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HISTORIC LAYS, 
 
 AND 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 PHILIP SMITH SPARLING. 
 
 "VOX ET PR^TEREA NIHIL." 
 
 JLontion : 
 GEORGE PHIPPS, 
 
 RANELAGH STREET, EATON SQUARE. 
 1851. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINI1.D BY G. PHIPPS, RANELAGH STREET. 
 
REV. THOMAS UMFREVILLE STONEY, M.A., 
 
 PERPETUAL CURATE OF PATELY, IN YORKSHIRE. 
 
 AS A REMEMBRANCE OF LOVED ONES GONE. WITH WHOM HIS 
 NAME IS EVER ASSOCIATED J 
 
 AND ALSO 
 
 AS A SMALL TRIBUTE OF THANKFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT FOR 
 THE INSTILMENT OF THOSE PRINCIPLES WHICH 
 CAN ALONE GUIDE AND SUPPORT THE WAY- 
 FARER IN HIS JOURNEY THROUGH A 
 CHANGEFUL WORLD, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY, YET MOST RESPECTFULLY, DEDICATED BY 
 HIS FORMER PUPIL AND EARLY FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 one 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IT is now some twelve years since I published 
 a little Volume of Original Poetry, under the 
 title of " A WREATH OF MINSTRELSIE." I said 
 in my Preface to that Book, that I did not present 
 myself in public with any conceit that I should 
 obtain rank or distinction as a Poet. One of the 
 long established periodicals of the then and pre- 
 sent day, however, condescended to notice my 
 effusions in a much kindlier spirit than I ex- 
 pected ; and, notwithstanding that a fastidious 
 acquaintance said, I was " damned with faint 
 praise," I congratulated myself on having been 
 paid several compliments. The Editor of the 
 periodical in question said I had an ear for music ; 
 but that which I considered the truer compliment, 
 was a remark, that I had formed a singularly 
 just appreciation of the merits of my own per- 
 formance. 
 
 I scarcely know what excuse to offer for appear- 
 ing a second time in print ; and all that I can say 
 is, that many who were permitted to read my 
 MSS., were, or seemed to be, pleased; and I 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 naturally perhaps, thought that others not dis- 
 posed to be over critical, might also be similarly 
 entertained. 
 
 It may be proper to add, that the "Battle 
 of Crecy," and one or two of the minor Poems, 
 have been already in print. 
 
 It is not the fashion of the present time to 
 dispraise oneself, and to do so may seem like 
 affectation ; but for truth's sake, I feel compelled 
 to remark, that the subjects chosen have not had 
 ample justice done them by me. The faults and 
 imperfections in the Work will be found to 
 abound, and it is not unlikely there may be some 
 plagiarisms ; but with regard to these last, I trust 
 I shall have credit when I say, that if there are 
 any, they are wholly unintentional on my part. 
 
 COLCHESTER, 
 
 January 1851. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 JMstorir 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SETTLEMENT OF THE NORMANS 1 
 
 THE DEATH OF EDWARD THE MARTYR .... 35 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF PRINCE EDWARD 71 
 
 THE BATTLE OF CRECY 109 
 
 CHARLES II 131 
 
 3Bmnr mm 
 
 BUNNIMEDE 149 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH AT TILBURY FORT 152 
 
 YOUNG ENGLAND 156 
 
 BERECHURCH 159 
 
 WALTON LE SOKEN 162 
 
 A RAMBLE 166 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS 170 
 
 THE FALL OF ADAM 174 
 
 NURSERY RHYMES 179 
 
 TWELVE SONNETS 180 
 
 HENRI V 192 
 
 " HO ! EVERY ONE THAT THIRSTETH " .... 193 
 
 THE TEARS OF LIFE GROW COLD 194 
 
 TO A THRUSH SINGING ON NEW YEAR'S DAY' . . 196 
 
 IN M. M. M 198 
 
 SONG 200 
 
 "THE END is NOT YET" 202 
 
 " UPON THE EARTH DISTRESS OF NATIONS" . . 203 
 
Settlement of tf>e ifiormans. 
 
IN the following sketch, I have drawn a little upon 
 the imagination ; but the chief incidents will be familiar 
 to all who are conversant with Anglo-Saxon or French 
 History. The style which I have adopted may appear 
 somewhat rough and irregular; but perhaps it will not be 
 found altogether unsuitable to the times and the person- 
 ages, whose characters are intended to be represented; 
 the ludicrous accident related in the end gave the tone 
 to the piece. 
 
2Tf)e Settlement of 
 
 5PKOSE Jarl KoUo hastily ; 
 There's anger in his heart ; 
 All marked it in his kindling eye ; 
 And some who thought a fray was nigh, 
 
 Were prest to take their part. 
 Down the brimful cup he flung, 
 Against his iron feet it rung. 
 Full wrathfully the Sea King spoke : 
 " I wot this revel thou hast broke ; 
 
 Not all would think it meet 
 To dare a Norseman who may claim, 
 For rank in arms and ancient name, 
 
 The first in all thy fleet. 
 
OF 
 
 I care not for thy vassals here; 
 
 But say in presence of each one, 
 To my good father's sword and spear 
 
 Thou owest crown and throne : 
 But thankless thou hast ever been 
 
 For all thy bold and lofty mien. 
 Who saved thy life on Storna's plain, 
 When left amongst the weltering slain, 
 I find thou hast all soon forgot. 
 I claim a boon, it matters not, 
 
 Were it thy daughter's hand, 
 No better match will be her lot 
 
 If you search throughout your land: 
 Take heed thou dost not rue the hour 
 
 And wish thy words unspoken; 
 No man who braves the Hollo's power, 
 
 Escapes without his token." 
 
 II. 
 
 Right heartily King Harfhold laughed 
 His liegeman's rage to see : 
 
THE NORMANS. 
 
 He filled another cup, and quaffed 
 
 The wine with right good glee : 
 ( Now by my royal father's crown, 
 
 Thou surely art too bold ; 
 I tremble much to see thy frown ; 
 Come, nobles, let us all kneel down, 
 
 Lest he begin to scoM 
 But mark, Sir Thane, should'st thou be found 
 
 (We'll give thee grace to start) 
 On any part of Danish ground, 
 When three more suns have had their round, 
 
 Thy head and shoulders part: 
 Now cool thy wrath, and if thou wilt, 
 
 Eke out the night with us ; 
 Tho' good wine thou hast rashly spilt, 
 
 We will not make a fuss." 
 
 in. 
 
 Rollo, who lov'd a roving life, 
 
 Reck'd little such decree, 
 For ever 'midst the wild waves strife 
 
 The more at home felt he. 
 
THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 Seldom his voice was heard to sound 
 
 Within his castle-walls, 
 Save when the long Yule nights came round, 
 
 And rose the Northern squalls ; 
 If homeward then the Sea-King came 
 
 With many a daring rover, 
 They thought the hours were dull and tame, 
 
 As they sat beside the midnight Jfame, 
 
 \ 
 Talking their past deeds over ; 
 
 And when his banner was unrolled, 
 
 His vassals tried and true, 
 All warriors of iron mould, 
 
 Would follow him he knew: 
 So he closed the casque upon his head, 
 
 And slight obeisance showing, 
 Strode from the hall with haughty tread, 
 
 To watch the red stars glowing; 
 Venus and Mars such lustre shed, 
 And smiled so kindly o'er his head, 
 
 The night- winds breathing sweetly, 
 That Kollo scarce was in his bed, 
 
 Ere his rage was soothed completely. 
 
THE NORMANS. 
 IV. 
 
 All glorious is the summer day ; 
 
 Two hundred sail and more, 
 Are anchored in the rocky bay, 
 
 Or riding near the shore ; 
 Banners are streaming in the breath 
 Of the lightvgale which wantonneth 
 
 The merry waves among; 
 Their curling heads are flashing bright 
 In the high noon's golden light 
 
 As they dance and roll along : 
 Anon Jarl Hollo's trumpet-call 
 Burst from his towering castle-wall; 
 From cliff to cliff the echoes ring, 
 First shrill and then diminishing, 
 Until they mingle with the roar 
 Of the wild waves bounding on the shore; 
 Or die away upon the breeze 
 Marching stiffly over the seas. 
 
] THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 V. 
 
 The Norsemen gathered round their chief, 
 Of thousands four, whose words were brief, 
 
 But sturdy men to do : 
 They would make their own their leader's grief, 
 
 And follow him Ocean through. 
 " Good friends," said he, " Our Danish King 
 
 Hath little work for those 
 Who love to hear the sea-winds sing, 
 
 And the battle shout of foes : 
 T'were little use to loiter here 
 
 Whilst in the South there are 
 Fair realms, of which with sword and spear 
 
 We may win a goodly share. 
 My flag you see waves from yon' mast; 
 
 It chideth all delay ; 
 The winds and tides are rising fast 
 
 To hurry us away: 
 So, let the burly North winds come, 
 
 And drive us where they please, 
 For our good blades must win a home 
 
 Ere we can sit at ease." 
 
THE NORMANS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then once more pealed the trumpet's bray 
 
 From the rocks unto the shores ; 
 Galley and bark shot from the bay, 
 Amidst the glistening showers of spray 
 
 Raised by a thousand oars 
 To their war-songs beating the time. 
 Whilst their harness clashed in chime ; 
 And they bounded o'er the foaming deep 
 As a steed will plunge and leap 
 When he hears the deer-hounds' bay, 
 And the hunters call away. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Jarl Rollo from his galley's prow 
 
 Far strained his eagle eye ; 
 The winds were breathing soft and slow ; 
 
 Bright stars were in the sky; 
 Over the tiny waves beneath 
 
 The moonbeams shed their light, 
 Weaving many a silver wreath 
 B 3 
 
10 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 For ocean elf and sprite, 
 To deck their pigmy forms withal 
 
 When they come forth at night 
 To dance and keep high festival, 
 
 Or hold some mystic rite. 
 The ancient Scald, who leaneth there 
 
 On the harp he loves so well, 
 With his white locks on his head all bare 
 Streaming upon the midnight air, 
 
 His master's thoughts can tell: 
 He sang to him, when boyhood dreamed, 
 
 Tales of his warrior sires; 
 He sang to him, when victory gleamed, 
 And the banner of his father streamed 
 
 O'er slaughtered foemen's pyres. 
 The old man knew his chieftain's mood ; 
 
 So, when the breezes slept 
 And hushed the murmurs of the flood, 
 
 The strings of his harp he swept 
 To those tales and songs he loved of yore 
 
 Anent the Norsemen old, 
 Of Odin too, and mighty Thor, 
 
THE NORMANS. 11 
 
 And of each famous ancestor, 
 From whom his life-blood roll'd. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But Rollo, with a spell-bound look, 
 
 Still gazed upon the sky, 
 There was a stifled sigh which shook 
 
 The pearl-drop in his eye; 
 For we may not say it was a tear, 
 
 It would chafe his heart, I know ; 
 His deep voice faltered, not with fear, 
 
 As he spoke, but in accents low : 
 " My fatherland, and those old rocks 
 
 I see before me still, 
 Or is it phantasy now mocks 
 
 These eyes which seek to fill 
 The vacant chambers of my heart, 
 
 With stores whereon may feed 
 Lone memory, in that distant part 
 
 To which our vessels speed. 
 
12 
 
 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 Thy shores may seem all dark and stern, 
 
 But they are the nursing place 
 Of bold Sea-Kings, whose roving turn 
 
 Plants many a gallant race 
 In fairer countries, and although 
 
 We sever in ill mood, 
 A recreant son were he I trow, 
 
 Who, in such evil blood, 
 Could say his last farewell to thee, 
 
 And take his parting look, 
 The last that it shall ever be, 
 And shut thee from his memory, 
 All light of heart and recklessly, 
 
 As idle child his book. 
 Another glance aye, one more glance, 
 
 And the struggle within is done, 
 For the brisk waves on which we dance, 
 
 Await the morning sun ; v 
 And I must rouse my slumbering men 
 
 To greet him with a song, 
 'Till the arched heavens send back again 
 
 Their voices deep and strong." 
 
THE NORMANS. 13 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then up from sleep each Norseman sprang, 
 
 Already dressed in mail ; * 
 Their voices in loud chorus rang 
 
 As they bade their Chief all hail : 
 And whilst they sailed, the fearless crew 
 
 Would laugh when the billows raved ; 
 Or, if the winds more roughly blew, 
 They talk'd of the storms they had passed through , 
 
 And the perils they had braved. 
 And, thus along the rolling sea, 
 The Danish boats sped gallantly ; 
 Each mounting over every wave, 
 
 And down into its trough; 
 Then rising like a warrior brave, 
 
 Who hath dashed his foeman off. 
 The wild sea-horses raced in fun 
 
 Around them and behind; 
 Their white manes glistened in the sun, 
 
 And floated away on the wind. 
 
14 
 
 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 From his unfathomable bed, 
 Old Ocean raised his elfin head 
 
 The rioters to see, 
 Who dared on his domains to tread ; 
 
 And full of wrath was he ; 
 From North to South, from West to East, 
 
 He tossed himself about ; 
 But I wot it mattered not the least 
 Whether his rage waxed more, or ceased, 
 
 For still with song and shout, 
 They coursed along the hills of foam, 
 
 Watching with careless eyes, 
 The porpoise rolling in his home, 
 
 And the sea-birds in the skies. 
 
 And now they held debate awhile, 
 Where they should bend their way; 
 
 They had heard of a pleasant isle 
 Which somewhere Southward lay: 
 
THE NORMANS. 15 
 
 There were some who knew the land of yore, 
 
 And they said, that without much toil 
 They could land their troops upon the shore, 
 As often they had done before, 
 
 And had won a goodly spoil. 
 So, forthwith to the South they steered 
 
 Before a kindly breeze ; 
 Long and lustily they cheered, 
 When the first line of cliffs appeared, 
 
 Streaking the dark green seas ; 
 Old England's these, a fairer sight 
 
 Eye never looks upon, 
 When full upon each rock and bight 
 
 Gleameth the morning sun; 
 When the blue waters roll along 
 
 Under a light breeze crisping, 
 Whilst the waves raise a tiny song, 
 
 Like that of an infant lisping ; 
 But now, along the winding sands, 
 
 And the far inland hills, 
 The sunbeams flash on bright steel brands, 
 
 Spear-heads and bonny bills. 
 
16 
 
 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 King Alfred, he the good and wise, 
 
 And stout of heart withal, 
 Had said, " They shall not find a prize 
 
 Easy to win at all." 
 Those stalwart Earls who round him stood 
 
 Watching the stranger fleet, 
 Every one was in the same mood, 
 For the sight of the Raven chafed their blood 
 
 Till it was in fever heat. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But whilst the fleet was bearing on 
 
 Full steadily and fast 
 Towards the English shores, anon 
 
 The clarion's startling blast 
 Echoed along the murmuring seas; 
 
 The stately sea-mew spread 
 Her snowy pinions on the breeze, 
 
 And whistled as she fled: 
 The signal passed throughout the fleet, 
 
 Changed every bark her course ; 
 
THE NOKMANS. 17 
 
 Their Captain hath not deemed it meet 
 
 To waste his gallant force 
 Against a nation in its might 
 
 In battle order found, 
 Prest to contest in steady fight, 
 
 Aye, every inch of ground; 
 To spill in such unequal strife 
 
 His faithful Norsemen's blood, 
 He thought a sinful waste of life, 
 
 And wanton hardihood: 
 Discretion, it is somewhere writ, 
 
 Is valour's better part ; 
 And I'm sure the sequel proveth it 
 
 However stout the heart. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A cloud came over Hollo's brow, 
 
 And ill at ease he felt, 
 It liked him not to quit a foe 
 So gallant, and not strike a blow, 
 
 Whilst his sword slept in his belt. 
 
18 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 Thought he, " Yon' Islanders of late 
 
 More stout of heart have grown ; 
 Their King held up a mace of weight, 
 And sat his battle steed-elate, 
 
 As Woden on his throne. 
 I marked the Saxons as they stood 
 
 In battle line so firm, 
 Like the oak trees in their native wood, 
 
 And I wot as sound in germ 
 We'll try the shores of merry France 
 
 Which lie beyond these waters ; 
 There are lands to win by sword and lance, 
 For the men are given to dalliance, 
 And Charles, their king, may like, perchance, 
 
 To mate us with his daughters. 
 Carry us faster then, kind gales ; 
 
 Blow lustily, if ye will; 
 We can sing our songs and tell our tales, 
 
 And stride the sea-horses still. 
 
THE NORMANS. 19 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Night crept along the heavens ; the wind 
 
 Sunk moaningly to sleep ; 
 Then a magic silence seemed to bind 
 
 The waters of the deep ; 
 The lady Moon sailed forth to see 
 
 How she had charmed old Ocean, 
 Who bowed beneath her reverently 
 
 Like a monk at his devotion. 
 At length Jarl Eollo felt the spell 
 
 Over his senses creeping; 
 A mystic slumber on him fell, 
 How long he slept he could not tell, 
 
 For still his eyes seemed keeping 
 Their anxious watch o'er sea and heaven, 
 
 Whilst strange sights rose before him, 
 And forms not made of earthly leaven 
 
 Hovered around and o'er him. 
 Anon uprose the ancient Thor, 
 
 And thus he spoke to Hollo : 
 
20 
 
 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 " Hail to thee, favored son of war; 
 
 Success thy course shall follow; 
 A race of kings will spring from thee 
 Whose people shall be bold and free, 
 
 And noble in their hearts; 
 Their fleets unconquered on the sea; 
 Their armies carrying victory 
 
 To earth's remotest parts." 
 Thereat Jarl Hollo rose amain. 
 
 Well pleased to think upon 
 The visions floating o'er his brain, 
 And bade his clarions sound again 
 
 To greet the rising sun. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ere long, the smiling shores of France 
 
 Rose looming from the sea; 
 Once more each Norseman shook his lance, 
 
 And shouted lustily. 
 Soon as their galleys touched the strand, 
 Jarl Hollo drew his flashing brand, 
 
 And waved it o'er his casque : 
 
THE NORMANS. 21 
 
 " Now we have set our feet on land, 
 
 'Twill be no easy task 
 To drive us on the seas agen, 
 Come Charles with all his fighting men ! 
 Hark ! there's a distant trumpet strain, 
 
 I can hear armour clashing, 
 And the tramp of horse on yonder plain; 
 
 I see the spear-heads flashing 
 In the broad beams of Heaven's sun, 
 
 And horsemen forward dashing ; 
 We shall have shortly warrior's fun, 
 
 For the grove of silken banners floating, 
 Are march of mail-clad troops denoting : 
 
 Stand fast and firmly every one." 
 
 xv. 
 
 Of paladins in glittering steel, 
 
 Two thousand twice came on ; 
 Each with golden spurs on heel, 
 
 And a golden morion 
 Upon his head ; each had a steed 
 
22 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 Mettled and hot, and choice in breed 
 As ever a good knight might need 
 
 To shew menage upon ; 
 Each one he had two squires who bore 
 
 Shield, lance, and polish'd greaves ; 
 And men-at-arms to each one four, 
 
 Sturdy as working beeves. 
 In front rode Charles, his eye and cheek 
 
 Shew'd nightly thought and care ; 
 Full well he knew his force too weak 
 
 To wage a battle there. 
 Next him on palfrey white as milk, 
 With bit of gold, and rein of silk, 
 
 His daughter Gisla came: 
 Tho' sharing in her sire's distress, 
 All peerless she in loveliness ; 
 
 Throughout all France, her fame; 
 In simple vestments white as snow, 
 
 One coronet of gold 
 Around her fair and noble brow 
 
 Those flaxen ringlets hold. 
 
THE NORMANS. 23 
 
 Many a knight had broken lance, 
 
 And goodly charger shent 
 To win from her eyes one kindly glance 
 
 In the lists of tournament. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Northern Chief beheld the maid ; 
 
 He closed his barret cap : 
 " Those eyes are sharper than my blade ; 
 I never felt so much afraid; 
 
 I'll guard against mishap. " 
 Then, as he ranged his warrior band 
 In battle order on the strand, 
 
 There was daring in each eye ; 
 They brandished sword and rattled shield, 
 For they were in haste to win a field, 
 
 And sure of a victory. 
 
24 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 XVII. 
 
 King Charles who was a fearful wight, 
 
 Though he was cased in steel, 
 Had little relish for a fight, 
 For in truth he could not tell the knight 
 Of all who stood in harness bright 
 
 Whom he could trust as leal. 
 Said he to Kollo, " Prithee now 
 Good Chieftain, tell me, wherefore thou 
 
 Hath landed on our plain, 
 With lance in hand and helm on brow 
 
 And all this martial train ?" 
 Then answered Eollo : " I am he 
 
 Far-famed throughout the North; 
 They call me Rollo the bold and free, 
 
 And terrible in my wrath. 
 One evening when the tempest made 
 
 Such stir among the billows, 
 That our Sea-Kings, not oft afraid, 
 
 Cared not to leave their pillows, 
 
THE NORMANS. 25 
 
 There was a feast in Harfold's Hall, 
 And I the readiest of them all 
 The perils of the sea to dare, 
 Or council of the state to share; 
 I preferred suit, which he denied ; 
 In sudden anger I defied 
 The thankless churl unto the death, 
 Our jarls astonished held their breath. 
 Straight I was banished, and these bands 
 Who had small love for Northern lands, 
 Followed my banner where the wind 
 Should waft our barks to realms more kind. 
 So here we doughty rovers are, 
 
 And a home it is we seek ; 
 This country seemeth free and fair ; 
 
 We have anchored in yon* creek: 
 We are all you see in fighting trim, 
 Stout in heart, and strong in limb, 
 
 And ready for battle eke; 
 I swear by my father's sword and helm, 
 
 As friends to thee or foe, 
 We'll take a part of this goodly realm, 
 
 Whether you will or no." 
 C 
 
THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Charles looked upon that sturdy host, 
 
 And then on his mail-clad lords ; 
 Thought he, my men, though given to boast, 
 Whenever danger is pressing most, 
 They are slack to use their swords: 
 " Brave Chieftain," I have land to spare, 
 
 Which I will give to thee, 
 If thou on our Gospel Book wilt swear 
 As a good knight thyself to bear 
 To ourself and every future heir, 
 
 And render fealty ; 
 And Hollo, if thou art inclined 
 
 A blushing maid to woo, 
 My daughter's hand shall more firmly bind 
 
 The compact between us too. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Chieftain gazed upon the maid, 
 And the sunny vales before him ; 
 Strange feelings on his bold heart preyed, 
 I do not say he was afraid, 
 
THE NORMANS. 27 
 
 But a nervousness crept o'er him; 
 Behind him lay the slumbering sea, 
 Smooth as a polished glass was he. 
 
 Which of late so roughly bore him ; 
 So clear the crystal waters shone, 
 
 You might see the depths below, 
 Where the sea-flowers on rock and stone 
 
 In rich profusion grow: 
 Now ocean when he lieth at rest, 
 
 Is a beauteous sight I ween, 
 It would soften the most rugged breast 
 
 To look on so fair a scene ; 
 There was not a cloud in the skies above, 
 
 But a hallowed calm o'er all ; 
 In sooth, 'twas more an hour for love 
 
 Than for battle or for brawl. 
 
 xx. 
 
 Said Rollo, " By my good sword's hilt, 
 
 The bargain liketh me, 
 So, fairest maiden, if thou wilt, 
 
 I will wed with hearty glee." 
 
8 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 Stepped forth the first Lord Seneschal, 
 
 And thus spoke to the Chief; 
 " First on thy knees thou need'st must fall, 
 And in the presence of us all, 
 
 Do homage for thy fief." 
 Ill words were these, for Hollo's ire 
 
 Waxed hot as they were spoken; 
 He grasped his sword, his eyes flash'd fire 
 " Now by the valour of my sire 
 
 I fear this truce is broken. 
 It ne'er was seen and ne'er shall be, 
 That Hollo on his bended knee 
 
 Bowed down to any man, 
 And certes such indignity 
 
 Would anger all my clan." 
 The maiden's cheeks were blanched with fright 
 As each prepared him for the fight, 
 For they thought it must soon begin : 
 But Hollo held her hand within 
 His own, and in such tender mood 
 Pressing it as fond lover should, 
 
THE NORMANS. 29 
 
 Whispered something, that her eye 
 Soon recovered its brilliancy : 
 " I cannot list to have it said 
 
 That Hollo broke a vow ; 
 My herald Sweyn shall bare his head. 
 And if it please thee, in my stead 
 
 He shall do homage now." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The stiff old Norseman strided out 
 
 Most unwillingly no doubt> 
 
 Scowling beneath his shaggy brows, 
 
 Rather would he have gone to blows, 
 
 But he knew his Chief would have his way, 
 
 'Twas not for him to say him nay; 
 
 King Charles sat on his royal chair 
 
 With his lords and mitred prelates there 
 
 Standing around, and overhead 
 
 The sacred banner of France outspread 
 
 Her folds that were magnificent 
 
 With the crimson and gold so richly blent. 
 
30 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 The Dane stood there erect and tall 
 Frowning fiercely upon them all, 
 But when they said, " Thou must kneel down 
 To kiss his toe who wears the crown ;" 
 (Such was the plan in days of yore, 
 
 At least they tell us so, 
 Who are well versed in ancient lore, 
 
 And I no better know); 
 He bore him most irreverently, 
 Vowing he would not bend his knee, 
 And he would kiss it as he stood; 
 Then he seized the foot in such rough mood, 
 That he rolled the unsuspecting king 
 From his throne, amidst the courtly ring, 
 
 And sprawling on the floor he lay; 
 Whether this were a wilful thing, 
 
 Or accident, I cannot say. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Charles looked around upon his lords ; 
 
 They frowned indeed, and grasped their swords, 
 
THE NORMANS. 31 
 
 And they uttered curses deep, 
 But their rage found vent in idle words, 
 
 And soon it fell asleep. 
 Each Norseman laughed right heartily 
 
 To see the King's mischance; 
 Fair Gisla's eyes looked pleadingly, 
 Bold Rollo felt their witchery 
 
 And quailed beneath her glance : 
 " 'Tis time to quaff a health," said he, 
 
 " To this fair maid of France: 
 Bring me the mighty wassail cup, 
 
 That graced my father's hall, 
 To healths and pledges fill it up 
 
 Until the night-clouds fall. 
 Charles saw 'twas idle to resent, 
 
 Nor would his anger last: 
 " I think time would be better spent 
 If one and all within our tent, 
 
 Would share in our repast." 
 The Knights of France were true and leal, 
 
 Not one would thwart King Charles ; 
 Rollo threw down his cap of steel 
 
 And answered for his Jarls: 
 
32 THE SETTLEMENT OF 
 
 Their armour doffed these Northern men, 
 
 And sheathed their idle brands, 
 The French knights came around, and then 
 
 They one and all shook hands. 
 The feast was held till eventide, 
 
 And all went merrily, 
 \Vithout a brawl to fright the bride 
 Who graced the seat by Hollo's side, 
 
 Tho' strange it seems to be. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Then when the holy priest came near 
 
 Of Gospel truths to tell, 
 Hollo turned not away his ear, 
 
 And Gisla's tears fast fell, 
 To see how that bold Chief did list 
 
 To the mysterious Word, 
 Dispelling every heathen mist 
 
 As each new truth was heard; 
 Yes, she wept joyfully and long, 
 
 And thankfully she prayed, 
 When in the church they raised a song 
 
 As his Christian pledge he made; 
 
THE NORMANS. 33 
 
 And they signed the Holy Cross upon 
 
 His brow so high and bold; 
 He stepped from the church a heathen won 
 
 From the evil spirit's hold. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Thus Hollo gained a lovely wife 
 
 With rich and goodly lands, 
 And he passed the remnant of his life 
 In making laws to hinder strife 
 
 And govern his warrior bands. 
 They called his realm fair Normandy,, 
 
 And him a Duke they name ; 
 It was one of his posterity 
 
 Who our England's King became; 
 For Norman William, he who won 
 
 The crown from Harold's brow, 
 Was Hollo's grandson's great grandson 
 
 The Queen who rules us now, 
 C 3 
 
34 THE SETTLEMENT OF THE NORMANS. 
 
 Traces her life-blood to that fount 
 
 In straight ascending line; 
 Long may she live that throne to mount 
 
 Her's by a right divine : 
 And after her, her issue true, 
 
 Long may they hold the Crown 
 Against the democratic crew, 
 
 Who would seek to hurl it down. 
 
of <!Ritoartr 
 
 A.D. 978. 
 
IT is almost unnecessary to say here that the whole of 
 this tale, except the murder of the King by one of his 
 stepmother's servants whilst drinking on horseback before 
 the gate of Corfe Castle, where she resided, is fiction. It 
 would be difficult to account for his being called the 
 Martyr, but the extracts from Hume which I have sub- 
 joined will relieve me from the charge of having done so 
 without authority, and will throw a little light upon the 
 character of the Prince. 
 
 " This young Prince was endowed with the most amiable 
 innocence of manners, and as his own intentions were pure, 
 he was incapable of entertaining any suspicion against 
 others. Though his stepmother (Elfrida) had opposed 
 his succession, and had raised a party in favour of her 
 own son, he always shewed her marks of regard, and 
 even expressed on all occasions the most tender affection 
 towards his brother." 
 
 * * * 
 
 "The youth and innocence of the Prince, with his tragical 
 death, begat such compassion among the people, that they 
 believed miracles to be wrought at his tomb, and they 
 gave him the appellation of Martyr, though his murder 
 had no connection with any religious principle or opinion.' 
 HUME. 
 
Beati) of iEtrtoarlr tfje iWartgr, 
 
 i. 
 
 ;ADY ELLA resteth long 
 
 On her bridal bed ; 
 If her sleep be sweet as strong, 
 Break it not by noisy tread. 
 It was a lovely sight to see 
 The features' perfect tracery ; 
 Over her brow and dimpled cheek 
 Blushing rose and lily seek 
 How to blend in harmony ; 
 Through her lips half-opened peer 
 Teeth than richest pearl more clear, 
 And upon her snowy breast 
 Silken ringlets clustering rest. 
 
38 
 
 THE DEATH OF 
 
 II. 
 
 But anon she starts and weeps, 
 
 And her light frame seems to shake, 
 As when a soft zephyr sweeps 
 
 Over a placid lake. 
 By that smothered shriek and wild 
 Like the cry of frightened child, 
 
 She is sadly dreaming ; 
 Ave Maria ! Virgin mild ! 
 Chase away the evil power, 
 Guard her until morning hour, 
 
 And the sun is gleaming. 
 
 in. 
 
 Ella suddenly upstarted, 
 
 And by the wild looks she darted 
 
 On her maidens each and all, 
 
 Rushing to her hasty call, 
 
 You had thought her reason flown 
 
 Far away from its own throne ; 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 39 
 
 But as the young sunlight fell 
 Glancing through the oriel, 
 And the odours of sweet flowers 
 Wafted from the garden bowers, 
 Mingling with the May-morn air, 
 Breathed their fragrant essence there, 
 Whilst the skylark's carroling 
 Made the span of Heaven ring, 
 Soon all phantom terrors fled, 
 And in her soft eyes were shed 
 Smiles of youthful joyousness, 
 Bright from her pure heart's recess. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then Ella turned her azure eye 
 Around her chamber eagerly, 
 Her Saxon maidens tend her now 
 To smooth the tresses on her brow ; 
 She whispered into Brenda's ear, 
 " I've been a lazy one I fear, 
 Or else some weighty matters stir 
 My Edward to rise earlier." 
 
40 
 
 THE DEATH OF 
 
 Said Brenda, " If I guess not wrong 
 
 This is a hunting-day, 
 The blast of the horn was loud and strong, 
 The foresters trilled forth a song 
 
 Soon as the morning grey 
 Had thrown her russet streaks along 
 
 The heaven's Eastern bay, 
 And it was told us but last night, 
 By Ceobald, a shepherd wight, 
 That every evening after dark, 
 The dog-wolf hath been heard to bark ; 
 
 Our shepherds dare not sleep 
 Until the rising of the lark, 
 
 But midnight watch must keep 
 
 Beside their folds ; our castle maids 
 
 After the vesper chimes, 
 Roam not amongst the forest glades, 
 
 But hasten home betimes : 
 I therefore guess our royal King 
 Hath summoned here a gathering 
 
 Of lords and yeomanry : 
 They reckon on a good day's chase, 
 To find the stranger's lurking place; 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 41 
 
 For since the last decree 
 King Edgar made, the land to clear 
 
 From horrid beasts of prey, 
 Three hundred wolf-heads every year 
 
 Our neighbouring Welsh should pay. 
 The brutes grow scarce, and scarcer still 
 They should be, if I had my will, 
 
 For our old wives do say, 
 Lambs are not their only food, 
 Woman and child they reckon as good 
 
 When they come in their way." 
 
 v. 
 
 Much more the prattling maid had said, 
 Nor marked the ashy change which spread 
 
 Over her lady's cheek ; 
 The tidings she hath told perchance 
 Reminds her of her midnight trance, 
 
 Though she may fear to speak, 
 And strives to brush her tears away 
 Lest they should laugh at her dismay. 
 
42 THE DEATH OF 
 
 Yet must she see her loving mate 
 Before he leaves the castle-gate ; 
 Each one she so hurrieth 
 They can scarcely take their breath ; 
 From her robing room she flies 
 
 Like a child unto it's sport, 
 Through the banquet-hall she hies 
 
 Unto the outer court: 
 The morning air was stiff and keen, 
 For this she little cared, I ween, 
 Yet it will her maids displease 
 When they see the morning breeze 
 All those silken ringlets spoil 
 Which have cost them care and toil. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And now upon the dewlit sward, 
 The royal hounds were sporting, 
 
 Boar spear flashed, and hunting sword, 
 And mettled steeds were snorting. 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 43 
 
 The master ranger blew a note 
 
 Upon his silver horn, 
 Far away its echoes float 
 
 To the distant forest bourn; 
 Then upon the castle-wall 
 Faint and dyingly they fall. 
 Passed the ale cup merrily, 
 
 Stout healths some were drinking ; 
 A solemn fool they thought was he 
 
 Who sat still a-thinking. 
 And as the good cheer they quaffed, 
 Many an old spearman laughed 
 To hear the idle younkers prate, 
 
 As they rode to and fro, 
 And tongues run on in boastful rate, 
 
 Of what they meant to do. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A gallant courser standing yare, 
 Yon' page can scarcely hold, 
 
 He snuffs his fill of the fresh air 
 And champeth his bit of gold ; 
 
THE DEATH OF 
 
 Upon his back the King will sit, 
 
 Surely the good steed knoweth it, 
 
 By his proud and fiery eye, 
 
 And his head held up on high, 
 
 Tossing the white froth around 
 
 As he stands and paws the ground. 
 
 There stood Edward, gay in mien, 
 
 Clad in suit of forest green, 
 
 A noble King to look upon, 
 
 Though but an unbearded one, 
 
 For not yet the youth had seen 
 
 Eighteen rounds of summer's sun, 
 
 But his lieges loved him well, 
 
 As saith ancient chronicle, 
 
 And his bride was England's boast 
 
 From the North hills to Southern coast ; 
 
 Ever on village green or throne 
 
 Lovelier maiden was not known ; 
 
 But ill dreams had driven away 
 
 The rose that on her cheek should play, 
 
 And the bright smile in her eye 
 
 Seemed to vanish away and die. 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 45 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Said Edward to his trembling bride, 
 As he brushed her locks aside, 
 " Why hath Ella left her bed ? 
 
 Why is her cheek so pale ? 
 Those witching eyes seem moist and red 
 As though some tear-drops had been shed; 
 
 Love, let me hear thy tale. 
 Is there aught I have forgot ? 
 Thinketh she I love her not ?" 
 Said Ella " If thou lovest me 
 
 And I were ever dear to thee, 
 
 I pray thee do not go. 
 See how thy banner on yon' tower 
 
 Droopeth its folds so low, 
 Every field and garden flower 
 Hangeth her head as when storms lour; 
 
 And evil forms of woe 
 Haunted me in my hours of sleep 
 Last night : Oh ! leave me not to weep 
 
 Lay down thy spear and bow ; 
 
46 
 
 THE DEATH OF 
 
 Young Edgar will supply thy place, 
 And Dorset's Earl can lead the chase; 
 
 Thou heed'st not what I say. 
 Edgar, I pray thee lend a word!" 
 " Nay, Lady, if thou art not heard, 
 I cannot hope to be preferred : 
 
 The King will have his way." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Young Edward gazed upon his bride ; 
 
 He loved her heartily ; 
 111 could he brook the pearly tide 
 
 Fast chasing from her eye; 
 Full loth was he to say her nay, 
 And still more loth behind to stay, 
 For the sun in his bright chariot 
 
 Was sailing gloriously 
 Through the arched heavens, where no spot 
 
 Nor vapour could you see, 
 Whilst the merry hunters' strains 
 Echoed along the castle plains, 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 47 
 
 Where eager hounds were baying 
 And prancing coursers neighing. 
 When the heart's wish once is set 
 
 Who likes to have it broken ? 
 I would make a trifling bet 
 Ella's self would not be let 
 
 To do what she had spoken. 
 
 Edward whispered in her ear, 
 
 (What loving words he said 
 None were near enough to hear,) 
 But it did not soothe her fear, 
 
 For she gently bowed her head, 
 Though she smiled, to hide a tear, 
 That smile had but a sickly gleam, 
 
 And it spoke of coming sorrow, 
 Like the gleam of the sun in heaven's stream 
 For it ever is a sign I deem 
 
 Of rain upon the morrow. 
 " Thou flower of Saxon daughters, 
 Ere the moonbeams touch the waters 
 
48 THE DEATH OF 
 
 I will set me by thy side, 
 
 And will kiss thy tears away, 
 Whilst we watch the sparkling tide 
 
 Dashing on in its wild play." 
 He hath kissed her once and twice 
 
 On her lip and cheek and brow ; 
 He hath vaulted in a trice 
 
 On his gallant courser now ; 
 They have galloped o'er the plain, 
 
 And have reached the furthest hills ; 
 They are rushing down again ; 
 
 They have leaped across the rills; 
 And now are lost within the shades 
 Of the wide forest's darksome glades. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But faster rose Queen Ella's fears, 
 And faster chased the crystal tears 
 
 Adown her pallid cheek ; 
 Still fancy many a vision rears 
 
 Too horrible to speak; 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 49 
 
 She strained her eye to catch the last 
 And loving glance her Edward cast ; 
 And as the echoes died away 
 Of horses' tramp, and wolf-hounds' bay, 
 The lady sought her garden bower, 
 
 And bade her maidens sing 
 To wile away the heavy hour ; 
 And then she plucked a summer flower: 
 Alas ! that none of these had power 
 
 To check her sorrowing : 
 For when the heart is ill at ease, 
 There's nothing eye or ear can please ; 
 
 Around us every thing 
 Will bring remembrance of our grief ; 
 E'en mirth, if it give respite brief, 
 
 A darker shade will fling, 
 When the wild thought hath sobered down 
 Under the pangs it seemed to drown, 
 
 Perchance, a deeper sting. 
 And now before St. Wilfred's shrine 
 
 Ella all humbly kneeleth ; 
 On earth she bends her tearful eyne, 
 
THE DEATH OF 
 
 Offering prayers for aid divine, 
 And oft she makes the holy sign 
 
 Whilst the solemn music peeleth : 
 Priests are in the sacred pile ; 
 Beads they tell, and prayers the while ; 
 Their mingling voices deep and clear 
 
 Poured forth from that long train, 
 Now rise, now sink upon the ear, 
 
 In penitential strain. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The cricket raised her even-song 
 The bracken glades and banks among ; 
 And the night-owl sweepeth by, 
 Peering with his twinkling eye 
 Where the silken field mouse playeth, 
 Or some luckless birdling strayeth ; 
 The lazy bat is on his wing, 
 From his dark hole wandering : 
 The bells in yonder abbey tower 
 Are tolling for the vesper hour : 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 51 
 
 If you listen you will hear 
 Chaunt of priests steal on the ear ; 
 Let them raise your heart within 
 Thoughts above this world of sin ; 
 'Tis a changeful one at best, 
 Even unto those who rest 
 Under the sheen of fortune's smiles, 
 Or may bask in pleasure's wiles. 
 The Sun was on his nether march 
 In the heaven's Western arch, 
 Flooding with his purple light 
 Mountain top and ocean bight ; 
 Standing as it were between 
 Yourself and that all glorious sheen, 
 Corfe Castle's walls and turrets grey 
 Rose darkling o'er the lone highway; 
 A horse-foot rings upon the ground, 
 Its echoes on the walls resound ; 
 The warder on his watch intent, 
 Looked down from the battlement 
 
 Upon the pass below ; 
 Then loudly he began to call 
 Within to the old seneschal : 
 
THE DEATH OF 
 
 " There's England's King beneath the wall, 
 
 Let Queen Elfrida know ; 
 For doubtless she will deem it right 
 To give him welcome for the night." 
 When Edward found that he was seen, 
 
 But little pleased was he ; 
 For ever since he had left his Queen, 
 111 at ease his heart had been, 
 
 And he rode all moodily 
 The cheerful foresters among, 
 Heeding neither jest nor song, 
 
 Nor sharing in their glee. 
 " I may not pass my mother's gate, 
 
 Nor ask how fares her grace ; 
 For though she bears me in her hate, 
 'Tis best to shew at any rate, 
 
 I do not shun her face." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then went the ancient seneschal 
 Unto his lady in her hall, 
 Bowing him reverently, 
 As should a duteous menial ; 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 53 
 
 Till bidden, spoke not he. 
 " What tidings doth old Hubert bring 
 
 That he leaves watch and guard ?" 
 Answereth he : " Our England's King 
 
 Is coming hitherward ; 
 Returning homeward from the chase, 
 He tenders duty to your grace, 
 
 And asks a benizon 
 For him and for his lady bride." 
 
 " What train attends our son ? 
 What lords and vassals with him ride ? 
 Is the fair Ella at his side ? 
 
 Or cometh he alone ?" 
 Said he: " Our lord seems tired and sad; 
 Blown and weary seems his pad ; 
 
 Of lords and vassals, none 
 Are with him now ; he left his train 
 To seek his lady's bowers again, 
 
 Where many hours agone 
 He quitted her in tearful vein." 
 A furtive glance of glad surprise 
 Sparkled in Elfrida's eyes : 
 

 i to A. La. UJb 
 
 " Hie thee, good Hubert, to the gate; 
 Tarry the King by idle prate, 
 Whilst I don kirtle, hood, and veil 
 To shield my face from evening gale ; 
 And the wassail bowl my maid shall take, 
 If his thirst he wish to slake 
 There is a business to be done 
 Must not be told to every one." 
 The seneschal with lowly bow 
 Leaveth the Lady's presence now : 
 And she calleth her little page, 
 Nimble in foot, though young in age : 
 " Hie thee now, thou elvish midge, 
 Like an arrow, to the bridge 
 Beside the tall hill, where the brook 
 Eddies in its unfathomed nook ; 
 None that plunged in that dark wave 
 Ever were laid in earthen grave : 
 Wend to the right along the bank 
 Where the rushes grow tall and dank ; 
 Fifty paces, and fifty more 
 Will bring you to a mean hut's door : 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 55 
 
 Cough three times, and give knocks three, 
 A black brow'd man will come to thee; 
 Speak him not, but give this ring, 
 Then hasten back with an eagle's wing : 
 When my bidding thou hast done 
 See thou speak of it to none." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The young page scoured o'er hill and dale : 
 
 He reached the bottom of the vale ; 
 
 He turned the bridge just where the brook 
 
 Eddied and curled in its dark nook : 
 
 The waters there were sullen and deep; 
 
 And the banks were high and steep ; 
 
 The gaunt old trees, withered and dead, 
 
 Stretched their scath'd arms overhead; 
 
 They looked like giant skeletons, 
 
 The soughing wind might be their moans : 
 
 Shuddered the page from limb to limb 
 
 As the eft and toad crept under him. 
 
 The moon was hid under a cloud, 
 
 It seemed to him like dead man's shroud. 
 
56 THE DEATH OF 
 
 Said he, " I have heard of this lone man, 
 
 Dreaded and shunned by all our clan; 
 
 Murdock they give him for a name ; 
 
 No one knoweth whence he came ; 
 
 'Tis said his face he dare not lift 
 
 To the high heavens, and no shrift 
 
 Priest will ever give to him, 
 
 When his eyes in death grow dim ; 
 
 Youth like me might fear to come 
 
 Nigh to such a lonesome home ; 
 
 Demon or mortal he may be 
 
 If my lady pay me handsomely." 
 
 Fifty paces and fifty more, 
 
 And he stood the lowly hut before : 
 
 He coughed three times and he knocked thrice, 
 
 His blood within him seemed turning ice ; 
 
 Slowly it opened and there stands, 
 
 He who will do the Queen's commands : 
 
 His long lank hair fell on his breast, 
 
 And his dark eyes never seemed to rest, 
 
 But they met not the light, nor open glance, 
 
 They looked down, or else askance : 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 57 
 
 f Springald, what dost thou want with me, 
 Do thy message speedily." 
 So the page took out his lady's ring, 
 And gave to the strange man, shuddering. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Meanwhile sat Edward on his steed, 
 
 Without the castle gate ; 
 Old Hubert praised the courser's breed, 
 His tongue ran on in idle speed, 
 
 And with an old man's prate : 
 He said there was a time when he 
 Was skilled in sports of venery ; 
 Stout as any he could ride 
 Over hill, or stem a tide ; 
 But the grey locks on his head 
 Told that his best hours were fled ; 
 Soon the church bells' muffled tones 
 Would toll whilst they laid his old bones 
 Deep within his mother earth ; 
 Till then he had a goodly berth : 
 D3 
 
58 THE DEATH OF 
 
 " But my old tongue runs babbling on : 
 My Lady will be here anon 
 With some goodly fare for thee, 
 Which she offers lovingly ; 
 And the wine which she will bring, 
 Meet it is for Earl or King. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The castle gate was opened wide, 
 Elfrida came in stately pride, 
 (1) Lawless Edgar's widowed Queen, 
 Haughtier woman ne'er was seen; 
 And her eyes were still as bright 
 
 As when Earl Athelwold 
 First beheld their witching light 
 That lured him from the course of right, 
 
 Which duteous vassals hold 
 To their liege lords, and he betrayed 
 The trust which in his faith was laid ; 
 Aye, still upon her cheek and brow 
 The rose and lily even now 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 59 
 
 Mingled their rich and native hue 
 
 As though Time owned the homage due 
 
 Unto her peerless beauty, 
 And feared in his deep reverence 
 To pluck a single charm from thence, 
 
 So well he kept his duty ; 
 A fair young maid behind her walked 
 Who ne'er with glance of eye had talked ; 
 Golden cup and flask she bore, 
 Filled I trow with luscious store ; 
 Sweetmeats made by her fair hands 
 Holds the youth who next her stands : 
 There were serving men and maids 
 
 Eke in the lady's train, 
 Vassals from the forest glades 
 Bearing spears and glittering blades, 
 
 Who called her Sovereign ; 
 Doing her bidding day and night, 
 Nor nice to question what was right. 
 
60 
 
 THE DEATH OF 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Young Edward took but little heed 
 
 Of any who stood there, 
 Or else I think he had seen need 
 To watch them well, or make good speed, 
 Such felon's looks some wore indeed, 
 
 And darker looks are rare : 
 But thoughts of evil, or that lacked 
 Of charity, had not yet tracked 
 
 Their course to his young heart : 
 If he then had scanned them well, 
 There would have been no tale to tell 
 
 To point the poet's art. 
 Seldom it is when life is young, 
 
 And youthful hopes are beating high, 
 And ere the heart hath been among 
 
 The schools of treachery, 
 We dream of falsehood or deceit ; 
 
 Such tales are whispered in the ear 
 And fables deemed : those whom we meet 
 
 We have no cause to fear : 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 61 
 
 Fair words and sweet are spoken, smiles 
 
 Wreath sunnily upon each brow, 
 Who dares to breathe that they are guiles 
 
 To mark a secret foe ! 
 Suspicion ! check the inkling glance 
 
 Unworthy youth's free heart and mien, 
 Not yet on that fresh countenance 
 
 The traces can be seen 
 Of plighted truth to falsehood dyed ; 
 
 Affection's blossoms one by one 
 Found scentless, or perchance to hide 
 
 The thorn that racks our own. 
 Alas ! that ever promises 
 
 So bright should all so quickly perish ; 
 Yet who shall say my picture is 
 
 Too darkly drawn for all we cherish. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Gallantly Edward bowed his head, 
 And his brows unbonneted 
 To greet his fair step-mother ; 
 
62 THE DEATH OF 
 
 He questioned her of health and weal, 
 (For he had little to conceal,) 
 
 And of his younger brother. 
 "With silvery voice and witching eye 
 Answered the lady lovingly : 
 " Now may our Holy Mother's blessing 
 
 Rest on our England's King ; 
 In yon' church I've been confessing 
 
 The deeds of my life's spring. 
 I pray thee pardon my delay, 
 
 But when concerns of heaven are pressing 
 All earthly forms give way. 
 But why art thou so late, my son ? 
 
 For night draws on apace, 
 And traitors through our realms do run 
 
 With shameless front and face. 
 I will not stay thee from thy bride, 
 For she hath wept since morning tide ; 
 Yet I may ask thee to partake 
 
 A cup of goodly mead : 
 The dust from off thy mantle shake, 
 
 Then Heaven give thee good speed." 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 63 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Edward took the golden cup : 
 
 " A health to all," said he ; 
 Then to his lips he left it up 
 
 And drank right heartily. 
 I wot he had been thirsting long, 
 The draught he took was deep and strong. 
 Dark Murdock's eyes his Lady's sought, 
 And glances, with full meaning fraught, 
 
 Between the two were given ; 
 " At last young Edward thou art caught 
 
 What lucky chance hath driven 
 Our bird so soon to the snare we've wrought- 
 
 Pray that his sins be shriven." 
 Heaven warn the young and innocent, 
 Or foil the murderer's intent ! 
 All cautiously the felon stole 
 Behind the King as he drained the bowl : 
 Anon, there was a sudden start ; 
 A shriek that pierced the very heart ; 
 
64 THE DEATH OF 
 
 The whole frame shuddered and turned cold 
 As forth the warm red life-stream roll'd, 
 And as it spread along the ground 
 
 'Twas a contrast sickening 
 To the dew drops which lay around 
 
 In the moonlight glittering. 
 But Edward, finding he did not fall, 
 
 Cried out, as he spurr'd his steed, 
 Madam, no thanks to you at all ; 
 
 Thou hast not done the deed : 
 And if I reach my castle-hall, 
 To-morrow our royal seneschal 
 Our Thanes to the judgment-seat shall call, 
 
 And pay thee as thou dost meed." 
 Then forward on the wings of the wind 
 
 Rider and courser started ; 
 In the morning the traveller will find 
 The tracks where the blood-stream fell behind, 
 
 Until the soul departed. 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 65 
 
 XX. 
 
 Already it was the midnight hour; 
 Ella is watching in her bower; 
 She hath sat there the livelong day, 
 Wiling the lonely hours away. 
 'Twas such a night the young do love 
 
 When their light hearts may soar 
 On the free wings of thought above, 
 
 Or by the magic shore 
 Of fancy's strange imaginings, 
 
 When shadows of the past 
 From her far regions memory brings 
 
 In changing crowds and fast, 
 Showing the soul's delighted eye, 
 A sweet and cherished tracery, 
 
 Then cheating them at last. 
 There was a soughing of the breeze 
 Amidst the sombre forest trees ; 
 The solitary nightingale 
 Trilled her melancholy tale ; 
 And ever as the night-wind sighed, 
 It was echoed on the tide, 
 
66 THE DEATH OF 
 
 Whose waters doled a mournful lay 
 As they danced and rolled away ; 
 And to the artificial throng, 
 Their wild notes as they swept along, 
 Might have no touch of harmony ; 
 But I deem there is rich minstrelsy 
 In gurgling rills or rushing streams 
 
 And ocean's deeper roar, 
 That singeth to the heart of themes 
 
 She loveth evermore. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 There is a sound in Ella's ears 
 
 Ever ringing mournfully ; 
 Was it a voice from yonder spheres, 
 Far beyond this vale of change and tears, 
 Where the bright spirits of the blest 
 Are hymning in their eternal rest 
 
 To the glorious Trinity ? 
 It cometh again, and seems to her 
 Like the summons of death's minister. 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYK. 67 
 
 Her brain seemed fire, her heart was chill, 
 She kept her eye on the heavens still ; 
 There was a little pause in the sound, 
 A dark form moved along the ground ; 
 (A shriek that startled every bird 
 And deer, from his bracken lair was heard ;) 
 Nigher it came, trying to speak, 
 The sound was lost, for the tongue was weak ; 
 It fell, and the rattle in the throat 
 Was the last sound the ear could note : 
 " Merciful Heaven ! I see thee now ; 
 The chestnut locks on thy high brow 
 Are matted with dust and ruby gore; 
 Thou hast a wound, 'tis not before ; 
 Thou hast not fallen in the chase, 
 
 Nor met an enemy 
 As thou wouldst meet him, face to face 
 
 And sword to sword, but treachery 
 Hath done its evil work on thee." 
 
68 
 
 THE DEATH OF 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The castle maidens were asleep, 
 Their slumbers had been long and deep ; 
 It was not till the morning sun 
 One quarter of his course had run, 
 When Emmeleen whose was the care 
 That morn to deck her lady's hair, 
 Wondering no summons had been heard, 
 Waked Brenda, who had not yet stirred, 
 
 To take an early walk ; 
 Brenda was merry as a bird 
 
 And lively in her talk, 
 And saith she to Emmeleen, 
 Where hath our royal master been ? 
 Never should husband of my own, 
 E'en tho* he sat on England's throne, 
 Tarry from me a single night 
 Keeping me the while in fright ; 
 
 Our kdy could not rest : 
 I watched her in the pale moonlight, 
 
 Roaming like one distressed ; 
 
EDWARD THE MARTYR. 69 
 
 I shall marvel, if ere night come round, 
 We hear not tidings of ill sound; 
 For surely one who seemed to love 
 So dearly never could faithless prove." 
 Then sauntering through bower and dell, 
 They talked of themes which maids love well: 
 The one praised wealth and power and rank; 
 The other deemed them all a blank : 
 She said love was a gift from heaven 
 Richer than ought of earthly leaven, 
 When troth for troth and heart for heart 
 
 In very singleness were given, 
 And bonds such as death scarce can part 
 
 In true affection riven. 
 
 Scarce had they reached the woodland bound, 
 When turning suddenly around, 
 Each frightened maiden gave a start 
 ' Holy St. Mary ! who lies there ! 
 'Twas Ella, beautiful and fair ; 
 By her Edward's corpse she lay, 
 But the lamp of life had flitted away. 
 
70 THE DEATH OF EDWARD THE MARTYR. 
 
 The thrush and the lark sang merrily 
 As their spirits soared on high, 
 
 From the fetters of dull earth set free 
 To the thrones beyond the sky. 
 
 (i) " The lawless Edgar," S. xvi. p. 58. 
 
 I have made use of this term in reference only to the 
 means by which Edgar obtained the hand of Elfrida, and to 
 other enormous offences against morality and religion which 
 he committed. In other respects he appears to have been a 
 wise and politic prince, not altogether incompetent or un- 
 willing to frame laws for the benefit of his people. 
 
Escape of prince irtoarir, 
 
 1265. 
 
THE following extracts from HUME will show the 
 foundation of the following tale : 
 
 " Leicester, who possessed great talents for war, con- 
 ducted his march with such skill and secresy, that he 
 had well nigh surprised the royalists in their quarters at 
 Lewes, in Sussex ; but the vigilance and activity of 
 Prince Edward soon repaired this negligence, and he led 
 out the king's army to the field in three bodies. * * * * 
 
 " May 14, Prince Edward rushed on the Londoners 
 who had demanded the post of honour in leading the 
 rebel army, but who, from their ignorance of discipline 
 and want of experience, were ill fitted to resist the 
 gentry and military men of whom the prince's body was 
 composed; and Edward, transported by his martial 
 ardour, and eager to revenge the insolence of the Lon- 
 doners against his mother, put them to the sword for the 
 length of four miles. * * * * The Earl of Leicester, 
 seeing the royalists thrown into confusion by their eager- 
 ness in pursuit, led on his remaining troops against the 
 bodies commanded by the two royal brothers (Henry III. 
 and the King of the Romans) : he defeated with great 
 slaughter the forces headed by the King of the Romans, 
 and that prince was obliged to yield himself prisoner to 
 the Earl of Gloucester : he penetrated to the body where 
 
74 THE ESCAPE OF PKINCE EDWARD. 
 
 the king was placed, threw it into disorder, pursued his 
 advantage, chased it into the town of Lewes, and obliged 
 Henry to surrender himself prisoner. 
 
 " Prince Edward, returning to the field of battle from 
 his precipitate pursuit of the Londoners, was astonished 
 to find it covered with the dead bodies of his friends. 
 ***** jj e f omi ci his followers intimidated by their 
 situation. ***** There now appeared no further 
 resource to the royal party, surrounded by the army and 
 garrison of the enemy; * * * the prince, therefore, was 
 obliged to submit to Leicester's terms. The prince and 
 young Henry accordingly delivered themselves into 
 Leicester's hands. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " The Earl of Gloucester concerted with young Edward 
 the manner of that prince's escape. He found means to con- 
 vey to him a horse of extraordinary swiftness, and appointed 
 Roger Mortimer to be ready at hand with a small party 
 to receive the prince, and to guard him to a place of 
 safety. Edward pretended to take the air with some of 
 Leicester's retinue, who were his guards, (May 28th,) 
 and making matches with their horses ; after he thought 
 he had tried and blown them sufficiently, he suddenly 
 mounted Gloucester's horse, and called to his attendants 
 that he had long enough enjoyed the pleasure of their 
 company, and now bid them adieu. They followed him 
 for sometime without being able to overtake him, and 
 the appearance of Mortimer with his company put an 
 end to their pursuit." 
 
of prince 
 
 i. 
 
