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And, ere its native heir retire,

Let merry England proudly rear Find for the wanderer rest and fire, Her blended roses, bought so dear; While this poor harper, by the blaze, Let Albin bind her bonnet blue Recounts the tale of other days.

With heath and harebell dipp'd in Bid Harpool ope thc door with speed, dew; Admit him, and relieve each need. On favour'd Erin's crest be seen Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try The flower she loves of emerald Thy minstrel skill ? Nay, no reply

greenAnd look not sad! I guess thy thought, But, Lady, twine no wreath for me, Thyverse with laurels would bebought, Or twine it of the cypress-tree! And poor Matilda, landless now, Ilas not a garland for thy brow. Strike the wild harp, while maids True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's prepare glades,

The ivy mect for minstrel's hair; Nor wander more in Greta shades; And, while his crown of laurelBut surc, no rigid jailer, thou

leaves Wilt a short prison-walk allow,

With bloody hand the victor weaves, Where summer flowers grow wild at Let the loud trump his triumph tell; will,

But when you hear the passing-bell, On Marwood-chasc and Toller Hill ; Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, Then holly green and lily gay

And twine it of the cypress-tree! Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay:' The mournful youth, a space aside, Yes! twine formethecypress-bough; To tune Matilda's harp applied ;

But, O Matilda, twine not now! And then a low sad descant rung, Stay till a few brief months arc past, As prelude to the lay he sung.

And I have look'd and loved my last!
When villagers my shroud bestrew
With pansies, rosemary, and rue, -

Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me,
THE CYPRESS WREATH.

And weave it of the cypress-trec! O Lady, twine no wrcath for me, Or twine it of the cypress-tree! Too lively glow the lilies light, O'Neale observed the starting tear, The varnish'd holly 's all too brigh!, And spoke with kind and blithesome The May-flower and the eglantine

cheerMayshadeabrowless sad than mine; ''No, noble Wilfrid: ere the day But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, : When mourns the land thy silent lay, Or weave it of the cypress-tree! Shall many a wreath be freely wove

By hand of friendship and of love. Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine I would not wish that rigid Fate With tendrils of the laughing vine; Had doom'd thee to a captive's state, The manly oak, the pensive yew, Whose hands are bound by honour's To patriot and to sage be due;

law, The myrtle bough bids lovers live, Who wears a sword he must not But that Matilda will not give;

draw; Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me, But were it so, in minstrel pride Or twine it of the cypress-tree! The land together would we ride,

XIII.

XV.

!

move

XV.

On prancing steeds, like harpers old, Each look and accent, framed to Bound for the halls of barons bold:

please, Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, Seem'd to affect a playful case; From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's His face was of that doubtful kind Peak,

That wins the eye, but not the mind; Survey wild Albin's mountain strand, Yet harsh it sccm'd to deem amiss And roam green Erin's lovely land; Of brow so young and smooth as While thou the gentler souls should this.

His was the subtle look and sly, With lay of pity and of love,

That, spying all, seems nought to And I, thy mate, in rougher strain,

spy; Would sing of war and warriors slain.

Round all the group his glances stole, Old England's bards were vanquish'd Unmark'd themselves, to mark the then,

whole, And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden, Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, And, silenced on Iernian shore,

Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. M'Curtin's harpshould charm no more! To the suspicious, or the old, In lively mood he spoke, to wile Subtile and dangerous and bold From Wilfrid's woeworn cheek a Had seem'd this self-invited guest; smile.

But young our lovers,-and the rest,

Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear But,' said Matilda, 'ere thy name,

At parting of their mistress dear,
Good Redmond, gainits destined fame, Came as to bear her funeral pall.

Tear-blinded to the Castle-hall
Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call
Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ?

XVII.
Bid all the household, too, attend,
Each in his rank a humble friend;

All that expression base was gone I know their faithful hearts will grieve

When waked the guest his minstrel When their poor mistress takes her

tone; leave;

It fled at inspiration's call, So let the horn and beaker flow

As erst the demon fled from Saul. To mitigate their parting woe.'

