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Then mutter'd, 'It is best make sure;
That struggles with the carthy damp. And, when they reach'd the farther By what strange features Vice hath shore,
known They stood the lonely cliff before. To single out and mark her own!
Yet some thereare, whose brows retain
Less deeplystamp'dherbrandand stain. With wonder Bertram heard within See yon pale stripling! when a boy, The flinty rock a murinur'd din; A mother's pride, a father's joy! But when Guy pulld the wilding Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls spray,
reclined, And brambles, from its base away, An early image fills his mind : He saw, appearing to the air,
The cottage, once his sire's, he sees, A little entrance, low and square, | Embower'd upon the banks of Tees; Like opening cell of hermit lone, He view's sweet Winston's woodland Dark, winding through the living stone. scene, Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here; And shares the dance on Gainford-green. And loud and louder on their ear, A tear is springing—but the zest As from the bowels of the earth,
! Of some wild talc, or brutal jest, Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest. Of old, the cavern strait and rude
On him they call, the aptest mate In slaty rock the peasant hew'd; ; For jovial song and merry feat : And Brignal's woods, and Scargill's Fastflies his dream-with dauntlessair, wave,
As one victorious o'er Despair, E'en now, o'er many a sister cave, He bids the ruddy cup go round, Where, far within the darksome rift, Tillsense and sorrowbothare drown'd; The wedge and lever ply their thrift. And soon, in merry wassail, he, But war had silenced rural trade, The life of all their revelry, And the deserted mine was made Peals his loud song! The muse has The banquet-hall, and fortress too,
Remorse's bitter agony.
SONG, With his own crimes reproaching O, Brignal banks are wild and fair, heaven;
And Greta woods are green, While Bertram show'd, amid the crew, And you may gather garlands there The Master-Fiend that Milton drew. Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, And O! though Brignal banks be fair, Beneath the turrets high,
And Greta woods be gay, A maiden on the castle wall
Yet mickle must the maiden dare, Was singing merrily,
Would reign my Queen of May ! "O, Brignal banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green;
The fiend, whose lantern lights the "If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with mead,
Were better mate than I ! To leave both tower and town, And when I'm with my comrades met Thou first must guess what life leadwe, Beneath the greenwood bough,
That dwell by dale and down. What once we were we all forget, And if thou canst that riddle read, Nor think what we are now. As read full well you may,
Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair, Then to the greenwood shalt thou And Greta woods are green, speed,
And you may gather garlands there As blithe as Queen of May.'
Would grace a summer queen.' Yet sung she, Brignal banks are fair,
And Greta woods are green; When Edmund ceased his simple song, I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Was silence on the sullen throng, Than reign our English queen. Till waked some ruder mate their glee
With note of coarser minstrelsy.
But, far apart, in dark divan,
Of import foul and fierce, design'd, I read you for a ranger sworn,
While still on Bertram's grasping mind To keep the king's greenwood.' The wealth of murder'd Mortham hung; 'A ranger, lady, winds his horn, Though halfhe fear'd his daring tongue, And 'tis at peep of light;
When it should give his wishes birth, His blast is heard at merry morn, Might raise a spectre from the earth! And mine at dead of night.'
xix. Yet sung she, ‘Brignal banks are fair,
At length his wondrous tale he told : And Greta woods are gay ;
When, scornful, smiled his comrade I would I were with Edmund there,
bold; To reign his Queen of May!
For, train'd in license of a court,
Religion's self was Denzil's sport; With burnish'd brand and musketoon, Then judge in what contempt he held So gallantly you come,
The visionary tales of eld!
That lists the tuck of drum.' The unbeliever's sneering jest.
No more the trumpet hcar; To spell the subject of your fear:
My comrades take the spear, Vision and omen to expound.
Yet, faith if I must needs afford Than venture to awake to flame
Hence he refused each kindly call
To Rokehy's hospitable hall, At this he pauscd, for angry shame And our stout knight, at dawn of morn Lower'd on the brow of Risingham. Who loved to hear the bugle-horn, lle blush'd to think that he should Norless, wheneve his oaksembrown'il,
To see the ruddy cup go round, Assertor of an airy dream,
Took umbrage that a friend so near And gave his wrath another theme. Refused to share his chase and cheer; • Denzil,' he says, “though lowly laid, Thus did the kindred barons jar, Wrong not the memory of the dead ; Ere they divided in the war. For, while he lived, at Mortham's look Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir.' And when he tax'd thy breach of word To yon fair Rose of Allenford, Destined to her! to yon slight maid ! I sawthee crouch like chasten'd hound, The prize my life had wellnigh paid, Whose back the huntsman's lash hath | When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave, found.
I fought my patron's wealth to save! Nor dare to call his foreign wealth Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er The spoil of piracy or stealth;
Knew him that joyous cavalier, He won it bravely with his brand Whom youthful friends and early fame When Spain waged warfare with our Call’d soul of gallantry and game. land.
A moody man, he sought our crew, Mark, ton—I brook no idle jeer, | Desperate and dark, whom no one Nor couple Bertram's name with fear;
knew; Mine is but half the demon's lot, And rose, as men with us must rise, For I believe, but tremble not. By scorning life and all its ties. Enough of this.-Say, why this hoard On each adventure rash he roved, Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored; As danger for itself he loved; Or think'st that Northam would ! On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine bestow
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine; His treasure with his faction's fue?' | Ill was the omen if he smiled,
| For 'twas in peril stern and wild;
But when he laugh'd, eachlucklessmate Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-timed | Might hold our fortune desperate. mirth;
Foremost he fought in every broil, Rather he would have seen the earth Then scornful turn'd him from the Give to ten thousand spectres birth,
Nay, often strove to bar the way Now every thought and care confess'd
But it must deck Matilda's hair,
But then awoke the civil strife,
deep, Redeem'd his portion of the prey To her lone bower in Rokeby-keep, That greedier mates had torn away : Ponderous with goldand plate of pride, In field and storm thrice saved his His gift, if he in battle died.'
life, And once amid our comrades' strife. Yes, I have loved thee! well hath "Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, proved
These iron-banded chests to gain; My toil, my danger, how I loved ! Else, wherefore should he hover here, Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, Where many a peril waits him near, Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. For all his feats of war and peace, Rise if thou canst!' he look'd around, For plunder'd boors, and harts of And sternly stamp'd upon theground
grease ? "Rise, with thy bearing proud and Since through the hamlets as he fared, high,
What hearth has Guy's marauding Even as this morn it met mine eye,
spared, And give me, if thou darest, the lie!' Or where the chase that hath not rung He paused; then, calm and passion- With Denzil's bow, at midnight freed,
strung?' Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 'I hold my wont-my rangers go
Even now to track a milk-white doe.
By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, ‘Bertram, to thee I need not tell, In Greta wood she harbours fair, What thou hast cause to wot so well, And when my huntsman marks her How Superstition's nets were twined
way, Around the Lord of Mortham's mind; What think'st thou, Bertram, of the But since he drove thee from his tower, prey ? A maid he found in Greta's bower, Were Rokeby's daughter in Whose speech, like David's harp, had power, sway,
We rate her ransom at her dower.' To charm his evil fiend away.
XXVI. I know not if her features moved Remembrance of the wife he loved; "'Tis well! there's vengeance in the But he would gaze upon her eye,
thought! Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; He, whom no living mortal sought And hot-brain'd Redinond, too, 'tis said, To question of his secret thought, Pays lover's homage to the maid.
Bertramshe scorn'd-if met by chance, She turn'd from me her shuddering Now speak'st thou well: to me the glance,
same, Like a nice dame, that will not brook
If force or art shall urge the game; On what she hates and loathes to look; Indifferent, if like fox I wind, She told to Mortham she could ne'er or spring like tiger on the hind. Behold me without secret fear,
But, hark! our merry-men so gay Foreboding evil;—she may rue
Troll forth another roundelay.'
A weary lot is thine, fair maid, If thy scheme miss, then, briefand bold,
A weary lot is thine! We are enow to storm the hold;
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, Bear off the plunder, and the dame,
And press the rue for wine ! And leave the castle all in flame.'
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, XXVII.
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green,·Stillart thou Valour's venturous son!
No more of me you know, Yet ponder first the risk to run:
My love: The menials of the castle, true, And stubborn to their charge, though
No more of me you know. few;
This morn is merry June, I trow, The wall to scale—the moat to cross | The rose is budding fain; The wicket-grate-theinner fosse' But she shall bloom in winter snow, -Fool! if we blench for toys like: Ere we two meet again.' these,
He turn'd his charger as he spake, On what fair guerdon can we seize? | L'pon the river shore, Our hardiest venture, to explore He gave his bridle-reins a shake, Some wretched peasant's fenceless Said, “Adieu for evermore, door,
My love! And the best prize we bcar away, And adieu for evermore.' The earnings of his sordid day.'A while thy hasty taunt forbear: In sight of road more sure and fair, "What youth is this, your hand among, Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold The best for minstrelsy and song ? wrath,
In his wild notes seem aptly met Or wantonness, a desperate path ? | A strain of pleasure and regret.'-. List, then; for vantage or assault, • Edmund of Winston is his name; From gilded vane to dungeon-vault, The hamlet sounded with the fame Each pass of Rokeby-house I know: Of early hopes his childhood gave,There is one postern, dark and low, Now centred all in Brignal cave: That issues at a secret spot,
I watch him well-his wayward course By most neglected or forgot.
Shows oft a tincture of remorse. Now, could a spial of our train Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, On fair pretext admittance gain, And oft the scar will ache and smart. That sally-port might be unbarr'd : Yet is he useful;-of the rest, Then, vain were battlementandward!' | By fits, the darling and the jest,