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On Arawaca's desert shore,
In that strange mood which maids approve, Or where La Plata's billows roar,
E'en when they dare not call it love, When oft the sons of vengeful Spain
With every change his features played, Tracked the marauder's steps in vain.
As aspens show the light and shade. These arts, in Indian warfare tried,
VI. Must save him now by Greta's side.
Well Risingham young Redmond knew; IV.
And much he marvelled that the crew, 'Twas then, in hour of utmost need,
Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, He proved his courage, art, and speed.
Were by that Mortham's foeman led; Now slow he stalked with stealthy pace,
For never felt his soul the wo, Now started forth in rapid race,
That wails a generous foeman low, Oft doubling back in mazy train,
Far less that sense of justice strong, To blind the trace the dews retain;
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. Now clombe the rocks projecting high,
But small his leisure now to pause; To baffle the pursuer's eye,
Redmond is first whate'er the cause:
And twicc that Redmond came so near, Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound The echo of his footsteps drowned.
Where Bertram couched like hunted deer, But if the forest verge he nears,
The very boughs his steps displace, There trample steeds and glimmer spears;
Rustled against the ruffian's face, If deeper down the copse he drew,
Who, desperate, twice prepared to start, He heard the rangers' loud halloo,
And plunge his elagger in his heart! Beating each cover while they came,
But Redmond turned a different way, As if to start the sylvan game.
And the bent boughs resumed their sway,
And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 'Twas then-like tiger close beset At every pass with toil and net,
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. Countered, where'er he turns his glare,
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, By olashing arms and torches' flare,
When roving hunters beat the brake, Who meditates, with furious bound,
Watches with red and glistening eye, To burst on hunter, horse, and hound,
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, Twas then that Bertram's soul arose,
With forked tongue and venomed fang Prompting to rush upon his foes:
Instant to dart the deadly pang; But as that crouching tiger, cowed
But if the intruders turn aside, By brandished steel and shouting crowd,
Away his coils unfolded glide, Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud,
And through the deep savannah wind, Bertram suspends his purpose stern,
Some undisturbed retreat to find, And couches in the brake and fern,
VIL Hiding his face, lest foemen spy
But Bertram, as he backward drew,
And heard the loud pursuit renew,
And Redmond's hollo on the wind,
Oft muttered in his savage mind
“ Redmond O'Neale! were thou and I Of the bold youth who led the chase, Who paused to list for every sound,
Alone this day's event to try,
With not a second here to see, Climbed every height to look around,
But the gray cliff and oaken
tree, Then rushing on with naked sword, Each dingle's bosky depths explored.
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud, 'Twas Redmond-by the azure eye;
Should pe'er repeat its summons proud!
No! nor e'er try its melting power 'Twas Redmond-by the locks that fly Disordered from his glowing cheek;
Again in maiden's summer bower.”_ Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak.
Eluded, now behind him die, A form more active, light, and strong,
Faint and more faint, each hostile cry; Ne'er shot the ranks of war along:
He stands in Scargill wood alone, The modest, yet the manly mien,
Nor hears he now
a harsher tone
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive ery, Might grace the court of maiden queen; A face more fair you well might find,
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by; For Reumond's knew the sun and wind,
And on the dale, so lone and wild, Nor boasted, from their tinge when free,
The summer sun in quiet smiled. The charm of regularity;
VIII. But every feature had the power
He listened long with anxious heart, To aid the expression of the hour:
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start, Whether gay wit, and humour sly,
And, while his stretched attention glows, Danced laughing in his light-blue eye;
Refused his weary frame repose. Or bended brow, and glance of fire,
'Twas silence all--he laid him down, And kindling cheek, spoke Frin's ire;
Where purple heath profusely strown Or soft and saddened glances show
And throatwort with its azure bell,4 Her ready sympathy with wo;
And moss and thyme his cushion swell. Or in that wayward mood of mind,
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed When various feelings are combined,
The course of Greta's playful tide; When joy and sorrow mingle near,
Beneath her banks now eddying dun, And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear, Now brightly gleaming to the sun, And rising doubts keep transport down,
As, dancing over rock and stone, And anger lends a short-lived frown;
In yellow light her current shone,
XI. 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 show, 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 zead, of my marauding on the clowns Of Calverley and Bradford downs.—6 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, Who watched with me in midnight dark, To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. How think'st thou?"_ Speak thy purpose out; I love not mystery or doubt."
A warfare of our own to hold,
Then through the Greta's streams they went,
He saw, appearing to the air,
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, A little entrance low and square,
Beneath the turrets high, Like opening cell of hermit lone,
A maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily, -
“O, Brignal banks are fresh and fair, As from the bowels of the earth,
And Greta woods are green; Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth.