More noble glance he cast around, The harper came;- in youth's first More free-drawn breath inspired the prime

sound, Himself; in mode of olden time

His pulse beat bolder and more high, HIis garb was fashion'd, to express

In all the pride of minstrelsy! The ancient English minstrel's dress,

Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, A seemly gown of Kendal green,

Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! With gorget closed of silver sheen;

His soul resumed, with habit's chain, His harp in silken scarf was slung,

Its vices wild and follies vain, And by his side an anlace hung.

And gave the talent, with him born, It seem'd some masquer's quaint array

To be a common curse and scorn. For revel or for holiday.

Such was the youth whom Rokeby's

maid, xvI.

With condescending kindness, pray'd He made obeisance with a free Here to renew the strains she loved, Yet studied air of courtesy:

At distance heard and well approved.

XVIII.

XIX.

6

Then over mountain, moor, and hill,

My faithful llarp, I 'll bear thee still; SONG.

And when this life of want and ill THE HARP.

Is well-nigh gone, I was a wild and wayward boy,

Thy strings mine ciegy shall thrill, Nychildhoodscorn'deach childish toy;

Iy Ilarp alone! Retired from all, reserved and coy,

To musing prone,
I woo'd my solitary joy,

A pleasing lay!' Matilda said;
My Harp alone.

But Ilarpool shook his old grey

head, My youth, with bold Ambition's mood, And took his baton and his torch Despised the humble stream and wood To seek his guard-room in the porch. Where my poor father's cottage stood, Edmund observed; with sudden To fame unknown;

change, What should my soaring view's make | Among the strings his singers range, good ?

Until they waked a bolder glee
My Harp alone!

Of military melody;

Then paused amid the martial sound, Love came with all his frantic fire, And look'd with well-feign'I fear And wild romance of vain desire:

around; The baron's daughter heard my lyre, None to this noble house belong,

And praised the tone; He said, 'that would a ininstrel wrong What could presumptuous hope in- | Whose fate has been, through goud spire?

and ill, My Harp alone!

To love his Royal Master still; At manhood's touch the bubble burst,

And with your honour'd leave, would

fain And manhood's pride the vision curst, Rejcice you with a loyal strain.' And all that had my folly nursed

Then, as assured by sign and look, Love's sway to own;

The warlike tone again lie took ; Yet spared the spell that lull’d me first, And Ilarpool stopp'd, and turn’d to My Harp alone!

hear Woc came with war, and want withi

clitty of the Cavalier.
woe;
And it was mine to undergo
Each outrage of the rebel fue:
Can aught atone

Tue CAVALIER.
My fields laid waste, my cot laid low?
My Harp alone!

While the dawn on the mountain was

misty ani grey', Ambition's dreams I've seen depart, My true love las mounted his stecul Hlave rued of penury the smart,

and away, llave felt of love the venom'd dart Over hill, over valley; o'er dale, and When hope was flown;

o'er down; Yet rests one solace to my heart, Heaven shield the brave Gallant that My Harp alone!

fights for the Crown:

XX.

SOXG.

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He has doff*d the silk doublet the The time has been, at such a sound, breastplate to bear,

When Rokeby's vassals gather'd He has placed the steel-cap o'er his round, long flowing hair,

| An hundred manly hearts would From his belt to his stirrup his broad bound; sword hangs down,

But now the stirring verse we hear, Heaven shield the brave Gallant that Like trump in dying soldier's ear! fights for the Crown!

Listless and sad the notes we own,

The power to answer them is flown. For the rights of fair England that Yet not without his meet applause broadsword he draws,

Be he that sings the rightful cause, Her King is his leader, her Church is Even when the crisis of its fate his cause;

To human eye seems desperate. His watchword is honour, his pay is While Rokeby's heir such power renown,

retains God strike with the Gallant that

Let this slight guerdon pay thy strikes for the Crown!

pains:-They may boast of their Fairfax, their

And lend thy harp; I fain would try Waller, and all

If my poor skill can aught supply, The roundheaded rebels of West

Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall, minster Hall;

To mourn the cause in which we fall.' But tell these bold traitors of London's

XXII. proud town

The harper, with a downcast look, That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown!

