i 
 C o ( 
 
"WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 Absorbed in the day-dreams of imagination— not of tiic 
 past, nor of the present, but of the future —#<?e p. L 
 
W ULSTAN OF WORCES r r E R 
 
 OB, LOVE AND PRIDE. 
 
 J. ITrgrnb of the ('"ifn of (Uilorccstrv 
 
 "The Bishop, he could lift his hand. 
 To hless the kneeling crowd : 
 The Bishop, he could grasp a brand, 
 To chase the Barons proud.' 
 
 'in BALLAD. 
 
 '■' It is in vain — it is in vain— my dear children I" exclaimed 
 'lie venerable prelate, Wulstaii of Worcester, as he stood erect, 
 with clasped hands and eyes upturned to heaven, " It is all in 
 vain ! This unhappy kingdom is now, alas! bewailing her sins 
 in sackcloth and in ashes. Sad is her tale, but all unpitied by 
 the ruthless Norman, who revels in her misery. Mourning 
 and lamentation are our portion : the voice of joy and gladness 
 has departed — hut surely no1 for ever J 'The tender mercies of 
 the wicked are cruel,' saith the Sacred Scripture ; and truly, 
 my children, it hath been fearfully proven upon us. The iron 
 heel of the pitiless Conqueror is planted upon our neck : our 
 liberties hath he trampled underfoot: our ancient laws hath 
 he abrogated: our rights invaded — our altars desecrated — our 
 homesteads pillaged ami despoiled ! Sorely have v e been tried 
 — righteously have we been punished: retribution hath over- 
 taken us, and grievously have we been smitten. Truly, our 
 heart is desolate, and will not be comforted. We have sown 
 that we have reaped : the betrayal of our country has wrought 
 our own thraldom. Harsh and exacting are our taskmasters, 
 and our native freedom hath, been shackled with the bondage 
 of Egypt. The sins of our fathers have been visited upon us : 
 our pride has been abased— even to the dust. Woe worth the 
 day that England bowed her head beneath the Norman yoke : 
 better — far better — had she utterly perished ! Her people are 
 driven from their pleasant land — her nobles are slaughtered — 
 her priesthood, degraded. Aye, the most reverend father the 
 Primate Stigand, is deposed. The Bishop of Selesey and the 
 Bishop of Elmham have been immured in the Tower. The 
 Bishop of Durham hath fled the realm. And I even I — " 
 
"WULSTAN OP WOKCESTEK. 
 
 The speaker paused. He was a man of stately figure, and 
 of herculean proportions. The thin white locks scattered upon 
 his head — the deep furrows which indented his cheeks — the 
 '•lines of thought" traversing his massive hrow — proclaimed 
 that he had long entered into "the sere and yellow tint" of his 
 existence : yet his appearance indicated neither mental decay, 
 nor hodily infirmity. His large bright blue eyes, as he gazed 
 abstractedly upwards, gleamed with all the fire and vivacity of 
 youth : his countenance w T as fair and ruddy — his features bold 
 and commanding, yet softened by an expression of benevolence 
 which betokened his goodness of heart, although agitated by 
 the conflicting emotions which had clouded the stmshme of his 
 soul. Suddenly starting from his reverie, he paced along the 
 noble apartment with a hurried irregular step — his lips moving 
 inaudibly, as though in silent commimion with himself, or in 
 prayer. At length he halted abruptly, and leaning upon his 
 pastoral staff, which trembled within his vigorous grasp, as it 
 graced a hand that seemed far more fitting for broadsword and 
 battle-axe, than for silver crozier, he exclaimed — 
 
 " It is all in vain, my children : ye cannot beguile me of my 
 presentiment — of my sad conviction. The shadows of coming 
 events have enveloped me in their gloom. I — even I, alas ! — 
 am marked as the next victim of royal malevolence — and why ? 
 Good reason, forsooth, and all sufficient, in the eyes of a despot. 
 My episcopal benefice hath long been coveted by that rapacious 
 spoiler of our chinch — Eobcrt of Orleans, who woidd fain tread 
 in the footsteps of his graceless master, as invader and usurper, 
 lint a voice is whispering in mine ear, that the sacred mitre 
 which I wear — placed on my head by the sainted hands of the 
 good King Edward, of blessed memory — shall never encircle 
 the alien brow of an ingrate Norman." 
 
 "Nay — nay, my good Lord "Wulstan!" replied one of the 
 f wain, who had been earnest but affectionate listeners to the 
 soliloquy of the brave-hearted Bishop, as he tenderly supported 
 the graceful form of his lovely companion — a maiden of some 
 eighteen summers — ■" Nay, my good Lord, do not imagine so 
 lamentable a termination of your honourable career. Surely, 
 the Conqueror — I crave pardon, my Lord, for giving unwitting 
 utterance to an appellation so discordant to Saxon ears. But 
 surely the King — haughty and tyrannical as he undoubtedly 
 is — will never be so ungracious to so distinguished a personage 
 of his royal realm, and so eminent a patriarch of holy church, 
 as your worthy self ! Surely, the politic monarch will not thus 
 venture to outrage the feelings of his subjects and liegemen, 
 already ripe for rebellion : nor dare to provoke the antagonism 
 of that all-powerful episcopacy, whose banded might could well 
 nigh wrench the sceptre from his grasp ! Besides, not last nor 
 least in the estimation of the King, my father — scarce need I 
 vouch for his loyalty — will never fail his friend in the hour of 
 need, were it only for the sake of his amiable daughter." 
 2 
 
WULSTAN OF WORCESTER, 
 
 The maiden blushed and smiled — less at the delicacy of the 
 compliment than at the passionate tenderness of her lover's 
 caress, as he drew her closer to his heart, and imprinted a kiss 
 on her glowing cheek which did not pale its roses. 
 