I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Of old, the cavern straight and rude
Than reign our English queen.” In slaty rock the peasant hewed;
“ If, maiden, thou would'st wend with me, And Brignal's woods, and Scargill's, wave
To leave both tower and town, E'en now or many a sister cave,?
Thou first must guess what life lead we, Where, far within the darksome rift,
That dwell by dale and down. The wedge and lever ply their thrift.
And if thou canst that riddle read, But war had silenced rural trade,
As read full well you may, And the deserted mine was made
Then to the green-vood shalt thou speed, The banquet hall, and fortress too,
As blith as queen of May.”
Yet sung she, “ Brignal banks are fair,
And Greta woods are green:
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen, With vain repining on the past;
XVII. Among the feasters waited near,
“I read you, by your bugle horn, Sorrow, aud unrepentant Fear,
And by your palfrey good, And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,
I read you for a ranger sworn, With his own crimes reproaching heaven;
To keep the king's green-wood.”While Bertram showed, amid the crew,
“ A ranger, lady, winds his horn, The master-fiend that Milton drew.
And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night.”-
Yet sung she, “ Brignal banks are fair, That struggles with the earthy damp.
And Greta woods are gay, By what strange features Vice hath known
I would I were with Edmund there,
To reign his queen of May!
“ With burnished brand and musquetoos See yon pale stripling! when a boy,
So gallantly you come, A mother's pride, a father's joy!
I read you for a bold dragoon, Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, That lists the tuck of drum.” An early image fills his mind:
“I list no more the tuck of drum, The cottage, once his sire's, he sees,
No more the trumpet hear; Embowered upon the banks of Tees;
But when the beetle sounds his hum, He views sweet Winston's woodland scene,
My comrades take the spear. And shares the dance on Gainford-green.
CHORUS. A tear is springing-but the zest
“ And O! though Brignal banks be fair, Of some wild tale, or brutal jest,
And Greta woods be gay, Hath to loud laughter stirred the rest.
Yet mickle must the maiden dare, On him they call, the aptest mate
Would reign my queen of May!
“ Maiden! a nameless life I lead, He bids the ruddy cup go round,
A nameless death I'll die; Till sense and sorrow both are drowned,
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead
Were better mate than 1!
And when I'm with my comrades met,
Beneath the green-wood bough,
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now. 'Mid noxious weeds at random strewed, Themselves all profitless and rude.
CHORUS, With desperate merriment he sung,
“ Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair, The cavern to the chorus rung;
And Greta woods are green, Yet mingled with his reckless glee
And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen."
When Edmund ceased his simple song,
Was silence on the sullen throng,
Till waked some ruder mate their glee And Greta woods are green,
With note of coarser minstrelsy. And you may gather garlands there,
But, far apart, in dark divan, Would grace a summer queen.
Denzil and Bertram many a plan,
Of import toul and fierce, designed,
XX. At this he paused-for angry shame Lowered on the brow of Risingham. He blushed to think that he should seem Assertor of an airy dream, And gave his wrath another theme. ** Denzil," he says, “though lowly laid, Wrong not the memory of the dead; For, while he lived, at Mortbam's look rhy very soul, Guy Deozil, shook! And when he taxed thy breach of word To yon fair rose of Allenford, I saw thee crouch like chastened hound, Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. Nor dare to call his foreign wealth The spoil of piracy or stealtb; He won it bravely with his brand, When Spain waged warfare with our land. 8 Mark too-1 brook no idle jeer, Nor couple Bertram's name with fear; Mine is but half the demon's lot, For I believe, but tremble not. Enough of this. --Say, why this hoard Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored! Or think'st that Mortham would bestow His treasure with his faction's foe?"
XXI. Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-timed mirth: Rather he would have seen the earth Give to ten thousand spectres birth, Than venture to awake to flame The deadly wrath of Risingham. Submiss he answered, - - Mortham's mind, Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined. In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, A lusty reveller was he; But since returned from over sea, A sullen and a silent mood Hath numbed the current of his blood. Hence he refused each kindly call To Rokeby's hospitable hall,
And our stout knight, at dawn of morn,
He, whom no living mortal sought
Fool! if we blench for toys like these,
• Deer in season.
List then:-for vantage or assault,
a spial of our train
A weary lot is thine!
And press the rue for wine!
A feather of the blue,
The rose is budding fain,
Ere we two meet again.”
Upon the river shore,
Of early hopes his childhood gave,
SONG.ALLEN-A-DALE, Allen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning: Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my taie And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. The baron of Ravensworth 12 prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side, The mere for his net, and the land for his game, The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame;