloquent with light, while Schemyng spoke : 
 
 " Welcome, brave Warrior ! — grief that thou should'st bring 
 
 Tidings of death, afflicts my heart ; the king 
 
 Was loved, revered, but in this troubled time, 
 
 When men deceive, and deem not treachery crime, 
 
 D
 
 18 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 When reckless tongues are murmuring to betray, 
 
 And smiles, like daggers, are drawn forth to slay, 
 
 Excuse me, Herald ! if awhile I hold 
 
 Silence a virtue ! — Ha ! thy mien is bold, 
 
 And the wild flashing of thy haughty eye 
 
 Bespeaks a soul of fearless dignity : 
 
 But Schemyng notes the changing world, and long 
 
 Hath heard the right, and, haply, seen the wrong. 
 
 So now, Sir Gallant ! join our feast to-night, 
 
 Our hearth is ample ! — let the horn - be bright 
 
 With mirth and pleasure ; time will best reveal 
 
 Whose is the holiest cause, the strongest steel ! 
 
 Speak thou, my friend, good Norms !" — Stately bowed 
 
 The worthy Treasurer, while a passing cloud 
 
 Shaded the father's brow, as quick his sight 
 
 Beheld the stranger with intense delight 
 
 Gaze on the form of Helen, while her face 
 
 Glowed with new beauty and a richer grace. 
 
 To Schemyng, Helen was the verdant leaf 
 
 That decked his tree of life — no blast of grief 
 
 Impaired its freshness, robbed its summer prime, 
 
 That seemed to mock the withering march of time.
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 1$ 
 
 Oh ! ye, who feel that dear parental glow 
 The holiest transport of the soul below ! 
 Ye, who have watched with anxious care and duty 
 A daughter's youth, the opening bud of beauty 
 Spread fair and fairer, while the heart beat high 
 With pride, a parent's fond infirmity, 
 When that dear child is as an angel left 
 To glad your age, of many joys bereft, 
 Say, is not all the alluring world can give, 
 The hopes long perished, and the hopes that live, 
 The busy day-dreams, visions of the night, 
 The pangs of woe, the raptures of delight, 
 Are they not all, the placid and the wild, 
 Lost in the love for that endearing child ! 
 
 "Stranger!" the Treasurer spoke, "with welcome here 
 We greet thy coming, and our hall, our cheer 
 Are freely thine — reveal'st thou not thy name ?" 
 " Seward ! a goodly one ! unstained by shame." 
 " Welcome, once more, but urge us not to share 
 The threatening perils of thy cause ; — we bear 
 A crest that stoops not, though a Dudley's plume 
 Soars, like the eagle, which the heavens assume !
 
 20 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 No more. — Sir Herald, pledge us in our hall." — 
 He ceased, when, echoing from the rampart wall 
 Sounded the Warder's horn, the changing word 
 Passed from the towers, and then was quickly heard 
 The tramp of steed, as o'er the draw-bridge near 
 A warrior rode, with hurried mien, though fear 
 Shrunk from his heart, wherein no terror dwelt; 
 High was his helm, and bright his sword in belt, 
 Lofty his air, and in his eager look 
 Flashed the fierce spirit, all unused to brook 
 Delay, or question — his strong form was one 
 That, like the oak, would never bend, nor shun 
 Life's wildest tempest — from his eye of scorn 
 Darted the flame of fiery passions born. 
 He passed the court, nor stayed he there to greet 
 The castle guest, like one unused to meet 
 With aught that stayed his purpose, or his speech. 
 " Mark not, good Constable, this hasty breach 
 Of knightly courtesy — if brief my tale, 
 I was not born the zephyr, but the gale : 
 I court the whirlwinds that the heavens deform, 
 Give others calm — bold Tyrell loves the storm !
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 21 
 
 And now, brave Schemyng, know my Lady's will, 
 
 Which, when thou hear'st, it steads thee to fulfil ; 
 
 She greets thee well, and, by her gracious word, 
 
 Bids me declare that, ere the earliest bird 
 
 Sings his first matin song, her courtly train 
 
 Will reach the Castle, haply here remain 
 
 To find a refuge from the storm, and all 
 
 Her threatening foes : from princely Keninghall 
 
 In haste she comes ! — and may her cause prevail ! 
 
 Dudley's, and Jane's, and wary Guildford's — fail ! 
 
 Mary the Queen ! — that forms my watch-word here, 
 
 That I defend, with dauntless sword and spear ; 
 
 W T ith limb and life ! Could Tyrell meet the man 
 
 Who dares avow him as the partisan 
 
 Of Lady Jane, his gauntlet should be thrown 
 
 Quick at the caitiff's feet ! — shall Tyrell own 
 
 The factious hypocrite ? — the slave of cant ? 
 
 Bow to the Heretic ? — the Protestant ?" 
 
 The blood rushed wildly through the veins of one 
 WTio heard the boaster — Seward did not slum 
 The threatening action, nor the taunting word, 
 His hand struck sharply on his rattling sword,
 
 22 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 Yet prudence checked him — that eventful pause 
 Was for his honoured Lady, and her cause : 
 Flashed his dark eye, but noiv he deemed it wise 
 To hide his scornful anger from the eyes 
 Of hostile men: — fair Helen marked the glow, 
 The pride, the dignity of Seward's brow, 
 The curled, contemptuous lip, the struggling breast 
 That heaved, convulsive, with its rage repressed ; 
 She saw — she dreaded that the rising ire, 
 Though still subdued, would burst in passion's fire, 
 That the strong effort of his stern controul, 
 Would fail to lull the tempest of his soul. 
 But Seward paused — and, as the lightning rends 
 That cloud alone on which its birth depends, 
 So his deep wrath but shook the soul's repose 
 In which the tumult of its storm arose ! 
 
 Not yet the sun had decked the orient sea 
 With gorgeous light, the dawn's thin canopy 
 Hung lightly o'er the wave, near half withdrawn, 
 While faint beneath it peered the 'wakening morn, 
 Whose eye-lids, quivering with excess of light, 
 Were still subdued beneath the hand of night.
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 23 
 
 In that dim hour, along the sloping glade, 
 Close to the Ore, a wary cavalcade 
 Moved cautious on — so soft the footsteps fell, 
 They roused not echo in her woodland dell, 
 Though gallant steed, and steel-clad men were there, 
 Though plume and banner on the chartered air 
 Waved in their pride, so gentle was their tread 
 By mazy copse, and o'er the path that led 
 Beside the Mere, and up the Castle hill, 
 The same mysterious silence round them still, 
 As though in mockery shapeless death had called 
 A troop of spirits, in his bonds enthralled, 
 And they, a marshaled phalanx, stalked along, 
 Armed man and horse, and yet a noiseless throng ! 
 They gained the moat, and near the barbican 
 All sudden paused, nor rose the voice of man, 
 As light and agile from their steeds they sprang 
 So softly down, that not their armour's clang 
 Struck on the ear — but one among the band 
 Sate on her palfrey, gently waved her hand, 
 Then page and knightly warrior at her feet 
 Obeisant stood, and bore her from her seat.
 
 24 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 They gained the draw-bridge — still no sound, no word, 
 
 Question, or watch-call from the tower was heard, 
 
 Whisper, or breath, as in its gothic frame 
 
 Moved a low portal — first the Lady came, 
 
 And next her Page, and gallant train ; they passed 
 
 The narrow arch, an ancient lamp there cast 
 
 Its light above them, flashing o'er their bright 
 
 And polished swords — beneath that flickering light 
 
 Stood Schemyng, and, as with retiring mien 
 
 He bowed obedience, in his hand were seen 
 
 The ponderous keys of postern, tower, and keep, 
 
 Near which he led them till he reached a steep 
 
 Descending stair, whose entrance long concealed, 
 
 Half opened now, an iron door revealed, 
 
 While from the depth beneath, a glimmering ray 
 
 Served but to mock the darkness of the way : 
 
 At this they paused — and cautious whispers ran, 
 
 From lip to lip, from eager man to man : 
 
 The train retired, save Schemyng and the Page, 
 
 Of towering spirit, though of tender age, 
 
 Who staid, attendant on his Lady's grace, 
 
 The first in favour, as the first in place.
 
 CANTO I. FEAMLINGHAM. 25 
 
 " Follow !" cried Schemyng as he led the way 
 Down the dark stair, impervious to the day, 
 'Neath vaulted roofs, where many a quivering lamp 
 Gleamed from the walls, with exhalations damp, 
 Through gloomy cells, whose depths had heard alone 
 The heart-drawn anguish of the captive's groan, 
 By caves, whose rough and battered fragments told 
 Of strife and struggle in the days of old, 
 To caves more deep : and then ascended slow 
 Indented stones, while echo from below 
 Mocked every footstep, as though pleased to tell 
 The answering walls their number as they fell ! 
 Still winding on, they reached an ample space, 
 Meet spot for darkness, and her dwelling-place, 
 Wherein to nurse her melancholy train, 
 Wild brood of phantoms for the Poet's brain ; 
 Ascending yet, with cautious toil they gained 
 A basement wall, whose solid strength sustained 
 A lofty tower : through small embrasures beamed 
 The morning light, whose ruddy lustre gleamed 
 Along the passage, faintly glimmering o'er 
 The inner wall, in which a massive door 
 
 E
 
 26 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 Turned slow and heavily, revealing bright 
 Within its arch, a pale and trembling light, 
 Where Schemyng saw his lovely daughter stand 
 With placid smile, and silver lamp in hand j 
 Then, as she bent her graceful form to show 
 Her lamp's reflection to the group below, 
 While the fair light upon her beauteous face 
 Displayed each charm, and softened every grace, 
 She shone like some commissioned spirit, blest, 
 To greet bewildered mortals to their rest ! 
 
 The Page advanced, and with his Lady sought 
 The narrow steps, then quick as fleeting thought 
 They passed the portal, gained a turret square, 
 And Schemyng barred the ponderous door with care 
 Secure within, and, as he stately bowed, 
 Free frorn intrusion here he spoke aloud. 
 " Welcome ! most noble Lady ! — Princess ! — Queen ! 
 I greet your highness ! — happier days have been, 
 When I could welcome thee in bower and hall, 
 With mirth and music, song and festival ; 
 But noiu though thus secluded, thus immured 
 In lonely turret, thou art well secured
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 27 
 
 From present harm, and haply may'st repose 
 In this retreat, protected from thy foes. 
 My daughter, Lady ! will attend thee here, 
 Honour and duty will that task endear, 
 While we retire to counsel for thy right, 
 And gain thy Crown by treaty, or by fight ! 
 And, should thy foes our ancient towers assail, 
 Shot, shell, and arrows sweep our walls, like hail, 
 Though time's chill snow is scattered o'er my head, 
 Yet Schemyng conquered, must be Schemyng dead /" 
 
 Thus Schemyng spake, by conscious truth inspired, 
 Then graceful bowed, and with the Page retired ; 
 Beneath his hand a secret spring gave way, 
 Back slid the panel : — now their progress lay 
 Through lofty galleries to the chapel-aisle, 
 Whose gothic windows brightened in the smile 
 With which the sun had greeted wall, and tower, 
 Hill, wood, and valley, glittering lake, and bower. 
 They left the chapel, sought the hall, and heard 
 Low voices murmuring, like the foliage stirred 
 By summer breezes. — Thoughtful warriors sate 
 In council, anxious for the troubled state,
 
 28 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 When Schemyng joined them, hand and heart prepared, 
 
 To meet the danger which, like him, they shared ! 
 
 But there was one apart — he pensive stood 
 
 Mute in the beating heart's deep solitude — 
 
 Against a column Seward leaned — from all 
 
 The living interest in that spacious hall 
 
 He felt estranged, as one who could not share 
 
 The warm debate, the martial spirit there. 
 
 Lonely he mused upon his cause, on those 
 
 Who yet were true, or numbered with his foes : 
 
 His mind adrift upon a S2a of strife, 
 
 'Mid the rough breakers and the shoals of life, 
 
 Like a poor bark upon the billows tossed, 
 
 Her rudder shattered, and her pilot lost ! 
 
 As thus he mused the gallant Page passed by, 
 Arresting quick the challenge of his eye, 
 The Page beheld him — and his sudden start 
 Suffused his cheek with life-blood from the heart, 
 While exclamations — " Seward !" " Howard u !" broke 
 Forth from their quivering lips — and Howard spoke. 
 " Ha ! Seward here ! and hast thou left the cause 
 Of Grey, and Dudley ! Mark me, Seward ! pause
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 29 
 
 Ere danger pluck thee from the giddy height 
 
 On which thou builds't thy house of hope — the night 
 
 That wrapped the land in darkness is not o'er ; 
 
 Enough ! — beware ! — and tempt thy fate no more '." 
 
 " Nay, taunt me not, my noble Howard ! Time 
 
 Hath changed thee, haply, since that glowing prime 
 
 Of golden youth, when we, together, saw 
 
 The quickening light of inspiration's law, 
 
 And read, with him, the Mentor of our youth, 
 
 The page that opes the mystery of truth ! 
 
 And blushed, that man, and man's device, should pave 
 
 The way to heaven with sordid gold ! — enslave 
 
 To Rome's gross idols the immortal mind, 
 
 By nature free, and chainless as the wind ! 
 
 I know thy duty as the Page, the Ward 
 
 Of Lady Mary — but to prize, to guard 
 
 Thy Country's honour, Faith reformed, and truth, 
 
 Claims all thy bold, best energies of youth. 
 
 But thou art changed ! thou falterest in the race, 
 
 Won by true hearts that pant in freedom's chase !" 
 
 " Thou wrong'st me, Seward ! and, some future hour 
 
 May shew my faithfulness, and prove my power
 
 30 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO I. 
 
 To be thy friend : though stormy passions lead 
 
 Thee furious on, in purpose, and in deed, 
 
 Again beware ! beneath the fountain's gush 
 
 Sweet flowers will spring, but in the whirlwind's rush 
 
 There dwells no safety, where the eagle's flight 
 
 Is stayed and scattered ! — read my words aright !" 
 
 Seward replied — " Thy words are dark and strange, 
 
 Read I not rightly ? — I lament thy change ! 
 
 I would not wrong thee, and when time shall set 
 
 Fair on thy brow thy rightful coronet, 
 
 Which now lies prostrate by that harsh decree, 
 
 That sealed thy Father's long captivity, 
 
 Oh ! may'st thou then thy noble influence give 
 
 To aid that cause for which alone I live ! 
 
 Farewell !" — He ceased, and quickly turned to leave 
 
 The gothic hall, when on his mantle's sleeve 
 
 He felt the pressure of a hand — " Stay ! stay !" 
 
 Cried Schemyng, " Herald ! share our feast to-day, 
 
 And, on the morrow, though thy gallant heart 
 
 Loves not our cause, in christian peace depart ! 
 
 But leave not, stranger ! leave not Schemyng's hall 
 
 With thoughts ungenerous, which may well recall
 
 CANTO I. FRAMLINGHAM. 31 
 
 His lack of courtesy, his narrow soul, 
 
 Stay ! pledge the wine -cup from our social bowl !" 
 
 Thus Schemyxg spake — and Seward smiled, expressed 
 
 His ready thanks — remained a willing guest ; 
 
 Though rapid Time upon his pinions bore 
 
 Most precious moments, to return no more, 
 
 He tarried yet — for one strong motive brought 
 
 Its mighty impulse to his wandering thought ; 
 
 He deemed those old romantic walls contained 
 
 More joy than poet ever felt, or feigned ; 
 
 The spot to liim seemed blessed — the very air 
 
 Fraught with a power to shed enchantment there, 
 
 To breathe a freshness o'er his heart, whose beat 
 
 Gushed a full tide of anxious hope, so sweet, 
 
 That every pulse rose quickening with new bliss, 
 
 Losing past rapture in the glow of this ! 
 
 Must he not linger in that gladdening place ? 
 
 That heaven, whose sun was Helen's beaming face !
 
 FRAMLINGHAM: 
 
 A NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 CANTO SECOND.
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Castle of Ancient Days ! in times long gone 
 Thy lofty halls in regal splendour shone ! 
 Thou stood'st a monument of strength sublime, 
 A Giant, laughing at the threats of Time ! 
 Strange scenes have passed within thy walls ! and strange 
 Has been thy fate through many a chance and change ! 
 Thy Towers have heard the war-ery, and the shout 
 Of friends within, and answering foes without,
 
 36 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 Have rimg to sounds of revelry, while mirth 
 Held her carousal, when the sons of earth 
 Sported with joy, till even he could bring 
 No fresh delight upon his drooping wing ! 
 
 Mysterious being ! changeful Man ! fair ray 
 Of glory from God's throne ! — creation's day 
 Was incomplete till thy endowments bright 
 Shone forth, and decked the new-born world with light, 
 The light of reason — thou surpassing gem 
 Of nature's loveliness ! her diadem 
 Which first she wore upon her spotless brow, 
 Erect in paradise, though sullied now ! 
 
 Compound of strength and weakness ! joy and grief! 
 
 Firm as the tree, yet fragile as the leaf! 
 
 Girt with heaven's blessing, wilt thou seek its ban ? 
 
 Mysterious being ! — frail, yet godlike Man ! 
 
 Slight not thy truest glory ! virtue sounds 
 
 Her trump of gladness — hear ! her realm abounds 
 
 With lovely vallies, hills and streams divine, 
 
 And bowers of happiness, for ever thine !
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 37 
 
 The feast was spreacl — around the ample board 
 The wine-cup passed, with joy's enchantment stored, 
 And warriors there forgot the cares of strife, 
 Their country's factions, all the ills of life ! 
 Forgot their enemies, their Queen, their state, 
 As though the wine-cup held the balm of fate ! 
 There smiled brave Sulliard, first of martial men, 
 Queen Mary's hope, bold knight of Wetherden 12 ; 
 There valiant Drury, of unsullied race, 
 Unspotted crest, the Lord of Hawsted- Place; 
 And there stem Tyrell, chief of Gipping-Hall, 
 One born to rise, whoe'er was doomed to fall ! 
 Proudly his foes he would despise, defy, 
 Feared nought below, nor much above the sky ! 
 Intense his passions, uncontrouled, and strong, 
 Life's wildest tide impelled their waves along, 
 His air, his figure, and his lordly mien 
 Were full of nobleness, and charmed, when seen, 
 Like splendid lights, that o'er the traveller's way 
 Flit through the darkness., dazzle, and betray. 
 And round that board full many a social guest 
 In sweet oblivion of all care was blest !
 
 88 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 And there presided Schemyng — o'er his face 
 Kind feelings shed their hospitable grace, 
 His eyes illumed by mirth's expressive light 
 Showed the heart's triumph on that festal night. 
 He challenged Aleyn — " Ho ! my minstrel boy ! 
 Why sleeps thy harp, when all around is joy ? 
 Thou look'st as grave, as solemn, and as sage, 
 As Father Rowland o'er the missal's page !" 13 — 
 A soft, low prelude, from the quivering strings 
 Stole o'er the hall, like those sweet murmurings 
 Which balmy zephyrs, greeting bud and flower, 
 Make, in their pilgrimage from bower to bower : 
 To loftier notes the minstrel's hand gave birth, 
 That hushed the warriors in their boisterous mirth, 
 So full, so mellow was the strain, that all 
 Save that wild harp, was silence in the hall ; 
 The eager wassailer, whose lip had pressed 
 The flowing cup, more ardent than the rest, 
 Paused in his draught, that he might hear the strain 
 Of music's soul, sweet antidote to pain ! 

 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 39 
 
 More deep, more rich, and more harmonious flowed 
 The echoing notes, till Aleyn's bosom glowed 
 With that inspiring warmth to which belong 
 The zeal for melody, the love for song. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Rejoice, my loved harp ! — Freedom darts from the sky ! 
 On her wings clad with light o'er the earth she will fly, 
 With the strength of the ocean, the speed of the wind, 
 To break the strong chains that hold captive the mind ! 
 
 II. 
 Hark ! Liberty shouteth ! proclaiming her feast, 
 And her sun-beam is shed around Layman and Priest, 
 There is joy in her draught, there is hope in her bowl, 
 Which may lighten the yoke that still cumbers the soul ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Whoe'er slights her voice, and whate'er be his creed, 
 If he hearkens her shout, and replies not with speed, 
 Let him die in the fetters long forged for the slave, 
 Let the bigot in scorn trample over his grave I
 
 40 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A light is gone forth o'er the nations ! — a star 
 Rises over Man's soul, and its beam from afar 
 Is revealing a sky which no cloud can obscure, 
 That the world's gloomy night may no longer endure ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Truth rendeth the veil of her darkness asunder, 
 And the shouts of our triumph will scatter, like thunder 
 The shades that have gathered, my Country ! round thee ! 
 That thy millions may gaze on the light and be free ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Our Country ! — our Country ! — bright pearl of the waters ! 
 Fill the wine-cup ! — the pledge be — her sons and her daughters ! 
 Oh ! deep may our bosoms with ecstacy glow, 
 'Tis a pledge to the bravest, the fairest below !"
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 41 
 
 The Minstrel ceased — from listening man to man, 
 Low murmurs, mixed with echoing plaudits ran ; 
 On Tyrell's brow was seen a lowering gloom, 
 He deemed the Bard no zealous son of Rome ! 
 E'en Schemyng marvelled at the vocal strain, 
 While transient doubt allied his heart to pain ; 
 Had Aleyn launched on that reforming ocean, 
 Whose mighty billows, in their wild commotion, 
 Had torn the Papal anchor from its hold, 
 And wrecked the faith most catholic of old ? 
 The thought oppressed him, but he trusted, knew 
 That Aleyn's heart to virtue's power was true, 
 And this consoled him, as he pledged the bowl, 
 And urged his guests in jollity of soul. 
 To one bold guest the Minstrel's pledge was dear, 
 Precious as sun-light to the dying year, 
 To Seward ! — he with thrilling transport pressed 
 The cup unto his lips, as though his breast 
 Could thus inhale the spirit of that song ! — 
 Now joy grew loud the warrior train among, 
 And held her jubilee, till eve revealed 
 Her pilot-star, while yet the echoes pealed
 
 4-2 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 Around the hall : prolific wine gave birth 
 To laugh and song, twin revellers with mirth ! 
 
 In cloudless lustre, softly from afar, 
 'Mid the blue aether beamed the evening star, 
 A lonely herald of the host of night, 
 Clad in rich armour of celestial light, 
 Watching, till day's last fading tints should die 
 To marshall forth her army of the sky ! 
 Ye countless stars ! enduring orbs above ! 
 Emblems of power, of wisdom, and of love! 
 Ye, fixed, or wandering in ethereal space, 
 Unknown, though sought by man's exploring race ! 
 How sweetly touching to the heart subdued 
 By worldly care, in night's grand solitude, 
 To mark the beauty, and the splendour shown, 
 By outspread millions round the loftiest throne, 
 The spirit soars beneath the influence given 
 To these pure lights — sublimities of heaven ! 
 Yes ! these proclaim from their unbounded sphere, 
 God sets his seal of brightest glory here !
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 43 
 
 Fair was the night — and still would some prolong 
 The social joy, the revel, and the song, 
 When Seward left the festive hall, and sought 
 The balmy air, and soon his feelings caught 
 The soothing power of the exalted skies, 
 That hold communion with our sympathies ! 
 Lonely he mused, where turret and high tower 
 Shone in wild grandeur in that star-light hour. 
 Beside the Chapel's gothic porch awhile 
 He sudden paused — along the dreary aisle 
 A gleam of light moved slowly, faint, and dim, 
 He listened — softly rose the vesper hymn, 
 Murmured by lips, whose music to his breast 
 Was like the song of seraphs to the blest ! 
 He passed the porch — in silence paused again, 
 As in sweet cadence died the heavenly strain ; 
 Before the altar, humbly kneeling there, 
 Bent lovely Helen — o'er her brow so fair 
 A glow of deep and pure devotion came ; 
 Her eyes were raised to heaven — the lamp's pale flame 
 Which, at that altar Monks decreed should burn 
 Till Time expire on nature's funeral urn l4 ,
 
 44 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 Threw its dim light upon her beaming face, 
 
 Beauteous, unearthly, in its heightened grace, 
 
 While rose her prayer to that eternal throne, 
 
 Where finds the soul her healing balm alone ! 
 
 As Seward gazed upon her form, he felt 
 
 A s]:>ell upon his heart, and he had knelt 
 
 In reverence there, had not his eye beheld 
 
 Another female form — by zeal impelled 
 
 With rigid mien she quickly knelt, and told 
 
 Her beads, as misers tell their worshipped gold ! 
 
 As though those baubles, with their reckoning cast 
 
 Could bribe the future, and absolve the past ! 
 
 Then Seward started — well the warrior knew 
 
 The Lady Mary ! — softly he withdrew 
 
 Behind a pillar, gazing on the form 
 
 Of her, yet doomed to raise the cruel storm 
 
 Of bigot fury, whose destructive sweep 
 
 Would cause the hearts of tortured saints to weep ! 
 
 He marked her features — a malignant gloom 
 
 Of dark intent had made her eye its home, 
 
 Yet, in that eye, devotion's kindling ray 
 
 Dwelt, though now tinned by error's cloud astray —
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 45 
 
 That cloud betrayed her narrow soul's eclipse, 
 And fiery scorn sat proudly on her lips, 
 Which, in their very ampleness, expressed I5 
 The wide disdain that rankled in her breast, 
 For all who deemed not that her creed was given, 
 The light, the way, the only path to heaven ! 
 
 The fitful wind swept through the dreary aisle, 
 The cloth of arras in the sacred pile, 
 And old armorial banners, hung on high, 
 Flapped on the walls, as quick the gust came by : 
 The Lady Mary, at that rustling sound, 
 Now shuddering, gazed in fearfulness around, 
 A secret dread of treachery or harm 
 Haunted her soul, a chaos of alarm : 
 She turned abruptly from the Altar — sought 
 The distant portal, while, absorbed in thought 
 Still Helen knelt — at length she slowly rose, 
 Her bright calm brow proclaimed her mind's repose : 
 She moved to seek her future Queen, while nigh 
 Unseen stood Seward — his delighted eye 
 Enraptured gazed, and his enamoured heart 
 Tln-obbed in his breast, nor dared his lips impart
 
 46 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 In that most hallowed place, to one so dear, 
 The hope that blessed him when her form was near ! 
 As thus he stood, a sudden quivering flame 
 Gleamed from an arch, and on his vision came, 
 A portal opened — slow and wary there 
 With torch in hand, and with disordered air 
 Bold Tyrell entered — quick on Helen's arm, 
 His hand was grasped, and, o'er each glowing charm 
 His eyes insatiate roved — his cheek was flushed 
 By ardent wine, his blood, tumultuous, gushed 
 Through his hot veins, and to his burning brain 
 Came passion's madness : — in licentious strain 
 He urged his love — indignant Helen threw 
 His rude arm from her, while a death-like hue 
 O'er spread her cheek, as up the steps which lay 
 Before the Altar, shuddering with dismay, 
 She sprang, and pale, yet beautiful, appeared 
 Like some fair statue by the sculptor reared, 
 Inspired by heaven with life ! — her hands on high 
 She raised, while scorn flashed proudly from her eye : 
 " Tyrell ! — is this thy knightly grace ? — forbear ! 
 Before God's holy Altar I declare
 
 CANTO II. FBAMLINGHAM. 47 
 
 Thy love abhorred ! — and this unhallowed zeal 
 
 Most dark and hateful to my soul ! — I feel 
 
 This profanation from thy lips a curse 
 
 Blighting my very heart ! — no longer nurse 
 
 That hope which thou hast cradled in thy breast ! 
 
 Have I not frankly, fearlessly, expressed 
 
 Thy suit all vain ? — and my unwilling tongue 
 
 Must speak its deep reproaches, madly wrung 
 
 By shameless guilt from my o'er tortured heart ! 
 
 Tyrell ! I ne'er can prize thy love ! — depart !" 
 
 She ceased — but Tyrell, by her beauty fired, 
 
 Gazed on her form, and as he gazed, admired : 
 
 His breast throbbed wildly, passion's heat o'ercame 
 
 His better feelings, raised its vilest flame, 
 
 Wine was its fuel ! — on her matchless charms 
 
 His eye still dwelt, then rudely to his arms 
 
 He snatched the struggling maiden, faint, and weak ; 
 
 Shrill o'er the aisles arose her fearful shriek, 
 
 While quick sprang Seward, and his brandished sword 
 
 Gleamed in the star's pale light — a hasty word 
 
 Broke from his lips, and Tyrell's weapon flashed 
 
 Around his head, and now encountering, clashed !
 
 4$ FRAMLIN'GHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 Alarmed fled Helen, urged by wild affright : 
 Then, in the stillness of that awful night 
 Their swords awoke dread echoes from the gloom 
 Of arch, and pillar, and sepulchral tomb ! 
 And Tyrell furious raged — he Seward deemed 
 Foe to that bliss of which he fondly dreamed, 
 And now assailed him in his wrath — his blade 
 Struck through the rattling helm — still undismayed 
 Pressed Seward near him, steady with his hand, 
 Quick in his thrust, yet guarded in his brand, 
 Till like a tiger maddening in his ire, 
 Fierce Tyrell rushed, and from their weapons fire 
 Gleamed, while the issue of that doubtful strife 
 Hung on the failing energies of life, 
 When Seward gave one desperate spring, and bore 
 His foe, impetuous, to the marble floor, 
 But, as he leaped upon the treacherous stone, 
 It quivered — sank ! — his baseless footing gone 
 Quick was he plunged far down a rugged vault, 
 With force augmented by his strong assault ; 
 Deep, deep he fell, while loud above him clasped 
 The huge spring-door — now breathless, faint, he gasped,
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 49 
 
 Still falling — falling down the depth profound, 
 Sharp jutting stones inflicting many a wound, 
 Till stunned, and bleeding, he in darkness lay, 
 Which never smiled to greet the light of day ! 
 
 Stem Tyrell rose, confounded though not grieved 
 That chance had favoured him, his sight relieved 
 From the first arm at which his heart had quailed, 
 His foot retreated, or his prowess failed ! 
 He rose — his sword was broken, and his hand 
 Trembling with rage, still shook the pointless brand, 
 Which Seward's strength had shivered, and the hilt 
 Dropped blood, the fragments of the steel had spilt ; 
 While cautious Tyrell marked the secret door, 
 And traced its fancied outline on the floor, 
 Scarce seen, so well had art devised, to hide 
 That subtle ingress to the caverns wide, 
 Deep, dark, and spacious, in the times of old 
 A hidden refuge, when the Barons bold 
 Held the strong Castle. — Tyrell left the spot, 
 While on his heart fell that absorbing blot
 
 50 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 Dropped by revenge. " Ha ! — sapient medler ! — sleep 
 In safety there ! no human eye shall weep 
 O'er thy dread grave — and, by the mass ! thy bed 
 Befits a heretic ! alive, or dead !" 
 
 He left the chapel, while in darkness drear 
 O'ercome by anguish, not subdued by fear 
 Lay gallant Seward, bleeding from his fall ; 
 Eternal night there spread her ebon pall 
 As though heaven's beam disdained to visit more 
 A spot where death had sternly reigned of yore ! 
 At length he slowly rose, above, around, 
 Felt with his sword — but no opposing bound 
 Its point obstructed, then he lonely paced 
 The mazy labyrinth, and its hollows traced, 
 Descending now, now rising, winding far 
 'Neath wall and tower, by dungeon grate and bar, 
 Again descending, warily, and slow, 
 Through vaulted cells, by gloomy depths below. 
 Oppressive silence reigned — the murky air 
 Breathed hot, as though death's pestilence were there,
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 51 
 
 No hope of succour, no deliverance near, 
 
 Then Seward felt the withering touch of fear. 
 
 In that dread silence he forebore to sj)eak, 
 
 Lest his own voice should startle him ! till, weak 
 
 Flowed his warm blood, when he, aroused at length, 
 
 With all the energy of failing strength 
 
 Called, " Howard ! — Howard !" — Echo heard the sound, 
 
 And wildly started from her sleep profound, 
 
 From rugged roof, and wall, and cave, her tongue 
 
 Mocked the lone prisoner, while the darkness rung 
 
 With sounds sepulchral — deepening — deepening still, 
 
 Then bursting forth in tones so loud, and shrill, 
 
 That, at the sound less valiant hearts had cowered, 
 
 While startling echoes shouted, " Howard ! — Howard !" 
 
 These murmuring died, but no responsive voice 
 
 Awoke to bid the sickening heart rejoice, 
 
 The youthful Page heard not, and no reply 
 
 Bade Seward hope to live, or dare to die ! 
 
 Then came despair, and painful thought — the time 
 To him most precious, wasted, and the crime 
 Of mean procrastination, weak delay, 
 Which seemed like willingness to wrong, betray
 
 52 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 The sacred trust in him reposed ! the shame 
 
 Which envious men might cast upon his name, 
 
 A faithless Herald ! — Oh ! the glorious cause 
 
 He loved, espoused, by this untimely pause 
 
 Might deeply suffer, and the land again 
 
 Bow to that Baal, worshipped long in vain ! 
 
 He was not led by false ambition's light 
 
 To deem that wrong, which others held as right, 
 
 Inspired by all the ardent zeal of youth, 
 
 He chose the path which he believed was truth, 
 
 He knew the treacherous faith, the gloom severe 
 
 Of Mary's mind — dark, cruel, and austere ! 
 
 This, and the dread of superstition's sway, 
 
 Led him from Mary, and her cause away. 
 
 And other thoughts oppressed him — Tyrell's power, 
 
 His dangerous hatred, and the fatal hour 
 
 In which they met ; and softer feelings rose, 
 
 More cherished, dearer to his soul's repose, 
 
 A sweet remembrance of one form, one face, 
 
 Stamped with the bright divinity of grace ! 
 
 Then the keen anguish of his present doom, 
 
 Mysterious horrors of a threatening tomb,
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 53 
 
 This festering thought burned in his throbbing brain, 
 Weighed down by misery, and subdued by pain 
 And wild emotions : pale and faint, at length, 
 Deprived of energy, devoid of strength, 
 He sank to sleep on earth's maternal breast, 
 Darkness alone the warder of his rest ! 
 
 Sleep ! thou art nature's conqueror ! — thy hand 
 Rules the dim region of oblivion's land, 
 Thy sway is mighty, empire boundless, all 
 Must yield thee vassalage ! — thy welcome thrall 
 Is dear to eyes of weariness and pain, 
 Dear to the wretch who dreads to 'wake again, 
 Who, worn by sorrow in a world of crime, 
 Longs but to sleep until the death of time, 
 When the loud trumpet's most appalling blast 
 Shall call his spirit to its rest at last ! 
 Despotic sleep ! usurper of our eyes ! 
 Thou cheatest us of life ! Thy mysteries 
 Are awful, infinite ! — thou bear'st the soul 
 On viewless wings from shadowy pole to pole, 
 To some dark world of dreams, where horror dwells, 
 Where fear, where frenzy work their nameless spells ;
 
 54 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO. II. 
 
 And thou that soft, that sweet repose can'st give, 
 In which we gain the calm of death — to live ! 
 
 Profound was Seward's sleep, till day had given 
 New light and life to all beneath the heaven, 
 When, on his waking ear a stunning sound 
 Rang from the towers above, the walls around : 
 He started quickly from his rugged bed 
 As rose the shouts of thousands o'er his head, 
 While ivied towers gave back the swelling cry, 
 " Long live Queen Mary !" — then the pealing sky 
 Shook with the clang of trumpets, and the roar 
 Of warlike engines, hoarsely thundering o'er 
 The rocking battlements, while heralds loud 
 Proclaimed the Queen, and from the mingling crowd, 
 And steel-clad warriors deafening cries arose 
 With threats and challenge to their daring foes. 
 Again the sounds awoke, and bold again 
 Echo replied, from hill, and copse, and plain, 
 Till wood, and dell, and stream, and valley rung : 
 Then, had ye heard her pertly mocking tongue, 
 Ye would have deemed her hollow voice had been 
 Hoarse with one ceaseless shout — " Long live the Queen !
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 55 
 
 Still Seward heard those ringing sounds — they fell 
 Sad on his heart, like freedom's mournful knell, 
 But, though the planet of his hope might wane, 
 Its beams still centred round the L<\dy Jane, 
 Beneath whose banner he had longed to brave 
 The bigot-fury of the Papal slave ! 
 Hark ! the re-doubling shout ! — now Seward's breast 
 Heaved with impatience he no more repressed ; 
 He sprang impetuous through the murky gloom, 
 Resolved to gain his freedom, or a tomb, 
 He rushed bewildered in uncertain dread, 
 Till all again was silent as the dead. 
 Onward he passed along the narrow way, 
 Emerged from darkness, as the opening day 
 Shed a faint light above him, and displayed 
 A vast, and subterraneous hall, where blade, 
 And shield, and spear once hung, where warriors bold 
 In secret met, in troubled days of old. 
 He searched minutely, but the dim light shed 
 So dull a ray, its feebleness misled 
 His eager fancy, as the quivering beam 
 Played on the walls, then vanished like a dream,
 
 56 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 Then smiled again — gave many a seeming shape 
 
 To vaulted caves, of vistas for escape. 
 
 Fallacious hope ! — a winding passage high 
 
 Led from this space — he entered warily, 
 
 And gained a spacious platform, when a sound 
 
 Rose faintly there — he anxious gazed around, 
 
 In silence paused, and to the Avail applied 
 
 His listening ear — then first his eye descried 
 
 A heavy portal, antique steps of stone, 
 
 Smooth with the tread of warlike ages gone. 
 
 He heard a gentle voice — hope's light again 
 
 Flashed o'er his heart : — though hope may shine in vain, 
 
 Though feebly bright the glimmering of her ray, 
 
 It warms the ice of our despair away ! 
 
 Mute Seward stood, and, on the massive door 
 Knocked with his sword-hilt; gleaming on the floor 
 A streak of light appeared, as moving slow 
 The portal opened : — -joy's ecstatic glow 
 Thrilled in his bosom, as a voice was heard, 
 While throbbed his heart at every tuneful word — 
 " Dear Aleyn ! why thus late ? — the Queen hath long 
 Desired thy presence, after matin song ;
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 57 
 
 She seeks the Chapel's holy shrine to pray, 
 
 Await her coming — wherefore dost thou stay 
 
 Wrapped in thy shrouding cloak ? my brother ! here 
 
 Lies thy sweet harp, its tones are ever dear — 
 
 Ha ! lingering still ! — dear Aleyn ! thou would'st show 
 
 Thy jesting humour ! — and she stooped below 
 
 With playful hand to part the mantle's fold : 
 
 She started back — her glowing blushes told 
 
 Her soul's confusion, and her heaving breast 
 
 Swelled with emotion : Seward thus addressed 
 
 The trembling Helen — " Lady ! fear me not, 
 
 Propitious chance hath led me to this spot." 
 
 She knew the voice, its full deep tones once known, 
 
 Left on the ear sweet music all its own. 
 
 " Seward ! — away ! — forgive this haste! — to thee 
 I owe my peace, my heart's serenity : 
 Stay — art thou wounded ? — hath not Tyrell's ire 
 Wrought Seward harm ? — I pray thee quick retire — 
 I owe thee much, and will not cease to pray 
 For thee, my brave preserver !" — " Helen, stay ! 
 Leave me not thus — if my unworthy blade 
 Have done thee service in its timely aid, 
 
 i
 
 58 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 If my unskilful arm to thee, or thine 
 
 Have rendered aught, the happiness be mine ! 
 
 And this will solace me when care and strife 
 
 War with my peace amid the storms of life ; 
 
 Oh ! then to know that thou art safe, art blessed, 
 
 Will shed the balm of comfort o'er my breast ! 
 
 Helen, farewell ! — perchance, my anxious eyes 
 
 May gaze no more on thee ! — but thought defies 
 
 Distance and time, and, while my pulse shall beat, 
 
 Far off or near, in triumph or defeat, 
 
 In grief or happiness, thine image fair, 
 
 Deep in my heart will live, reflected there !" 
 
 He ceased, and Helen's changing brow and cheek, 
 
 Her heaving bosom, as she strove to speak 
 
 With trembling lips, bespoke the strong controul 
 
 Of passion's empire o'er the struggling soul. 
 
 " Farewell !" — at length she faintly cried — " thy zeal 
 
 For Lady Jane, and for her cause — thy steel 
 
 Raised in dire strife for glory, or for power, 
 
 Will lead thee far from Helen's peaceful bower : 
 
 I would not shade this parting with regret, 
 
 I would not urge thee, Seward, to forget
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 59 
 
 Thy" — paused the maiden, while her cheek turned pale, 
 As though her lips had breathed too soft a tale ; 
 Yet scarce one moment was the lily spread 
 O'er her fair face — the warmer rose grew red 
 On brow, and cheek, and bosom, that now showed 
 One blush of loveliness, one bloom that glowed 
 Deeper and deeper, as she sighed, " Farewell ! 
 May heaven protect thee !" — a delightful spell 
 Lived in those gentle words ; he softly caught 
 Her hand, and pressed it to his heart, now fraught 
 With feelings new, and transports pure, which never 
 Might leave its core, but there abide for ever ! 
 
 Hark ! a loud echo breaks the lone repose 
 Of the long corridors — a portal's close 
 Shook the far-distant roof, and Seward's eye 
 Beheld a lamp's slow moving light was nigh, 
 And Aleyn came ; but when the Minstrel saw 
 The form of Seward, urged by doubt to draw 
 His dagger forth, upon its polished guard 
 Rested his hand, from hostile aim debarred
 
 60 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 By Seward's frank and most ingenuous smile, 
 Pledge of a heart untouched by vicious guile ; 
 Aware that Seward's valiant arm was reared 
 For Helen's rescue, Aleyn's mind revered 
 Him, who had dared the desperate Tyrell's strife 
 For one more prized, and dearer than his life ! 
 A few brief words of explanation passed, 
 And Aleyn led him through a long, and vast, 
 And lofty passage — gained the welcome light, 
 That quickening spirit of the joys of sight ! 
 Then Aleyn spoke, while in his ardent eye 
 Dwelt undefined a shade of mystery : 
 He whispered low, and cautious gazed around; 
 
 Seward ! away ! — thou tread'st on dangerous ground — 
 I know thy peril, and, though honour calls 
 Me to my duty in our ancient walls, 
 I must not see thee from our home depart 
 And warn thee not, though strong and bold of heart. 
 Mark me ! a panther links within his lair, 
 His spring is merciless — avoid — beware !" 
 "Thank thee, good Aleyn !" Seward brief replied, 
 " If rough life's wave be, or if smooth its tide, 
 
 «
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 61 
 
 I owe thee favour — give thy hand, brave youth, 
 
 Take mine, a pledge of gratitude and truth !" — 
 
 The hand was given— the friendly grasp exchanged, 
 
 Not the ivorld's gage, half tendered, half estranged, 
 
 Nor the fastidious single finger, thrust 
 
 Within the palm, with more of scorn than trust, 
 
 But the firm grasp sincerity demands, 
 
 And proves that men have hearts, as well as hands ! 
 
 Now Seward mounted on his gallant steed, 
 Left the huge Castle in his utmost speed, 
 He passed the hermitage 16 , the castle-brook, 
 Paused on the hill, and cast one farewell look 
 At those grand towers, which the declining sun 
 Seemed proud to shed his parting smile upon ; 
 His fair beams rested on the turrets high 
 That glittering shone, like giants of the sky 
 Clad in their gilded armour. — Seward's mind 
 On Helen dwelt — her beauty, grace refined. 
 Oh ! could he live in envied bliss with her ! 
 He dared not hope ! — he quickly plied the spur,
 
 6-2 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO H. 
 
 Dashed by tlie copse, and urged his steed again, 
 While in his heart, and in his wildered brain 
 Were thoughts and feelings all unknown before, 
 And love's wild torrent flowed without a shore, 
 Leaped in each pulse o'er reason's calm controul, 
 And a new world seemed opening on his soul ! 
 
 Near the famed Town in which St. Edmund's shrine 
 Was sought by pilgrims, and was deemed divine, 
 There, with his host, a small, but daring band, 
 With horse and foot lay bold Northumberland, 
 Aspiring Dudley. — Near him on the plain 
 Was fiery Hastings, with his gallant train. 
 O'er Dudley's tent his flaunting banner high 
 Waved in the breeze that fanned the evening sky, 
 While he alone upon a watch-tower stood 
 Gazing with anxious eye ; — beside the wood 
 Far off, he marked a single horseman ride 
 Like one who scorned the hill, the dale defied, 
 So quick he left their varied track behind, 
 That, his steed's mane dark streaming in the wind
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 63 
 
 Hissed like a serpent, as along the plain 
 He furious rushed, while Dudley gazed again, 
 And knew his Herald — then his quivering lips, 
 Pale with suspense, proclaimed that he who sips 
 Ambition's chalice, finds its brim o'erflow 
 With gall and bitterness ! its dregs are woe ! 
 Still watched the Chief, impatient of delay, 
 So slow the moments seemed to glide away, 
 He chicled time, and, in his vain reproof 
 Scoffed at the horseman, and the courser's hoof, 
 Though swift as lightning o'er the plain he flew, 
 Or bow-shaft, whizzing from the archer's yew ! 
 The Herald checked his bounding steed's career ; 
 In haste, as one who longs, yet dreads to hear, 
 Dudley exclaimed — " What tidings ? Seward ! say ! 
 Keeps our wild wolf the Roman dogs at bay ? 
 How fares brave Tyrell — Drury — Sulliard, bold ? 
 And trusty Schemyng, in his castle-hold ? 
 Floats our wide banner o'er his ancient towers ? 
 Flash not their swords for Lady Jane, with ours ? 
 Speak, Seward, speak!" — "The tidings which I bear 
 Tell of the Lion in his guarded lair !
 
 64 FRAMLINGIIAM. CANTO II. 
 
 East- Anglian knights, and men of martial fame, 
 Foes to our cause, are met at Framlinghame ; 
 And there with Schemyng in his Castle, bides 
 The Lady Mary !" — With impatient strides 
 Before his camp the chieftain paced, like one 
 Who finds the dangers of his path begun. 
 
 " Seward ! we must not pause ! — the moments rly 
 With death's own speed ! to linger is to die ! 
 Quick ! gallant Hastings, with his host of might, 
 Four thousand chosen, ready for the fight, 
 Have joined our standard — to his trusty care 
 I thus consign them — go ! and nobly dare. 
 Hastings will urge his eager men with speed 
 To Schemyng's Castle, where some valorous deed 
 Of knightly prowess may confound the power 
 Of foes, beleaguered in strong wall and tower ! 
 Yes ! noble Hastings ! I to thee assign 
 That charge of glory ; while the task be mine 
 To quickly levy, concentrate, array, 
 And lead bold men to aid thee in the fray !
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 65 
 
 Seward attends thy banner, thy command — 
 Hastings, away! — God speed thee and thy band !" 
 
 In secret haste the martial train drew nigh 
 The towering Castle, while the boundless sky 
 Veiled by no cloud, resplendent o'er them shone, 
 And, in her majesty, the full-orbed moon 
 Sailed up the firmament, while lofty tower, 
 Hill, wood, and vale, and lake, and green-wood bower 
 Smiled in soft beauty, as her rays all bright 
 Clad their dim forms in silver robes of light ! 
 
 " Seward!" cried Hastings, "In the clustering shade 
 Of yonder copse, in silent ambush laid, 
 There, with a gallant few, close hidden stay 
 Till the first dawn unveils the blush of day — 
 Then, when my trumpet sounds, obey the call, 
 Rush with thy brave ones to the castle-wall, 
 Attack the northern portal, while my train 
 Shall force the draw-bridge, and not force in vain ; 
 Be daring, vigilant, and soon thine eye 
 Shall view our banners on those turrets high, 
 
 K
 
 66 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 Hastings will revel in yon towers, ere long, 
 
 And Seward ! thou wilt find the Castle strong, 
 
 Yet enter there ! and long securely dwell 
 
 Within its massy walls I" — The moonlight fell 
 
 On Hastings' features as he spoke — a smile 
 
 Of scorn was on his lips, as though deep guile 
 
 Lurked in his heart, or pride had steeled his breast 
 
 Against all foemen, secret or confessed. 
 
 And Seward marked that smile — it was not bom 
 
 Bland, free, and open, like the smiles of mom 
 
 When not a cloud is on the sun-— it came 
 
 Dull from the lips, and, as a lamp's drear flame 
 
 That lights a sepulchre, but dimly gleams 
 
 On shapes of death made ghastlier by its beams, 
 
 So that stem smile on gloomy features cast 
 
 A gloomier aspect. — Not unheeded passed 
 
 The change of Hastings' cheek, for busy thought 
 
 In Seward's soul some doubtful bodings wrought. 
 
 Was treachery near ? Was Hastings true, as bold ? 
 
 Unchanged by danger, and unbought by gold ? 
 
 His bosom throbbed as these reflections rose 
 
 Quick in his mind : and should he now disclose
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 67 
 
 His fears to Hastings ? and that chief upbraid 
 With trust abused, and confidence betrayed ? 
 He paused — one rash, impetuous word might bring 
 Ruin and shame ; he checked the goading sting 
 Of rankling thought; his heart was true as brave, 
 Why deem another treachery's basest slave ? 
 Thus soared his nobler nature far above 
 The doubts of fear, the pleadings of self-love ! 
 
 With caution Seward drew his well-trained band 
 Deep in the copse, and gave his brief command, 
 Posted his guards, and bade the rest partake 
 Of needful slumber : — in the sheltering brake 
 They lay, still grasping in their troubled sleep 
 Their tried and ready blades, prepared to leap 
 Quick from their scabbards, if the slightest word, 
 War-cry, or trumpet, in the air were heard. 
 
 But Seward slept not — by the lapsing stream 
 He mused, entranced in youth's delicious dream, 
 Gazed on the Castle far above him reared, 
 While memory rested on that one, endeared,
 
 68 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 The loved, and lovely, her, whose very name 
 Had charms for him beyond the charm of fame, 
 Whose smile was light unto his soul, whose worth 
 More prized than all the splendid gems of earth, 
 Whose winning grace had o'er his path-way strown, 
 Sweet flowers, his solace, his delight — his own ! 
 He wandered on, and, though he heard the tread 
 Of arm-clad sentinel, slow o'er his head 
 Pace the rough battlements, he still drew near 
 The lofty towers, defied the threats of fear, 
 Though foes were nigh, though in that Castle lay 
 A host of warriors in their brave array. 
 Oh ! Seward deemed that where his Helen fair 
 Dwelt in her beauty, safety must be there ! 
 He marked the Warder on the turret's height, 
 And heard him pass the watch-word of the night; 
 Near where he paused a spacious tower arose, 
 Its lengthened shadow veiled him from his foes : 
 And were they foes who on its summit high 
 Moved 'ncath the radiance of the moon-lit sky ? 
 His eye beheld a slender form — and now 
 Another came, with lofty, thoughtful brow :
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGIIAM. 69 
 
 There Helen stood, and there her brother's skill 
 Drew from his harp rich tones, that well might thrill 
 The enchanted ear, as rose their mellow flow 
 Soft as the murmuring of the Ore below, 
 While Aleyn's soul felt all a Bard's delight, 
 And tuneful, breathed his plaintive hymn to Night. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Night ! — thy glittering gems, so fair, 
 
 Are smiling mild, and bright above us ! 
 
 Thought forsakes the world of care, 
 
 And fondly flies to those who love us ! 
 
 Solemn Night! — to thee belong 
 
 The holiest spells of the Poet's song ! 
 
 II. 
 
 In thy deep, calm, and silent hour 
 
 Springs the soul on heaven -ward pinion, 
 
 Aloft, to boundless worlds of power, 
 Far above proud man's dominion ; 
 
 Worlds, to which his strength, his thought, 
 
 Hopes, fears, and passions are as nought !
 
 70 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 III. 
 
 Night ! thy planetary host 
 
 Sail on thy bine ethereal ocean, 
 Like barques upon a rockless coast, 
 
 Gliding with unruffled motion ! 
 Led by one unerring might, 
 Wisdom of the realms of light ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Grand is Night's unheeded time ! 
 
 Sons of Earth! — awake from slumber! 
 Mark the trackless orbs, sublime, 
 
 Bright without chauge, or end, or number ! 
 Types of a page which, if we scan, 
 How great is God ! — how weak is Man ! 
 
 V. 
 
 And when thick darkness spreads her wings 
 O'er heaven, and land, and sea, appalling, 
 
 Wraps in deep gloom all earthly things, 
 
 As though the angry skies were falling ! 
 
 Awe-struck, the soul then owns the might 
 
 Of power unseen — the infinite !
 
 CANTO II. FRAMLINGHAM. 71 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh ! thou, who spread'st the lofty sky ! 
 
 Of whom each star the wisdom telleth, 
 When Night reveals the worlds on high, 
 
 Above whose track thy glory dwelleth ! 
 Oh ! guide us by thy hallowed light, 
 Our sun by day — om* lamp by night ! " 
 
 Thus ceased the hymn, and Seward marked the pair, 
 The gentle Minstrel, and his Sister fair, 
 Together gazing on the heavenly dome, 
 Splendent with stars, as though their spirits' home 
 Was far above those orbs ! — at that pme sight, 
 So sweetly touching in the dead of night, 
 Soothed by the tone of Aleyn's vocal strain, 
 Brave Seward owned how futile and how vain 
 Are the world's pageantries, its hopes, its fears, 
 Its wealthiest gauds, its glories and its tears ! 
 And, as he saw their slender figures glide 
 Along the battlements, he deeply sighed, 
 Fain would have spoken, but his heart beat fast, 
 Too full for words ! — the present, and the past,
 
 72 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO II. 
 
 The hidden future, and his own dark fate, 
 
 The love he cherished, Tyrell's lasting hate, 
 
 The doubtful cause of Lady Jane, the feud 
 
 In church and state, and foes yet unsubdued — 
 
 These thoughts oppressed his soul, as turning slow 
 
 He left the mount, and through the vale below 
 
 In sadness mused, until he reached again 
 
 The hazel copse-wood, and his waking train ; 
 
 With them he longed to view the eventful morrow, 
 
 Hope warmed his heart, though not unchilled by sorrow 
 
 And beauteous Helen ! — had she known that near 
 Breathed one so treasured in her heart, so dear, 
 Oh ! had she known, when gazing on the sky, 
 That Seward marked her fixed, admiring eye, 
 That eye had left the brilliant worlds above, 
 And trembling, turned to seek its earthly love !
 
 FRAMLINGHAM: 
 
 A NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 CANTO THIRD.
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Dim Night had waned — the mom's empyreal blush 
 Spread o'er the brightening wave, whose joyous gush 
 Seemed to give welcome to that cheering ray, 
 That smihng herald of awakening day ! 
 Beside his train stood Seward, when the sound 
 Of Hastings' trumpet in the woods aroimd 
 Called up the blithsome echoes, which the high 
 Aspiring towers, and hills, in mockery
 
 76 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Cast back o'er vale, and stream, and hollow glen, 
 While rose the shout — " Up ! up, my gallant men !" 
 Thus Seward spoke, and led them in their power, 
 Rapid and bold to sieze the northern tower ; 
 While Hastings turned, and up the Castle-hill 
 He urged his band with more of haste than skill. 
 " Quick ! to the drawbridge ! foot and horse ! — away ! 
 Bound up the steep, nor at the moat delay, 
 Rush through the portal !" — Fast the warriors sped 
 In wild disorder, more like men who fled 
 Than martial bands, who bravely strove to win 
 The strong-armed walls from stronger foes within. 
 Seward beheld, and marvelled at the sight, 
 Still led his train with caution up the height, 
 Proclaimed his wishes, his commands to all, 
 Where to attack, and where to scale the wall, 
 When, as the thunder bursts the rending cloud, 
 So startling, sudden, awful, and so loud 
 Rose mingling shouts of triumph, quickly sent 
 From crowded tower, and arch, and battlement, 
 As Hastings rushed with his tumultuous train, 
 And nassed the portal, while the rattling chain
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 77 
 
 And whirling pullies of the drawbridge, vast, 
 
 The huge portcullis now descending fast, 
 
 And one repeated yell of triumph, told 
 
 The price of treachery — the curse of gold 1; ! 
 
 Bold Seward heard the deafening shout amazed, 
 
 Paused with his troop, and on the ramparts gazed, 
 
 Beheld false Hastings on the summit stand, 
 
 His white plumes mixed with those of Schemyng's band 
 
 There proud he stood, on that eventful morn, 
 
 And smiled on Seward, but he smiled in scorn ! 
 
 And Tyrell there, with dark and haughty frown, 
 
 Gazed with stem eye in strong derision down ! 
 
 Then swelled the blood in Seward's veins, his ire 
 
 Indignant, darted from his eye of fire, 
 
 While in his high disdain he loud defied 
 
 The son of treachery in his noble pride. 
 
 " Hastings ! descend ! — thou Judas of the field ! 
 
 Leprous of heart, descend ! and nought can shield 
 
 Thy recreant life ! base renegade ! descend ! 
 
 Thine arm is strong, and let its might defend 
 
 Thy worthless dust ! and let our cause be tried 
 
 By us alone ! a mean polluted tide
 
 78 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Of blood creeps in thy veins ! thou art the first 
 
 Dark traitor to our cause ! thy name, accurst, 
 
 Will poison lips that breathe it ! — caitiff! now 
 
 A mark as vile as Cain's is on thy brow ; 
 
 Dar'st thou not meet me, Hastings ! — Coward ! — Slave ! 
 
 Then live despised ! and, when thou die, thy grave 
 
 Good men will point at, and in bitter scorn 
 
 Tell of thy shame to warriors yet unborn !" 
 
 He ceased, while fiercely as a torrent gushing 
 Down mountain steeps, so from the Castle rushing 
 Came sword and bow-men, and brave Sulliard there 
 Darted, as flies the eagle's wing through air, 
 So quick they came that Seward scarce could wheel 
 His fiery steed, or rear his quivering steel, 
 Marshall his band, or cry " Stand firm /" ere rose 
 The clang of arms, the reckless strife of foes ! 
 Short was that strife but desperate, valour grew 
 Strong in the bosoms of the gallant few 
 Against the many ! Seward's men withstood 
 The waves and breakers of the battle-flood
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 70 
 
 Like rocks unmoved, amid the stormy main, 
 
 And still they strove undaunted to maintain 
 
 The unequal fight, till from the lofty towers 
 
 Keen and incessant fell destructive showers 
 
 Of murderous arrows : — from the walls on high 
 
 To shouts below, the hoarse artillery 
 
 Replied in thunder, while the whizzing ball 
 
 Bore in its course an edict for the fall 
 
 Of human hope and life ! then Death began 
 
 To laugh contemptuous, at the feuds of man ! 
 
 On Seward pressed, still unsubdued by fear, 
 
 Till, at his side, his struggling Halberdier 
 
 Fell dead ! — then first his wavering band gave way, 
 
 Pursued by foes who reared their swords to slay ! 
 
 Down the rough steep they rushed, and strove to gain 
 
 The narrow pass between the lake and plain, 
 
 Foiled in this hope, some madly plunged, to feel 
 
 A death less painful than by mangling steel, 
 
 And found it not ! the gory hand of slaughter, 
 
 E'en reached them there, till that once placid water, 
 
 Crimsoned with blood, ran murmuring to the sea, 
 
 Reproaching man, and man's ferocity !
 
 80 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Yet Seward fled not, turned not, but his strength 
 Failed in his arm, his spirit sank at length, 
 Hurled from his steed upon the ground he lay 
 Mocked at by men whom he had held at bay ; 
 Tyrell stood there, and o'er him sternly bent, 
 His mind enraged, on dark revenge intent, 
 And, as he spoke, fire darted from his eye, 
 The lurid lightning of a stormy sky ! 
 " Ha ! Seward still imconquered ! striving still 
 Against thy fate ! — the coming hour will fill 
 Its bitterest chalice ! — bind him fast ! the cord 
 Will grace those hands so active with the sword f 
 Bear him away ! — the heretic may know 
 That hate is sure, though justice may be slow ! 
 The dungeon's gloom will suit his musings well — 
 There let him dream of heaven — but taste of hell !" 
 
 Degraded, bound, they bore him from the earth 
 With taunting shouts, and scornful jests of mirth, 
 When from the portal of the Castle rushed 
 Young Aleyn forth — their mockeries were hushed
 
 CANTO III. FRAML1NGHAM. 81 
 
 When men beheld the Minstrel's lordly air, 
 Wildness of look, and glittering dagger, bare 
 Raised in his hand, while glowed his reddening cheek, 
 And lowered his brow, as first he paused to speak. 
 " Bear not the wretch within our walls ! — his name 
 Linked with reproach, and thus debased by shame, 
 Will taint our darkest, vilest dungeon-cave ! 
 Here gleams a dagger for that fallen slave ! 
 Stay ! — stay !" — the train obedient, on the ground 
 Hurled in disdain the struggling Seward, bound. 
 Quick flashed the dagger o'er him as he lay, 
 While Aleyn stood as though in act to slay, 
 He dexterous plunged its point, which sudden passed 
 Through crackling cords that held the captive fast ! 
 And quick sprang Seward on his agile feet, 
 And Aleyn whispered — " Fly ! — as roe-buck fleet, 
 Fly for thy life !" — With bold and ardent speed, 
 Rushed dauntless Seward, gained his noble steed, 
 Leaped on his seat, and o'er his courser's mane 
 Bent with high beating heart, and slackened rein, 
 While his good steed now bounded fast, and far, 
 Swift as the transit of a shooting star ! 
 
 M
 
 82 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Loud rose the shout, the cry of hot pursuit, 
 Till not one tongue in Echo's train was mute, 
 Hill, wood, and dale sent back the mingling cry, 
 Rolled the wild tumult to the answering sky, 
 While foot and horse-men quick pursued, in vain 
 Dashed heel and hoof along the thundering plain ! 
 Brave Seward sped, as darts the eagle fast 
 Borne on the red-wing of the stormy blast ! 
 
 The beauteous Helen from her latticed tower 
 Watched through the danger of that trying hour, 
 Fear chilled her heart as in the unequal strife 
 Her Seward fought for glory and for life, 
 And, when she marked him rushing from his foes, 
 Hope's lucid day-spring in her bosom rose ; 
 But when his form was fading from her sight 
 Though he was safe, a dark desponding night 
 Closed o'er her soul, as though her future years 
 Robbed of their sun-shine must depart in tears ! 
 
 Seward had vanished — Helen gazed no more : 
 Now turned her thought to memory's hallowed store,
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 83 
 
 To draw sweet solace from its golden shrine, 
 Though far away the jewel of its mine ! 
 Oh ! when the heart first warmed by passion, dwells 
 On joys gone by, the past with quickening spells 
 Steals o'er the soul, like music's sweetest tone, 
 Reme bered still, although its sounds are gone ! 
 
 The short, vain struggle for the crown was o'er, 
 The friends of Jane could raise her crest no more, 
 And she, a lonely captive in the Tower, 
 Lived to bewail the unpropitious hour 
 When, urged, and tempted by her lofty sire, 
 Her heart first kindled with ambition's fire. 
 Dark fatal hour ! with thee time's specious wing 
 Brought the bee's honey with the serpent's sting ! 
 False hope ! thy light but dazzled human eyes, 
 Enchanted, blinded by thy flatteries ! 
 Yet Jane, whose soul was dignified as brave, 
 Wore not the chains that gall ambition's slave, 
 With joyful ease, apart from worldly pride, 
 She cast the baubles of the crown aside !
 
 84 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 And close within her prison-walls immured, 
 
 Vain hopes indulged, and gloomy fears endured, 
 
 She mused, to greatness gave no longing sigh, 
 
 Humbled her soul, and nobly learned to die ! 
 
 And there the partner of her joy, her grief, 
 
 Mourned o'er the remnant of his days, how brief ! 
 
 And there Northumberland to dreary Avails 
 
 Bewailed the misery of a cause that falls ! 
 
 While some from dread, captivity, and pain, 
 
 Released by Mary, blessed the light again. 
 
 The gallant Norfolk to his wealth restored, 
 
 Again the Castle holds its rightful Lord, 
 
 And gladdened Framlinghame its joyance tells 
 
 By feast and revel, while her jocund bells 
 
 Proclaim to village and to hamlet round, 
 
 The dead alive ! — the hopeless lost-one found ! 18 
 
 Loud rang their welcome to brave Howard free, 
 
 Duke ! a new birth of happiness to thee ! 
 
 But Norfolk soon absorbed in wilder life, 
 
 'Mid the proud world, its passions and its strife, 
 
 'Mid courts and camps, intrigues for place and power, 
 
 Pursued the splendours of the changing hour,
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 85 
 
 That shone so bright, ineffable, and high, 
 Like rainbow hues that dazzle, and then die ! 
 
 And Schemyng still, the virtuous and the bold, 
 Retained his trust within the Castle old, 
 And there the lovely Helen dwelt, retired, 
 With friends beloved, in woodland scenes admired ; 
 With these, a Father, and a Brother blest, 
 Could aught disturb her tranquil bosom's rest ? 
 Can sweeter flowers adorn the beauteous earth 
 Than those which grace the garden of our birth ? 
 Oh ! there are feelings which expand, entwine 
 Around the soul, so ardent, so divine, 
 Shed blighter charms on all below, above, 
 On earth, sea, sky, the ennobling glow of love ! 
 And Helen's soul oft wandered o'er the clime 
 Of boundless thought, unchained by place or time, 
 Then mused on him whose absence from her sight 
 Left on her hours a desolating blight ; 
 The joy, the solace of her happier day 
 With Seward fled, and he was far away ;
 
 86 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 So the bright sun, though distant be his power, 
 Steals the sweet perfume froni the drooping flower ! 
 
 And where was Seward ? — in his heart had died 
 Fond hopes, the patriot's glory and his pride : 
 His foes had triumphed ! he must learn that rare 
 And hardest lesson of Man's life — to bear ! 
 His cause had fallen ! o'er the subject land 
 Dire persecution hurled her fiery brand, 
 Brave men had perished for their conscience' sake, 
 Death loosed his fiends at scaffold and at stake. 
 And Seward, now denounced, the arm of might 
 Outstretched to grapple him, by day, by night, 
 No rest, no safety, when the morn was young, 
 At noon, at eve, when darkness o'er him hung, 
 His blood was coveted — his doom was sealed 
 By bigot-hearts, with raging fury steeled. 
 And there was one, who sternly vowed to seek 
 The hapless fugitive, to find, to wreak 
 His certain vengeance for the past, which brought 
 Envy, and hate, and malice to his thought,
 
 CANTO III. FEAMLINGHAM. 87 
 
 And, as the blood-hound, cautious, yet severe, 
 
 Hunts his sure victim in his wide career, 
 
 So reckless Tyrell in his ire pursued 
 
 Bold Seward tireless, in deep solitude, 
 
 In crowded cities, 'mid the haunts of men, 
 
 O'er mountain steeps, through tangled wood and glen, 
 
 Both far and near, at earliest dawn and late, 
 
 So fierce is bigotry — so strong is hate ! 
 
 The sun departed, and the twilight hour 
 Had left dim shadows o'er the winding Stour, 
 Whose limpid waters 'neath the stars' soft light 
 Ran swift, rejoicing in the calm of night, 
 Threading the hills, and plains, and vales among, 
 While the woods echoed to the night-bird's song. 
 Close by a copse, near which the stream forsook 
 A jutting headland, in a lonely nook 
 Sheltered by trees, lay Seward on the ground, 
 Exhausted, wrapped in needful sleep profound — 
 Beside him grazed his steed, and o'er his sleep 
 Watched one, whose eye was too intent to weep :
 
 88 FRAMLIXGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Her hand passed o'er his fevered brow — her breast 
 Heaved slow and painfully, with sighs suppressed, 
 As though she dreaded that her lightest breath 
 Would mar that sleep's similitude to death. 
 And long she watched, until the moon's last ray 
 Behind the hills sank leisurely away, 
 Then to her heart she gently pressed his hand, 
 Spoke in low tones as soothing, and as bland 
 As summer breezes — " Seward ! dear ! awake ! 
 Now all is still ! — the leafy wood, the brake, 
 And the deep Stour is silent ! — Seward ! — rise I" 
 He deeply sighed, unclosed his languid eyes, 
 And gazed on her whose voice had often blest, 
 And lulled his happier childhood into rest, 
 Gazed on his Mother ! — She was worn by age, 
 Care her companion in life's pilgrimage ; 
 But care and sorrow could not damp that zeal 
 Tender, intense, a parent's heart will feel, 
 When droops her child assailed by fearful ill, 
 Strong is her soul, her love untiring still !
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 89 
 
 " Seward ! the hour is come ! the boat is near, 
 Moored in the stream — no sentry-stars appear, 
 Haste to the oar ! — I know it hard to part 
 From scenes long prized, long cherished in the heart, 
 Where cliildhood, youth, and riper manhood proved 
 Repeated joys, and friends yet dearly loved; 
 But thou must go ! — abroad the searchers roam, 
 Safety no longer meets thee in our home ; 
 On GallitCs shore thou may'st a refuge find, 
 Deep though the wave be, gentle is the wind : 
 Thy pale lip quivers, but the rolling wave 
 Daunts not my Son !" — " No, Mother, no ! — a grave 
 In the dark sea would give the wearied rest ! 
 But thou ? — when I am gone — by ills depressed, 
 By scorn, by poverty assailed, undone, 
 Reviled, and taunted for thy exiled Son, 
 Thy last sad days all cheerless from neglect, 
 And none beside thee to console, protect ; 
 This thought is madness 1" — as he spoke, his eye 
 Turned on his Mother tenderly — " Oh ! fly ! 
 My gallant Son ! and in this hour bestow 
 No thought on me \ — the boat lies moored below, 
 
 N
 
 90 FRAMLINGHAM. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Haste ! and God bless thee !" — Seward quick obeyed, 
 
 And softly darted through the woodland shade, 
 
 He reached the boat, but ere he grasped the oar, 
 
 With anxious gaze his filial eye once more 
 
 Sought for his Mother's form : — she lowly knelt 
 
 On the green sward in prayer, her spirit felt 
 
 This last bereavement snap the only tie, 
 
 That bound her widowed heart to earth — to die 
 
 Lonely in grief, was all now left to one 
 
 Whose life was darkened, whose declining sun 
 
 Must set o'er-shadowed by thick clouds of gloom : 
 
 Where beamed her hope ? beyond the rayless tomb ! 
 
 Search the long annals of proud Rome and Greece, 
 The tomes of war, the chronicles of peace, 
 Ransack the old and modern rolls of fame 
 To fix the brightest splendour on a name, 
 The name above all earthly names is — Mother! 
 Tone of the heart! where shall we find another 
 So full of tenderness, so sweet, so dear, 
 That breathes such hallowed music to the ear
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 91 
 
 As Mother ! — dark the wayward heart must be 
 That vibrates not, endearing word ! to thee ! 
 
 Down the clear Stour plied Seward to the main, 
 The wind breathed rough upon the liquid plain, 
 Blustering and rude, till ocean's spirit grew 
 Impatient, troubled at the gale that blew, 
 While swelled her heaving bosom, and her roar 
 Of loud defiance, spread from shore to shore ; 
 The gathering billows, high, tumultuous, strong, 
 Reared their white heads, and proudly rolled along; 
 And Seward dared not in that rising gale 
 Forsake the shore, nor hoist his little sail. 
 To brave the sea were death — to seek the land, 
 There danger threatened fiom the Papist's hand; 
 He steered not fiom the cliffr, resolved to stay 
 Till wind and wave grew calmer in the bay. 
 His boat had gained a winding point, where gushed 
 A river to the sea, its waters rushed 
 To join the ocean, as though pleased to gain 
 A home of freedom in the chainless main !
 
 92 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Seward beheld that sportive river's flow, 
 Fair hills above, and smiling vales below : 
 He marked a tower, whose broken summit grey, 
 Proclaimed that time had swept its pride away, 
 The tower of Orford — Bigod's seat of yore. 
 He viewed the river — knew the wandering Ore ; 
 To him that stream was a delight, it came 
 With music to his ear, for Helen's name 
 Had oft been heard upon its flowery banks ; 
 The rich man's praises, and the peasant's thanks 
 Arose in grateful unison, to give 
 Virtue its meed, and bid its glory live ! 
 
 The evening came, and o'er the eastern hill 
 Slow rose the moon, the gale increasing still, 
 And Seward gazed upon the mountain wave, 
 Nor ventured there, although his heart was brave, 
 While softer thoughts were rising in his soul, 
 And brighter hopes too ardent to controul ; 
 These dwelt on Helen — Oh ! once more to tell 
 His love unchanged — its light unchangeable —
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 93 
 
 Once more to view the grace and beauty given 
 
 To her loved form, a spotless gem from heaven, 
 
 Again to see his Helen, and to hear 
 
 Her gentle voice dispel the lover's fear ; 
 
 'Twere bliss to meet ! and, should it bring his last 
 
 And sad " farewell," yet the embittered past 
 
 In love's assurance lost, could raise no sigh, 
 
 Lone, exiled, blighted, he could calmly die ! 
 
 As thus he mused, the river met his sight, 
 
 On that was safety in the hour of night, 
 
 And Schemyng's Castle rose not distant far : 
 
 Leagues are not miles to lovers — moon and star 
 
 Would light him there, and fast his boat would glide 
 
 Along the stream, and when the ocean -tide 
 
 From tumult ceased, he might return, and flee, 
 
 Though frail his bark, beyond the trackless sea. 
 
 He paused no longer — past the jutting cliff 
 With eager hands he rowed his little skiff; 
 His soul still lulled in one delicious dream, 
 He spread his sail, and up the limpid stream
 
 94 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 His light boat swiftly darted, for the hoarse 
 
 Imperious gale impelled him on his course. 
 
 Fearless he sailed, mitil the early dawn 
 
 Proclaimed the brightening advent of the morn ; 
 
 And, as the day -light spread, his eye descried 
 
 Two horsemen, winding round the green hill's side, 
 
 They crossed the vale, and by the upland ridge 
 
 Spurred their swift coursers to the rustic bridge 
 
 That spanned the stream, while Seward viewed with fear 
 
 Their fast approach — perchance his foes were near — 
 
 He struck his sail, and quick beneath the arch 
 
 Impelled his boat — thick alder and high larch 
 
 Hung round the bridge, and formed a clustering screen, 
 
 Where Seward hid, and listening stood unseen. 
 
 The horsemen checked their course, and leaped to earth, 
 
 Slackened the curb, and loosed the saddle girth, 
 
 And breathed their steeds beside the shady creek. 
 
 They paused awhile — then Seward heard them speak, 
 
 Fear chilled his blood, as on his quick ear came 
 
 Bold Tyrell's voice ! — " I pledge my knightly fame 
 
 In troth, Sir Sheriff, that my hawk to-day, 
 
 First in the field, shall bear the prize away !
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 05 
 
 From Schemyng's Castle, when the sun arise, 
 Warms the damp earth, and clears the misty skies, 
 With hawk and hound will ride a gallant train, 
 Knights, Squires, and Dames o'er breezy hill and plain. 
 Tell me, brave Shelton 19 ! hast thou seen the fair 
 Young merlin of the Castle ? — dwells not there 
 The loveliest form ? the most attractive face ? 
 In sooth the game is fairly worth the chase ! 
 To-day will Helen join the sporting throng, 
 And, though I breathe no subtle Poet's song, 
 My voice shall gain her ear —a woman's heart, 
 E'en wronged, and wounded, may be soothed by art ! 
 Shelton ! what spells are in our flattering sighs ! 
 What mighty magic in our amorous lies !" — 
 Thus Tyrell scornful spake, while long and loud 
 He laughed exulting : — Seward's heart swelled proud, 
 And o'er his cheek the hue of anger spread, 
 Then left it stern, and pallid as the dead ; 
 He rose, infuriate, on the gunwale's ring 
 Pressed his firm foot in reckless haste, to spring 
 Swift on the rising bank, but prudence gave 
 A check to passion : as the threatening wave
 
 96 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Assails the shore, and then in sullen pride 
 Retires, low murmuring, to the hidden tide, 
 So daring Seward slow withdrew, his breast 
 Still wildly heaving with its rage repressed. 
 
 Then Shelton spoke, and as he spoke, he smiled. 
 " Doubtless, brave Tyrell, hearts have been beguiled 
 By thy bold flattering tongue ! — but tush ! Sir Knight ! 
 Lives not another, Helen's sole delight ? 
 That censured heretic — does Seward still 
 Elude thy vigilance ? evade thy skill ? " 
 As spoke the Sheriff, Tyrell's eye-balls flashed, 
 Harsh on his sword his ready hand was dashed: 
 His courser stalled at the sudden clang, 
 And dauntless Tyrell on his saddle sprang, 
 And high, and proudly on his stirrup rose, 
 Grasping the hilt, as though he menaced foes ; 
 " Why sleeps my sword ! — my task is yet undone, 
 My purpose baffled, but I will not shun 
 Peril, nor pain, to bring that slave to shame, 
 Rebel ! and stigma to my loyal name !
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 97 
 
 And heard'st thou not that he had sought the wave 
 At midnight hour ? — perchance he sought his grave ! 
 No more ! though Tyrell joins the chase to-day, 
 Vengeance will come ! — to Schemyng's hall away !" 
 
 He ceased, and quickly from that spot their steeds 
 Impatient, bounded o'er the summer meads ; 
 While Seward's heart, with all a lover's fear 
 Sank in his breast — no consolation near, 
 No voice to soothe his wounded soul from man, 
 To pom* the balm no good Samaritan. 
 And, while the sim illumed the orient sky, 
 Still roared the sea, and still the wind was high, 
 Foes might detect should Seward now retrace 
 The river's course, or from that lonely place 
 Approach the Castle, till the twilight shade 
 Should throw its veil o'er dusky hill and glade. 
 " Oh ! the sun's lovely light !" he cried, his " beam 
 On other eyes a flood of joy may stream, 
 To me it yields despair, and doubt, and dread, 
 And seems to flash like lightning round my head ! 
 
 o
 
 1)8 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 To me the morn no early solace gives, 
 
 The eve no peace, the night no hope, that lives 
 
 To promise bliss, which in exhaustless pain 
 
 My heart hath sought, and seeks, alas ! in vain ! " 
 
 Before the gust had fled the clouds of morn, 
 The sun had drunk the dew-drops from the thorn, 
 And brightly smiled, as on his heavenly way 
 He scattered light and glory on the day. 
 And Seward heard upon the coming gale 
 Rich mellow sounds, from echoing hill and vale, 
 The hunters' halloo, and the cry of hound 
 Rang in the slopes, and in the woods around. 
 These in his close retreat he heard, and far 
 Through fleecy clouds, as shoots a quivering star, 
 He marked the hawk pursue the quarry high, 
 His glimmering wings athwart the azure sky 
 Fluttered in light, while from the earth away, 
 Rose cheering shouts to urge him on his prey. 
 The jocund sounds to Seward's heart gave pain, 
 Remembered joys he might not know again
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 99 
 
 Pressed on his thought : — alas ! the sounds that give 
 Joy to the happy, bid their rapture live, 
 Strike dull and mournful, in their merry tone, 
 On sorrowing hearts, whose melody is gone ! 
 
 He listens still — and hark! a rushing sound 
 Arrests his ear, as from the shaken ground 
 It comes far off, unceasing, strong, and fleet ; 
 He hears the bounding of a courser's feet, 
 Impetuous, swift, and, as they drew more near, 
 Wild on the gale arose a shriek of fear, 
 So loud, so piercing, that its echoes rang 
 Shrill o'er the vale, as wondering Seward sprang 
 Quick on the margin of the stream, while still 
 The fearful soimds rose o'er the answering hill, 
 And down the steep, and through the valley fast 
 A steed affrighted rushed — the trackless blast 
 That posts with lightning in the roaring storm, 
 Not swifter flies ! Oh ! Seward knew that form, 
 Which trembling bent above the saddle-bow, 
 He knew his Helen — not the falling snow
 
 100 FEAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Is whiter, colder, than her death-like cheek ! 
 
 No more arose her loud, terrific shriek, 
 
 So fast her courser left the hills behind, 
 
 So wildly rushed against the blustering wind, 
 
 That soon her breath, made captive, and repressed, 
 
 In fluttering anguish left her panting breast ! 
 
 Her hair streamed darkly on the wind, her steed 
 
 Came bounding, foaming, maddening in his speed, 
 
 Alarmed, regardless of his rugged track, 
 
 Of hill, or hollow, tightened rein, or slack, 
 
 Unchecked he sped, nor did he heed, nor shrink, 
 
 Though near his course the shelving river's brink 
 
 Hung o'er the stream, where wild, and wide, and deep 
 
 It rapid whirled beside a cragged steep : 
 
 Then Seward's cheek turned pale — he marked the course 
 
 The steed pursued, resistless in his force, 
 
 Beheld his wild dilated eye-balls flash, 
 
 And saw him, desperate in his fury, dash 
 
 Down the rough steep, and heard his labouring breath 
 
 Huff like a Lion's in the pangs of death ! 
 
 He sprang, he leaped sheer o'er the rising bank ! 
 
 Whelmed in the stream both horse and rider sank!
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 101 
 
 And then was heard the loud and awful groan 
 
 Wrung from the courser, and the fainter moan 
 
 From Helen's lips, pale, quivering in the strife 
 
 Of breathless agony, of failing life. 
 
 Amid the stream where all exhausted lay 
 
 The steed, encumbered with his trappings gay, 
 
 Bokl Seward plunged — hope triumphed over fear, 
 
 And Helen's robe was lightly floating near, 
 
 But, as he grasped its folds to save the maid, 
 
 The courser, stung by sudden rage, essayed 
 
 Once more to gain the river's lofty brink, 
 
 He struggling foamed, and reeled, they sink ! they sink ! 
 
 Warrior, and horse, and lady in the flood 
 
 Together plunged ! there fast the gushing blood 
 
 Flowed from the wounded steed — sharp jutting stones 
 
 Had pierced his flesh, then rose his stifling groans, 
 
 His hot breath bubbling froni the river's bed, 
 
 Where soon he lay, cold, nerveless, silent, dead ! 
 
 Seward at length prevailed — Oh joy ' to save 
 His own beloved-one from a timeless grave !
 
 102 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO 111. 
 
 His strong arm bore her to a verdant spot, 
 
 His fate, his peril Seward heeded not ! 
 
 No ! Helen's life was more to him than all 
 
 That e'er befel him, or could e'er befall. 
 
 Faint on his ami the shuddering maiden lay, 
 
 Still o'er her soul oblivion held its sway ; 
 
 Her breath returned not yet — her rayless eye 
 
 Was closed in darkness, till a heaving sigh 
 
 Rose from her bosom, panting to be free, 
 
 Death fled, and Life proclaimed her victory ! 
 
 Her pale lips trembled, as the quivering light 
 
 Beamed 'neath her lids, and chased her mental night, 
 
 Slowly her soul's returning powers awoke ; 
 
 With sweet, soft voice, in faltering tones she spoke — 
 
 " Is this my Father ? — am I near our home ? 
 
 Where stays dear Aleyn ? — come, my Father ! come. 
 
 Oh ! bear me gently to the Castle-hall — 
 
 What binds thy tongue in this untimely thrall ? 
 
 Speak to me, Father ! — ever kindest, speak !" 
 
 " Helen ! dear Helen ! " — at that voice her cheek 
 
 Glowed, brightly kindling with the blood that gushed 
 
 Warm from her heart, and deeply thrilling, rushed
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 103 
 
 Through all her veins, imparting life, which brought 
 
 Joy, grief, delight, and torture to her thought ! 
 
 Oh ! it was bliss to hear that voice again, 
 
 And would the music of its tone remain 
 
 To charm her soul in joy — to soothe in woe ? 
 
 Hope whispered, Yes ! — fear sternly answered, No ! 
 
 In rapture Seward gazed upon her face, 
 Fair, bright, ineffable, with beauty's grace, 
 'Twere bliss to die thus gazing on her charms, 
 Life's only treasure in his circling arms, 
 His errors past repented, and forgiven, 
 Earth's darkness scattered by the light of heaven ! 
 Why needs the progress of my verse relate 
 Their tender vows — their pledge inviolate ? 
 Their gentle words, and looks of love, and sighs ? 
 Their transport, beaming from delighted eyes ? 
 Enough to tell that, in their bosoms glowed 
 The warmth that first and rapturous love bestowed ; 
 Enough that this had bound them heart to heart, 
 To tell they met — and met alas ! to part !
 
 104 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 They heard the sound of rapid hoofs, while near 
 Their coursers spurring, and impelled by fear 
 Came youthful Aleyn and his Sire — their dread 
 Changed to delight, and dark forebodings fled 
 When Helen's voice was heard, but soon, amazed, 
 Mute with surprise, on Seward's form they gazed 
 As firm he stood, and told with modest mien, 
 And joy unfeigned, that he had strangely been 
 The humble agent of mysterious power 
 To rescue Helen in that happy hour ! 
 " Brave boy !" cried Schemyng — but his heart denied 
 His tongue to utter all his words implied, 
 His lips were dumb with joy ! — its strength appears 
 In struggling sighs, in quickly-gushing tears ! 
 But Aleyn's ardour was not thus subdued, 
 O'erflowed bis heart's unbounded gratitude, 
 While a sad presage of the future came 
 To darken hope, to quench its cheering flame. 
 " My friend ! my more than brother ! Seward ! fly ! 
 Quick ! mount my steed ! and stay not here to die ! 
 Danger is near ! our warrant to detain 
 Thy person, Seward, cannot long be vain,
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 105 
 
 A short delay and thou art lost ! behold ! 
 
 O'er yonder hill rides Tyrell, fleet and bold ! 
 
 And see ! the hunting train is near ! — away ! 
 
 Gaze not on Helen !" Oh ! he dared not stay! 
 
 He pressed the fair one's hand — though sweet her smile, 
 
 Sorrow was mingled with its light the while ! 
 
 He sprang on Aleyn's noble steed, and plied 
 
 The spur, for safety and for life to ride. 
 
 Beside the stream awhile he swiftly sped, 
 
 Then down a steep that to the valley led 
 
 He rushed impetuous as the blast that flies 
 
 Across the desert, when the Arab dies 
 
 Scorched by its breath ! — And, as from Helen's sight 
 
 He sudden passed, a dark and cheerless night 
 
 Of desolation, where dread tempests roll, 
 
 Obscured the gladdening sunshine of her soul ! 
 
 The eve had closed, and night descended dark 
 O'er the thick foliage of that spacious park, 
 Where towered gigantic many a stately oak, 
 Birch, plane, and lime, fair garniture of Stoke 2rt . 
 
 p
 
 IOC FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Amid the trees a lofty mansion peered, 
 
 Of antique form, in earlier ages reared ; 
 
 Near that lone spot stood Seward by the steed, 
 
 His truest friend in this, his time of need, 
 
 One hand was resting on his saddle-bow, 
 
 And one was pressed upon his throbbing brow, 
 
 There stood the homeless ! and his heart beat high, 
 
 No peace was his beneath the smiling sky, 
 
 Night was his patron ! and the light of day 
 
 His surest foe ! — his solace far away ! 
 
 He stood in lonely sorrow, for the mom 
 
 Must find him still an outcast, and forlorn ! 
 
 Ah ! whither could he fly ? — what trackless spot 
 
 Where man, and man's vindictive pride were not r 
 
 Foiled in his aim to cross the stormy wave, 
 
 What place could shield him, or what distance save ? 
 
 In one tine heart he gladly might confide, 
 
 Deai - , dearer far than all the world beside, 
 
 And notv, when misery's blight came o'er his fate, 
 
 And life was dark, and chilled, and desolate, 
 
 To know that heart still true, this fond belief, 
 
 Derided fear, and smoothed the edge of grief!
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 107 
 
 As thus he musing stood, his eager sight 
 Beheld the glimmering of a fitful light, 
 Seen through the foliage of the waving trees, 
 As bent their boughs in homage to the breeze. 
 The steed secured, with wary eye and tread 
 He passed the wood-bowers clustering o'er his head, 
 And sought the ruddy light — before his view 
 Rose a tall figure, at its death-like hue 
 Lone Seward started — in its giant hand 
 A taper flared, and from its iron band 
 Hung a huge cross, and Roman emblems quaint 
 Proclaimed the papal image of a Saint. 
 Quick rushed the blood to Seward's cheek — his eye 
 Turned from that emblem of idolatry, 
 For so he deemed it, and despised the weak 
 And erring creed, which falsely taught to seek 
 For grace and pardon through a lifeless block 
 Hewn by man's chisel from the yielding rock ! 
 Fired by these thoughts he quickly sprang, and caught 
 The statue's arm — with one strong effort brought, 
 Image and pedestal to earth, where crushed 
 Rolled the huge fragments ! — suddenly there rushed
 
 108 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 From 'neath dark shadowing boughs, armed men, whose swords 
 
 Gleamed around Seward, while impatient words 
 
 Of rage and scorn,' which now assailed his ear 
 
 In hurried tones, proclaimed that foes were near : 
 
 One voice he heard far deeper than the rest, 
 
 Nor had he need to ask for Tyrell's crest ! 
 
 He saw his proudest, bitterest foe was nigh ; 
 
 Out flashed his sword — he would not tamely die ! 
 
 Vain rage ! by darkness compassed round, by bold 
 
 Strong men, made desperate by the hue of gold, 
 
 His skill availed not, though his heart was brave, 
 
 Ten thrusts were given to one his valour gave ; 
 
 Disarmed he sank, and o'er him Tyrell bent, 
 
 With smile of mockery, and with stern intent, 
 
 Scowled on the fallen with indignant ire, 
 
 His voice spoke thunder, and his eyes gleamed tire ! 
 
 " Ensnared at last ! — this horn* to me is more 
 
 Than listless thousands which are gone before ! 
 
 Yes ! I have sought thee over moor and lea, 
 
 Through wood and dell, and on the restless sea ! 
 
 To seek, to find, to shroud thee in despair, 
 
 To me seemed needful as the vital air !
 
 CANTO III. FRAMJLINGHAM. 109 
 
 And now to sieze thee when thine impious hand 
 Prophanes a hallowed relic of the land, 
 Hah ! by the mass ! the holy church will give 
 The just reward, which but to see, and live, 
 And triumph o'er thee, will rejoice my soul 
 More than the gladdening nectary of the bowl, 
 More than this world can give, or e'er hath given, 
 More than I prize on earth, or hope of heaven ! 
 Bear him away ! and, since he loves so well 
 Aspiring towers, where grace and beauty dwell, 
 Beneath those towers in utter darkness, vile, 
 There let him linger, and the hours beguile 
 With treacherous hopes ! and joyless, meditate 
 In lonely horror on his certain fate ! 
 Soon shall we see if heretics can tame 
 Offended justice, or the rage of flame! 
 Bear him away ! to-morrow's light may show 
 His way to darkness ! and his path to woe !" 
 
 Thus Tyrell spake, and no accusing word 
 Broke from the lips of Seward as he heard ;
 
 110 FRAML1NGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Oh ! the stern silence of his soul was deep ! 
 Too proud to deprecate, too brave to weep, 
 He moved unmurmuring, like a stricken deer 
 Wounded and faint, no living fountain near 
 Wherein to cool the rankling sting of care, 
 Or slake the thirst, the fever of despair ! 
 
 The wind howled fiercely round the Castle towers, 
 The screech-owl hooted from her ivied bowers, 
 And night's thick darkness o'er the scene was spread, 
 When proudly Tyrell first his captive led 
 Through Schemyng's portal to the dungeon's gloom, 
 Where reigned the oppressive silence of the tomb. 
 There Seward lay — but not the darkness drear, 
 Nor threatening peril awed his soul with fear ; 
 He still was firm, and, what in earlier youth 
 He deemed as inspiration, and as truth, 
 And this against the creed of Rome, her might, 
 The mass and mystery of her popish rite, 
 He yet maintained, and, ere his lips should breathe 
 Homage or prayer to aught above, beneath,
 
 CANTO III. FIUMLINGHAM. Ill 
 
 Save unto HIM, to whom alone is due 
 
 Our heart's pure worship, who alone is true ; 
 
 Ere man, or man's stern power should thus debase 
 
 His lofty soul to that abhorred disgrace, 
 
 He vowed all pain, all peril to defy, 
 
 To live for truth, or for the truth to die ! 
 
 With these too painful thoughts some pleasing dreams 
 Stole o'er his mind, Like fair and sunny gleams 
 That break through wintry clouds, and cause awhile 
 The barren rock, the leafless tree to smile ! 
 He mused on Helen, on her guileless mind, 
 Her spirit artless, generous, and refined, 
 And, though for worlds he would not yield her breast 
 One moment's pain, his anxious heart confessed 
 That, were her faith, her hope like his, the sting 
 Of fate would be subdued. Oh ! this would bring 
 A holier rapture when his latest breath 
 Should sigh her name, still dear to him in death ! 
 
 And Helen wept in ceaseless grief for him 
 Whom most she loved — whose star of life was dim !
 
 112 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Alas ! she knew that dark revenge had wrought 
 Unholy spells o'er fearless Tyrell's thought ; 
 That the bold Queen, with inrpious rage, would dare 
 To kill, to persecute, do all — but spare ! 
 The land already had beheld the pyre 
 Red with the blood of martyrs ! Murderous fire 
 Had freed the spirits of the great and good, 
 Ridley and Latimer — their guiltless blood 
 Flowed, a rich offering at a tyrant's shrine : 
 Mary ! the palm of torturing deaths was thine ! 
 And, when it flourished in thy cruel hand, 
 Dark fell its shadow o'er the trembling land ! 
 
 Where in her sorrow could sad Helen find 
 A balm to soothe the anguish of her mind ? 
 To one alone she dared her grief impart, 
 To him, the gentle Brother of her heart : 
 Oft would they speak of Seward and his doom, 
 And long to throw sweet sunshine o'er his gloom. 
 They strove to save him — but alas ! in vain 
 We sue for mercy when proud despots reign !
 
 CANTO III. FRAMLINGHAM. 113 
 
 In Helen's breast one only hope was high, 
 Which, if fulfilled, her Seward might not die 
 Untimely lost. — Would he renounce his creed ? 
 Conform to Pome's true Church in word and deed ? 
 This, this would save him ! — on that anxious theme 
 Oft dwelt her mind — formed many a futile scheme 
 To loose his bonds, with Aleyn for her guide. 
 Oh ! when the heart is shipwrecked on the tide 
 Of troubled passion, while its storms o'erwhelm, 
 Can frigid caution hold the shattered helm ? 
 
 Still flowed the blood of Martyrs, and the flame 
 Hissed its fierce triumph o'er the tortured frame 
 Of noble spirits, who had suffered long 
 Pain, peril, bondage, contumely, wrong. 
 And Tyrell now preferred his bold complaint 
 Against the heretic ! — the imaged Saint 
 O'erturned at Stoke, with his contemptuous hate 
 Of mass, and rood, and Rome's pontificate, 
 These were alledged against lorn Seward, brave. 
 A harsh tribunal, the submissive slave 
 
 Q
 
 114 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO III. 
 
 Of Queen and Council, left no hope for one 
 Whose doom was sealed, and condemnation gone 
 Forth in its wrath, implacable, and stem — 
 Recant, base heretic I — recant I — or burn !
 
 FRAMLINGHAM: 
 
 A NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH.
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 Night's awful darkness wrapped the world around, 
 In Seward's dungeon most intense, profound. 
 He slept — but sleep had only closed his eyes, 
 And thrilled his soul with deeper agonies ; 
 His unbound spirit was awake, his brain 
 Racked by dire phantasies, throbbed wild with pain, 
 As o'er his sense increasing horrors came, 
 For which man's thought hath ne'er conceived a name,
 
 118 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 Strange forms of death, and shadows undefined 
 
 Floated around him, till their power combined 
 
 A fearful vision, which his mental eye 
 
 Beheld in all its dread reality. 
 
 A form rose sternly, slowly, from beneath 
 
 The dungeon floor, a dim sulphureous wreath 
 
 Of smoke spread o'er its features, till a flame 
 
 Of livid fire, which from its hot breath came, 
 
 Dispersed the vapour, and at once revealed 
 
 A ghastly face — thick drops of blood, congealed, 
 
 Spotted its lips, which fiercely parting, showed 
 
 A mouth that redly as a furnace glowed ; 
 
 Its right hand grasped a scourge, its left a torch, 
 
 It came near Seward, and he felt it scorch 
 
 His trembling flesh, as, shrinking in his fear, 
 
 He gazed all wildly on the spectre near ! 
 
 It raised a gory hand, and frowning, now 
 
 Lifted the torch, while on its hideous brow 
 
 Written in blood, indented deep with fire 
 
 Stood PERSECUTION !— at a sight so dire, 
 
 Cold drops of agony and terror spread 
 
 O'er Seward's quivering limbs — the phantom's head,
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 119 
 
 Wreathed with gaunt snaky locks, in mockery shook, 
 
 As with a smile of fiend-like pride it spoke : 
 
 " Prepare ! thy hour is near ! thy fate is sealed ! 
 
 The stake, already by the fire annealed, 
 
 Waits for this torch, to give in torturing flashes 
 
 Thy blood to flames, and to the winds thine ashes ! " 
 
 The spectre ceased, and merciless and grim 
 
 Laughed loud and horrible, till every limb 
 
 Shook with demoniac joy, while sinking slow 
 
 It passed to realms of kindred fiends below ! 
 
 With that dire laugh still ringing in his ears 
 
 Seward awoke — the misery of years 
 
 Seemed crowded all within that moment's pain, 
 
 Oh ! it were death to feel its pang again ! 
 
 His earthly hope was gone, his only stay 
 
 Was now on HIM, who would not take away 
 
 That surer joy, which in a world of bliss 
 
 Would more than cancel all the grief of this ! 
 
 Long sat he pensive, and at length subdued 
 His soul to calmness — e'en that solitude
 
 120 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 Awful, and dark, which o'er his dungeon spread, 
 Seemed meet for him, already mourned as dead ! 
 Hark ! harshly grating now the ponderous key 
 Turns the huge lock, the prison-portal free 
 Opens, and, slowly entering 'mid the gloom, 
 Silent, as glides a spirit of the tomb, 
 A form draws near, and Seward's eye beholds 
 Rowland the Priest — the dark capacious folds 
 Of cloak and tunic wrapped his breast, his eye 
 Dwelt on his beads, as though his rosary 
 With him were next to God ! — above his vest 
 A silver cross hung glittering on his breast : 
 Thus Rowland came — a man who long had been 
 Priest in the Castle, chaplain to the Queen, 
 The rigid Monk, the partisan of Rome ; 
 And Seward rose, expectant of his doom. 
 
 " My Son !" — the Priest's low faltering voice was heard, 
 " I come to offer solace — though the word 
 Of power is spoken, there remains one hope, 
 Forsake thy heresy, revere the Pope,
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 121 
 
 Obey our holy Mother Church, believe 
 
 Her doctrines pure — that other creeds deceive : 
 
 Her power is infinite ! no more resist ! 
 
 The real presence in her Eucharist 
 
 Obedient own, and, as behoves thee well, 
 
 The Queen supreme, the Pope infallible ! 
 
 Our ritual sacred, and our mass divine, 
 
 Renounce thy faith, and light and life are thine !" 
 
 " Never ! — I thank thee for thy pious care, 
 
 For which may heaven reward thee ! — I can bear ! 
 
 The written word reveals no Pope that keeps 
 
 His brother's conscience while his reason sleeps ! 
 
 No pictured Saint the eye of faith to guide, 
 
 No pompous mass, no incense for our pride ! 
 
 Nor senseless Idol, nor Madonna fair ; 
 
 The heart — the heart is only chartered there ! 
 
 Oh ! thus to suffer for the truth, to die 
 
 Is more than life ! — the bright eternity 
 
 That waits my lingering spirit, will bestow 
 
 A high reward for all my griefs below ! 
 
 On God, whose mercy by his Son hath given 
 
 The hallowed light that guides us on to heaven, 
 
 R
 
 122 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 On him I fix my hope, on him alone ! 
 
 Leave me, good Priest ! — this mortal being soon 
 
 Will end for ever — and my soul hath need 
 
 Of holy meditation, and, ere freed 
 
 From this dark world, this bondage of the dust, 
 
 To seek that God, my glory, and my trust ! 
 
 Oh ! leave me, leave me !" As he ceased, the breast 
 
 Of Rowland heaved with sympathy impressed, 
 
 Yes ! though a harsh and narrow creed's controul 
 
 Had chilled his kindly charities of soul, 
 
 He sighed for one whom he must surely deem 
 
 Outcast and heretic ! — " My Son ! the dream 
 
 Which clouds thy mental atmosphere may pass, 
 
 And thou, restored by penance and by mass, 
 
 Forsake thy errors ! Seward ! if thy mind 
 
 Be to thine own sure fate and danger blind, 
 
 If not for thy sake, for the love of one 
 
 Whose light thou art, her fairest beam, her sun, 
 
 Wilt thou not shrink from heresy, from death ?" 
 
 Then paused the Monk, and Seward's labouring breath 
 
 Heaved his full troubled heart, his spirit bowed 
 
 To nature's empire, and he wept aloud :
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 123 
 
 Yet soon subdued his sorrow, and recalled 
 
 His wandering thoughts, by passion's might enthralled. 
 
 He sj)oke — "Thy words have touched the chord, whose tone 
 
 Brings back to memory bliss for ever gone ! 
 
 Oh ! I have striven to conquer, to forget ! 
 
 That painful task is unaccomplished yet ! 
 
 Say to dear Helen that my latest prayer 
 
 Will rise for her ! — Oh ! I had hoped to share 
 
 Life's joys and sorrows with her spotless heart! 
 
 Grant me one boon, Confessor, ere we part. 
 
 Take this small packet, which in safety bear 
 
 To Helen's hand, with secrecy and care ; 
 
 This boon I ask, and thou wilt not deny 
 
 The all I crave of thee before I die ! 
 
 I thank thee, Father ! for thy kindness shown, 
 
 Which, deeply felt, with gratitude I own, 
 
 And, though I find no solace in thy creed, 
 
 Nor place my hope upon that broken reed, 
 
 Yet, may we, Priest ! when time have passed away, 
 And Death's long night be lost in endless day, 
 When sin and suffering are absorbed in love, 
 Then may we meet in purer worlds above !"
 
 124 FRAMLINGHAM. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 The Monk replied not — from the dungeon's cell 
 He quickly vanished. — Hopeless there to dwell, 
 Brave Seward lonely left, unsoothed, unblessed, 
 Sank, worn by watching, and by prayer, to rest. 
 
 Failed not the Priest, but had he known the worth 
 He bore to Helen, richer than the earth 
 Gave, or can give, perchance his priestly art 
 Had kept the gem — important to her heart ! 
 And Helen's cheek glowed as Apollo's ray 
 That gilds the brow of morning on his way, 
 When trembling, doubting, hoping, yet afraid, 
 With nervous hand, and breathless haste, the maid 
 Unsealed the packet, soon her heart beat light, 
 As Seward's Bible met her anxious sight : 
 The Bible ! oh ! that book to her had been 
 Like a rich pearl within the deep unseen, 
 Or rarely seen, withheld by papal power 
 And Priests, who dreaded that eventful hour, 
 When the freed mind should see the gladdening beam, 
 Unseal the fountain, and enjoy the stream !
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 125 
 
 Helen unclasped the book, the first white leaf 
 From Seward's pencil showed a sentence brief — 
 " Accept this volume ! purest, holiest, best ; 
 Grant me dear Helen ! this, my last request, 
 That thou with singleness of heart and mind 
 Wilt search its pages ; there alone we find 
 That wisdom, which, long hidden from our eyes 
 By Rome's vain priestcraft, and her mysteries, 
 Will teach the way to soul-ennobling truth, 
 Light of our age, and day-spring of our youth ! 
 Farewell ! — I hear the grating bolts ! — no more 
 My hand dares trace — hope's nattering dream is o'er ! 
 Farewell for ever ! " — 
 
 Here abruptly broke 
 The fervent lines, and Helen's spirit woke 
 To new and anxious thoughts, while doubts and fears 
 Which thrilled her soul, were witnessed by her tears ! 
 
 Hushed was the world — in Helen's tower the light 
 Of one small lamp burned, through the live-long night 
 The maiden sat, abstracted from all thought 
 Of fleeting time, its vanities were nought
 
 126 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 To that pure volume which before her lay, 
 
 O'er which she pondered many a passing day, 
 
 And now the sun, the quickening ray from heaven 
 
 Flashed on her soul, she saw the oppressive leaven 
 
 Of Rome's dark superstition, and her pride, 
 
 Oh ! how unlike the Christ — the crucified ! 
 
 Alas ! though truth had dawned, though hope could bless, 
 
 Her destined cup held dregs of bitterness ! 
 
 Her Father ! he to whom her life had been 
 
 To withering age the fairest leaf still green, 
 
 How would he sorrow when his child revealed 
 
 Her heart a convert to that faith, deep sealed 
 
 By blood of suffering Martyrs ! — yet, prepared, 
 
 Resolved to brave the perils they had dared, 
 
 Ere worldly power should force her to deny 
 
 That truth, by Papists deemed a heresy ! 
 
 Her soul was tossed upon a troubled main 
 
 Of ardent passion, misery, and pain !■ 
 
 How changed her hope ! she once had prayed sincere 
 
 That Seward's heart, belief might change ! now dear, 
 
 Yes ! dearer far was his unshaken faith, 
 
 That raised his soul above the fears of death !
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 127 
 
 And, though to save him, were the wide world's bliss 
 
 Her own, her heart would freely give for this, 
 
 Yet now she hoped, and prayed, with spirit pure, 
 
 That he might stedfast to the end endure ! 
 
 And, while her heart throbbed painfully, the maid 
 
 With hand all weak and tremulous, essayed 
 
 To write her thoughts to Seward : as they flowed 
 
 Her brow with fever burned, her bosom glowed, 
 
 And streaming tears proclaimed her grief above 
 
 Consoling hope — the hapless blight of love ! 
 
 Her letter sealed, more tears of anguish shed, 
 
 Bitter and deep as those wept o'er the dead : 
 
 By grief o'erpowered she slept — her sleep was peace, 
 
 The type of that wherein our sorrows cease. 
 
 The star of eve adorned the azure sky, 
 But not to bless the weary captive's eye, 
 In Seward's dungeon darkness held her sway, 
 Alike to him uncertain night and day. 
 Lonely communed he with his heart : — he heard 
 The bolts withdrawn, and then a step : — a bird 
 Flies not more softly with its downy plume 
 Than moved a Page along the prison-gloom,
 
 128 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 He bore a lamp, he placed it by the stone 
 
 On which leaned Seward in that cavern lone, 
 
 Drew a sealed packet from his folded vest, 
 
 Gave it to Seward, yet no word addressed ; 
 
 But ere one question, or one brief reply 
 
 Was asked, or given, he bowed, and suddenly 
 
 Turned and retired like one in thoughtful mood, 
 
 And left the captive in his solitude. 
 
 Seward with joy, with deep emotion scanned 
 
 The well-known characters — with trembling hand 
 
 He broke the crested seal, while every limb 
 
 Shook like the asp-tree, ere the evening dim 
 
 Sheds her soft dew upon its leaves : — he pressed 
 
 The written treasure to his heaving breast, 
 
 Trimmed his faint lamp, and moved by hope and dread, 
 
 With eager eye and expectation read. 
 
 HELEN'S LETTER. 
 
 Farewell, dear Seward ! — this may be my last 
 Farewell on earth ! — and yet, the enchanting past 
 Hath thrown a sunshine o'er my soul, whose beam 
 Was bright, and lovely. Oh ! I would that dream
 
 CANTO IV. FRA.MLINGHA.M. 129 
 
 Had faded not ! for I had built a tower 
 
 Of golden hope, the vision of an hour ! 
 
 Yes ! I had fixed rny heart on bliss in thee, 
 
 Thy fame, thy happiness, was all to me, 
 
 My more than life ! — and now, when hope is fled, 
 
 And flowers once blooming in my path are dead, 
 
 I would not veil the feelings of my heart, 
 
 Doomed soon from thee and all its joys to part ! 
 
 Oh ! I have loved thee with a woman's truth, 
 
 The fond, the deep devotedness of youth ; 
 
 And still, though blighted by the world, and given 
 
 To peril, torture, lost to all, save heaven, 
 
 Though this I live to witness, to deplore, 
 
 I live to prize thee, and to love thee more ! 
 
 'Tis said that woman's wayward heart will change, 
 
 And seek new pleasure in its varied range, 
 
 That her affections, like the morning dew, 
 
 Refresh and vanish, transient and untrue ! 
 
 I know not other hearts — I know that mine 
 
 Has been, and is, and will be, wholly thine ! 
 
 Dear, dear, the joy which I have known from this, 
 
 Though brief, how bright the summer of my bliss ! 
 
 s
 
 130 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 I owe thee much — and now I thank thy love 
 
 For that pure 'ruth which emanates above, 
 
 That sacrec. vc lume which has turned away 
 
 My soul's delus on, darkness into day. 
 
 Oh ! I have prayed for thee ! — have striven in vain 
 
 To break thy bondage, loose thy dungeon chain ; 
 
 With joy, with rapture would I yield my breath 
 
 To save thee, Seward, from the cruel death — 
 
 This hope is fled — for ever fled ! — and now 
 
 My trust, my ardent prayer must be, that thou 
 
 In that dark hour of trial may'st remain 
 
 Finn in the truth, through bitter scorn, through pain ! 
 
 Hold thy belief, thy reformation fast ! 
 
 The gloomy valley of death's shadow passed, 
 
 All, all beyond, on Zion's hill is joy, 
 
 No fear can lessen, and no care destroy ! 
 
 And soon thy Helen, by man's vengeful hate, 
 
 May feel thy doom, and share thy mournful fate ; 
 
 Or, if yet spared, my only hope away, 
 
 Not long on earth my troubled soul will stay : 
 
 Oh ! could I die ere thou depart ! — and free, 
 
 My spirit minister in death to thee,
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 131 
 
 And whisper comfort in that mortal strife, 
 
 Of heaven, of immortality, of life, 
 
 And soar with thee to that eternal rest, 
 
 That home where all are welcome, and are blest ! 
 
 Again farewell ! — I cannot thus pursue 
 
 My theme of sorrow — genial nature, true 
 
 To the heart's anguish, in my grisf ippears, 
 
 And blots the page with unavailing tears — 
 
 Oh ! I must weep ! — and, though I know thou fearest 
 
 No mortal agony, thy peril, dearest, 
 
 Weighs down my spirit more than words can tell — 
 
 God bless and comfort thee ! — farewell ! — farewell ! 
 
 Oh ! there was joy in Seward's heaving breast, 
 That kindled hope, and lulled his fear to rest, 
 His Helen's tender words, undying love, 
 Her faith illumed debasing creeds above, 
 Her truth, her fortitude, shed o'er his mind 
 A holy calm, a rapture undefined, 
 Strengthened his soul to overcome the dread 
 Of that dim path which leads us to the dead :
 
 132 PRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 And, as again he read the lines that told 
 Of endless peace, which heavenly hopes unfold, 
 He wept for joy — with faltering voice subdued 
 Gave praise to Him, the great, the only good, 
 The one eternal, infinite, supreme 
 Pervading God ! whose universal beam 
 Of priceless mercy shed arcund his doom 
 A light to cheer his passage to the tomb ! 
 
 The moon was bright, when from her lattice high 
 The lonely Helen gazed with restless eye, 
 On stars above, and on the earth beneath, 
 On the dim lake, where curled the misty wreath, 
 On tree, and shrub, and flower, then turned away 
 As though 'twere pain on each, on all to stay. 
 How dull, how cheerless nature's face appears 
 When seen in hopeless sorrow through our tears ! 
 While thus her eye glanced wandering o'er the scene, 
 Which brought no solace, though it smiled serene, 
 She sudden marked beyond the outer moat 
 The form of Aleyn, saw his mantle float
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 133 
 
 Loose in the breeze, his dagger's hilt shone bright, 
 
 Its rich gems sparkling in the softened light : 
 
 He moved in haste, his steed was standing near, 
 
 On which he sprang, and quickly, as though fear 
 
 Of sign or challenge from the guarded wall, 
 
 The hail of sentinel, or warder's call, 
 
 Urged him to speed : — he vanished — swiftly passed 
 
 The church, the cross, and, as he bounded fast, 
 
 The counds thrown backward from the clattering hoof 
 
 Echoed through porch, and aisle, and fretted roof, 
 
 And moon-lit tower, while Helen's mind was tossed 
 
 On doubt's dark sea, and in conjecture lost. 
 
 What cause had Aleyn from the Castle led ? 
 
 And whither thus in secret was he fled ? 
 
 For flight it seemed : the brother of her heart, 
 
 Linked to its happiness, its counterpart, 
 
 He who was wont, whene'er he left his home, 
 
 Though but an horn- the summer woods to roam, 
 
 To seek his sister, and in kindliest tone 
 
 Bid her " farewell," departed now alone, 
 
 In the deep hour of night, and left no smile 
 
 Nor word to gladden Helen's heart the while —
 
 134 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 What was his purpose ? why that sudden speed ? 
 
 That fleetest bound of Aleyn's swiftest steed ? 
 
 Her thoughts brought torture, long she gazed in vain 
 
 O'er far-off hills, and o'er the nearer plain, 
 
 Till clouds crept o'er the shrinking moon, to throw 
 
 Their gathering shades upon the world below. 
 
 Sleep, that oblivion of the soul's distress, 
 Came not, the sorrowing Helen's eyes to bless ; 
 The dreamless rest of those who calmly sleep 
 Sealed not the orbs that wept, and still must weep ; 
 She left her turret, sought the balmy air, 
 Paced the high ramparts with a heart of care : 
 Oh ! she had oft from that embattled height 
 Beheld the scenes around her with delight, 
 Seen joy's sweet smile in every sunny gleam, 
 And heard soft music in the flowing stream, 
 Enhaled rich incense from the flowers and trees, 
 And caught the voice of gladness in the breeze. 
 But now, the melancholy gust that swept 
 Around the dungeon, where her Seward slept,
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 135 
 
 Wailed o'er the turrets, till its mournful breath 
 Sank 'mid the arches, like the moan of death, 
 Seemed with its hollow and sepulchral tone 
 To sound a requiem for her bright hopes, gone ! 
 She paused — leaned o'er the battlement, and heard 
 A voice below, though indistinct the word ; 
 Beneath her, lonely on the green hill's steep 
 A Woman sat beside the dungeon keep, 
 And as the moon-light fell upon her face 
 It showed the wreck of beauty and of grace, 
 With lines of deep and anxious sorrow left ; 
 Time stole her joys, and these proclaimed the theft ! 
 And Helen marked the wildness of her eye, 
 Heard her low murmurs, and her plaintive sigh, 
 While in the air her wasted arm appeared 
 Waving, as though her withered hand were reared 
 To fan her burning brow, while slow her fonn 
 Rocked, like a blighted cypress in a storm ; 
 And, with that restless and imeasy motion, 
 Wild as the sounds of the dark-caverned ocean, 
 In tones that breathed the torture of her mind 
 Arose her plaint upon the moaning wind.
 
 136 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 "They left him in his darkness, they chained him inj his cell, 
 They cannot bind his spirit there, I know its ardour well ! 
 I nursed him at my bosom, caressed him on my knee, 
 Loved days of my departed bliss ! no more to solace me ! 
 Oh ! care my heart hath broken, and worn me long with pain, 
 I feel her rack upon my soul, her arrow in my brain ! 
 
 I saw my boy grow fairer, as smiles the opening flower, 
 I saw him all my light and life, the rapture of my hour, 
 But now I see him never ! the gloomy walls arise, 
 And like the clouds that dai'ken heaven, keep sunshine from 
 
 mine eyes ! 
 And I am left a blighted one, with none to soothe, or bless, 
 My life is but a desert track, my heart a wilderness ! 
 
 Alas ! a hapless Mother ! I mourn my child forlorn, 
 My son ! my gallant Seward ! the day when thou wast born 
 Was bright with hope and gladness ! how swift our pleasures fly, 
 Dark, dark, may be, my dearest boy, the day when thou wilt die ! 
 Ha ! murderous hands arc rearing the red funereal pyre, 
 Oh, God ! the lightning of that thought consumes my heart, 
 like fire !
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 137 
 
 I may not close thine eyes in death, nor o'er thy coffin bend, 
 To kiss thy cold and pallid brow, and place flowers in thy hand, 
 I may not weep above thy bier, nor pray beside thy grave, 
 Nor die upon that hallowed spot, my cherished one, my brave ! 
 My blood runs cold ! Oh ! reason's bark, on sorrow's ocean tossed, 
 Sinks in the gulph of black despair, for thee, my loved and lost!" 
 
 Ceased the wild chant, the mourner once again 
 Glanced at the towers, and then, as though 'twere pain 
 To linger near, she vanished froin the hill, 
 Deep in the copse-wood by the distant rill, 
 Ere Helen's lips could speak, or mind suggest, 
 Soft consolation to the wounded breast, 
 Or charge the Warder from his guarded height 
 To proffer shelter from the cheerless night. 
 The maiden sought her turret, and the moon 
 Sank slow behind the western woods, and soon 
 Left darker shades of solemn night to fall 
 O'er the dim outline of the Castle wall, 
 Within whose space were happy hearts, that beat 
 Beneath joy's garland strung with roses sweet, 
 
 T
 
 138 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 And blighted hearts, whose aching cores around 
 The deadly nightshade of despair was bound ! 
 
 The morn broke faintly, and the air was still, 
 The grey mist lingered on the eastern hill, 
 The sun arose, but smiled not on the sea, 
 O'er which dark clouds hung thick and gloomily, 
 As though heaven's light were pausing, loth to bring 
 A day of wrath, of tears, of suffering ! 
 Soon nature's voice was mute, in that dull hour 
 The muffled bell, slow booming in the tower, 
 Sent mournful sounds that struck the smitten heart, 
 And seemed to call to Seward's soul " Depart /" 
 Its solemn echoes in the woods around 
 Hushed the affrighted birds, the awful sound 
 Through air and sky, o'er hill and valley spread, 
 With one deep note of warning and of dread ! 
 
 Thronged was the Castle-court, and there were seen 
 Men with stern features, and unbending mien, 
 And some whose hearts were trembling with dismay, 
 And mourned the coming horrors of the day.
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 139 
 
 There ranged a file of men-at-arms, and near 
 Stood pursuivant, and sturdy halberdier, 
 When Seward heard his prison door unbarred, 
 And heavy steps — a Yeoman of the Guard 
 Pronounced the signal, " Ready /" — Seward slow 
 Rose from his seat, and only paused to throw 
 His sable mantle o'er that stately form, 
 Which seemed to gather grandeur in the storm 
 Of dark affliction, and its withering strife, 
 That shook hope's blossoms from the tree of life. 
 Erect he stood, his brow was smooth, though pale, 
 And, when he breathed the morning's balmy gale, 
 His heart more freely beat, his beaming eye 
 Glistened anew, although led forth to die ! 
 The Guard arranged, the armed and eager train 
 Moved- with their victim to a distant plain ; 
 And, as they passed the sorrowing Helen's tower 
 Gazed not the maiden in that parting hour ? 
 And turned not Seward's longing eye above, 
 To catch her last, dear, lingering look of love ? 
 'Tis o'er ! — The melancholy bell tolls slow, 
 \s winds the assemblage to the vale below ;
 
 140 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 From town and hamlet foot and horsemen join 
 The long procession, swell the moving line : 
 They passed the Ore, whose smiling waters ran 
 A clear, bright contrast to the heart of man ! 
 While sunny gleams broke from the sky, the birds 
 Sang their sweet carols in the woods — the herds 
 Grazed in the happy valleys, man the while, 
 Alone uncheered by nature's genial smile ! 
 Oh ! it was sad to see the brightening beam, 
 To hear the music of the murmuring stream, 
 The woodland melody, the morning breeze 
 Hum its soft tone amid the leafy trees, 
 To mark each gladdened, every sinless thing 
 Around, rejoicing in the smile of spring, 
 And then to gaze upon the living throng 
 That led the enduring sacrifice along, 
 With blind, imgracious zeal, and quickened breath, 
 That seemed but panting for the scene of death ! 
 
 They reached the plain where rising hills around, 
 Belted with woods confined its narrow bound :
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 141 
 
 Awhile they paused till rose the sudden call 
 
 From eager Yeoman, and from Seneschal, 
 
 " Way for the Sheriff !— let the crowd fall back ! 
 
 Make way ! make way ! keep clear the horsemen's track !' 
 
 On came the Sheriff and his train — his eye 
 
 Surveyed the throng, and Seward haughtily. 
 
 Yes ! Shelton's eye had oft the witness been, 
 
 Unmoved by dread, of many a fearful scene, 
 
 Oft had his lips with persecution's breath, 
 
 Reviled the Martyr in his painful death ; 
 
 His hand, uplifted with remorseless power, ] 
 
 Smote suffering Taylor in his dying hour, 
 
 When the good Pastor in his native tongue 
 
 Breathed the calm prayer, the Miserere sung, 
 
 Then Shelton's words of anger were not slow, 
 
 " Speak Latin, Dog .'" came quickly with the blow ! 2I 
 
 Now rode he proudly, and with brow severe 
 Demanded sternly, " Comes not Schemyng here ! 
 Where stays the Constable ? — Iris duty calls 
 The truant promptly from his ancient walls ;
 
 142 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 Shame ! if he tarries when the state hath need 
 
 To crush vile traitors to her law, and creed !" 
 
 He ceased — then calmly from the parting crowd 
 
 Advanced the Constable, and spoke aloud : 
 
 " Schemyng is here — but came not in his ire 
 
 To add scorn, mockery, insult to the fire ! 
 
 In sooth, Sir Sheriff! my eventful years 
 
 Have marked enough of agony and tears ! 
 
 I know my duty ! and I need no speech 
 
 Its rules to dictate, nor its claims to teach !" 
 
 As Schemyng spoke his cheek was pale with rage, 
 
 Though meekness graced the winter of his age, 
 
 His heart was kindling with the summer glow 
 
 Of fervid pity for another's woe. 
 
 And Shelton quick replied — " Thou speak'st indeed 
 
 As traitors speak !" while, springing from his steed, 
 
 He urged the crowd — " Who bears the torch ? away 1 
 
 Make fast the stake, the Church shall rule to-day ! 
 
 Raise the death-pyre on yonder rising mound, 
 
 Post the bold Yeomen of the Guard around, 
 
 Pause not like men o'ercome by terror ! — quick ! 
 
 Bring forth the chain — there stands the heretic !"
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 143 
 
 Meanwhile stood Seward with abstracted air, 
 And all unmindful of the progress there, 
 Till Schemyng's voice in tones of sympathy 
 Recalled to earth his heaven-directed eye, 
 While o'er the placid brow of Schemyng passed 
 A shade of sorrow and of sadness, cast 
 By mournful thoughts : while still the increasing throng 
 Brave Seward's eye searched wistfully among, 
 If haply there it might discover near 
 Some face, to memory or to friendship dear — 
 It sought the form of Aleyn, he, whose kind 
 And generous heart had won the warrior's mind 
 To all a brother's love : it sought in vain ; 
 Seward beheld him not — he gazed again, 
 And, as he turned, beneath an Oak's deep shade, 
 Whose spreading boughs adorned the verdant glade, 
 Against that tree a stately form was seen 
 With folded arms, in thoughtful mood to lean, 
 His lip was slightly curled, his eyes were bent 
 Sternly on earth, in scorn or discontent ; 
 He raised them slowly, and their dark glance met 
 The gaze of Seward — could the Youth forget
 
 144 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 That eye, whose restless orb had rarely shed 
 
 Tears for the living, seldom mourned the dead, 
 
 The eye of Tyrell ! — As beneath the tree 
 
 He stood apart, the green-leaved canopy 
 
 Waved o'er his head, and threw the checkered beams 
 
 Of varied light, in quick, and shadowy gleams 
 
 O'er his fast-changing features, which expressed 
 
 The strife of passions never lulled to rest : 
 
 And they who gazed upon his form, which now 
 
 He drew erect, and on his lofty brow, 
 
 His locks dark waving in the breeze, his face 
 
 Still nobly formed, though lost its softer grace, 
 
 Might deem his spirit in a world of bliss 
 
 Had marred its peace, and been condemned to this ! 
 
 Seward beheld that form — and, o'er his brain 
 Flashed thoughts that lit the withering brand of pain, 
 Withdrew his roused and straggling soul away 
 From light that dawned o'er one eternal day, 
 To earth, and earthly hopes, and love, and life, 
 And beauteous Helen ! — but the painful strife
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 145 
 
 Passed from his soul, and resignation's power 
 
 Stilled the wild waves, the tempest of the hour; 
 
 And holier feelings in his heart arose, 
 
 Hope for his friends, forgiveness for his foes, 
 
 And prayer was on his lips for all most dear, 
 
 Linked to his heart in gladness, and in fear, 
 
 His soul's elect! — and oh ! the deep distress 
 
 His sorrowing Mother in her loneliness 
 
 Of helpless age would feel, when blighted left, 
 
 Joy dead, hope dying, of her child bereft ! 
 
 He stood absorbed in tender thought. — Meanwhile 
 
 The pyre was reared, the Martyr's fimeral pile, 
 
 And Shelton, less in pity than in ire, 
 
 Loud, and impatient, shouted " To the fire !" 
 
 The summons startled him — his shuddering frame 
 Already seemed to feel the scorching flame, 
 Cold dew came o'er his pallid brow, his cheek 
 Blanched for a moment, and his limbs were weak, 
 And dread was creeping o'er his heart : at length 
 He conquered fear, and with returning strength 
 
 \ u
 
 146 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV 
 
 Moved with a firm and solemn step, his eye 
 
 Fixed on the pile — to suffer, and to die 
 
 Must seal his triumph ! slowly he advanced 
 
 Unmindful of the world, like one entranced, 
 
 As though his soul, resigned her throne of state 
 
 Ere Death had left her palace desolate ! 
 
 Why does he pause ? why swells his bosom high ? 
 
 Why starts the burning tear-drop from his eye ? 
 
 Why moves he not with wonted grace and ease ? 
 
 A trembling form was clinging to his knees, 
 
 A voice of agony was thrilling there, 
 
 A deep low moan of anguish and despair 
 
 Broke from his Mother's tortured heart, as wild 
 
 Her frenzied eye was fixed upon her child, 
 
 While the strange light, that with a troubled flash, 
 
 Shot from beneath its long and quivering lash, 
 
 Served but to show the shattered mind's distress, 
 
 The dark recesses of its wilderness ! 
 
 And sounds of woe burst from her lips — " My Son ! 
 
 My loved ! my lost ! my light ! my cherished one I 
 
 Hope lives no more ! the day long dreaded lowers, 
 
 Despair, and pain, and strife, and death arc ours !
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 FRaMLINGHaM. 147 
 
 Look on thy Mother ! dwells there in her eye 
 The feax of death ? a dread with thee to die ? 
 Nay, hold me not ! the flames that round thee meet 
 Shall wrap thy Mother, form her winding-sheet ! 
 Death shall not part us, Seward ! look ! the torch 
 Held by that fiend ! the crackling flames will scorch ; 
 Ha ! ha ! I feel them in my brain ! here ! here ! 
 My brow is burning ! and my heart is sear, 
 The blight of grief and madness hath passed o'er 
 The garden of my soul ! sweet flowers no more 
 Bloom for the scathed and withered ! come away ! 
 Child of my soul ! I must no longer stay ! 
 I see the golden harps through yonder cloud, 
 I hear the anthem of their joy aloud, 
 The gates of Heaven unfold ! and hark ! that hymn 
 Floats o'er the sapphire sky ! bright cherubim 
 Await us there, my Son ! joy dwells with them, 
 Behold God's throne ! the new Jerusalem ! 
 Linger no more, now welcome death ! thy sting 
 Is but as balm to hearts, whose suffering 
 Hath chilled their vital blood ! — I die ! I die !"— 
 Oh ! Seward marked the slowly-fading eye
 
 148 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 That o'er his childhood and maturer years 
 
 Had watched, and wept," in gladness, and in tears ! 
 
 With gentle hand he closed the orbs, whose light, 
 
 In days of happiness, in sorrow's night, 
 
 Had ever beamed benignly — as he pressed 
 
 Their pallid lids, joy 'woke within his breast, 
 
 For his own hand had thus perforated the last 
 
 Sad filial duty — tearfully he cast 
 
 One lingering look upon his Mother's form, 
 
 Then, as the bent reed rises from the storm 
 
 When its worst strife is past, erect he stood, 
 
 That more than mortal agony subdued, 
 
 Roused all his mental energies, resigned 
 
 To Heaven's high will — to Schemyng's arms consigned 
 
 His Mother's cold and lifeless form, then fixed 
 
 His eye above, his chastened thoughts unmixed 
 
 With aught of earth, nor did he start to hear 
 
 The Sheriff's voice upon his heedless ear — 
 
 " Enough of this ! no more delay ! the sun 
 
 Wends to the west, and justice is not done ! 
 
 Away ! by nought impeded, or debarred, 
 
 The stake is ready — do your duty, Guard !"
 
 CANTO IV. FIUMLINGHAM. 149 
 
 The Guard approached, but Seward waved his hand, 
 Like one long used to govern, and command ; 
 " Back slaves ! and touch me not !" — he spake, and pressed 
 His folded mantle closer to his breast, 
 Then with quick step, and light as when the roe 
 Bounds up the mountain, o'er the printless snow, 
 He sprang undaunted on the fatal pyre, 
 While flashed the torch, and burst the kindling fire ! 
 
 A sudden note swells echoing from the south, 
 A sudden clangour from the trumpet's mouth 
 Rings o'er the answering hills, and hark ! a cry, 
 A shout like thunder rends the pealing sky, 
 As past the waving wood two horsemen speed, 
 Each urging fast his rapid panting steed, 
 Like men who deem one fleeting moment lost, 
 Too dearly paid, with human life its cost ! 
 The crowd gave way in wonder, as more near 
 More fast they bounded in their wild career, 
 Till by the burning pile they quickly reined 
 Their fiery steeds, by dexterous hands restrained,
 
 150 i RAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 When, swift as light that from the sun new born, 
 
 Flies to the earth upon the wings of morn, 
 
 Both in one moment from their seats descended ; 
 
 One rush, one spring, and their dim forms w r ere blended 
 
 With spreading flames, which still the wind's cool breath 
 
 Drifted from Seward as he waited death, 
 
 With hands uplifted, feverous lips apart, 
 
 Celestial hope yet strong, though faint his heart, 
 
 While o'er his throbbing brow a clammy dew 
 
 Spread cold as ice, with every breath he drew, 
 
 His blood seemed freezing, though the gathering flame 
 
 Near — nearer still, in scorching volumes came, 
 
 Baffling the wind, as though the short delay 
 
 Enraged them more to seize upon their prey, 
 
 When quick the brave ones from the raging fire 
 
 Snatched him in triumph from the blazing pyre, 
 
 Bore him in haste from Death's obscure domain, 
 
 Removed from dread, from peril, and from pain I 
 
 And, as their arms sustained his form, his eyes 
 
 Closed in a death -like swoon — his miseries, 
 
 His hopes and fears all lost! — Oh ! had he seen 
 
 The friends who saved him, marked their anxious mien,
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 151 
 
 Their tears of joy with pitying sorrow blent, 
 
 As o'er his weak and fainting form they bent, 
 
 He would have deemed the noble Howard, brave, 
 
 His more than friend, with power and will to save ; 
 
 And owned that Aleyn, unto whom his heart 
 
 Felt bound by ties, which nought but death could part, 
 
 Was more than Bard — the Man of feelings kind, 
 
 Attuned to good — the poetry of mind ! 
 
 Yes ! there was Aleyn and the youthful Page, 
 Howard, the grace, the glory of his age : 
 Nor day nor night had sealed their eyes in sleep 
 Since that dark hour, when in the dungeon-keep 
 Seward was chained, and sentenced soon to die ; 
 Then fled repose from Aleyn's sleepless eye, 
 And care his calm and gentle bosom wrung, 
 Silenced his harp, now tuneless and unstrung ; 
 He mourned for Seward — in his heart's regret, 
 Sighed that the Captive, and fair Helen met, 
 All that could pain his Sister's heart, or bless, 
 To him was sorrow or was happiness !
 
 152 FRAML1NGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 One hope remained, though feeble was its light : 
 Alone, in secret, 'mid the silent night 
 He left the Castle on his steed, whose feet 
 First in the race, were fleetest of the fleet ; 
 Still would hope struggle in his breast with fear, 
 Smile through the gloom, till as he hastened near 
 The Court of Mary, sank his heart with dread, 
 Lest from her tlirone fair Mercy's form were flecL, 
 And fled for ever ! Oh ! his clouded hour, 
 Grew bright with joy, when Norfolk's willing power 
 For his, for Helen's, and for Schemyng's sake 
 Reversed the doom, and rescued from the stake ! 
 He sought the rigid Queen, before her throne 
 Claimed favour there, and asked one royal boon, 
 Nor vain, nor hopeless was the suit of him 
 Before whose star less courtly beams were dim, 
 The Duke, whose genius held a strong controul 
 O'er storms that darkened Mary's wayward soul. 
 
 Seward awoke from that deep swoon — amazed 
 Wildly on Howard and on Aleyn gazed
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 153 
 
 Like one roused sudden from a trance, while shook 
 His languid form — the inconstant blood forsook 
 His changing cheek, then o'er it flushed again, 
 His joy seemed more than joy, his rapture pain, 
 His heart-core ached with happiness ! till gushed 
 Fast from his eyes hot tears — at once was hushed 
 The deep tumultuous heaving of his breast, 
 Each impulse softened, passion lulled to rest, 
 Lost in one grateful thrill, one pure delight, 
 One burst of praise to God — the infinite ! 
 
 Howard advanced, and from his silken vest 
 Withdrew a scroll, its envelope addressed 
 " To our ryghte trustie S fiery ffe" which he gave 
 To Shelton's care, who with demeanour grave 
 Unsheathed his sword, and cut the satin tie, 
 Broke the imperial seal, and haughtily 
 Demanding silence, 'mid the listening crowd 
 He sternly stood, and slowly read aloud. 
 Then, save his own deep voice, no sound was heard, 
 While anxious ears caught every welcome word ; 
 
 x
 
 154 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 Bosoms scarce heaved, lest e'en a sigh might break 
 The hope that warmed them, though its flame was weak, 
 Brows were uplifted, eager eyes were bright, 
 Fixed with the gleam of expectation's light, 
 Till ceased the Sheriff, when a shout arose, 
 Loud as the roar that deafening Etna throws 
 Hoarse from her caves, as peal on peal swelled high, 
 Thundered o'er space, and shook the echoing sky, 
 Which answered quick, as though some heavenly band 
 Had heard the voice of Mercy from the land, 
 And could not hear God's darling attribute 
 Proclaimed with shouts triumphant, and be mute, 
 But, in their gladness, pealed it far and wide, 
 Rolled it o'er heaven, and to the earth replied ! 
 
 And Tyrell heard that shout, as yet apart 
 Beneath the green-wood tree, estranged in heart 
 He silent stood — the lengthened echoes still 
 Swept o'er the vale, and trembled on the hill, 
 While every sound sank deep into his soul, 
 Awakened strife he might no more controul,
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 155 
 
 Touched some long slumbering sympathy within, 
 
 Some jarring chord of suffering, or of sin, 
 
 That thrilled his breast, as now electric thought 
 
 The fearful past with all its errors brought, 
 
 Dark clouds were rolling from his troubled mind, 
 
 But left the ruins of the storm behind ! 
 
 His bosom heaved with more than wonted ire, 
 
 His wild eye flashed with more than passion's fire, 
 
 As though the struggles, hopes, and fears of life, 
 
 Its toils, temptations, its desires, its strife, 
 
 Its sunless day, its long and starless night, 
 
 Its waves of turbulence, its storms of might, 
 
 Met in his memory with conflicting pain, 
 
 To rouse the thoughts that might not sleep again ! 
 
 He turned, he started — full before his view, 
 
 With piercing glance, and cheek of changing hue, 
 
 Stood Seward ! — loudly Tyrell's rattling hilt 
 
 Spoke the soul's tempest — did it burst in guilt ? 
 
 Quick flashed his sword, his hand was reared, his eye 
 
 Told the heart's anguish, madness, misery : 
 
 He siezed the rapier's point, and fiercely grasped 
 
 Both hilt and blade, in breathless anguish gasped,
 
 156 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV 
 
 As in his rage he snapped the steel, and hurled 
 The shattering fragments high in air '.—they whirled 
 O'er the green tree, and as they whizzing fell 
 Deep in the bosom of the wooded dell, 
 Seward received their last sound as a token 
 Of hatred severed, and of vengeance broken ! 
 Then Tyrell sprang upon his steed, and rushed 
 Far from the spot, while o'er his swarth cheek gushed 
 Drops, in the icy heart congealed for years, 
 Thawed by the sun of penitence to tears ! 
 
 And he, in after life, with soul subdued, 
 Dwelt in his ancient Hall, the solitude 
 Of his deep woods seemed suited to has breast, 
 To lull his fevered passions into resl ; 
 And, as he wandered 'mid their shades, while high 
 The fiercely rocking winds swept moaning by, 
 And haply, started at the somid, and mused 
 On talents warped to wrong, on powers abused, 
 The spotted leaves, thick rustling from the boughs, 
 Seared by the breath of Autumn, would arouse 
 His soul to meditate on Time's swift flight, 
 Life's dav. so tj ; , on tl
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. ]57 
 
 Of that dim valley, where Death's shadow lies, 
 And on that world beyond the distant skies, 
 Where Love unbounded ever bends to hear, 
 And Mercy listens from her hallowed sphere ! 
 
 No sound was heard in Helen's lonely bower, 
 The verdant leaves were still, and many a flower 
 Hung sweet, and roseate o'er her drooping brow, 
 In vain they shed their perfume round her now ; 
 O'er her fair neck her curling tresses fell, 
 And swept the violet, and the blue hare-bell, 
 That bloomed beneath upon her mossy seat, 
 Yet failed to charm her with their incense sweet ; 
 She sees no beauty in the flowers that twine, 
 In blushing rose, in fragrant jessamine : 
 On her white trembling hands reclined her head, 
 Fast fell her tears for him she mourned as dead, 
 Despair breathed wildly in her struggling sigh, 
 " Break, my lorn heart ! — I only long to die !" 
 As thus she spake, a light quick step was heard 
 O'er the green yielding turf, and one fond word 
 " Helen !" from Seward's lips so softly broke, 
 Its sudden tone came like a spell, and 'wol
 
 158 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 Hope which affliction blighted, to destroy, 
 
 While Fear fled shuddering at her shriek of joy ! 
 
 And Seward caught her in his arms, and pressed 
 
 The lovely maiden to his panting breast : 
 
 Oh ! that bright moment's vivid bliss o'erpaid 
 
 The grief of years ! — Misfortune's gloomy shade 
 
 Passed from their minds, and left no cloud to roll, 
 
 To dim the genial sunshine of the soul ! 
 
 And other sounds were heard — a Father's care, 
 
 Doubts, hopes, affections, drew his footsteps there ; 
 
 And Aleyn quickly came, and Howard's voice 
 
 In grateful accents bade their hearts rejoice. 
 
 Then silence reigned — Oh ! words were all too weak 
 
 Their bosom's joyance, their delight to speak, 
 
 So great their bliss, the faltering tongue seemed bound, 
 
 Afraid to break the stillness so profound, 
 
 As though one word might make its rapture less, 
 
 So new, so pure, so deep their happiness ! 
 
 Fair halcyon days returned, the Castle-hall 
 Rang to the sounds of dance, and festival,
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 FRAMLINGHAM. 159 
 
 There hearts were happy, and, in Aleyn's breast 
 Joy was too rife to leave his harp at rest ; 
 To see bright smiles around him, to behold 
 The bliss of those he loved most dear, unfold, 
 Gave to his heart a glow, a quickening fire, 
 While swept his hand across his quivering lyre, 
 Roused its melodious voice, that warbled soft 
 O'er arch and roof, which spread the sound aloft, 
 As though they echoed emulous, to prolong 
 The tone, the cadence of his cheerful song. 
 
 The storm has passed o'er us ! — around and above 
 
 All is cloudless and bright, and life's path-way is green ; 
 Oh ! its flowers have been strown by the angel of love, 
 And their sweetness exhales where his foot-prints have been ! 
 Love breathes in the fountain, 
 Inhabits the mountain, 
 The wild woods, the vallies, the hills, and the dells, 
 Sighs deep in the ocean, 
 And kindles emotion, 
 And brightens, and hallows the spot where he dwells!
 
 1()0 FRAMLINGHAM. CANTO IV. 
 
 II. 
 
 OIi ! blest are the hearts that enraptured unite, 
 
 That but heave with one pulse, and are bound by one tie, 
 That can bask in the summer of love with delight, 
 
 And cling closer, and dearer, when storms rend its sky ! 
 Can ye fetter Love's pinion ? 
 How wide his Dominion ! 
 Unbounded, while ages eternally roll ! 
 He sways king and peasant, 
 The bright Omnipresent ! 
 The sun of the world, and the light of the soul ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Away gloomy care ! — on the wind's rapid wing, 
 
 Post away to thy cave, nor our pleasures annoy, 
 And may Time to our home in his pilgrimage bring 
 The sweet garland of Hope, with the chaplet of Joy : 
 His chaplet '. — I find it ! 
 On Helen's brow bind it ! 
 Oh! long may it flourish unshaded by grief, 
 Unblighted by sadness, 
 And cherished in gladness, 
 Unchanging its flower, and unfading its leaf!
 
 CANTO IV. FRAMLINGHAM. 161 
 
 Tis Eve — the sun sinks slowly in the west, 
 Hushed is the rill, the summer-breeze at rest, 
 The woods are bright with soft reflected gleams, 
 And heaven glows deeper with the spreading beams, 
 That shoot in strange fantastic shapes on high, 
 And stud the shadowy azure of the sky 
 With sapphire towers, and battlements of light, 
 And fairy Castles, with their turrets bright, 
 That rise amid the glittering air, and throw 
 Their tints on Towers more tangible below. 
 And, as I sit beneath their shade, where spread 
 Records of ages past, of men long dead, 
 And muse on warlike Barous, Knights, and Squires, 
 Their power, their strife, their struggles, their desires ; 
 Lives there no moral in the altered scene, 
 Where kingly pride, and regal pomp have been ? 
 Where war raged fiercely, banners floated wide, 
 The shield defended, and the spear defied ? 
 Speaks not the change of Man's eventful fate ? 
 Dwells not a voice in things inanimate ? 
 Docs not the grey moss on the rampart teach ? 
 The rifted battlement, though silent, preach ? 
 
 Y
 
 162 FRAMLINGHAM. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Is not each stone a text ? — each yet proud tower 
 A sermon, splendid, eloquent in power ? 
 I read them thus, and, should their influence cast 
 Light on reflection's mirror, that may last — 
 If their remembrance can one truth impart, 
 To soothe, to charm, to elevate the heart — 
 Oh ! I shall joy that I, too bold, yet free, 
 Inscribed my verse, Old Castle ! unto thee !
 
 NOTES.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 1, Canto i., page 2. 
 
 Scene of immortal deeds ! thy walls have rung 
 To pealing shouts from many a warriors tongue ; 
 JVhen first thy founder, Redwald of the spear, 
 Manned thy high towers. 
 
 Redwald, king of the East-Angles, is supposed to have 
 been the founder of Framlingham Castle : he commenced his 
 reign in 593. The Castle is the boldest feature, and the 
 greatest ornament of the town. Its exterior appearance is 
 perhaps more perfect, and more interesting, than any similar 
 relic of antiquity in the kingdom : for, as Mr. Hawes remarks, 
 " it stills looks more like a Castle than the ruins of one j" 
 and as, when viewed at a little distance, it retains almost all 
 its original dignity and importance, it carries our ideas back 
 to the chivalric ages, and to the days of feudal tenure, with 
 greater exactness and fidelity than most of our castellated 
 piles of " the days of other years."
 
 166 NOTES. 
 
 The author of a pamphlet entitled " The Town and Castle 
 of Framlingham Described" remarks that " Nothing indeed 
 can be more striking, than the whole contour of this an- 
 cient structure ; upon approaching it in the still twilight of 
 a summer's evening, when the partial imperfections that time 
 has created are lost in obscurity, and only the bold outlines of 
 the building are visible, the imagination can hardly forbear 
 peopling it with its ancient inhabitants ; one almost fancies that 
 the measured step of the sentinels, pacing the ramparts, may 
 still be heard, and that the shrill blast of the warder's horn 
 will soon announce the approach of strangers. 
 
 " The form of Framlingham Castle is circular, or rather an 
 irregular curve, approaching to a circle, the walls are forty- 
 four feet in height, and eight feet in thickness ; they are Hanked 
 with thirteen square towers, fourteen feet higher than the 
 ramparts, which, with the battlements, are still remaining in 
 sufficient perfection to give an accurate idea of the whole.'' 
 
 See the Pamphlet alluded to, page 9. 
 
 Of the interior of the Castle, in its more perfect state, 
 Mr. Loder, in his valuable History of 'Framlingham t has given 
 us a particular description. In the first court was a deep well 
 of excellent workmanship, compassed with carved pillars, which 
 supported its leaden roof, and though out of repair, it existed in 
 1651. A chapel stood in the same court, adjoining the east 
 watch-tower. The hall, which was covered with lead, was 
 situated on the other side of the court, towards the west watch-
 
 NOTES. Hi 7 
 
 tower, and between the hall and the chapel, fronting the great 
 castle-gate, were many commodious rooms and a cloister. One 
 of the rooms was hung with tapestry, upon which was wrought 
 the story of Hercules. This is supposed to be the same 
 which now ornaments the seat of Lord Braybrooke, at 
 Audley-end. 
 
 Leading from the Castle were three passages : one a postern, 
 with an iron gate on the east side, over a private bridge, the 
 remains of which are still standing; another on the west side 
 led to a dungeon, and forth on to the Mere; and another, which 
 was the grand one, on the southern side towards the Town, over 
 which was a portcullis, in one of the strongest Towers, and a 
 drawbridge without, defended by a half-moon of stone, standing 
 in 1657. For a more elaborate description, See Loders 
 History of Framlingham, 4to, p. p. 8, 9. 
 
 Note 2, Canto i., page 2. 
 
 JVhen, girt with strength, East-Anglias king of old, 
 The sainted Edmund, sought thy sheltering hold. 
 
 The Castle belonged to St. Edmund, the king and martyr, 
 who was one of the Saxon Monarchs of East-Anglia. After a 
 fierce conflict of seven hours with a Danish army, near Thetford, 
 he was compelled to seek refuge in his Castle at Framlingham, 
 which was subjected to a siege, from which, after having re- 
 sisted nobly, the king escaped, but was pursued by the enemy, 
 taken, and beheaded at Heglisdon now Hoxne, whence his corse
 
 168 NOTES. 
 
 was removed to Bury, from which circumstance, that " Mont- 
 pelier of England" derived its appellation of St. Edmund's 
 Bury. 
 
 Note 3, Canto i,, page 3. 
 
 The fearless Bigods — Brotherton — De Vere 
 And Kings, who held thee in their pride, or fear, 
 And gallant Howards. 
 
 William the Conqueror, and his Son, Rufus, retained the 
 Castle in their own possession ; but the third Son of William, 
 Henry i. granted it, with the Manor of Framlingham, to Roger 
 Biood. The singular origin of the name of this ancient family 
 is worth relating. Charles, king of France, granted the Duchy 
 of Normandy to Rollo, to be held by homage j but Rollo in- 
 dignantly refused to kiss the king's foot, in acknowledgment 
 of his tenure, and, when his friends persuaded him to comply 
 with the condition, in consideration of the advantages which he 
 would derive from it, he replied, Ne se by God: this expression 
 was, by the king and his courtiers, interpreted to mean No by 
 God', and, in derision, repeating the sentence, they called him 
 Bigod, whence, says Camden, the Normans at this day are 
 named Bigodi. — See Camd. Brit.fol. J 44. 
 
 After being successively possessed by five Earls of the 
 Bigod family, the Castle was vested in the hands of king 
 Edward n. who granted it to Thomas Brotherton, fifth son of 
 Edward the first, in the year 1314, who was also created Earl
 
 NOTES. 109 
 
 of Norfolk, and was Marshall of England. Upon the acces- 
 sion of Henry vn., when the Earl of Surrey was attainted, the 
 Castle was granted to John De Fere, Earl of Oxford, but it was 
 re-granted to the Earl of Surrey in consequence of his celebrated 
 victory over the Scots, at Flodden-Field; and who was, in 15 14, 
 created Duke of Norfolk by Henry the vin. The first of the 
 Howard family who possessed the Castle was John, son of Sir 
 Robert Howard, whose mother was the Lady Margaret, daughter 
 of Thomas Mowbray, the first Duke of Norfolk : in this family 
 it remained till the year 1635, when it was sold to Sir Robert 
 Hitcham for fourteen thousand pounds. — See Loder's History. 
 
 Note 4, Canto i., page 3. 
 
 Kings were thy courtiers I — Queens have sued to share 
 Thy\wealth, thy triumph — een thy name to bear I 
 
 Mary Queen of Scots was anxious for an alliance with 
 Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk ; and his having contracted 
 a marriage with her was one of the principal accusations against 
 him, on his trial for high treason, in 1572. 
 
 Note 5, Canto i., page 4. 
 Thy rich temple holds the stately tomb, 
 
 Where sleeps the Poet in his lasting home, 
 Lamented Surrey ! 
 
 At the eastern end of the north aisle of Framlingham church 
 
 z
 
 170 NOTES. 
 
 are several handsome monuments of the Norfolk family ; and 
 there is one which possesses peculiar interest, as having been 
 erected to perpetuate the memory of Henry Howard, the cele- 
 brated Earl of Surrey. The tomb is of black and white marble ; 
 the figures of the Earl and his Countess lie with the palms of 
 their hands conjoined, the former in his robes of state over 
 armour, the latter in sable, with a coronet upon her head, their 
 crests beiug placed at their feet. The fact of Surrey having been 
 interred at Framlingham has been doubted and disputed ; but 
 the truth appears to be, that his body was first deposited in the 
 chapel of the Tower of London, and that his remains were re- 
 moved to Framlingham by his second son, Henry, Earl of 
 Northampton. — See the Preface to Surrey's Poems : and Loders 
 Framlingham, page 300. 
 
 That among the " noble authors" of his age Surrey stands 
 pre-eminently first in rank, is, I believe conceded by all : and 
 that he was "the most polite lover, the most learned nobleman, 
 and the most accomplished gentleman of his time," is equally 
 true. His Poems, particularly his Sonnets, in praise of his 
 " Lady e- Love" are remarkable for their tenderness, elegance, 
 and pathos. The Earl of Surrey was beheaded on Tower-Hill 
 on the 19th of January, 1547, after the mere formality of a trial. 
 In the latter part of his life, the tyrannical Henry vin. became 
 jealous of his best servants, and Surrey, who quartered the 
 arms of Edward the Confessor, was, principally en that account, 
 sent to the scaffold !
 
 NOTES. 171 
 
 As the poems of Surrey are not in the hands of every reader, 
 perhaps the following extract may not prove unacceptable : — 
 
 A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE. 
 
 WHEREIN HE REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE THtlU l.iLlES WITH HIS. 
 
 Give place, ye lovers, here before 
 
 That spent your boasts and brags in vain : 
 
 My Lady's beauty passeth more 
 
 The best of yours, I dare well sayne, 
 
 Than doth the sun the candle light, 
 
 Or brightest day the darkest night. 
 
 And thereto hath a troth as just 
 As had Penelope the fair : 
 For what she saith ye may it trust, 
 As it by writing sealed were : 
 And virtues has she many moe 
 Than I with pen have skill to show. 
 
 I could rehearse, if that I would, 
 The whole effect of Nature's plaint, 
 When she had lost the perfect mould, 
 The like to whom she could not paint. 
 With wringing hands how she did cry ! 
 And what she said, I know it, I.
 
 17*2 NOTES. 
 
 I know she swore, with raging mind, 
 Her kingdom only set apart, 
 There was no loss, by law of kind, 
 That could have gone so near her heart : 
 And this was chiefly all her pain 
 She could not make the like again. 
 
 For more full and interesting details respecting the Earl 
 of Surrey and his works, see JVartons History of English 
 Poetry, and JValpoles Royal and Noble Authors. 
 
 Note 8, Canto i., page 4. 
 
 The Castle's Lord, by Hexry's tyrant power, 
 Closed in the gloomy fortress of the Tower. 
 
 Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, father of the Earl of 
 Surrey, who in every year of his life distinguished himself by 
 his valiant and faithful services to the Crown, was committed 
 to the Tower by Henry viii., tried, and found guilty of high 
 treason. The historical facts relative to his long imprison- 
 ment are too well known to require further notice in this 
 place. He appears to have entertained through life a remark- 
 able partiality for his antique Castle, and to have lived there 
 in almost regal splendour.
 
 JsOTES. 173 
 
 Note 7, Canto i., page 5. 
 Beside the stream of softly -flowing Ore 
 That ivashed the Castle's ample base, and there 
 Spread to a lake so bright and calmly fair. 
 
 The river Ore, near the spring of which Framlingham is 
 situated, was formerly navigable to the town and castle : the 
 stream falls into the sea at Orford, which evidently derives its 
 name from the river. Camden remarks, " then the shore steals 
 on by little and little, towards the east, to the mouth of the 
 river Ore, which runs to Framlingham, formerly a castle of the 
 Bigods, and presently, upon the west side of it, spreads itself 
 into a lake," &c. Camden s Britannia. 
 
 Note 8, Canto i., page 9. 
 Norris the Treasurer, and Schemyng there, 
 The trusty Constable. 
 
 John Norris was Treasurer, and Thomas Schemyng Con- 
 stable or Governor of the Castle, in the reign of Edward vi. 
 and in that of Queen Mary. The name of Sheming is a very 
 ancient one in Suffolk, and several families retaining it are 
 still residing in this county. 
 
 Note 9, Canto i., page 9. 
 Tlie figured arras oer the panelled oak 
 
 A chapel, adjoining to the east watch-tower, was, in the 
 reign of Henry vm. hung with cloth of arras, representing the 
 history of Christ's passion. See Lodcrs History, page 9.
 
 174 NOTES. 
 
 Note 10, Canto i., page 12. 
 No for est- kings so beautiful, so grand ! 
 
 Evelyn, in his Discourse on Forest-Trees, asserts that the 
 parish of Framlingham has been celebrated for producing the 
 loftiest, and the most magnificent oak trees, "perhaps, in the 
 world." See Langleys Landed Gentleman s Companion, page 
 187, quoted by Mr. Loder, page 9. 
 
 Note 11, Canto i., page 28. 
 
 While exclamations — " Seward!" — "Howard!" broke 
 Forth from their quivering lips. 
 
 Thomas Howard, the eldest son of the illustrious Surrey, 
 when his father was committed to the Tower, was placed under 
 the care of Mary, duchess-dowager of Richmond, and was 
 educated by the celebrated John Fox. Howard was, during his 
 minority, a ward of, and page to, the Lady Mary ; but not- 
 withstanding his almost constant attendance at court, and the 
 example of the Queen, he secretly remained a protestant ; and 
 when duke of Norfolk, protected his tutor, John Fox, against 
 the persecutions of Gardiner, bishop of Winchester.
 
 NOTES. 175 
 
 Note 12, Canto n., page 37. 
 
 llicre smiled brave Sulliari>,^/ , .s , £ of martial men, 
 Queen Mary's hope, bold knight o/'VVetiierden. 
 
 King Edward vi. granted to his sister, the Lady Mary, 
 Framlingham Castle, with several annexed Lordships and 
 domains. Upon the premature death of her brother, and the 
 assumption of the title of Queen by the Lady Jane Grey, 
 Mary retreated from Kenninghall, in Norfolk, to her Castle, 
 for better security, and for the facility which, on account of 
 its vicinity to the sea, it would afford her for escape to the 
 continent, in the event of the success of Lady Jane's party. 
 
 It was at Framlingham that Mary first assumed the 
 royal title, and at this place her principal adherents joined 
 her, among whom were the following knights : — Sulliard, 
 Drury, Tyrell, Shelton, Bedding field, Jern'ingham, JValdgrave, 
 Cornwallis, &c. ; the Earls of Oxford, Bath, and Sussex ; the 
 Lord Wentworth, &c &c. ; who, to oppose the ambitious de- 
 signs of the Duke of Northumberland, assembled at the Castle 
 an army of fourteen thousand men. — See Bakers Chron., 
 page 312. 
 
 Sir John Sulliard, of Wetherden-Hall, was the first gentle- 
 man in Suffolk who levied men in defence of Mary ; and the 
 following is a copy of the mandate which he carried from the 
 Queen, when he protected her in the Castle : —
 
 17(> NOTES. 
 
 " MARY, the Queen. 
 
 " Theys ar to require and commaunde you to give most 
 faythfull and assured Orders to the berer, our trustie and well- 
 beloved Svient, Sur John Sulyard ; and in any wyse as ye love 
 Us and tendre our Favor, not to fayle to accomplish and putte 
 in execution that which he shall declare unto you from Us to 
 be our Pleasure, So fare ye hartylye well. From Framsn. the 
 23offJun." — Loder, page (07. 
 
 When the camp broke up at Framlingham, observes Stow, 
 " Victuals were of such plenty, that a barrel of beer with 
 the cask was sold for sixpence, and four great loaves of bread 
 for a penny.— See Stows Annals, 4to. page 1 037. 
 
 So illustrious a resident as the Sovereign contributed to 
 supply the annals of the Castle with many marvellous stories, 
 of which tradition still preserves the remembrance. The san- 
 guinary deeds which marked the reign of Mary have, notwith- 
 standing the zeal of her apologists, fixed a stain upon her 
 memory which successive ages will never efface. Not content 
 with asserting facts, the credulous and excited Protestants 
 invented tales which were as improbable and as absurd as the 
 legendary lore of the monks. But the momentous tradition 
 which "out herods Herod," is one which was believed 
 by many, that Mary, during her residence at Framlingham 
 Castle, gave birth to a monster, which, in a paroxysm of horror,
 
 NOTES. 177 
 
 she instantly destroyed, and, not many years since, the identical 
 stone upon which she dashed it was pretended to be shown ! 
 
 There is a small part of the castle which still retains the 
 name of Queen Mary's Room, and a lane is yet denominated 
 " Bloody Queen Mary's Lane." In this lane, says the author of 
 the pamphlet before quoted, " she probably used to walk j" but 
 it has been asserted that a road, or " lane," was expressly 
 formed to facilitate her escape eastward, towards the sea, 
 should a flight from the castle become necessary. 
 
 Note 13, Canto n., page 38. 
 
 Thou look' st as grave, as solemn, and as sage, 
 As Father Rowland o'er the missaVs page. 
 
 In a document relating to the household of the castle, mention 
 is made of " Rowland the Priest," in the time of Edward vi. 
 and Mary. From all that I have been able to trace of him, it 
 may be inferred, to use the words of a quaint old Chronicler, 
 that he was " A man of great gravytie, and some parts." 
 
 Note 14, Canto n., page 43. 
 
 The lamp's pale /lame, 
 
 JVhich at that altar Monks decreed should burn 
 Till Time expire on nature 's funeral urn. 
 
 In the Chapel of the Castle, " a lamp of the value of 
 seven shillings was usually burnt before the altar there," the 
 gift, doubtless, of some pious devotee, whose last bequest ex- 
 
 2a
 
 178 NOTES. 
 
 pressly stated that the " seven shillings" should be appro- 
 priated to its peculiar use "for ever." There have been men, 
 remarks the ancient Poet, 
 
 " Who loved the church so well, and gave so largely to't, 
 They thought it should have canopied their bones 
 Till domebesdav." — Webster. 
 
 Note 15, Canto n., page 45. 
 
 And fiery scorn sat proudly on her lips, 
 JVhich, in their very ampleness, expressed 
 T7ie tvide disdain that rankled in her breast. 
 
 Most of the biographers of Queen Mary, who have at- 
 tempted to describe her person minutely, have noticed the 
 remarkable expression of her large peculiarly formed mouth, 
 and prominent lips, which, if they did not, in the paucity of 
 her imagination, often utter " thoughts that breathed" they 
 did, in the exuberance of her mistaken zeal, too frequently 
 promulgate " words that burned." 
 
 Note 16, Canto n., page 61. 
 He passed the Hermitage. 
 
 In the Court Rolls of the Lordship of Framlingham, the 
 " Hermitage" is repeatedly alluded to. It was, I believe, a 
 residence so named on the road leading towards Dennington.
 
 NOTES. 179 
 
 Note 17, Canto 3., page 77. 
 
 And one repeated yell of triumph told 
 Tlie price of treachery — the curse of gold. 
 
 The Duke of Northumberland having assumed the command 
 of the forces levied in aid of Lady Jane Grey's cause, left 
 London on the 1 4th of July, with 8,000 foot, and 2,000 horse- 
 men. He proceeded to Cambridge, thence to Bury St. Edmund's, 
 intending from that place to have marched with his concen- 
 trated forces to Framlingham Castle ; but having intrusted 
 Edward Hastings, the Earl of Huntingdon's brother, with 
 the command of 4,000 men, he treacherously revolted to Mary 
 with the troops committed to his charge : at the same time, the 
 commanders of six ships of the line, which were stationed off 
 Yarmouth, to intercept Mary, should she attempt to escape by 
 sea, were prevailed upon by Jerningham to espouse her cause. 
 This, with the revolt of Hastings, gave a death-blow to the 
 hopes of Lady Jane and her friends. 
 
 Note 18, Canto in,, page 85. 
 
 The dead alive — the hopeless lost- one found. 
 
 Henry vni. had issued orders that the Duke of Norfolk 
 should be beheaded on the 29th of January, 1547, but Henry 
 expired on the preceding night ; a circumstance which saved 
 the Duke's life. He was restored to all his honours by Queen 
 Mary, and appointed Lord Lieutenant of the counties of
 
 180 NOTES. 
 
 Norfolk and Suffolk. After the reversal of his attainder, he 
 resided till his death at Framlingham Castle, and was buried in 
 the south aisle of the church in that town, where a magnificent 
 tomb of freestone was erected to his memory. — Let not the 
 stranger visit Framlingham without inspecting its extremely 
 interesting and beautiful church : the tombs of the illustrious 
 dead will be around him, and he cannot fail to explore the 
 ancient pile with elevated thoughts, and gratified feelings. — 
 See Holinshed, 1121, and Loders Hist, page 123. 
 
 Note 19, Canto in., page 95. 
 Tell me, brave Shelton. 
 
 Sir John Shelton was High Sheriff of Suffolk, in the reign 
 of Mary, and rendered himself unfortunately conspicuous by 
 his cruel and unrelenting persecution of the Protestants. 
 
 Note 20, Canto in , page 105. 
 
 JVhere towered gigantic many a stately oak, 
 Birch, plane, and lime, fair garniture of Stoke. 
 
 At Stoke Park, in Suffolk, was erected an image, which 
 was an object of veneration to the superstitious Catholics. 
 Seward, who was a native of Dedham, and a zealous Protes- 
 tant, overturned the statue, and, for this indiscreet act, he was 
 subjected to the most imminent peril — proscribed, hunted, 
 persecuted, and narrowly escaped with his life.
 
 NOTES. 181 
 
 Note 21, Canto iv., page 141. 
 Then S ii elton' s words of anger were not slow, 
 " Speak Latin, Dog !" came quickly with the blow ! 
 
 Sir John Shelton was present at the martyrdom of Dr. 
 
 Taylor, the Rector of Hadleigh ; and when the sufferer was 
 
 repeating the Psalm Miserere, in English, Shelton struck him 
 
 on the lips, exclaiming at the same time, " Ye Dog, (or knave, 
 
 as quoted by some) speak Latin, or I'll make thee !" For a 
 
 detailed account of the martyrdom of Dr. Rowland Taylor, 
 
 with Poems commemorative of his character and sufferings, 
 
 See Dr. Drakes Winter Nights, vol. i No. vn. 
 
 THE END.
 
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