 " Walter Fitz waiter," replied the venerable old man, with a 
 look of parental pride and fondness, as he glanced alternately 
 at the youthfid pair — the illustrious representatives of Norman 
 chivalry and Saxon beauty, " Far be it from my heart to doubt 
 the honour or the friendship of your noble father — foe that he 
 hath been to my country — but well I know the blind feudal 
 obedience which your Norman chiefs and sovereigns exact from 
 their vassals ; and many are the instances where filial, parental, 
 aye, and even conjugal love, has been sacrificed at the shrine 
 of that soul-debasing subservience, whieh is so zealously and 
 unscrupulously inculcated by your priesthood. Nevertheless, 
 Walter Fitzwalter, Norman as thou art, yet hast thou Saxon 
 blood in thy veins ; and I joy me to think that the chosen 
 of my gentle Edith is not all unworthy of her love — nor the 
 friendly grasp of her Saxon father, for thou hast never drawn 
 sword against the liberties of England : nor wilt thou disdain 
 to clasp a hand, I ween, that hath battled with thy countrymen 
 in the sacred cause of native freedom." 
 
 "No, certes, my good Lord — my honoured father!" cried 
 the noble youth, with kindling eye, hastily advancing towards 
 the warm-hearted prelate, and proffering his hand, which the 
 worthy Eishop shook most cordially, "Would to heaven that 
 the deadly feud which hath so long ravaged this pleasant land 
 might be as easily reconciled — and our hostile races blended 
 as indissolubly, as I trust our own rival houses will happily be, 
 ere another moon hath -waned." 
 
 The maiden blushed again, as her lover resumed his place 
 at her side, and twined his arm around her, whispering in her 
 willing ear, as he pressed her more closely to him, the soothing- 
 words of hope and love, until insensibly yielding to that innate 
 attraction — mysterious as undefined — which joincth heart to 
 heart in that sympathetic bond which time itself can never 
 rend asunder, her head for a moment drooped confidingly on 
 his shoulder, and the lustre of her bright blue eyes was dimmed 
 by the tearful emotion of a sensitive heart. 
 
 As the venerable pastor gazed approvingly on the youthfid 
 pair, though it was but for a moment's space, yet the magic 
 wand of memory recalled the bygone scenes of other years ; and 
 as he turned away in silence and in sadness to muse and to 
 moralise on that wondrous theme of human life, which far 
 surpasseth all understanding, he gazed on the calm cerulean 
 heavens above, with the pure faith which never doubteth : for 
 it is there, and there alone — in those boundless realms of light 
 — that hope shall be realised, love shall be purified, and life 
 shall be made eternal. Such is the aspiration of the soul, the 
 belief of the heart, and the conviction of the mind. 
 
Wt LSTAN OF WOBCa M IK 
 
 Unwilling to interrupt the well-known reverie of the woi 
 Bishop, and smiling at his apparently visionary forebodings, 
 
 the losers had retired to the shady recess of a spacious window 
 commanding an extensive view of forest scenery ; and there 
 " sunning themselves in their own sweet thoughts," they also 
 became absorbed in the day-dreams of imagination — not of the 
 past, nor of the present, hut of the future. 
 
 Young Walter Fitzwalter and his betrothed were indeed a 
 handsome conple. He, tall and stately: of a noble presence 
 and martial aspect. She, peerless in beauty and in grace. 
 
 During the reign of Edward the Confessor, who had himself 
 been brought up at the court of Normandy, and was for many 
 years the companion of Duke William, England became the 
 chosen retreat of those wandering adventurers, the younger 
 branches of the Norman nobility, who knew full well the fond 
 predilection of the imbecile Saxon monarch for the refinements 
 of that romantic feudalism which had so charmed him in his 
 youth. Gradually usurping the principal offices in the royal 
 household, these haughty foreigners obtained the most complete 
 ascendency over the mind of the King, arrogated to themselves 
 the honours and emoluments of the state — slowly but surely 
 undermined the broad base of national patriotism — and paved 
 the way for the subsequent invasion which desolated for aires 
 the hearths and the homes of merry old England. 
 
 Amongst the goodly company of "gentle knights" who had 
 permanently settled in the valley of the Severn, was the Baron 
 Fitzwalter, an illustrious scion of a noble Xornian house, with 
 nothing but his sword and his personal accomplishments to win 
 his way to fame. Eventually fortune smiled upon him, and, 
 aided by the King's influence, lie married a Saxon heiress of 
 large possessions, whose lamented decease took place within a 
 few short months after the birth of her only child, Walter. 
 
 For many years the Baron Fitzwalter had lived upon terms 
 of intimacy and friendship with Bishop Wulstan, and in con- 
 sequence an attachment had sprung up between the youthful 
 representatives of both houses. The addresses of Walter were 
 favourably received by Edith, and their intended union was 
 sanctioned by their respective parents, and "all went merry as 
 a marriage bell," until in evil hour William Duke of Normandy 
 resolved to assert his right to the crown of England, on the 
 death of King Edward, by an appeal to arms. This sad event 
 severed the amicable relations of the many Xorman and Saxon 
 families throughout the kingdom; and Walter, to the great 
 grief of his betrothed, was forcibly hurried on board ship, by 
 his ambitious father, who joined the armament then lying at 
 anchor oh' the coasl of France, at St. Valery. 
 
 The battle of Hastings was fought, and the matchless skill 
 
 of the Xorman triumphed over the indomitable valour of the 
 
 Saxon and the Dane. But on that disastrous day, so fatal to 
 
 the freedom of England, the true-hearted Bishop, doffed rochet 
 
 4 
 
w i LSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 and mitre for helmet and hauberk of mail, and wielding battle- 
 axe and sword with the dauntless courage of a veteran warrior, 
 he fearlessly confronted the rush of charging squadrons at the 
 head of his Hock, who, animated by the heroic example of their 
 beloved pastor, proved the possibility of "lambs in the hous 
 becoming "lions in the field," and fought against overwhelming- 
 odds like "mighty men of valour." 
 
 The death of Harold, and the flower of his nobility, on that 
 memorable field of carnage — glorious though indeed it was — 
 combined with the rapid successes of the Conqueror, paralysed 
 the heart of England, and induced that apathetic lethargy so 
 fatal to the national cause, which bore the hollow semblance; 
 of submission. But the Saxon and the Dane were too nearly 
 allied to the Norman, to yield their native supremacy without 
 a struggle — which only terminated with the intermingling of 
 the hostile races as one people. 
 
 However, on the return of the Baron Fitzwalter to his old 
 residence — a picturesque fortalice near Worcester, the broken 
 friendship was renewed with the venerable Bishop, and Walter, 
 to his great joy, was again a welcome guest at the episcopal 
 palace, as the acknowledged suitor of that idol of his sord — the 
 fair Edith, who, save the occasional cloud on her father's brow, 
 could see nought but the sunshine of happiness around her. 
 
 The Bishop paused in his perambulation of the apartment, 
 recalled to the consciousness of passing events, by the musical 
 voice of his daughter, as she playfully repressed the caresses oi 
 her admirer, whose natural flow of spirits had imperceptibly 
 resumed their wonted exuberance. 
 
 With all the pride of parental affection, the warm-hearted 
 old man gazed upon his daughter — a lovely specimen of Saxon 
 beauty. She was exquisitely fair : her neck and forehead pure 
 as alabaster, while the delicate bloom of the blush rose mantled 
 her lips and her check. Her hair was rich auburn — tastefully 
 arranged in curls of glossy luxuriance around her graceful head. 
 Her features were bewitchingly expressive, and remarkablj 
 resembled those of her father; while her figure was tall and 
 commanding — a perfect model of female symmetry. 
 
 As Edith partially turned from the window, while blushingly 
 
 erting her eyes from the glance of Walter, she eneounte 
 the Bishop's benevolent smile, who, sympathising in the gaiety 
 of the newly betrothed, exclaimed, "Be happy— be happy, my 
 children — while you may; for 'tis scarce]) meet that the ho] 
 fidness of youth, should anticipate the cares and the sorrows 
 which are ever attendant upon age." 
 
 "Dear father!" replied Edith, smilingly, "doubt not our 
 happiness — enhanced, as we trust it will be, by the dismissal of 
 those gloomy forebodings which have so long i mbittered your 
 existence. Surely, dear father, your fears must be groundL 
 King William, although a Norman, knows how to respect your 
 years and your virtues — and, not less, your loyal allegiance." 
 
 5 
 
WULSTAN OF WORCESTER.. 
 
 "True, my dear child," said the Bishop. "Aye, it is even 
 true that I have stilled the angry voice of civil dissension, and 
 maintained tranquillity in my diocese — obedience to the laws, 
 oppressive as they undoubtedly are, especially that tyrannical 
 infliction the 'curfew-bell,' — and preached -submission to the 
 Norman sway. But what is my reward ? " 
 
 " The approbation of your own conscience, my dear father," 
 tenderly replied his daughter Edith, "which giveth that 'peace 
 which passeth not away.' " 
 
 " And the commendation of all good men, my Lord," added 
 Walter, ** for nobly and faithfully have you done your duty 
 both to Saxon and to Norman." 
 
 "And did not Stigand, and Agelric, and Agelmare ?" rejoined 
 the Bishop. " But where are they ?" 
 
 "Hark!" exclaimed Edith, approaching the window, as a 
 bugle-blast resounded from below. 
 
 The martial summons was responded to by the warder at the 
 gate — the drawbridge was lowered over the fosse, for even the 
 episcopal palace of a Bishop was fortified in those troublous 
 days — and the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, mingled with 
 the clank of arms and armour, as a gallant knight and a lordly 
 retinue rode into the court yard. 
 
 A brief interval ensued— during which the conjectures of 
 Walter and Edith as to the rank and mission of their unlooked- 
 for visitors, were tacitly acquiesced in by the anxious prelate, 
 although much against his better judgment. 
 
 Suddenly, the massive door of the chamber was thrown open 
 by an attendant, who, making a lowly obeisance, announced 
 the arrival of the great Baron Fitzwalter. 
 
 The Baron advanced towards the Bishop with a stately, step. 
 He was harnessed in mail complete — save his head, which was 
 unhelmed. The Bishop, still leaning upon his crozier, extended 
 his hand, while the youth and the maiden saluted him with 
 humble reverence, as he passed. 
 
 "My Lord Baron Fitzwalter," said the venerable Bishop, 
 " may the peace of heaven be with you !" 
 
 " Wulstan of Worcester," replied the Baron, impressively, 
 " in the name of King William, I greet you well." 
 
 "Ha!" exclaimed the prelate, as a flush of surprise over- 
 spread his countenance, " It is long since I have been addressed 
 30 bluntly. Truly, Wulstan of Worcester careth little for the 
 homage of your Norman titles : and yet, methinks the Baron 
 Fitzwalter is somewhat remiss in his chivalrous courtesy — to 
 say nought of the coolness of his ancient friendship." 
 
 " Wulstan of Worcester," replied the Baron, proudly, " I am 
 a royal messenger — an unwilling one, I confess me truly, but 
 that availeth thee little. I am the bearer of the King's sign- 
 manual. You are no longer Bishop of Worcester !" 
 
 "Is it even so?" cried Wulstan, unconsciously assuming a 
 look of defiance. " Well and truly was I gifted with the spirit 
 
WULSTAN OF WOllCESTEK. 
 
 of prophecy, my children — unhappy though, it he. And pray, 
 my Lord Fitzwalter, may I crave to know the high crimes and 
 misdemeanors with which I am so falsely and so recklessly 
 charged by the malice of mine enemies ?" 
 
 " No accusations are made against you, good father," replied 
 the Baron, with marked asperity, " although /have been flatly 
 denounced of unknightly discourtesy, for simply obeying the 
 behest of my Lord the King, as in duty bound." 
 
 "Pardon, my Lord Baron," exclaimed the excited Bishop, 
 " pardon my hasty speech, if it wrongeth thee. But, surely, 
 another envoy might have been commissioned for so ungracious 
 an office — and not my neighbour and my friend !" 
 
 " Certes, thou sayest well," answered the Baron, somewhat- 
 softened, as a momentary feeling of self-abasement stole over 
 him, " but show me the hardy wight that dares dispute the 
 command of William the Norman ? " 
 
 " Neither Baron nor Vavasour-, good sooth, as well ye know, 
 my Lord Fitzwalter," was the scornful reply. 
 
 " Nor Earl — nor Churl — I ween : save at mortal peril !" was 
 the fierce rejoinder. " But I came not to wage disputation 
 with a deposed prelate. Wulstan of Worcester, hear ye the 
 royal mandate — and take good heed!" 
 
 Hastily unrolling the vellum scroll which he held in his 
 hand — a fine specimen of monkish penmanship, and written in 
 accordance with ecclesiastical custom in Latin — the fiery Baron 
 displayed the imperious missive to the gaze of the indignant 
 Bishop, who hurriedly glanced at the dreaded document. 
 
 "And so, my Lord Baron Fitzwalter," exclaimed the fallen 
 prelate, with startling vehemence, " this is your Norman craft ! 
 This is the guerdon, meet for zealous service ! I had hoped 
 that my leal devotion would have met with chivalrous requital 
 — that I might, at least, have been permitted to retain this 
 pastoral staff, which I have borne so long with honour, for the 
 few remaining years of my earthly pilgrimage." 
 
 "Borne with honour!" echoed the Baron, contemptuously. 
 " Didst thou not receive that shepherd's crook from an imbecile 
 monk, far better fitted to reign in a purgatorial cell than to rule 
 a royal kingdom ? Didst thou not don that priestly pall at the 
 instance of a false usurper — Pope Benedict the Ninth, who was 
 deposed for simony and intrusion ?" 
 
 "Avaunt, thou base slanderer!" broke in the exasperated 
 prelate, with a voice of thunder. " 'Vengeance is mine — I will 
 repay, saith the Lord ! ' Tremble, thou vile apostate — the ban 
 of the church is upon thee ! Aye, shudder at the wrath of that 
 glorious saint thou hast so impiously blasphemed — at the curse 
 of that holy father thou hast so wickedly vilified !" 
 
 " Hail as thou wilt, mad priest, an' it will case the pangs of 
 thy mortified dignity," exclaimed the impetuous Baron, with a 
 withering sneer, "but I command thee, in the King's name, to 
 stint thy prating while I execute my commission." 
 
 7 
 
\\ I I.S'lAN OP \\OK< i;si EE 
 
 • What further indignity canst thou hurl at the defence 
 bead of the despised Saxon ?" replied Wulstan, with the proud 
 bitterness of a wounded .spirit conscious of its own power. 
 
 "Calm thy wayward mood, an' thou eanst— ere thou hast 
 wrought thine own ruin," said the Baron. 
 
 "My ruin hat]] been compassed by that ravenous wolf in 
 sheep's clothing— thai false h } po< rite— that foul traducer— that 
 perjured villain— Robert, of Orleans!" vociferated Wulstan. 
 
 "I cry you nay, sir priest!" replied the Karon, sharply. 
 "The King himself is your traducer, an' you will have it so — 
 or rather his conscience, which hath long been sorely troubled 
 that so greal a scandal should exist in the church : nathless— " 
 "Nathless, the King's conscience was not troubled when he 
 broke his coronation oath!" retorted Wulstan, fiercely. "Did 
 not the King solemnly swear to govern the Normans and the 
 Saxons 1)}- equal laws— to administer justice impartially— and 
 to protect the church? Rut, hath he not grievously oppressed 
 the Saxon people, and trampled on their liberties ? Aye — or 
 the accursed tongue of that iron curfew-hell crieth aloud to 
 earth and heaven that truth is falsehood !" 
 
 '■Wulstan of Worcester, T charge you, peace!" sternly and 
 authoritatively interposed the Baron Fitzwalter. " 1 came not 
 here to wage a war of words; but, as the royal vicegerent, to 
 command your attendance at the Synod to be bolden before oui 
 Lord the King in the Abbey of Westminster, at the festival ol 
 Whitsuntide, by the most reverend primate, Lanfranc, Lord 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, where yon are required to resign 
 your pastoral staff and ring-— wherein fail not at your peril." 
 
 '-Oh: my father:" cried young Walter Fitzwalter, hastily 
 advancing between the angry disputants, with an anxious gaze 
 at the troubled countenance of the Baron, "surely my Lord the 
 King- knoweth not how- universally the good Lord Wulstan is 
 respected— esteemed — beloved — admired— revered ? Oh ! my 
 father, one word from thee woirld suffice — " 
 
 " Peace— peace— rash boy!" harshly interrupted the Baron. 
 " My Lord of Canterbury —to whom such office more properly 
 belongs— hath prayed the King's clemency in vain." 
 
 "My good Lord Bishop!" interposed Walter, respectfully, 
 endeavouring to soothe his rage, " I beseech you chafe not your 
 noble nature at this cruel indignity. Edith and myself—" 
 
 "Must part— to meet no more," said the Raron, coldly and 
 decidedly, finishing the sentence. 
 
 " No! father, never!" cried the youth, firmly, with a half- 
 reproachful glance, as he returned to the side of Edith, who, 
 pale and agitated, was reclining on a seat near the window. 
 Encircling her waist with his arm, he exclaimed, passionately 
 gazing in her face, "Although I may not wed the heiress of 
 my Lord the Bishop of Worcester, vet is the daughter of the 
 venerable Wulstan mine- and mine only; and that, father, as 
 well thou knowest, by the solemn betrothal of holy church " 
 8 
 
WUXSTAN OP WORCESTER. 
 
 A cloud — dark, and deep, and ominous- — gathered upon the 
 Baron's brow. "AY alter!" said he, evidently striving to quell 
 the tierce conflict of painful emotion which raged in his breast, 
 " when 1 gave my consent to your betrothal with this gentle 
 damsel, whom truly it grieveth me to pain, her lather had not 
 [alien under the displeasure of the King. Yet, as such is most 
 unhappily the ease whether justly or unjustly, mattereth but 
 little -certes, it would ill become the son and heir of the Baron 
 Fitzwalter to espouse the daughter of a man who hath been 
 bereft of bis benefice, and degraded from his dignities!" 
 
 "My Lord BarOB Fitzwalter," furiously retorted the fearless 
 prelate, stung to the quick by this additional insult, "Wulstan 
 of Worcester — the representative of a long line of illustrious 
 Saxon ancestors — whose brow was honoured with the sacred 
 mitre by the pious hands of the saintly lung Edward of ever 
 blessed memory — was never degraded till this moment, when a 
 Norman adventurer, whose fathers, forsooth, were nought but 
 Norwegian marauders and pirates, has dared to assert that his 
 family would be disgraced by the union of his son with a 
 daughter of the royal race of the Saxon Witikin!" 
 
 The eyes of the' Bishop flashed fire as he spoke : his haughty 
 brow and hold bearing evincing an indomitable' spirit, which 
 somewhat intimidated the Baron, whose hand had instinctively 
 grasped the hilt of his sword. Edith, alarmed at the hostile 
 aspect of the Baron, and anxious to calm her father's almost 
 ungovernable rage, clung around him in tearful anguish ; while 
 Walter stood watching the angry speakers, for whom he felt an 
 equal respect and veneration, ready to repress the first outburst 
 of aggressive violence in either. 
 
 "Wulstan of Worcester," said the Baron, drawing his son's 
 arm within his own, and attempting to lead him forth from the 
 chamber, "fail ye not to meet the King in the Synod to be 
 holdeu at Westminster, at your uttermost peril!" 
 
 "Peril!" echoed the veteran warrior, scornfully, "Wulstan 
 of Worcester hath never yet quailed at peril — in field or hall." 
 
 "Oh! Walter!" murmured Edith, gazing at him with the 
 most inexpressible sorrow. 
 
 The youth, releasing himself from his father's grasp, sprang 
 towards her, but was confronted by Wulstan, who, raising his 
 hand as in denial, exclaimed " Nay— nay, Walter, it must not 
 be. It shall never be said that Edith besought the favour of 
 him who spurned her ! Thou art free from thy bond." 
 
 "Walter!" cried the Baron, "Art thou mad? Thou hadst 
 better he in thy grave, than wedded to a disgraced house !" 
 
 " Edith !" cried Walter, clasping his hands convulsively, and 
 raising his eyes to heaven, "thou art mine own affianced in the 
 sight of the Most High, and 1 will never leave thee nor forsake 
 I liee. Bank and wealth weigh as nought in the just balance of 
 Honour, and never will I yield thee or resign thee, but with 
 life. Tare ye well awhile— -we shall meet again." 
 
 9 
 
WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 " My Lord Baron Fitzwalter," added the incensed Wulstan, 
 drawing himself up to his full height, and darting a fiery glance 
 at his antagonist, " we too shall meet again. Farewell." 
 
 " Be it so," replied the Baron, turning on his heel — grasping 
 the arm of his son — and hastily leaving the apartment. 
 
 The glowing rays of the setting sun were gilding the west, 
 when Edith retired to her chamber to weep and to pray. It 
 was indeed a lovely evening : the gentle breeze, laden with 
 fragrance, was murmuring amidst the boughs of the oaks that 
 overshadowed the window against which Edith was leaning, 
 absorbed in painful reflections. Gazing on the gorgeous hues 
 of the firmament — radiant with scarlet and purple, and crimson 
 and gold — she insensibly stilled the throbbings of her agonised 
 bosom, and her troubled spirit imbibed the calm of the "dewy 
 twilight," as the deepening shadows were closing around her. 
 Immediately below the episcopal palace, winding at the foot of 
 a rocky declivity, flowed the broad and rapid Severn, whose 
 grassy banks were picturesquely studded with noble specimens 
 of magnificent forest trees ; while the stately towers of the fan- 
 cathedral arose in massive grandeur on its opposite bank, and 
 the lofty siunmits of the Malvern Hills, clothed in the awful 
 sublimity of primeval majesty, hazy and indistinct in the gloom 
 of the distance, bounded the horizon. Gradually the last faint 
 gleam of light departed, and all was darkness and silence — save 
 the hoarse murmurs of the swiftly-flowing river — for the hour 
 of " curfew" had long passed, and no glimmer was visible in 
 the lone cots of the rude Saxon peasantry. At length, slowly 
 emerging from the dark mass of wood which crowned a rugged 
 eminence, the full-orbed moon arose in peerless splendour — 
 silvering the tops of those eternal hills — the battlements of that 
 venerable pile — the wavelets of that glittering stream. Wrapt 
 in "moody melancholy," Edith surveyed the sleeping beauty 
 of the woodland scenery with listless apathy, until the magic 
 wand of Memory — that potent necromancer, which hath been 
 so wondrously gifted with the mystic attributes of immortality 
 — recalled the fleeting visions of the happy past. Her soft blue 
 eyes were suffused with tears as she beheld the "trysting tree," 
 and thought of Walter — of their wanderings through the mazes 
 of the " greenwood gay"- — of their rambles by the river : while 
 the echoes of Love's "flattering tale" seemed lingering in her 
 ear, mingled with the " fairy -like music " of her " lover's lute," 
 as it sighed " o'er the rippling waters," responsive to his song, 
 in adoration of her loveliness. But, alas ! the blissful illusion 
 passed away like a dream, before the sorrows of reality. 
 
 With a sigh of despondency Edith closed the casement ; but, 
 as she turned from the window, she started — paused — listened ! 
 'twas the soft sweet sound of "wood-notes wild" floating in the 
 breeze. Suddenly her heart thrilled with emotion, and her pale 
 cheek flushed. She had recognised the voice of Walter — and 
 his own much-loved song, the "Troubadour !" 
 10 
 
WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 " Oh ! Love ! when wilt thou cease to wage, 
 
 This conflict in my heart ? 
 So fierce is thy relentless rage — 
 
 So keen thy cruel dart ! 
 Still, as of old, a tyrant proud — • 
 
 Thou conquering lord of all, 
 Oh ! who hath never captive bowed 
 
 To thy resistless thrall ? 
 
 u Oh ! gentle Mercy, hear my prayer — ■ 
 
 Thou angel pure as light, 
 And make my wounded soul thy care, 
 
 "Which Love hath in despite : 
 Arrayed in all thy beauty, thou 
 
 But deign on Love to smile, 
 So shalt thou smooth his frowning brow, 
 
 And all my grief beguile. 
 
 (i 
 
 Ah ! sure the wise — the good — the great, 
 
 Have Love and Mercy sued ! 
 Then, lady, stay then dire debate, 
 
 And heal their- graceless feud : 
 For thou canst blend in union sweet 
 
 More ardent foes tban they, 
 Like mingling roses let them meet — 
 
 Such as thy cheeks betray. 
 
