Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er
In fairest vision form'd her peer?
Was it my hand that could unclose
The postern to her ruthless foes?
Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith,
Their kindest mercy sudden death!
Have I done this? I! who have swore,
That if the globe such angel bore,
I would have traced its circle broad
To kiss the ground on which she
trod!-

'Let mass be said, and trentals read,
When thou'rt to convent gone,
And bid the bell of St. Benedict
Toll out its deepest tone.'

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall
Blindfolded as he came

Were weeping for their dame.

Wild Darrell is an alter'd man,
The village crones can tell ;

rive,

And close upon me while alive!—

Is there no hope? Is all then lost?— Bertram's already on his post!

Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door,

I saw his shadow cross the floor!
He was to wait my signal strain-
A little respite thus we gain:
By what I heard the menials say,
Young Wycliffe's troop are on their

way

Alarm precipitates the crime!
My harp must wear away the time.'
And then, in accents faint and low,
He falter'd forth a tale of woe.

XXVII.

BALLAD.

'And whither would you lead me, then?'

Quoth the Friar of orders grey; And the Ruffians twain replied again, 'By a dying woman to pray.'

'I see,' he said, 'a lovely sight,
A sight bodes little harm,
A lady as a lily bright,

With an infant on her arm.'

'Then do thine office, Friar grey,

And see thou shrive her free! Else shall the sprite, that parts tonight,

Fling all its guilt on thec.

pray,

If he hears the convent bell.

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way,
He'll beard him in his pride-
If he meet a Friar of orders grey,
He droops and turns aside.

XXVIII.

'Harper! methinks thy magic lays,'
Matilda said, 'can goblins raise!
Well-nigh my fancy can discern,
Near the dark porch, a visage stern;
E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook,
I see it!-Redmond, Wilfrid, look!—
A human form distinct and clear-
God, for thy mercy!-It draws near!'
She saw too true. Stride after stride,
The centre of that chamber wide
Fierce Bertram gain'd; then made a
stand,

And, proudly waving with his hand, Thunder'd-'Be still, upon your lives!

He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives.'

Behind their chief, the robber crew Forth from the darken'd portal drew In silence-save that echo dread Return'd their heavy measured tread. The lamp's uncertain lustre gave Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave;

File after file in order pass,

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass.

Seizes upon the leader's rein-
'O, haste to aid, ere aid be vain!
Fly to the postern-gain the Hall!'
From saddle spring the troopers all;
Their gallant steeds, at liberty,

Run wild along the moonlight lea.
But, ere they burst upon the scene,
Full stubborn had the conflict been.
When Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight
It gave the signal for the fight;
And Rokeby's veterans, seam'd with

scars

Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars,
Their momentary panic o'er,
Stood to the arms which then they bore;
(Forthey were weapon'd, and prepared
Their mistress on her way to guard.)
Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale,
Then peal'd the shot, and clash'd the
steel;

The war-smoke soon with sable breath
Darken'd the scene of blood and death,
While on the few defenders close
The Bandits, with redoubled blows,
And, twice driven back, yet fierce
and fell

Renew the charge with frantic yell.

XXXIII.

Wilfrid has fall'n-but o'er him stood Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood,

Cheering his mates with heart and hand Still to make good their desperate stand.

Up, comrades, up! in Rokeby halls Ne'er be it said our courage falls. What! faint ye for their savage cry, Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your cye?

These rafters have return'd a shout
As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout,
As thick a smoke these hearths have
given

At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even,
Stand to it yet! renew the fight,
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right!

These slaves! they dare not, hand to

hand,

Bide buffet from a true man's brand.' Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, Upon the advancing foes he sprung. Woe to the wretch at whom is bent Hisbrandish'd falchion's sheer descent! Backward they scatter'd as he came, Like wolves before the levin flame, When, 'mid their howling conclave driven,

Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven.

Bertram rush'd on-but Harpool

clasp'd

His knees, although in death he gasp'd,
His falling corpse before him flung,
And round the trammell'd ruffian clung.
Just then, the soldiers fill'd the dome,
And, shouting, charged the felons home
So fiercely, that, in panic dread,
They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled.
Bertram's stern voice they heed no

more,

Though heard above the battle's roar;
While, trampling down the dying man,
He strove, with volley'd threat and ban,
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite,
To rally up the desperate fight.

XXXIV.

Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold Than e'er from battle-thunders roll'd; So dense, the combatants scarce know To aim or to avoid the blow. Smothering and blindfold grows the fight

But soon shall dawn a dismal light! 'Mid cries, and clashing arms, there

came

The hollow sound of rushing flame;
New horrors on the tumult dire
Arise-the Castle is on fire!
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand,
Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand.
Matilda saw-for frequent broke
From the dim casements gusts of smoke

Yon tower, which late so clear defined
On the fair hemisphere reclined,
That, pencill'd on its azure pure,
The eye could count each embrazure,
Now, swath'd within the sweeping
cloud,

Seems giant-spectre in his shroud;
Till, from each loop-hole flashing light,
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright,
And, gathering to united glare,
Streams high into the midnight air;
A dismal beacon, far and wide,
That waken'd Greta's slumbering side.
Soon all beneath, through gallery long,
And pendant arch, the fire flash'd

But ceased not yet, the Hall within,
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din,
Till bursting lattices give proof
The flames have caught the rafter'd roof.
What! wait they till its beams amain
Crash on the slayers and the slain?
The alarm is caught-the drawbridge
falls,

The warriors hurry from the walls,
But, by the conflagration's light,
Upon the lawn renew the fight.
Each struggling felon down was hew'd,
Not one could gain theshelteringwood;
But forth the affrighted harper sprung,
And to Matilda's robe he clung.
Her shrick, entreaty, and command,
Stopp'd the pursuer's lifted hand.
Denzil and he alive were ta'en;
The rest, save Bertram, all are slain.

XXXVI.

And whereis Bertram? - Soaring high, The general flame ascends the sky;

In gather'd group the soldiers gaze
Upon the broad and roaring blaze,
When, like infernal demon, sent,
Red from his penal element,

To plague and to pollute the air,—
His face all gore, on fire his hair,
Forth from the central mass of smoke
The giant form of Bertram broke!
His brandish'd sword on high he rears,
Then plunged among opposing spears;
Round his left arm his mantle truss'd,
Received and foil'd three lances' thrust;
Nor these his headlong course with-
stood,

Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ashwood.

In vain his focs around him clung; With matchless force aside he flung Their boldest, as the bull, at bay, Tosses the ban-dogs from his way, Through forty foes his path he made, And safely gain'd the forest glade.

XXXVII.

Scarce was this final conflict o'er,
When from the postern Redmond bore
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft,
Had in the fatal Hall been left,
Deserted there by all his train;
But Redmond saw, and turn'dagain.-
Beneath an oak he laid him down,
That in the blaze gleam'd ruddy brown,
And then his mantle's clasp undid;
Matilda held his drooping head,
Till, given to breathe the freer air,
Returning life repaid their care.
He gazed on them with heavy sigh,—
'I could have wish'd even thus to

die!'

No more he said-for now with speed
Each trooper had regain'd his steed;
The ready palfreys stood array'd
For Redmond and for Rokeby's maid;
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain,
One leads his charger by the rein.
But oft Matilda look'd behind,
As up the Vale of Tees they wind,

Where far the mansion of her sires Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. In gloomy arch above them spread, The clouded heaven lower'd bloody red;

Beneath, in sombre light, the flood Appear'd to roll in waves of blood. Then, one by one, was heard to fall The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall, Each rushing down with thunder sound,

A space the conflagration drown'd; Till, gathering strength, again it rose, Announced its triumph in its close, Shook wide its light the landscape o'er, Then sunk and Rokeby was no more!

Canto Sixth.

I.

THE summer sun, whose early power
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower,
And rouse her with his matin ray
Her duteous orisons to pay,-
That morning sun has three times seen
The flowers unfold on Rokeby green,
But sees no more the slumbers fly
From fair Matilda's hazel eye;
That morning sun has three times broke
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak,
But, rising from their silvan screen,
Marks no grey turrets glance between.
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower,
That, hissing to the morning shower,
Can but with smouldering vapour pay❘
The early smile of summer day.
The peasant, to his labour bound,
Pauses to view the blacken'd mound,
Striving, amid the ruin'd space,
Each well-remember'd spot to trace.
That length of frail and fire-scorch'd
wall

Once screen'd the hospitable hall; When yonder broken arch was whole, 'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole;

And where yon tottering columns nod,
The chapel sent the hymn to God.-
So flits the world's uncertain span !
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man,
Gives mortal monuments a date
Beyond the power of Time and Fate.
The towers must share the builder's
doom;

Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb :
But better boon benignant Heaven
To Faith and Charity has given,
And bids the Christian hope sublime
Transcend the bounds of Fate and
Time.

II.

Now the third night of summer came, Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flame.

On Brignal cliffs and Scargill brake The owlet's homilies awake,

The bittern scream'd from rush and

flag,

The raven slumber'd on his crag, Forth from his den the otter drew,Grayling and trout their tyrant knew, As between reed and sedge he peers, With fierce round snout and sharpen'd

ears,

Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool, Watches the stream or swims the pool;

Perch'd on his wonted eyrie high, Sleep seal'd the tercelet's wearied

eye,

That all the day had watch'd so well
The cushat dart across the dell.
In dubious beam reflected shone
That lofty cliff of pale grey stone,
Beside whose base the secret cave
To rapine late a refuge gave.
The crag's wild crest of copse and yew
On Greta's breast dark shadows threw:
Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight
With every change of fitful light;
As hope and fear alternate chase
Our course through life's uncertain

race.