 SEAR Lewes met the rebel Earls 
 
 Old Montfort was their chief ; 
 And leagued with these were losel churls 
 
 From many a baron's fief, 
 Whom a discontented spirit stirs ; 
 And eke the merry Londoners 
 Under old Segrave gathering, 
 Went forth to fight against their King. 
 A motley looking host were they 
 As ever in battle order lay : 
 Their scowling brows and downcast eyes 
 Spoke an unrighteous enterprise : 
 
76 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 But there were some of knightly rank 
 
 And barons of degree, 
 Who at first from treason's cup had drank, 
 
 Now came unwillingly ; 
 For skilled was Simon Montfort's tongue 
 
 To lure and overreach ; 
 He could make it seem that right was wrong, 
 
 Such was his glozen speech. 
 There was Earl Gloucester, Gilbert Clare, 
 
 And stout Earl Hereford. 
 Why do they bring their vassals there 
 
 Against their own liege lord ? 
 But what saith he of Chichester 
 
 The mitred lord and priest ? 
 Surely the holy messenger 
 
 Will teach them right at least 
 He giveth pardon full and free 
 
 To each, and unto all, 
 And a seat in heaven eternally, 
 
 Who in the fight shall fall : 
 Oh ! Prelate, what saith Holy Writ? 
 " Honour the King,'' you know, 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 77 
 
 And thinkest thou 'tis meet and fit 
 To praise his rebel foe ? 
 
 II. 
 
 The royal troops shewed gallant head, 
 And these young Edward Longshanks led, 
 
 King Henry's eldest son ; 
 The Earls and Barons who were leal 
 With stout retainers sheathed in steel, 
 
 In proud array came on ; 
 There were Bruce, Warrenne, and Grosvenor, 
 
 Hugh Bigod, and stout Blount, 
 Young Comyn from the Northern shore, 
 With many a doughty Baron more, 
 And than each no braver warrior 
 
 On battle steed could mount ; 
 Every face shone fair and bright 
 With the consciousness of right, 
 
 And heartily they cheered, 
 When o'er their lines the youngest knight 
 
 The royal standard reared. 
 
78 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 III. 
 
 Awhile the fortunes of the day 
 In doubtful chances seemed to play ; 
 First on the rebels it would shine, 
 Then full upon the royal line ; 
 
 The Londoners gave way 
 Before the charge of Edward's van, 
 With whom the conflict first began, 
 For full of wrath was he, I ween 
 
 Those sturdy citizens to see, 
 Who had with language vile and mean 
 
 And many a foul indignity, 
 Treated his mother, Henry's Queen. 
 Too quickly Edward gave the word 
 That every knight with lance and sword 
 Should chase the villains from the field ; 
 And these, too desperate to yield, 
 
 Unsteadily retreated ; 
 Yet Leicester in another part, 
 Meanwhile with troops of better heart, 
 
 Stood firm and undefeated ; 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 79 
 
 And as young Edward led the chase, 
 His men broke from their ranks apace ; 
 It was in faith a mighty flaw ; 
 The wary Earl his vantage saw, 
 
 The battle in his grasp ; 
 He shouted long and lustily, 
 " Come, merry hearts and stand by me, 
 They are at their last gasp." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Against the royal cause, once more 
 The changes of the fight went sore : 
 King Henry fought with feeble hand 
 Alone amidst the rebel band ; 
 The choicest of his knights were gone 
 In hot pursuit with his brave son ; 
 And sorely was he pressed indeed, 
 When underneath him fell his steed ; 
 Then Leicester charging up again 
 Took prisoner his liege Sovereign ; 
 
80 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Whilst with his early vantage flushed 
 Back to the strife young Edward rushed, 
 Sad was his wonderment to find 
 The field with victor rebels lined. 
 Where many a loyal Baron laid 
 Grasping in death his shivered blade. 
 The cause was lost, the scale had turned, 
 Earl Leicester hath the victory earned. 
 'Twas hopeless to prolong the fight 
 When every loyal Earl and Knight 
 Lay dying, or had left the field, 
 Or pledged his knightly word to yield ; 
 So Edward sought for Gilbert Clare, 
 The Earl, thought he, seemed ever fair, 
 And is of honourable bent, 
 Though now he joins the rebels' tent, 
 No other Earl shall take my sword : 
 And in good time comes Gloucester's lord ; 
 " Sir Gilbert, sithence Heaven this day 
 
 Hath given thee victory, 
 Take thou my sword, and lead away, 
 
 Nor care I were it be ; 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 81 
 
 I little dreamed to find thee here 
 
 In arms against our right ; 
 How sits thine honour ? Is it clear ? 
 
 Art not a perjured Knight ?" 
 " Fair Prince, believe my knightly word, 
 
 I came not with free will; 
 I do confess that I have erred ; 
 But, as old Montfort's schemes I've heard, 
 
 I live to serve thee still. 
 
 v. 
 
 Within the Castle of Hereford, 
 Edward is under watch and ward. 
 The castle moat is wide and deep, 
 Gloomy and darksome is the keep, 
 
 The battlements are high; 
 Young Edward is too proud to weep, 
 
 Nor is he heard to sigh, 
 Yet pineth he for liberty, 
 
 And passeth many a night 
 E3 
 
82 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Devising plans to set him free, 
 And he cost his gaoler certainly 
 Many a taper light. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But guilty conscience cannot rest, 
 
 This Simon Montfort knows ; 
 A thousand terrors fill his breast 
 
 Whene'er he seeks repose ; 
 If slumber deign'd to close his eyes, 
 A thousand fearful dreams arise ; 
 Asleep, awake, he is in dread 
 Lest the good Barons should make head 
 And rally in arms on field again, 
 To rescue their Prince and Sovereign : 
 The gates and doors are locked and barr'd, 
 At each is set a trusty guard, 
 And troopers armed for sudden fray 
 Scour the country night and day ; 
 The castle battlements are mann'd 
 With choicest archers shaft in hand, 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 83 
 
 And woe be to the luckless wight 
 Who comes within a bowman's sight, 
 If he the password hath forgot, 
 Or to the warder answers not. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet Leicester thinks, " I'm belted Earl, 
 And must not bear me like a churl ; 
 I know the deeds which I have done 
 Have angered many a baron's son. 
 The English yeomen love young Ned; 
 
 And if he should get free, 
 I stand a chance to lose my head; 
 
 'Twere better policy 
 To shew my royal birds respect ; 
 I'll straitly charge my seneschal 
 To punish every menial 
 
 Who dares to shew neglect." 
 So Edward hath a horse at need, 
 Though one but little famed for speed ; 
 In the broad day-light he may ride 
 With Leicester's troopers at his side ; 
 
84 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 And they are better armed I trow, 
 Sheathed in steel from top to toe ; 
 In faith, so strictly charged are they, 
 They might not even let him stay 
 To change a word with village lass, 
 
 Nor e'en to bid good day, 
 Or ask how the dull hours may pass, 
 
 If any crossed their way. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Twelve months had run their weary race, 
 
 Young Edward grieved at length ; 
 Youth little loves a narrow space, 
 When limbs are lithe and full of grace, 
 
 And gathering in strength ; 
 When spirits mount as day awakes, 
 And when the buoyant fancy takes 
 O'er plain or mountain steep to rove, 
 
 Or by some forest stream, 
 Where over-head the cushat dove 
 
 to her mate soft notes of love ; 
 
 Or falls the moonlight beam 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 85 
 
 In chequered rays upon the tide, 
 
 To watch the waters dance and glide ; 
 
 Whilst inklings of love's dream 
 First waken in his wondering breast 
 
 A stranger, with a boon 
 All kind, and deemed a welcome guest, 
 
 Then wished away, how soon ! 
 Or, if he be of English blood, 
 Loveth he not on ocean's flood 
 
 In gallant bark to sail, 
 Braving the waves in angry mood, 
 
 And e'en the roughest gale ? 
 No wonder then if Edward's cheek 
 
 Hath worn a hectic shade 
 So long, and his dull eyes bespeak 
 
 How the canker-worm hath preyed ; 
 And ever as he glanced his eye 
 
 Beyond the waving hills 
 That formed his furthest boundary, 
 
 That eye a tear-drop fills ; 
 Thought he, " Across yon' rolling stream, 
 
 Beyond the forest-line, 
 
86 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Lives Roger Mortimer, I deem 
 
 He is a friend of mine ; 
 I wot if he but knew my jail, 
 
 There'd be a gathering 
 Of gallant lances bright in mail, 
 And banners flaunting in the gale, 
 
 And war-shouts echoing ; 
 
 ! for a chance when as a knight 
 
 1 could do battle for my right 
 Against this gaoler lord ; 
 
 Although he keepeth spy and scout 
 Within the castle and without, 
 I'd stake it on my sword. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The river in his golden sheen 
 
 Rolled past him merrily, 
 Whose banks were in their summer green, 
 On which innumerous flowers were seen 
 
 In rich variety, 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 87 
 
 Such as shepherd-hinds would cull 
 
 Their May-day Queen to prank, 
 And breathing odours sweet and full 
 
 Along each mossy bank. 
 The merry songsters of the sky 
 Carolled their matins up on high ; 
 The butterfly on wings of gold 
 
 Was kissing every flower, 
 And though an arrant flirt of old 
 
 And changeful as the hour, 
 The loveliest seemed offering 
 To the rover hearty welcoming ; 
 All things that flaunted in the sun, 
 
 Around him and below, 
 In frolic humour seemed to run, 
 
 Nor had a tinge of woe. 
 So Edward to his chamber went, 
 His heart grew sick at merriment 
 
 He saw and might not know ; 
 If there he gave some anger vent, 
 'Twas but the uncurbed spirit's bent, 
 
 Who else would not do so? 
 
88 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Little there was in that lone room 
 
 To cheer the prisoner in his gloom ; 
 
 He looked out from his window light, 
 
 Its height forbade all hope of flight, 
 
 And if he saw the sunlit sky, 
 
 Or caught the perfumed zephyr's sigh, 
 
 Or heard the distant woods around 
 
 With sweetest melody resound 
 
 All these but made him droop the more ; 
 
 The sunbeams as they threw 
 Their light upon his prison floor, 
 
 Gave but a sickly hue 
 To the rich and costly tapestry 
 
 Which hung around the walls, 
 Emblazoning in varied dye 
 Scenes that would glad a warrior's eye, 
 
 In his own castle halls ; 
 Gay tournaments and fierce melee, 
 And gallant knights in war's array, 
 
 Or fairest ladies there, 
 Seemed grouped before him every day, 
 And as each hope fled fast away, 
 
 They nourished his despair. 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 89 
 
 In oaken seat the Prince reposed, 
 His eyes, in musing train he closed; 
 Then a deep and pleasant slumber crept 
 Upon him, and somewhile he slept ; 
 " Fair Prince take thy full meed of rest, 
 And find the sorrow in thy breast 
 
 Is gone when thou shalt wake " 
 Whose voice was that? What hidden guest 
 
 These cheering tidings spake? 
 Or did he dream ? Upstarted he 
 As from some broken reverie, 
 He glanced his wondering eyes around, 
 A little scroll lay on the ground ; 
 He searched the room with cautious fear 
 To see if Leicester's spies were near, 
 Then hastily he broke the seal, 
 His sparkling eyes good news reveal 
 
90 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 " To-morrow then ! come quick, good morrow, 
 
 And Leicester's bird is lost; 
 I shall no longer need to borrow 
 
 My lodging at his cost ; 
 And if Heaven grant we meet once more, 
 111 soon rub off my gaoler's score." 
 
 XI. 
 
 The morrow came, it was a day 
 In that ever merry month of May, 
 And such a day it was indeed 
 As ever May-day Queen would need; 
 Ne'er looked the sun so glorious 
 
 When rising from his sleep, 
 He took good leave of Erebus 
 
 And burst upon the deep. 
 Aurora, when she caught his eye, 
 Blushed with a maiden's modesty, 
 When the lover of her heart 
 Tieth the knot man cannot part; 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 91 
 
 Loud echoed the far woods again 
 With one deep universal strain. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The castle Seneschal came down 
 With somewhat of an angry frown, 
 And said to a waiting menial, 
 As he passed through the warder's hall, 
 " Our Prince is in a hungry mood, 
 
 Which is most strange to see ; 
 A venison pie before him stood, 
 * Certes,' says he, e 'tis very good,' 
 
 He has left none for me : 
 A flagon of stout ale he quaffed, 
 
 And asked me for another, 
 The which he finished in one draught, 
 
 And called me his good brother." 
 Answered the other unto him, 
 " 'Tis well he is in such good trim ; 
 Last night, you know, it was agreed, 
 
 To help the day along, 
 
\ THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 A match should be to try the speed 
 
 Of young Earl Gloucester's dark grey steed, 
 
 A gallant one and strong ; 
 So tell him at our castle-gate 
 His gay companions for him wait. 
 It seems to be the Earl's behest, 
 Whatever is his ward's request, 
 To have it done, he knoweth best, 
 But Edward hath a winning art, 
 
 And many love him here 
 Who would be glad to take his part, 
 
 If ever he got clear 
 From Leicester's keep ; to thee or me 
 It matters little, as I see." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The shrilly bray of clarion 
 Now echoed in the court, 
 
 And woodland rangers one by one 
 Rode from the Eastern port; 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 93 
 
 Next turned out the castle guard, 
 The Marshall ranged them on the sward, 
 To watch the movements of the day, 
 Fifty lances bold were they, 
 Cased in steel from head to foot, 
 With spear and battle-axe to boot. 
 The Marshal was of Leicester's kin, 
 
 In treason deep had moved ; 
 He was one the old Earl trusted in, 
 
 For the Prince he little loved ; 
 His old grey head, full well he knew, 
 
 Would not be long his own, 
 And must pay for his crimes the forfeit due, 
 
 When the King regained his throne. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Young Edward came, a joyous smile 
 
 Sparkled in his blue eyne, 
 All said that long had been the while 
 
 Since one so bright did shine ; 
 
94 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Then bowing to the Company, 
 
 " Fair greeting to ye all," 
 Quoth he, " I deem it kind in ye, 
 
 To grace me with a call ; 
 Last night, if I forget me not, 
 
 We all agreed to try a match 
 Between our steeds on yonder spot; 
 What saith the Marshal, that some plot 
 
 Against the state we hatch ?" 
 1 Nay, Royal Prince, I should feel shame, 
 Were I to hinder such fair game ; 
 And more, I bet my baton's weight, 
 
 In silver or in gold, 
 That yon' grey steed will win the plate, 
 
 See here the stakes are told." 
 Said Edward, " I would gage my throne 
 On good Earl Gloucester's dapple roan." 
 Old Waldemar replied, " Fair Sir, 
 Earl Gloucester does not care to stir 
 As yet, and if we stay the sport 
 Until he comes, it will be short ; 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 95 
 
 I urge that we begin the race, 
 
 That is, if it so please your grace." 
 
 Prince Edward laughed, " What ! Gilbert Clare 
 
 Still snoozing idly in his lair ! 
 
 I thought our shouts would ring him up ; 
 
 But, Gentles, ere we start, 
 Let each one drink in morning cup 
 
 To the lady of his heart : 
 Yet will I wager even now 
 The Earl sings to his lady's brow, 
 Not rolling sluggishly in bed, 
 I know he hath a wiser head. 
 
 xv. 
 
 The sun was verging to the West ; 
 Every steed had done his best ; 
 The pace of each began to slack, 
 And his rider, lolling on his back, 
 Would doff his cap and wipe his brow, 
 And wish a cooling gale might blow. 
 
96 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Young Gilbert Clare stood listlessly 
 
 Under the castle wall. 
 Sometimes gazing on the sky 
 
 Or watching the shadows fall ; 
 At times he trilled a merry strain, 
 
 Or some old madrigal ; 
 He held a charger by his rein, 
 Now pacing him upon the plain ; 
 
 'Twas the choicest steed of all ; 
 He eyed old Waldemar askance, 
 
 As if it crossed his mind 
 To send him on some idle dance, 
 
 But fortune was not kind ; 
 Thought he, " We e'en must trust to chance 
 
 And other method find." 
 " Thou art a lazy one this morn," 
 Quoth Waldemar, " or else the horn 
 That rung so merrily and long, 
 Had broke thy sleep, however strong ; 
 The Prince and those young gallants there 
 Seem homewards now at ease to bear, 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 97 
 
 Be not too quick to take offence, 
 They'll break a joke at thy expense, 
 Sluggards who like their beds so well 
 Are fitter for an old monk's cell, 
 And ne'er will win their way to fame. 
 Shame, Gilbert ! Earl of Gloucester, shame'" 
 The young Earl laughed, made short reply. 
 And on the ground he cast his eye, 
 As if he thought the old man's word 
 Was not the falsest he had heard. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Earl Gilbert's steed, as I am told, 
 
 Shewed breeding choice and rare ; 
 Nor was he easy task to hold, 
 
 
 
 Whilst idle groom-boys there 
 Scanned head and neck and shoulder-plate, 
 
 Examined eye and tooth ; 
 Each sagely nodded to his mate, 
 
 Well satisfied forsooth. 
 But when young Edward saw the steed. 
 Far deeper cause had he indeed 
 F 
 
98 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 To feel delight : " Thou hast been kind," 
 Thought he, " to keep thy nag behind : 
 I'll warrant there's no courser here 
 Could match his paces in a year." 
 " Wilt please you mount him, fair young sir, 
 You will need neither rod nor spur," 
 Said Gilbert Clare ; " a better one 
 Never had King to ride upon 
 
 For battle or for chase ; 
 To leap a dyke, or stem a tide, 
 He hath no equal. Will you ride 
 
 And try his step and pace ? 
 And if, Sir Prince, he pleaseth thee, 
 Accept him as a boon from me, 
 
 And thou wilt do me grace." 
 " Sir Gilbert, thou art all too kind ; 
 
 We owe thee more than we can pay 
 E'en now, and if I were inclin'd, 
 
 Our Marshal would say nay; 
 For I may only use such flesh 
 
 As Leicester's grooms get ready, 
 Who ne'er will let them be too fresh, 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 99 
 
 Though they arc sure and steady. 
 But surely little harm will fall 
 
 To try the courser here ; 
 The guards are ready at his call, 
 
 (They always are too near.)" 
 There was not one could think it wrong, 
 They deemed the castle guard too strong : 
 T'were madness to attempt a flight 
 Whilst the old Marshal was in sight. 
 So Edward smoothed his flowing mane ; 
 
 Looked at the saddle girth ; 
 He paced him slowly on the plain 
 A little way, and back again ; 
 
 Then springing from the earth, 
 Leaped featly on the courser's back, 
 (Old Waldemar was on the rack ;) 
 I like his paces well indeed: 
 Sir Marshal, may I try his speed?" 
 Old Waldemar looked darker still, 
 
 Knitted his brows and frowned ; 
 And yet he feared to shew ill will, 
 
 So he turned quickly round 
 
To give some order to his guards, 
 
 But the Prince had reached some hundred yards, 
 
 And looking back he waved his cap : 
 
 Sir Marshal, you are on the nap, 
 
 But farewell gentle sir, 
 To bring me back on Montfort's land, 
 The fleetest rider in your band 
 
 Will find he needs his spur ; 
 And please thee, to the Earl rehearse 
 
 That I have sorely grieved 
 To be such charge upon his purse, 
 
 Which now he'll find relieved ; 
 My kindest thanks I pray ye give 
 
 For his paternal care, 
 I will repay him if I live, 
 
 With interest full and fair.'' 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Ho ! treachery !" the Marshal said, 
 " Up archers to the tower, 
 Draw your cloth shafts to the head, 
 And he, I ween, who lays him dead, 
 Will gain a lady's dower : 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 101 
 
 Troopers to your ranks advance, 
 Draw his good sword every lance ; 
 And if he long can keep that speed 
 Swift must be his horse indeed." 
 Many a cloth-yard shaft was drawn, 
 But each fell harmless on the lawn ; 
 The archers did not aim aright, 
 Perchance a sunbeam crossed their sight ; 
 But some might think 'twas not the thing 
 To slay the son of England's King. 
 Old Hubert called the Eagle Eye, 
 
 Who ne'er was known to miss his mark, 
 Whispered to those who stood him nigh, 
 
 They might shoot in the dark, 
 For far had princely Edward got 
 Beyond the longest arrow shot, 
 " And 'twere not so, 'tis not my mood, 
 
 Whilst I am in the craft, 
 That England's best and royal blood 
 
 Should stain an English shaft." 
 
102 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Now martial sounds are echoing 
 
 Under the castle-wall, 
 Where the armed troops were gathering 
 
 To the shrill trumpet call ; 
 For hot pursuit the word was given ; 
 
 Earl Leicester takes the lead ; 
 Swift as the forked light of heaven 
 
 Is each stout lance's speed : 
 Glance in the sunlight helm and spear, 
 
 Young Edward looked behind, 
 As the clashing steel hath reached his ear 
 
 Borne on the evening wind ; 
 He heard the shout of Montfort's Lord 
 As he pointed to him with his sword : 
 " Take him alive, but if not, death ! " 
 This was said in an underbreath. 
 Doth Edward's courser flag ? Oh ! no, 
 
 He keeps both wind and pace ; 
 All vainly yon' pursuing foe, 
 
 May hope to win the chase ; 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 103 
 
 He hath plunged into the rolling tide, 
 
 He stemmed the current's force, 
 And he hath gained the steep bank side : 
 
 God speed the gallant horse ! 
 But oh ! sad chance ! whilst that brave steed 
 Still stoutly held his lightning speed, 
 
 The saddle girths gave way, 
 With stunning force young Edward fell ; 
 The foe improved their chance too well 
 
 As on the ground he lay. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Yield thee, Sir Edward ! yield or die !" 
 
 Soon as he reached the spot, 
 Shouted old Leicester tauntingly : 
 
 Said Edward, " I will not ! 
 I am thy sovereign master's son ; 
 
 Thou art his vassal, Sir Earl, 
 Though ever a disloyal one, 
 False to thy oath of fealty, 
 Thou stain to knighthood's pure degree 
 
 Which in thy teeth I hurl ! 
 