And trembling hand, her bounty took.

As yet, the conscious pride of art There's Derby and Cavendish, dread

Hadsteeld him in his treacherous part; of their foes;

A powerful spring, of force unguess’d, There's Erin's high Ormond, and

That hath each gentler mood supScotland's Montrose !

press d, Would you match the base Skippon,

And reign'd in many a human breast; and Massey, and Brown,

From his that plans the red campaign, With the Barons of England that To his that wastes the woodland reign. fight for the Crown?

The failing wing, the bloodshot eye,

The sportsman marks with apathy, Now joy to the crest of the brave Each feeling of his victim's ill Cavalier!

Drown'd in his own successful skill. Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless The veteran, too, who now no more his spear,

Aspires to head the battle's roar, Till in peace and in triumph his toils Loves still the triumph of his art, he may drown

And traces on the pencill'd chart In a pledge to fair England, her Some stern invader's destined way, Church, and her Crown! | Through blood and ruin, to his prey;

Patriots to death, and towns to flame,

He dooms, to raise another's naine, Alas!' Matilda said, 'that strain, And shares the guilt, though not the Good harper, now is heard in vain !

fame.

XXI.

XXIII.

XXV.

SOXG.

What pays him for his span of time If no more our annals show
Spent in premcditating crime ?

Battles won and banners taken,
What against pily arms his heart? Still in death, defeat, and woe,
It is the conscious pride of art.

Ours be loyalty unshaken !

Constant still in danger's hour, But principles in Edmund's mind Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; Were baseless, vague, and undefined.

Lands and honours, wealth and power, His soul, like bark with rudder lost,

Well their loyalty repaid. On Passion's changeful tide was tost:

Perish wealth, and power, and pride! Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power

Mortal boons by mortals given; Beyond the impression of the hour; But let Constancy abide,And O! when Passion rules, how rare Constancy's the gift of Heaven.' The hours that fall to Virtuc's share! Yet now she roused her-for the pride, | While thus Matilda's lay was heard That lack of sterner guilt supplied,

A thousand thoughts in Edmundstirril. Could scarce support him when arose : In peasant life he might have known The lay that mourned Matilda's woes.

As fair a face, as sweet a tone;
But village notes could ne'er supply

That rich and varied melody;
Tue FAREWELL.

And ne'er in cottage-maid was seen · The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, The easy dignity of mien, They mingle with the song:

Claiming respect, yet waiving state, Dark Greta's voice is in mine car,

That marks the daughters of the great. I must not hear them long.

Yet not, pereliance, had these alone From every loved and native haunt

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erThe native heir must stray,

thrown; And, like a ghost whom sunbeams | But while her energy of mind daunt,

Superior rose to griefs combined, Must part before the day.

Lending its kindling to her cyc, Soon from the halls my fathers rear'd, Giving her form new majesty', -Their scutcheons may descenil,

To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'il A line so long beloved and fear'd

The very object he had dream'd; May soon obscurely end.

When, long are guilt his soul hail No longer here Matilda's tone

known, Shall bid those echoes swell;

In Winston bowers he mused alone, Yet shall they hear her proudly own

Taxing his fancy to combine The cause in which we fell.' | The face, the air, the voice divine,

Of princess fair, by cruel fate The Lady pauscd, and then again Reft of her honours, power, and state, Resumed the lay in lofticr strain. Till to her rightful realm restored

By destined hero's conquering sword.

XXIV.

XXVI.

"Let our halls and towers decay,

Be our name and line forgot, Lands and manors pass away, —

We but share our Monarch's lot,

Such was my vision!' Esimind

thought; 1. And have I, then, the ruin wrouglit

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