 "While Love and Mercy ne'er shall part — 
 
 But stars of glory shine, 
 Hope, like a seraph, doth impart 
 
 That peace which is divine : 
 Like Hope, my fluttering soul upsprings, 
 
 With heavenly bliss in view, 
 And, rising on ethereal wings, 
 
 Hath flown away to you. 
 
 " 'Tis Love that gilds the gloom of life — 
 
 'Tis Hope that Love sustains, 
 'Tis Faith that stills the bosom's strife, 
 
 And tells that Mercy reigns : 
 Then, oh ! let Mercy smile on Love — 
 
 Let Faith and Hope entwine, 
 And till we're called by Him above, 
 
 Oh ! be for ever mine." 
 
 Edith hastily unclosed the casement. A light skiff was on 
 the river — stealing along under the shadow of the overhanging 
 boughs : at length it emerged from the gloom, and, dashing into 
 the broad expanse of glittering moonlight, rapidly approached 
 the massive walls of the episcopal palace. 
 
WTJLSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 As Edith appeared at the window, Walter waved his hand in 
 salutation, and pointing to his how and arrows with a gesture 
 of peculiar significance, which the agitated maiden intuitively 
 comprehended, she instantly stepped aside. In a moment the 
 short sharp twang of the bowstring resounded in the air, as 
 Walter drew his "shaft" up to the head, and "loosed." The 
 formidable "broad-arrow," borne upon its "grey goose wing," 
 rushed into the chamber, and quivered in the oaken panelling 
 of the opposite wall. Edith seized the shaft, and releasing the 
 little missive which it had safely carried, unfolded it hurriedly, 
 and, with changing colour and fluttering bosom, read the brief 
 but momentous intimation which it contained. 
 
 The maiden reappeared al the window, and, smiling through 
 her tears, waved her hand in acquiescence: the welcome signal 
 — ardently and anxiously prayed for — was joyfully returned by 
 Walter, who, skilfully guiding his frail skiff amidst the eddies 
 and shallows of the rapid stream again sought the shelter of its 
 shadows, and silently glided away. 
 
 At length the feast of Whitsuntide approached, and the day 
 arrived for the departure of Wulstan of Worcester for the court 
 of Westminster. The morning was bright and sunny, and all 
 the great thoroughfares leading to the metropolis were thronged 
 with spectators. From an early hour the bustle of preparation 
 had commenced, and group after group of Barons and Knights, 
 arrayed in martial panoply, and attended by stalwart bands of 
 armed retainers, took their departure from Worcester and its 
 vicinity. The Baron Fitzwalter, at the head of a gallant train 
 — Bober.t de Courcy, surrounded by his men-at-arms — Jasper 
 Montfaucon, with a goodly assemblage of esquires and pages — 
 Hubert Fitzarcher, with his bowmen, and Ranulph Malvoisin 
 and his veteran "plump of spears," formed a splendid cavalcade 
 of Norman chivalry. Onwards they rode, with banners and 
 pennons fluttering in the wind — chargers neighing — arms and 
 harness clattering and clanking — amidst the fierce multitude of 
 Saxon serfs and villains, burghers and bondmen, whose sxdlen 
 scowl of hatred dire, and muttered curses, "not loud but deep," 
 were ominous indications of popular discontent, ' As the hour 
 of noon tolled from the great bell of the cathedral, Wulstan of 
 Worcester issued forth from the episcopal palace, escorted by a 
 numerous retinue. Mounted on a noble white charger, arrayed 
 in rochet and hood, mitre on head, and crozier in hand, the 
 commanding form of the venerable Bishop appeared to much 
 advantage. He was received with every demonstration of the 
 utmost respect — with cordial and affectionate greeting — with 
 boisterous acclamation; while prayers, and blessings, and good 
 wishes for his welfare were liberally showered upon him by his 
 grateful and admiring countrymen, who honoured him alike 
 for his piety and his valour. ' Later in the day, that "proud 
 prelate," Bobert of Orleans, escorted by a strong body of men- 
 at-arms, under the command of a distinguished Norman knight, 
 12 
 
\vr i.stan OF WORCESTER. 
 
 Raymond de Caen, rode through the streets of Worcester- As 
 he traversed the metropolis of his long-coveted diocese, he was 
 assailed with curses and execrations that chafed his imperious 
 spirit, and well nigh goaded him into madness: his tyranny 
 and cruelty were notorious, and had gained him the not inapt 
 although unenviable appellation of the "Black Wolf!" — but 
 had his nefarious plots been known — or, that he had succeeded 
 in effecting the nun of Bishop Wulstan, it would have gone 
 hard with him, for the populace were as ready to smite as to 
 rail. Spurring onwards, the martial train crossed the bridge, 
 and leaving both town and river behind them, entered the open 
 country intersected by various fosseways of Roman origin. 
 
 On arriving at the siunniit of a steep eminence, commanding 
 an extensive view of the surrounding country, the suspicions of 
 Robert of Orleans were aroused by the sudden appearance of a 
 couple of equestrians, who emerged from a wood some distance 
 in advance, and, on having a glimpse of the cavalcade, hastily 
 put their horses to full speed, as if anxious to avoid recognition. 
 
 " Ha !" shouted the wary Norman, pointing to the fugitives, 
 "what spiest thou yonder, Raymond de Caen ?" 
 
 " Certes, 'tis a sturdy youth and a gentle damsel," responded 
 the knight, "yet, methxnks, they have but marvellous small 
 liking for roadside greeting — or the honour of benediction from 
 your graciom reverence!" added the warrior, with a smile. 
 
 " Spur after them, good Raymond!" exclaimed the Norman 
 "wolf!" with well-assumed suavity of demeanour, "spur after 
 them. I would fain learn somewhat of the reason why yon 
 timorous travellers are in such haste to flee from the benison of 
 holy church — as well thou say est, brave sir malapert." 
 
