Then mutter'd, 'It is best make sure; Guy Denzil's faith was never pure.' He follow'd down the steep descent, Then through the Greta's streams they went;

XV.

shore,

They stood the lonely cliff before.

XIV.

With wonder Bertram heard within
The flinty rock a murmur'd din;
But when Guy pull'd the wilding

spray,

And brambles, from its base away,
He saw, appearing to the air,
A little entrance, low and square,
Like opening cell of hermit lone,
Dark, winding through the living stone.
Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here;
And loud and louder on their ear,
As from the bowels of the earth,
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth.
Of old, the cavern strait and rude
In slaty rock the peasant hew'd;
And Brignal's woods, and Scargill's

wave,

E'en now, o'er many a sister cave,
Where, far within the darksome rift,
The wedge and lever ply their thrift.
But war had silenced rural trade,
And the deserted mine was made
The banquet-hall, and fortress too,
Of Denzil and his desperate crew.
There Guilt his anxious revel kept;
There, on his sordid pallet, slept
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd
Still in his slumbering grasp retain'd;
Regret was there, his eye still cast
With vain repining on the past;
Among the feasters waited near
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear,
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,
With his own crimes reproaching
heaven;

While Bertram show'd, amid the crew,
The Master-Fiend that Milton drew.

known

To single out and mark her own!
Yet some there are, whose brows retain
Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain.
See yon pale stripling! when a boy,
A mother's pride, a father's joy!
Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls
reclined,

An early image fills his mind:

The cottage, once his sire's, he sees, Embower'd upon the banks of Tees; He views sweet Winston's woodland

scene,

And shares the dance on Gainford-green.
A tear is springing-but the zest
Of some wild tale, or brutal jest,

Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest.
On him they call, the aptest mate

For jovial song and merry feat:

Fast flies his dream-with dauntless air,

As one victorious o'er Despair,
He bids the ruddy cup go round,
Till sense and sorrow both are drown'd;
And soon, in merry wassail, he,
The life of all their revelry,
Peals his loud song! The muse has
found

Her blossoms on the wildest ground,
'Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd,
Themselves all profitless and rude.
With desperate merriment he sung.
The cavern to the chorus rung;
Yet mingled with his reckless glee
Remorse's bitter agony.

XVI. SONG.

O, Brignal banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen.

Nay, often strove to bar the way
Between his comrades and their prey;
Preaching, even then, to such as we,
Hot with our dear-bought victory,
Of mercy and humanity.

XXIII.

I loved him well; his fearless part,
His gallant leading, won my heart.
And after each victorious fight,
'Twas I that wrangled for his right,
Redeem'd his portion of the prey
That greedier mates had torn away:
In field and storm thrice saved his
life,

And once amid our comrades' strife.Yes, I have loved thee! well hath proved

My toil, my danger, how I loved!
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate,
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate.
Rise if thou canst!' he look'd around,
And sternly stamp'd upon the ground—
Rise, with thy bearing proud and
high,

Even as this morn it met mine eye,
And give me, if thou darest, the lie!'
He paused; then, calm and passion-

freed,

Bade Denzil with his tale proceed.

XXIV.

'Bertram, to thee I need not tell, What thou hast cause to wot so well, How Superstition's nets were twined Around the Lord of Mortham's mind; But since he drove thee from his tower, A maid he found in Greta's bower, Whose speech, like David's harp, had

sway,

To charm his evil fiend away.
I know not if her features moved
Remembrance of the wife he loved;
But he would gaze upon her eye,
Till his mood soften'd to a sigh.
He, whom no living mortal sought
To question of his secret thought,

Now every thought and care confess'd
To his fair niece's faithful breast;
Nor was there aught of rich and rare,
In earth, in ocean, or in air,
But it must deck Matilda's hair,
Her love still bound him unto life;
But then awoke the civil strife,
And menials bore, by his commands,
Three coffers, with their iron bands,
From Mortham's vault, at midnight
deep,

To her lone bower in Rokeby-keep,
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride,
His gift, if he in battle died.'

-

Bertram she scorn'd-if met by chance,

XXVIII.

glance,

Like a nice dame, that will not brook
On what she hates and loathes to look;

She told to Mortham she could ne'er
Behold me without secret fear,
Foreboding evil;-she may rue
To find her prophecy fall true!
The war has weeded Rokeby's train,
Few followers in his halls remain ;
If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold,
We are enow to storm the hold;
Bear off the plunder, and the dame,
And leave the castle all in flame.'

XXVII.

'Still art thou Valour's venturous son! Yet ponder first the risk to run: The menials of the castle, true, And stubborn to their charge, though few;

The wall to scale-the moat to crossThe wicket-grate-theinner fosse'-Fool! if we blench for toys like these,

On what fair guerdon can we seize? Our hardiest venture, to explore Some wretched peasant's fenceless door,

And the best prize we bear away,
The earnings of his sordid day.'-
'A while thy hasty taunt forbear:
In sight of road more sure and fair,
Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold
wrath,

Or wantonness, a desperate path?
List, then; for vantage or assault,
From gilded vane to dungeon-vault,
Each pass of Rokeby-house I know:
There is one postern, dark and low,
That issues at a secret spot,
By most neglected or forgot.
Now, could a spial of our train
On fair pretext admittance gain,
That sally-port might be unbarr'd:
Then, vain were battlement and ward!'

'What youth is this, your band among,
The best for minstrelsy and song?
In his wild notes seem aptly met
A strain of pleasure and regret.'--
'Edmund of Winston is his name;
The hamlet sounded with the fame
Of early hopes his childhood gave,—
Now centred all in Brignal cave!
I watch him well—his wayward course
Shows oft a tincture of remorse.
Some early love-shaft grazed his heart,
And oft the scar will ache and smart.
Yet is he useful;-of the rest,
By fits, the darling and the jest,