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Of import foul and fierce, designed,
While still on Bertram's grasping mind
The wealth of murdered Mortham hung;
Though ball he feared his daring tongue,
When it should give his wishes birth,
Might raise a spectre from the earth!
XIX.

At length his wond'rous tale he told,
When scornful smiled his comrade bold;
For, trained in license of a court,
Religion's self was Denzil's sport;
Then judge in what contempt he held
The visionary tales of eld!

His awe for Bertram scarce repressed
The unbeliever's sneering jest.

"Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seer
To spell the subject of your fear;
Nor do I boast the art renowned,
Vision and omen to expound.
Yet, faith, if I must needs afford
To spectre watching treasured hoard,
As ban-dog keeps his master's roof,
Bidding the plunderer stand aloof,
This doubt remains-thy goblin gaunt
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt;
For why his guard on Mortham hold,
When Rokeby castle hath the gold
Thy patron won on Indian soil,
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil?"
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 Mortham's look
Thy very soul, Guy Deazil, shook!
And when he taxed thy breach of word
fo 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 stealth;
He won it bravely with his brand,
When Spain waged warfare with our land.
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,
Who loved to hear the bugle-horn,
Nor less, when eve his oaks embrowned,
To see the ruddy cup go round,
Took umbrage that a friend so near
Refused to share his chase and cheer;
Thus did the kindred barons jar,
Ere they divided in the war.
Yet trust me, friend, Matilda fair
Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir."

XXII.
"Destined to her! to yon slight maid!
The prize my life had well nigh paid,
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave,
I fought, my patron's wealth to save!-
Denzil, I knew him long, but ne'er
Knew him that joyous cavalier,
Whom youthful friends and early fame
Called soul of gallantry and game.
A moody man he sought our crew,
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew;
And rose, as men with us must rise,
By scorning life and all its ties.
On each adventure rash he roved,
As danger for itself he loved;

On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine;
Ill was the omen if he smiled,
For 'twas in peril stern and wild;
But when he laughed, each luckless mate
Might hold our fortune desperate.
Foremost he fought in every broil,
Then scornful turned him from the spoil;
Nay, often strove to bar the way
Between his comrades and their prey;
Preaching, e'en then, to such as we,
Hot with our dear-bought victory,
Of mercy and humanity!

XXIII.

"I loved him well-his fearless part,
His gallant leading, won my heart.
And, after each victorious fight,
"Twas I that wrangled for his right,
Redeemed his portion of the prey
That greedier mates had torn away;
In field and storm thrice saved his life,
And once amid our comrades' strife,-9
Yes, I have loved thee! well hath proved
My toil, my danger, how I loved!"
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate,
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate.
Rise, if thou canst!" he looked around,
And sternly stamped upon the ground-
"Rise, with thy bearing proud and high,
E'en as this morn it met mine eye,
And give me, if thou dar'st, the lie!"
He paused-then, calm and passion-freed,
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed.

XXIV.

"Bertram, to thee I need not tell
What thou hast cause to wot so well,
How superstition's nets were twined
Around the lord of Mortham's mind;
But since he drove thee from his tower,
A maid he found in Greta's bower,
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway
To charm his evil fiend away.

I know not if her features moved,
Remembrance of the wife he loved;
But he would gaze upon her eye,
Till his mood softened to a sigh.

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"Still art thou valour's venturous son!
Yet ponder first the risk to run;
The menials of the castle, true,
And stubborn to their charge, though few
The wall to scale-the moat to cross-
The wicket-grate-the inner fosse"

Fool! if we blench for toys like these,
On what fair guerdon can we seize?
Our hardiest venture, to explore
Some wretched peasant's fenceless door,
And the best prize we bear away,
The earnings of his sordid day."
-"Awhile thy hasty taunt forbear:
In sight of road more sure and fair,
Thou would'st not choose, in blindfold wrath,
Or wantonness, a desperate path?

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;

Tet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, * Are less free to lord Dacre than Allan-a-Dale! A..en-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,

To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse,
Near Startforth high they paid their vows,
Remembered Thor's victorious fame,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as And gave the dell the thunderer's name.

Bright;

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore 13 meets Allena-Dale.

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

The mother, she asked of his household and home; "Tho' the castle of Richmond stands fair on the hill;

My hall," quoth bold 'Allen, "shows gallanter still;

'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale,

And with all its bright spangles!" said Allen-a

Dale.

The father was steel, and the mother was stone; They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone! But loud on the morrow, their wail and their cry! He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black

eye,

And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale. XXXI.

"Thou seest that, whether sad or gay, Love mingles ever in his lay.

But when his boyish wayward fit

Is o'er, he hath address and wit;

O! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape
Each dialect, each various shape."
"Nay, then, to aid thy project, Gay-
Soft! who comes here?"-"My trusty spy,
Speak, Hamlin! hast thou lodged our deer?"14
"I have-but two fair stags are near;
I watched her as she slowly strayed
From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade:
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side,
And then young Redmond in his pride
Shot down to meet them on their way;
Much, as it seemed, was theirs to say:
There's time to pitch both toil and net,
Before their path be homeward set.'
A hurried and a whispered speech
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach,
Who, turning to the robber band,
Bade four the bravest take the brand.

CANTO IV. I.

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WHEN Denmark's raven soared on high, Triumphant through Northumbrian sky, Till, hovering near, her fatal croak Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke,! And the broad shadow of her wing Blackened each cataract and spring, Where Tees in tumult leaves his source, Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force;2 Beneath the shade the Northmen came, Fixed on each vale a Runic name,3 Reared high their altars' rugged stone, And gave their gods the land they won. Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine, And one sweet brooklet's silver line, And Woden's croft did title gain From the stern father of the slain! But to the monarch of the mace, That held in fight the foremost place,

II.

Yet scald or kemper erred, I ween,
Who gave that soft and quiet scene,
With all its varied light and shade,
And every little sunny glade,
And the blith brook that strolls along
Its pebbled bed with summer song,
To the grim god of blood and scar,
The grisly king of northern war.
O better were its banks assigned
To spirits of a gentler kind!
For, where the thicket-groups recede,
And the rathe primrose decks the mead,
The velvet grass seems carpet meet
For the light fairies' lively feet.
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown,
Might make proud Oberon a throne,
While, hidden in the thicket nigh,
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly;
And where profuse the wood-veitch clings
Round ash and elm in verdant rings,
Its pale and azure pencilled flower
Should canopy Titania's bower.
III.

Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade,
But skirting every sunny glade,
In fair variety of green

The woodland lends its sylvan screen.
Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak,
Its boughs by weight of ages broke;
And towers erect, in sable spire,
The pine-tree scathed by lightning fire;
The drooping ash and birch, between,
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green,
And all beneath at random grow,
Each coppice dwarf of varied show,
Or round the stems profusely twined,
Fling summer odours on the wind.
Such varied group Urbino's hand
Round him of Tarsus nobly planned,
What time he bade proud Athens own
On Mars's mount the God unknown!
Then gray Philosophy stood nigh,
Though bent by age, in spirit bigh;
There rose the scar seamed veteran's spear,
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear,
While childhood at her foot was placed,
Or clung delighted to her waist.

IV.

"And rest we here," Matilda said,
And sate her in the varying shade.
"Chance-met, we well may steal an hour,
To friendship due from fortune's power.
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend
Thy counsel to thy sister friend;
And Redmond, thou, at my behest,
No farther urge thy desperate quest,
For to my care a charge is left,
Dangerous to one of aid bereft,
Well nigh an orphan, and alone,
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown."
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced,
Beside her on the turf she placed;

Then paused, with downcast look and eye,
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh.
Her conscious diffidence he saw,
Drew backward as in modest awe,

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And kissed the little hands outspread,
And kissed and crossed the infant head,
And, in his native tongue and phrase,
Prayed to each saint to watch his days;
Then all his strength together drew,
The charge to Rokeby to renew.
When half was faltered from his breast,
And half by dying signs expressed,
"Bless thee, O'Neil!" he faintly said,
And thus the faithful spirit fled.

X.

'Twas long ere soothing might prevail
Upon the child to end the tale;
And then he said, that from his home
His grandsire had been forced to roam,
Which had not been if Redmond's hand
Had but had strength to draw the brand,
The brand of Lenaugh More the red,
That hung beside the gray wolf's head.
'Twas from his broken phrase descried,
His foster-father was his guide,9
Who, in bis charge, from Ulster bore
Letters, and gifts a goodly store;
But ruffians met them in the wood,
Ferraught in battle boldly stood,
Till wounded and o'erpowered at length,
And stripped of all, his failing strength
Just bore him here-and then the child
Renewed again his moaning wild.

XI.

The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows,
Is like the dew-drop on the rose;
When next the summer breeze comes by,
And waves the bush, the flower is dry;
Won by their care, the orphan child
Soon on his new protectors smiled,
With dimpled cheek and eye so fair,
Through his thick curls of flaxen hair.
But blithest laughed that cheek and eye,
When Rokeby's little maid was nigh;
Twas his, with elder brother's pride,
Matilda's tottering steps to guide;
His native lays in Irish tongue,
To sooth her infant ear, he sung,
And primrose twined with daisy fair,
To form a chaplet for her hair.

By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand,
The children still were hand in hand,
And good sir Richard smiling eyed
The early knot so kindly tied.

XII.

But summer months bring wilding shoot
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit;
And years draw on our human span,
From child to boy, from boy to man;
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen
A gallant boy in hunter's green.
He loves to wake the felon boar,
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore,
And loves, against the deer so dun,
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun;
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime,
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb,
And down its clustered stores to hail,
Where young Matilda holds her veil.
And she, whose veil receives the shower,
Is altered too, and knows her power;
Assumes a monitress's pride,

Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide,
Yet listens still to hear him tell
How the grim wild-boar fought and fell,

ROKEBY.

How at his fall the bugle rung,
Till rock and green-wood answer flung,
Then blesses her, that man can find
A pastime of such savage kind!
XIII.

But Redmond knew to weave his tale
So well with praise of wood and dale,
And knew so well each point to trace,
Gives living interest to the chase,
And knew so well o'er all to throw
His spirit's wild romantic glow,

That, while she blamed, and while she feared,
She loved each venturous tale she heard.
Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain
To bower and hall their steps restrain,
Together they explored the page
Of glowing bard or gifted sage;
Oft, placed the evening fire beside,
The minstrel art alternate tried,
While gladsome harp and lively lay
Bade winter-night flit fast away:
Thus from their childhood blending still
Their sport, their study, and their skill,
A union of the soul they prove,
But must not think that it was love.
But, though they dared not, envious Fame
Soon dared to give that union name;
And when so often, side by side,
From year to year the pair she eyed,
She sometimes blamed the good old knight,
As dull of ear and dim of sight,
Sometimes his purpose would declare,
That young O'Neale should wed his heir.
XIV.

The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise
And bandage from the lovers' eyes;
"Twas plain that Oswald, for his son,
Had Rokeby's favour well nigh won.
Now must they meet with change of cheer,
With mutual looks of shame and fear;
Now must Matilda stray apart,
To school her disobedient heart;
And Redmond now alone must rue
The love he never can subdue.
But factions rose, and Rokeby sware,
No rebel's son should wed his heir;
And Redmond, nurtured while a child
In many a bard's traditions wild,
Now sought the lonely wood or stream,
To cherish there a happier dream,
Of maiden won by sword or lance,
As in the regions of romance;
And count the heroes of his line,
Great Nial of the pledges nine, 10
Shane-Dymas wild, and Geraldine, 12
And Connan-More, who vowed his race
For ever to the fight and chase,
And cursed him, of his lineage born,
Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn,
Or leave the mountain and the wold,
To shroud himself in castle hold.
From such examples hope he drew,
And brightened as the trumpet blew.
XV.

If brides were won by heart and blade,
Redmond had both his cause to aid,
And all beside of nurture rare
That might beseem a baron's heir.
Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife,
On Rokeby's lord bestowed his life,
And well did Rokeby's generous knight
Young Redmond for the deed requite.

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