 "Good, my Lord," replied Raymond, with a wicked laugh. 
 So saying, and beckoning some half-dozen of his comrades to 
 follow', the dashing young cavalier clapped spurs to his charger 
 and started off in pursuit, The heavy tramp of the rushing 
 war-horses shook the very ground beneath them, and, in a few- 
 minutes the excited pair were surrounded and brought to bay ; 
 but, had not the maiden been evidently unequal to the mm 
 of her high-mettled palfrey, the fugitives would certainly have 
 made good their flight, and escaped. 
 
 "Ha! ha! Master Walter," laughed Raymond de Caen, as 
 he recognised the son and heir of the Baron Fitzwalter, and his 
 fair [fiancee, Edith of Worcester, "well met, by good St. Hubert ! 
 Save you and the gentle lady ! His eminence, the holy father 
 Robert of Orleans, sendeth courteous greeting, and would fain 
 have speech with you at leisure." 
 
 " Robert of Orleans!" echoed the youth, fiercely surveying 
 his antagonist. "And pray. Sir Raymond, what meaneth this 
 unseemly intrusion of his graceless reverence ?" 
 
 " Certes, Master Walter, methinks thou art strangely ruffled 
 at so fair a salutation!" replied the knight, with a provoking 
 pleasantry. " Truly 'tis an honour of no small moment." 
 
WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 "Who have we here ?" cried Robert of Orleans, breathlessly- 
 galloping into the armed circle which environed the hapless 
 captives, and reining-in his foaming horse. " Ha ! what is it 
 thou, Master Walter ! good sooth, but I little thought of being 
 honoured with the charge of such a distinguished personage on 
 my way to Westminster. But who is this fair damsel ? " 
 
 '' Edith of Worcester : who is journeying under my escort to 
 the Abbey of St. Anne," responded the youth, fiercely. 
 
 " 'Tis a very likely tale, Master Walter, and I doubt me not 
 of its truth," replied Robert of Orleans, with a significant look 
 at the lady. " Ye timed your plotting bravely ; and, had I not 
 been fortuitously delayed, ye had now been safe in sanctuary. 
 But ye shall answer for this before my Lord the King." 
 
 On the morning of the festival of Whitsuntide the whole 
 population of London and of Westminster seemed assembled 
 around the Abbey of St. Peter. The rumour that Wulstan of 
 Worcester had been summoned to the Synod by the King, for 
 the resignation of his pastoral staff, had spread far and wide, 
 and had created a most extraordinary sensation amongst his 
 Saxon countrymen, by whom he was almost idolised. It is 
 true, that Bishop Wulstan was reputed to be but an indifferent 
 
 scholar, yet he was noted for his eloquence — his generosity ■ 
 
 and his many virtues : his patriotism was proverbial, and he 
 had, moreover, held high place hi the estimation of the late 
 popular monarch, Edward the Confessor, whose memory was 
 enshrined in the hearts of his subjects, and whose name was 
 subsequently canonized by Pope Alexander the Third. 
 
 As Bishop Wulstan moved through the crowd, attended by 
 the Saxon clergy of his diocese, arrayed in his episcopal robes, 
 with the mitre on his head, and the silver erozier in bis band, 
 the_ multitude knelt down reverently before him, and bowed 
 their heads to receive his blessing ; and, as he passed through 
 the gates of the Abbey, to the great annoyance of the Norman 
 prelates, he was greeted with a tumultuous burst of applause, 
 which was, however, immediately suppressed by the men-at- 
 arms, although they were unable to silence the angiy whispers 
 of the dense throng of murmuring spectators. 
 
 Before the high altar— near the splendid tomb of Edward the 
 Confessor— on the royal throne of England, surmounted by a 
 rich canopy of state, robed and crowned, with his great sword 
 in his hand, sat King William the Conqueror. On his right, 
 somewhat lower, was seated Lanfranc the Monk of Milan, who 
 had recently been raised to the primacy, and who, in virtue of 
 his office, was President of the Synod— surrounded by several 
 Bishops, and Abbots, and other dignified ecclesiastics, amongst 
 whom was Robert of Orleans. On the left of the King, sat the 
 Baron Fitzwalter, with a host of Earls, Knights, and Vavasours 
 • — the knightly representatives of Norman chivalry. 
 
 As Wulstan entered the royal presence, and made obeisance 
 before the King, Lanfranc arose, and thus addressed him— 
 14 
 
WULSTAN OP WORCESTER. 
 
 " Wulstan, sometime Bishop of Worcester, I am commanded 
 by our puissant Sovereign Lord King William, to inform you, 
 in consideration of your being an unlearned clerk — unskilled 
 in the Norman language — unable to instruct the Church — and 
 unwilling to counsel the King, that he has been pleased, in 
 his clemency, to release you from the grave responsibilities of 
 your high station. I am, consequently, empowered to demand 
 the immediate resignation of your pastoral staff and ring." 
 
 Wulstan proudly drew himself up to his full height — his 
 stalwart form and sinewy limbs seeming to expand to colossal 
 dimensions as he spoke, " I well know, my Lord Archbishop, 
 that I am unequal to the task, and unworthy of the honour — 
 and yet, methinks, I have done the King some service in the 
 hour of his need. But let that pass. This crozier I received 
 from the sainted hands of my good master, King Edward of 
 blessed memory, and ' hap what hap,' to none other will I ever 
 yield it !" So saying, with an air of defiance, he strode across 
 the church towards King Edward's tomb. 
 
 " Bold traitor !" cried the King, " art thou mad ? Whither 
 woidd thine insolence lead thee ?" 
 
 But Wulstan heeded not. Approaching the hallowed shrine, 
 he exclaimed in a loud voice, " Thou knowest, glorious King, 
 that with much unwillingness did I take this office upon me — 
 even in obedience to thy command. But the good old times 
 are changed : and now, an alien monarch hath challenged thy 
 decree, and censured my assurance. Nevertheless, not unto 
 him but unto thee do I resign my staff." 
 
 As Wulstan finished his wild invocation, which rang through 
 the sacred Abbey, and awed the dense multitude into breathless 
 silence, he struck his pastoral staff deep into the royal tomb ! 
 
 The King, who had risen from his throne, on witnessing the 
 impassioned gestures of Wulstan, reseated himself with a smile 
 of contempt, when he saw the impotent display of his passion. 
 " My good Lord Robert of Orleans," he impetuously exclaimed, 
 "pluck away that episcopal staff, and keep it for thy pains." 
 
 The haughty Norman hastily descended from his scat, and, 
 proceeding to the tomb, joyfully seized the symbol of his new 
 honours — but he might as soon have uprooted the oak of the 
 forest with his single arm, as removed the staff. 
 
 Chafing with anger at this untoward circumstance, the King 
 turned to Lanfranc, and shouted in a voice of thunder, " My 
 Lord Archbishop, bring me that crozier." 
 
 The Primate approached the tomb, but his efforts were as 
 unavailing as those of the discomfited aspirant for its dignity ._ 
 
 The King was amazed at their imbecility, and at length, in 
 a rage, promised the bishopric to him alone who could release 
 the pastoral staff from its thraldom. 
 
 The holy fathers, one and all, laboured long and painfully to 
 win the rich prize — the much-coveted guerdon of success — but 
 in vain : they were obliged to abandon the task in despair. 
 
 15 
 
WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 Furious at the obstacles which had successfully resisted the 
 Utmost efforts of his stalwart priesthood, the King leaped from 
 his throne— rushed to the tomb— seized the silver staff in his 
 own herculean grasp : hut it was immoveable. 
 
 Grasping for breath with the violence of his exertions, and 
 conscious of his failure — notwithstanding- his gigantic strength 
 — the King- relinquished his hold. 
 
 As he did so, Wulstan advanced, and, taking the staff in his 
 hand, " removed it as easily as Samson broke his manacles !" 
 
 "A miracle — a miracle ! Blessed he the memory of sainted 
 King Edward! All honour to his servant Wulstan !" burst 
 spontaneously from the amazed auditory ; and the enthusiastic 
 shout was echoed and re-echoed by the Saxon populace, until 
 the Abbey rang with its reverberations. 
 
 "The will of heaven be done!" said the King, approaching 
 Wulstan. "Keep, my Lord of Worcester, that pastoral stall' 
 which you have so long borne with hononr." 
 
 "My liege," said Robert of Orleans, addressing the King 
 with a semblance of the deepest humility, while the smothered 
 flame of envy, hatred, and malice, was raging in his heart, 
 "after the awful and wondrous scene we have just witnessed, 
 it grieveth me sore to he compelled to lay a charge of serious 
 import against my Lord of Worcester." 
 
 "Ha !" cried the King, with a sudden glance of surprise, as 
 he resumed his seat upon the throne, "say on." 
 
 "My noble liege," replied Robert of Orleans, as the captive 
 lovers — Walter and Edith — were led into the royal presence, 
 "I charge my Lord of Worcester with the practice of magic — 
 witchcraft — and other diabolical arts, whereby he has not only 
 deceived you and this reverend Synod, but has also seduced 
 this youth from allegiance to his King, and duty to his father, 
 by unlawful enthralment and betrothal, and — " 
 
 " Kobert of Orleans !" thundered forth the King, " beware !" 
 He paused : and then, turning to the Barons with a smile, he 
 exclaimed, " Certes, my Lords, 'tis a gallant youth and a lovely 
 maiden! But what sayeth my Lord Fitzwalter to the charge 
 of witchcraft ? Methinks the practice pcrtaincth more to the 
 damsel, than to my Lord of Worcester." 
 
 "My liege," replied the Baron, "the youthful offenders have 
 been lawfully betrothed in holy church, by mutual consent — 
 formally ratified by the Lord Bishop of Worcester and myself." 
 
 "Ha! say you so, my Lord Baron," cried the King, "then 
 earldom and lands for the youth and the maiden. Lead to the 
 altar, Lanfranc, nry Lord of Worcester shall wed this loving- 
 couple, and William of Normandy will give away the bride." 
 
 A shout of applause — which rang through the noble Abb< y, 
 and resounded to the heavens— burst from the delighted crowd, 
 and the merry bridal was solemnised amid the mingled plaudits 
 of the Norman and the Saxon, who generously combined to 
 honour the brave-hearted Bishop — Wulstan or Worcester. 
 16 
 
pdtag ani §/mWtimt!— (flpalrg auft Hematite! 
 
 Second Edition, Foolscap Octavo, Bound in Cloth, Gilt Edges, Price 3a\ (jd. 
 
 EMBELLISHED WITH W00D-ENGRA VINGS, 
 
 ff§e j§rait0 nf gphnrct|, 
 
 BY WILLIAM READER. 
 
 ^Dedicated by Per miss-ion to the Right Honourable the Earl of Clarendon, K.G. 
 
 Commencing with the Legendary History of Kenilwortli, the author has 
 ecorded its Traditions during the British, Saxon, Danish, and Norman 
 jas; introducing the celebrated King Arthur, its reputed founder, and 
 ivonelm King of Mereia, from whom it derived its name, with interesting 
 notices of the manners, customs, and events of that early period, connecting 
 legendary with its real history, which commenced in the time of Henry I. 
 lis Historical Scenes during the reigns of its Royal and Noble Possessors 
 ire vividly depicted; and especially pre-eminent on its "Rolls of Fame," 
 ippear its Six Months' Siege by Henry III. : its Grand Tournament and 
 found Table in the reign of Edward I. : the Formal Deposition of Edward II. 
 rliich took place in its Great Hall : the " Ordeal by Battle " of its Lord, 
 a the reign of Richard II. : the Reception of the French Ambassadors by 
 Henry V. : the Princely Entertainment of Queen Elizabeth: its Destruction 
 v the Military Officers and Adherents of Oliver Cromwell: and the Present 
 ppearance of its venerable Ruins — perhaps the most magnificent in England, 
 which have long possessed a world-wide celebrity. 
 
 This romantic volume consists of about 400 pages, and is embellished with 
 engravings — a Yiew of the Ruins, an accurate Ground- Plan, and a reduced 
 ropy of the only known View in existence of the Castle in its Perfect State 
 in 1620, from the drawing of Iienry Beighton in Anslcy Hall, Warwickshire, 
 bing a copy of the original Fresco Painting at Newnnam Paddox, the seat 
 )f the Right Hon. the Earl of Denbigh, but which has since been destroyed. 
 
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