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llis harp, his story, and his lay, * Though the castle of Richmond stand Oft aid the idle hours away :
fair on the hill, When unemploy'd, each fiery mate My hall,' quoth bold Allen, 'shows Is ripe for mutinous debate.
gallanter still; He tuned his strings e'en now--again 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its He wakes them, with a blither strain.' crescent so pale,
And with all its bright spangles !' said
The father was steel, and the mother
was stone; Allen-a Dale has no fagot for burning, They lifted the latch, and they bade Allen-a-Dalc has no furrow forturning, him be gone; Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the But loud, on the morrow, their wail spinning,
and their cry: Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the
He had laugh'd on the lass with his winning
bonny black eye, Come, read me my riddle! come, Andshe fled to the forest to heara lovehearken my tale!
tale, And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a- And the youth it was told by was Dale.
Allen-a-Dale! The Baron of Ravensworth prances
XXXI. in pride, And he views his domains upon Ar- Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay, kindale side;
Love mingles ever in his lay. The mere for his net, and the land for But when his boyish wayward fit
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ;
ape The chase for the wild, and the park O! ’tis a brain of fire, can for the tame;
Each dialect, cach various shape.' Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer ‘Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guyof the vale,
Soft! who comes here?'. My trusty spy. Are less free to Lord Dacre than Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our Allen-a-Dale!
· I have—but two fair stags are near. Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belteda knight, I watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd Though his spur be as sharp, and his From Egliston up Thorsgill glade ; blade be as bright;
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side, Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, And then young Redmond, in his pride, Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at Shot down to meet them on their way; his word;
Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say: And the best of our nobles his bonnet | There's time to pitch both toil and net will vail,
Before their path be homeward set.' Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets A hurried and a whisper'd speech Allen-a-Dale.
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach ; Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;
Who, turning to the robber band, The mother, she ask'd of his household
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. and home :
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown,
Might make proud Oberon a throne,
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly; WHEN Denmark's raven soar'd on high,
And where profuse the wood-vetch
clings Triumphant through Northumbrian sky,
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings, Till, hovering near, her fatal croak
Its pale and azure-pencilld flower Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke,
Should canopy Titania's bower.
Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade; Thundering o'er Caldron and High- . But, skirting every sunny glade, Force;
In fair variety of green Beneath the shade the Northmen came,
The woodland lends its silvan sercen. Fix'd on cach vale a Runic name,
Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak, Reard high their altar's rugged stonc, i And towers erect, in sable spire,
Its boughs by weight of ages broke; And gave their Gods the land they won. Then, Balder, one bleak garth was
The pine-tree scathed by lightningthine,
fire; And one sweet brooklet's silver line,
The drooping ash and birch, between, And Woden's Croft did title gain
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, From the stern Father of the Slain;
And all beneath, at random grow But to the Monarch of the Mace,
Each coppice dwarf of varied show, That held in fight the foremost place,
Or, round the stems profusely twined, To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse,
Fling summer odours on the wind. Near Stratforth high they paid their
Such varied group Urbino's hand
Round Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd,
Then grey Philosophy stood nigh,
There rose the scar-seam'd Veteran's Yet Scald or Kemper err'd, I ween,
spear. Who gave that soft and quiet scene, There Grecian Beauty bent to hear, With all its varied light and shade, While Childhoodather foot was placed, And every little sunny glade,
Or clung delighted to her waist. And the blithe brook that strolls along Its pebbled bed with summer song, To the grim God of blood and scar, And rest we here,' Matilda said, The grisly King of Northern War. And sat her in the varying shade. 0, better were its banks assign’d • Chance-met, we well may steal an To spirits of a gentler kind!
hour, For where the thicket-groups recede, To friendship due, from fortune's And the rath primrose decks the mead,
power. The velvet grass seems carpet meet Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend For the light fairies' lively feet. Thy counsel to thy sister-friend;
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest, But days of war and civil crime
slain, Beside her on the turf she placed; While every ill her soul foretold, Then paused, with downcast look and | From Oswald's thirst of power and cye,
gold, Nor bade young Redmond seat him And boding thoughts that she must part nigh.
With a soft vision of her heart,Her conscious diffidence he saw, All lower'd around the lovely inaid, Drew backward, as in modest awe, To darken her dejection's shade. And sat a little space removed, Unmark'd to gaze on her he loved.
Who has not heard—while Erin yet
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit Wreath'd in its dark-brown rings, her Who has not heard how brave O'Neale hair
In English blood imbrued his steel, Half hid Matilda's forehead fair, Against St. George's cross blazed high Half hid and half reveal'd to view The banners of his Tanistry, Her full dark eye of hazel hue. To fiery Essex gave the foil, The rose, with faint and feeble streak, And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil? So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, But chief arose his victor pride, That you had said her hue was pale; When that brave Marshal fought and But if she faced the summer gale,
died, Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved, And Avon-Duff to ocean bore Or heard the praise of those she loved, His billows, red with Saxon gore. Or when of interest was express'd 'Twas first in that disastrous fight, Aught that waked feeling in her breast, Rokeby and Mortham proved their The mantling blood in ready play
might. Rivall'd the blush of rising day. There had they fallen 'mongst the rest, There was a soft and pensive grace, But pity touch'd a chieftain's breast; A cast of thought upon her face, The Tanist he to great O'Neale; That suited well the forehead high, He check’d his followers' bloody zeal, The eyelash dark, and downcast eye; ! To quarter took the kinsmen bold, The mild expression spoke a mind And bore them to his mountain-hold, In duty firm, composed, resign'd; Gave them each silvan joy to know, 'Tis that which Roman art has given Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could To mark their maiden Queen of Heaven, show, In hours of sport, that mood gave way Shared with them Erin's festal cheer, To Fancy's light and frolic play ; Show'd them the chase ofwolf and deer, And when the dance, or tale, or song, And, when a fitting time was come, In harmless mirth sped time along, Safe and unransom'd sent them home, Full oft her doating sire would call Loaded with many a gift, to prove His Maud the merriest of them all. A generous foe's respect and love.
With wild inajestic port and tone, Years speed away. On Rokeby's head
Like envoy of some barbarous throne. Some touch of early snow was shed;
• Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear! Calm he enjoy'd, by Greta's wave,
| Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; The peace which James the Peaceful
He graces thee, and to thy care
Young Redmond gives, his grandson gave,
fair. While Mortham, far beyond the main, Waged his fierce wars on Indian
IIe bids thice breed him as thy son, Spain.
For Turlough's days of joy are done; It chanced upon a wintry night,
And other lords have seized his land, That whiten'd Stanmore's stormy
And faint and feeble is his land; height,
And all the glory of Tyrone The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd, : Is like a morning vapour flown. In Rokeby-hall the cups were fillid,
To bind the duty on thy soul, And by the huge stone chinney sate
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl! The Knight in hospitable state.
| If any wrong the young O'Neale, Moonless the sky, the hour was late,
Ile bids thee think of Erin's steel. When a loud summons shook the gate,
To Mortham first this charge was due, And sore for entrance and for aid
But, in his absence, honours you.A voice of foreign accent pray’d.
Now is my master's message by, The porter answer'd to the call,
And Fcrraught will contented die.' And instant rush'd into the hall A Man, whose aspect and attire Startled the circle by the fire.
His look grew fix'd, his chcek grew
He sunk when he had told his tale;
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, His plaited hair in elf-locks spread A mortal wound was in his side. Around his bare and matted head; Vain was all aid-in terror wild, On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and . And sorrow, scream'd the orphan trim,
child. His vesture show'd the sinewy limb); Poor Ferraught raised his wistful In saffron dyed, a linen vest
eyes, Was frequent folled round his breast; And faintly strove to soothe his cries: A mantle long and loose he wore, All reckless of his dying pain, Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore. He blest and blest him o'er again : He clasp'd a burden to his heart, And kiss'd the little hands outspread, And, resting on a knotted dart, And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head, Thesnow from hairandbeard he shook, | And, in his native tongue and phrase, And round him gazed with wilder'd Pray'd to each saint to watch his look,
days; Then up the hall, with staggering pace, Then all his strength together drew, He hasten'd by the blaze to place, The charge to Rokeby to renew. Half lifeless from the bitter air, When half was falter'd from his breast, His load, a Boy of beauty rare. And half by dying signs express’d, To Rokeby, next, he louted low, Bless the O'Neale!' he faintly said, Then stood erect his tale to show, And thus the faithful spirit fled.
'Twas long ere soothing might prevail Butsummer monthsbring wildingshoot
And loves, against the deer so dun,
Is alter'd too, and knows her power; And stripp'd of all, his failing strength | Assumes a monitress's pride, Just bore him here--and then the | Her Redmond's dangerous sports to child
chide; Renew'd again his moaning wild. Yet listens still to hear him tell
How thegrim wild-boar fought and fell,
How at his fall the bugle rung, The tear down childhood's cheek that | Till rock and greenwood answer flung; flows
Then blesses her, that man can find Is like the dewdrop on the rose;
A pastime of such savage kind! When next the summer breeze comes
by, And waves the bush, the flower is dry. But Redmond knew to weave his tale Won by their care, the orphan child So well with praise of wood and dale, Soon on his new protector smiled, And knew so well each point to trace, With dimpled cheek and eye so fair, Gives living interest to the chase, Through his thick curls of flaxen hair: And knew so well o'er all to throw But blithest laugh'd that cheek and His spirit's wild romantic glow, cy
That, while she blamed, and while When Rokeby's little maid was nigh ; she fear'd, 'Twas his, with elder brother's pride, She loved each venturous tale she Matilda's tottering steps to guide ;
heard. His native lays in Irish tongue, Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain To soothe her infant ear he sung, To bower and hall their steps restrain, And primrose twined with daisy fair Together they explored the page To form a chaplet for her hair. Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand, Oft, placed the evening fire beside, The children still were hand in hand, | The minstrel art alternate tried, And good Sir Richard smiling eyed While gladsome harp and lively lay The early knot so kindly tied. Bade winter-night flit fast away: