Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, Imperfectly to sink and swim. What 'vail'd it, that the fair domain, Its battled mansion, hill, and plain, On which the sun so brightly shone, Envied so long, was now his own? The lowest dungeon, in that hour, Of Brackenbury's dismal tower, Had been his choice, could such a doom Have open'd Mortham's bloody tomb! Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear To each surmise of hope or fear, Murmur'd among the rustics round, Who gather'd at the 'larum sound; He dared not turn his head away, E'en to look up to heaven to pray, Or call on hell, in bitter mood, For one sharp death-shot from the wood!
At length, o'erpast that dreadful space, Back straggling came the scatter'd chase;
Jaded and weary, horse and man, Return'd the troopers, one by one. Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, All trace was lost of Bertram's way, Though Redmond still, up Brignal wood,
The hopeless quest in vain pursued. O, fatal doom of human race! What tyrant passions passions chase! Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone, Avarice and pride resume their throne; The pang of instant terror by, They dictate thus their slave's reply:
Thy ditties will she freely praise, And pay thy pains with courtly phrase; In a rough path will oft command- Accept at least-thy friendly hand; His she avoids, or, urged and pray'd, Unwilling takes his proffer'd aid, While conscious passion plainly speaks In downcast look and blushing cheeks. Whene'er he sings will she glide nigh, And all her soul is in her eye; Yet doubts she still to tender free The wonted words of courtesy. These are strong signs! yet wherefore sigh,
And wipe, effeminate, thine eye? Thine shall she be, if thou attend The counsels of thy sire and friend.
'Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light
Brought genuine news of Marston's fight.
Brave Cromwell turn'd the doubtful tide,
And conquest bless'd the rightful side; Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, Rupert and that bold Marquis fled: Nobles and knights, so proud of late,
Must fine for freedom and estate.
Of these, committed to my charge, Is Rokeby, prisoner at large; Redmond, his page, arrived to say He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. Right heavy shall his ransom be, Unless that maid compound with thee! Go to her now-be bold of cheer, While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear;
It is the very change of tide, When best the female heart is tried- Pride, prejudice, and modesty, Are in the current swept to sea; And the bold swain, who plies his oar, May lightly row his bark to shore.'
THE hunting tribes of air and earth Respect the brethren of their birth; Nature, who loves the claim of kind, Less cruel chase to each assign'd. The falcon, poised on soaring wing, Watches the wild-duck by the spring; The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair; The greyhound presses on the hare; The eagle pounces on the lamb; The wolf devours the fleecy dam; Even tiger fell, and sullen bear, Their likeness and their lineage spare: Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan, And turns the fierce pursuit on man; Plying war's desultory trade, Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son, At first the bloody game begun.
The Indian, prowling for his prey, Who hears the settlers track his way, And knows in distant forest far Camp his red brethren of the war; He, when each double and disguise To baffle the pursuit he tries, Low crouching now his head to hide, Where swampy streams through rushes glide,
Now covering with the wither'd leaves The footprints that the dew receives: He, skill'd in every silvan guile, Knows not, nor tries, such various wile, As Risingham, when on the wind Arose the loud pursuit behind.
In Redesdale his youth had heard Each art her wily dalesmen dared, When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high,
To bugle rung and bloodhound's cry, Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; And well his venturous life had proved The lessons that his childhood loved.
Oft had he shown, in climes afar, Each attribute of roving war; The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, The quick resolve in danger nigh; The speed, that in the flight or chase, Outstripp'd the Carib's rapid race; The steady brain, the sinewy limb, To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim; The iron frame, inured to bear Each dire inclemency of air, Nor less confirm'd to undergo Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throc. These arts he proved, his life to save, In peril oft by land and wave, On Arawaca's desert shore, Or where La Plata's billows roar, When oft the sons of vengeful Spain Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. These arts, in Indian warfare tried, Must save him now by Greta's side.
'Twas then, in hour of utmost need, He proved his courage, art, and speed. Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace, Now started forth in rapid race, Oft doubling back in mazy train, To blind the trace the dews retain ; Now clombe the rocks projecting high, To baffle the pursuer's eye; Now sought the stream, whose brawl- ing sound
The echo of his footsteps drown'd. But if the forest verge he nears, There trample steeds, and glimmer
If deeper down the copse he drew, He heard the rangers' loud halloo, Beating each cover while they came, As if to start the silvan game. 'Twas then-like tiger close beset At every pass with toil and net, 'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare, By clashing arms and torches' flare, Who meditates, with furious bound, To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, -
'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, Prompting to rush upon his foes: But as that crouching tiger, cow'd By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd,
Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, Bertram suspends his purpose stern, And couches in the brake and fern, Hiding his face, lest foemen spy The sparkle of his swarthy eye.
Then Bertram might the bearing trace Of the bold youth who led the chase; Who paused to list for every sound, Climb'd every height to look around, Then rushing on with naked sword, Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 'Twas Redmond-by the azure eye; 'Twas Redmond-by the locks that fly Disorder'd from his glowing cheek; Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak.
A form more active, light, and strong, Ne'er shot the ranks of war along; The modest, yet the manly mien, Might grace the court of maiden queen; A face more fair you well might find, For Redmond's knew the sun and wind, Nor boasted, from their tinge when free,
The charm of regularity;
But every feature had the power To aid the expression of the hour: Whether gay wit, and humour sly, Danced laughing in his light-blue eye; Or bended brow, and glance of fire, And kindling check, spoke Erin's ire; Or soft and sadden'd glances show Her ready sympathy with woe; Or in that wayward mood of mind, When various feelings are combined, When joy and sorrow mingle near, And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear,
And rising doubts keep transport down, And anger lends a short-lived frown;
In that strange mood which maids approve,
Even when they dare not call it love; With every change his features play'd, As aspens show the light and shade.
Well Risingham young Redmond knew:
And much he marvell'd that the crew, Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, Were by that Mortham's foeman led; For never felt his soul the woe Far less that sense of justice strong, That wails a generous foeman low, That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong.
But small his leisure now to pause; Redmond is first, whate'er the cause: And twice that Redmond came so near Where Bertram couch'd like hunted
The very boughs his steps displace Rustled against the ruffian's face, Who, desperate, twice prepared to start,
And plunge his dagger in his heart! But Redmond turn'd a different way, And the bent boughs resumed their
And Bertram held it wise, unseen, Deeper to plunge in coppice green. Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, When roving hunters beat the brake, Watches with red and glistening eye, Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, With forked tongue and venom'd fang But if the intruders turn aside, Instant to dart the deadly pang; Away his coils unfolded glide, And through the deep savannah wind, Some undisturb'd retreat to find.
But Bertram, as he backward drew, And heard the loud pursuit renew, And Redmond's hollo on the wind, Oft mutter'd in his savage mind—
'Redmond O'Neale! were thou and I And round its rugged basis lay,
Alone this day's event to try, With not a second here to see But the grey cliff and oaken tree,--- That voice of thine, that shouts so loud, Should ne'er repeat its summons proud! No! nor e'er try its melting power Again in maiden's summer bower.' Eluded, now behind him die, Faint and more faint, each hostile cry; He stands in Scargill wood alone, Nor hears he now a harsher tone Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry, Or Greta's sound that murmurs by; And on the dale, so lone and wild, The summer sun in quiet smiled.
He listen❜d long with anxious heart, Ear bent to hear, and foot to start, And, while his stretch'd attention glows,
Refused his weary frame repose. 'Twas silence all-he laid him down Where purple heath profusely strown, And throatwort, with its azure bell, And moss and thyme his cushion swell. There, spent with toil, he listless eyed
The course of Greta's playful tide; Beneath her banks now eddying dun, Now brightly gleaming to the sun, As, dancing over rock and stone, In yellow light her currents shone, Matching in hue the favourite gem Of Albin's mountain diadem. Then, tired to watch the current's play, He turn'd his weary eyes away To where the bank opposing show'd Its huge square cliffs through shaggy wood.
One, prominent above the rest, Rear'd to the sun its pale grey breast; Around its broken summit grew The hazel rude, and sable yew; A thousand varied lichens dyed Its waste and weather-beaten side
By time or thunder rent away, Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, Were mantled now by verdant thorn. Such was the scene's wild majesty That fill'd stern Bertram's gazing eye.
In sullen mood he lay reclined, Revolving, in his stormy mind The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, His patron's blood by treason spilt; A crime, it seem'd, so dire and dread, That it had power to wake the dead. Then, pondering on his life betray'd By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, In treacherous purpose to withhold, Soseem'dit, Mortham's promised gold, A deep and full revenge he vow'd On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud;
Revenge on Wilfrid-on his sire Redoubled vengeance, swift and
If, in such mood, as legends say, And well believed that simple day, The Enemy of Man has power To profit by the evil hour, Here stood a wretch, prepared to change
His soul's redemption for revenge! But though his vows, with such a fire Of earnest and intense desire For vengeance dark and fell, were made,
As well might reach hell's lowest shade, Nodeeper clouds the grove embrown'd, No nether thunders shook the ground: The demon knew his vassal's heart, And spared temptation's needless art.
Oft, mingled with the direful theme, Came Mortham's form. Was it a dream?
Or had he seen, in vision true,
That very Mortham whom he slew?
Or had in living flesh appear'd The only man on earth he fear'd?— To try the mystic cause intent,
His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, 'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance,
Who watch'd with me in midnight dark,
To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. How think'st thou?' 'Speak thy purpose out;
Like sunbeam flash'd from sword or I love not mystery or doubt.'
At once he started as for fight, But not a foeman was in sight;
He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse, He heard the river's sounding course; The solitary woodlands lay,
As slumbering in the summer ray. He gazed, like lion roused, around, Then sunk again upon the ground. 'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam,
Glanced sudden from the sparkling
Then plunged him in his gloomy train Of ill-connected thoughts again, Until a voice behind him cried, 'Bertram! well met on Greta side.'
Instant his sword was in his hand, As instant sunk the ready brand; Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood To him that issued from the wood: 'Guy Denzil! is it thou?' he said; 'Do we two meet in Scargill shade?— Stand back a space!-thy purpose
Whether thou comest as friend or foe. Report hath said, that Denzil's name From Rokeby's band was razed with shame.'
'A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, Of my marauding on the clowns Of Calverley and Bradford downs. I reck not. In a war to strive, Where, save the leaders, none can thrive,
Suits ill my mood; and better game Awaits us both, if thou 'rt the same Unscrupulous, bold Risingham,
'Then list. Not far there lurk a crew Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, Glean'd from both factions-Roundheads, freed
From cant of sermon and of creed; And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine, Spurn at the bonds of discipline. Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, A warfare of our own to hold, Than breathe our last on battle-down, For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, A chief and leader lack we yet. Thou art a wanderer, it is said; For Mortham's death thy steps way- laid,
Thy head at price-so say our spies, Who range the valley in disguise. Join then with us:-though wild debate And wrangling rend our infant state, Each, to an equal loth to bow, Will yield to chief renown'd as thou.'
'Even now,'thought Bertram, passionstirr'd,
'I call'd on hell, and hell has heard! What lack I, vengeance to command, But of stanch comrades such a band? This Denzil, vow'd to every evil, Might read a lesson to the devil. Well, be it so! each knave and fool Shall serve as my revenge's tool.' Aloud, 'I take thy proffer, Guy, But tell me where thy comrades lie?' 'Not far from hence,' Guy Denzil said; 'Descend, and cross the river's bed, Where rises yonder cliff so grey.' 'Dothou,' said Bertram, 'lead the way.'
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