104 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Thou hast good steel on front and back, 
 
 And on thy craven head, 
 This Vantage thou canst see I lack 
 
 And am but poorly sped ; 
 Yet never will I yield to thee, 
 Or one so stained with villainy, 
 
 So at thee perjured lord I 
 God and the Blessed Saints aid me, 
 
 And strengthen my arm and sword ! " 
 " Now fair young Prince, thou needs must yield/' 
 
 Exclaimed some friendly voice, 
 " Without thy mail, or lance, or shield, 
 
 Thou canst not have a choice 
 Against such odds." But on the wind 
 
 The warning voice was lost ; 
 Edward was not in yielding mind, 
 
 And thrice his breast he cross'd ; 
 He doffed his cap, and loosed his vest, 
 
 And drew his long ste^l brand, 
 He flung his scabbard to the west, 
 
 And firmly clenched his hand. 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 105 
 
 Thrice had they crossed each flashing blade, 
 
 And thrice they struck again, 
 The desperate stroke each foeman made 
 
 Scattered fire-sparks o'er the plain. 
 Edward, though bold and desperate, 
 
 Yet stood upon his guard ; 
 Old Montfort struck with mortal hate, 
 
 And pressed his Vantage hard ; 
 Anon, a trumpet's distant sound 
 
 Came faintly on the gale ; 
 There was a pause, each looked around, 
 
 And Leicester's cheek turned pale ; 
 Another blast, and louder still, 
 
 And it seemed to come more nigh : 
 The echoes now were loud and shrill, 
 Whilst from the summit of yon' hill 
 
 The rolling dust-clouds fly ; 
 The heavy galloping of horse 
 
 Thundered upon the plain, 
 The mingling clank of an armed force 
 F 3 
 
106 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF 
 
 Made Edward hope again, 
 For as the lingering sunbeams shone 
 On each lance-head and morion, 
 
 O'er which a banner streamed, 
 By the rich blazoning thereon, 
 
 'Twas Mortimer he deemed. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 That loyal Knight was in advance, 
 
 His sword stretched to the foe, 
 And shouted as he couched his lance, 
 " On to the rescue, ho ! 
 Old Montfort tarry till I come, 
 I'll charge thy many treasons home, 
 
 Or ne'er again meet foe." 
 Then to his charger's reeking sides 
 He gave the spur, and on he rides 
 
 In haste to lay him low. 
 Now Heaven be with thee, Mortimer, 
 
 'Twill be a goodly feat, 
 If thou hast strength of arm to bear 
 
 Yon' traitor from his seat." 
 
PRINCE EDWARD. 107 
 
 The Earl of Leicester's brow grew black, 
 He reined his foaming steed aback 
 
 As if the charge to meet ; 
 But Mortimer had force too strong 
 
 All armed in England's right ; 
 The traitor knew himself in wrong, 
 
 Which oft unnerveth might ; 
 And so he did not ponder long 
 
 If he should venture fight : 
 1 Sir Roger Mortimer, I trow 
 Thou hast the better 'vantage now, 
 
 I yield the Prince to thee ; 
 To spill good blood will not be fair : 
 Perhaps 'tis time that England's heir 
 
 Should have his liberty." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then many a joyous cheer, and strong 
 
 The gallant lances raised ; 
 And as the tidings spread along 
 
 Bells rung and bonfires blazed 
 
108 THE ESCAPE OF PRINCE EDWARD. 
 
 On England's village heaths, I ken, 
 
 And in each merchant town, 
 For loyal hearts have Englishmen 
 
 And faithful to the Crown, 
 When demagogue and infidel 
 
 Will suffer them to rest, 
 Nor teach them doctrines false and fell, 
 
 And deadly as a pest. 
 
of OTwg, 
 
 1346. 
 
THE following Piece is merely an attempt to reduce to 
 metre and rhyme a short sketch of the battle of Crecy, of 
 which all Englishmen, who are not disciples of Elisha 
 Burritt, may be somewhat proud. I have subjoined a 
 short extract from " Proissart's Chronicles." 
 
 " The King afterwards ordered that the army should be 
 divided into three battalions. In the first he placed the 
 young Prince of Wales ; and with him, the Earls of 
 Warwick and Oxford, Sir Godfrey de Harcourt, and 
 many other knights and squires whom I cannot name. 
 There might be in the first division about eight hundred 
 men-at-arms, two thousand archers, and a thousand Welsh- 
 men. In the second battalion were the Earls of North- 
 ampton and Arundel, and many others, amounting on the 
 whole to about eight hundred men-at-arms, and twelve 
 hundred archers. The third battalion was commanded 
 by the King ; and was composed of about seven hundred 
 men, and two thousand archers." 
 
 The French army, according to Hume and other his- 
 torians, consisted of one hundred and twenty thousand 
 men. 
 
Battle of <ttmg, 
 
 i. 
 
 JLL night on Crecy's field 
 The English army lay ; 
 Each warrior rested on his shield 
 
 Until the breaking day ; 
 And scarcely had the glimmering light 
 Glanced upon helm and armour bright, 
 
 As the night-clouds rolled away, 
 When the clarion's shrill strain 
 Rang long and loudly o'er the plain ; 
 
 And from their grassy bed, 
 Uprose the bristling hosts amain, 
 Who, answering to the call again, 
 
 To their several stations sped. 
 
112 
 
 THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 Anon the banner of England's King 
 
 Waved on the morning breeze, 
 As it were a herald summoning 
 All gallant hearts the land could bring, 
 Nor braver crossed the seas. 
 
 ii. 
 
 As Warwick's Earl leaped on his steed, 
 
 He said unto his lances, 
 f( My merry gentlemen, indeed, 
 
 We have but fearful chances ; 
 Twice sixty thousand men in mail 
 
 Yon' King of France can muster ; 
 But we of twenty thousand fail, 
 
 Tho' a right sturdy cluster 
 As ever buckled armour on, 
 
 And stood in battle trim. 
 The cup of honour to be won 
 
 Is full unto the brim." 
 " Now fear you nothing, good Sir Earl. 
 
 For our limbs are sound and tough 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 113 
 
 Ere the night-clouds again unfurl, 
 
 Those French shall have enough : 
 Of right true English blood are we, 
 
 And tho' not given to boast 
 As those gay lords of Gascony, 
 
 Not one will quit his post." 
 Answered Earl Warwick, " Gallant hearts, 
 
 Fear never soiled my breast ; 
 I doubt not ye will do your parts, 
 
 Kind Heaven will do the rest." 
 
 in. 
 
 The chivalry of France 
 
 Moved on in glittering show ; 
 Whilst in hot haste the ranks advance 
 
 To battle with the foe : 
 Nought could the eye behold, 
 
 Save myriads of glancing spears, 
 And banner-flags of silk and gold ; 
 As each high Lord his own unrolled, 
 
 Uprose his vassals' cheers. 
 
114 
 
 THE BATTLE OF CKECY. 
 
 King Philip's blood began to boil 
 
 His ancient foe to see 
 Arrayed so firmly on his soil ; 
 
 He shouted lustily : 
 " Lord Marshal, lead those bowmen on ; 
 
 Let them begin this fight ; 
 Lead forwards in God's name anon, 
 
 St. Denis for our right !" 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lord Warwick heard that battle shout 
 
 As to the skies it rose ; 
 Said he, " We must keep sharp look out 
 
 Upon our bustling foes ; 
 For see, how Count Alen9on rides, 
 
 And spurs his charger's flanks ; 
 The red blood welters from his sides ; 
 Hark ye ! how wrathfully he chides 
 
 Yon' bowmen to their ranks ; 
 They fit their quarrels to the bow ; 
 
 Now some of us must fall ; 
 
THE BATTLE OP CRECY. 115 
 
 (Though weary hands they seem, and slow,) 
 
 And Heaven assoilzie all ! 
 Thanks to the Virgin ! ne'er a shaft 
 
 Hath even scratched our mail ; 
 I'll wager for our English craft 
 
 Not one of ours shall fail. 
 But long enough we've stood the brunt, 
 
 They soon shall taste our yew ; 
 Up merry archers to the front, 
 
 Be steady and pull true." 
 
 v. 
 
 In darkening showers thick and fast 
 
 The English arrows fell ; 
 And each as it flew whizzing past 
 
 Sounded a Frenchman's knell. 
 The Genoese in sore dismay 
 
 From that dread storm recoil'd, 
 The men-at-arms behind gave way. 
 Many a lord all gasping lay 
 
 In his harness all besoil'd. 
 
116 
 
 THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 But still came that unerring flight, 
 Death following in grim delight ; 
 Every shaft the fiend bestrode 
 Laughing as the life-stream flow'd ; 
 And the shrieks of the dying rent the skies 
 As they writhed in their last agonies. 
 
 VI* 
 
 Alencon's spirit groaned in wrath, 
 
 As knight and charger sank 
 In crowds beneath that deadly math, 
 Whose welt' ring bodies choked his path 
 
 And thinned each battle rank. 
 Shouted he, with thundering voice, 
 "Laggards and dolts is this your choice 
 
 To stand beneath these showers ; 
 One gallant charge must drive these men 
 Back to their English shores agen, 
 
 And the victory shall be ours." 
 Plunging the rowels in his steed, 
 Onwards he charged with desperate speed. 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 117 
 
 Uprose the war-shout of each Lord ; 
 
 Pealed high the trumpet strain ; 
 Every vassal unsheath'd his sword, 
 
 And gave his steed the rein ; 
 The clang of steel and tramp of horse, 
 As rank on rank charged on in force, 
 
 Made earth to shake again. 
 
 VII. 
 
 With anxious look Alencon gazed 
 
 On every blazoned shield, 
 On crested helm, and banner raised 
 
 Above that stormy field : 
 Thought he, that Boy of English pride 
 
 I've sworn I will chastise ; 
 Where doth the stripling warrior hide ? 
 'Tis said not sixteen summers' tide 
 
 Hath he yet seen to rise; 
 If I should meet him in melee, 
 'Twould be but little more than play; 
 
 No feat for me to prize." 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 On, on ! ye flowers of chivalry ! 
 
 On, Gentlemen of France, 
 Let each one think his lady's eye 
 
 Beholds her own true lance. 
 But mark, bring sudden word to me 
 
 If any meet young Ned ; 
 I've sworn this day that I or he 
 
 Shall here find his death-bed." 
 " Thou speakest truly, boasting Count, 
 
 Choose here thy place of rest ; 
 But first of all with Walter Blount 
 
 Thou needs must do thy best. 
 Fifty Knights, and I am one, 
 
 Have sworn on point of sword, 
 No harm shall reach King Edward's son,- 
 
 Not one will fail his word." 
 The warriors met with desperate shock, 
 
 The gallant Walter fell ; 
 Alencon sat him like a rock 
 
 Amidst the tempest's swell ; 
 " Twas a brave stripling, by my faith, 
 
 Bright eyes will weep to-night, 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 119 
 
 Should thy fair ladye see thy wraith 
 
 All in the pale moon-light." 
 And then the vaunting warrior 
 
 Waved his sword over head ; 
 Spurring his gallant steed once more, 
 
 He leaped him o'er the dead. 
 On, for St. Denis !" and he rushed 
 
 To the hottest of the fray ; 
 It seemed for a while the din was hushed 
 
 Wherever he made his way : 
 He fought as it were with giant's strength ; 
 On the ground each one measured his length 
 
 Who dared his course to stay. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Meanwhile King Edward watched the fray ; 
 His men-at-arms around him lay ; 
 And sorely grieved it many a Knight, 
 Who saw the progress of the fight, 
 To sit upon his mettled steed 
 In idleness when warlike deed 
 
120 
 
 THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 And feats of arms were to be done, 
 And knightly honour to be won ; 
 And ever as the clamour rose, 
 And fled or charged again the foes, 
 Or English war-cry reach'd the ear, 
 " St. George ! a Warwick ! or De Vere !" 
 Or fiercer grew the battle din, 
 'Twas hard to rein each war-horse in. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Cried Edward, " Look ye, gallant sirs, 
 
 A Knight pricks hitherward : 
 Methinks, he useth those gilt spurs 
 
 Much better than his sword. 
 " Sir Thomas Norwich ! Is it well? 
 
 Why have ye left the field? 
 What news ? What news have ye to tell ? 
 
 My Britons do not yield ?" 
 " Dread Sovereign, your Englishmen 
 \Vill never yield one inch I ken 
 
 Whilst life and limbs do last ; 
 Right steadily they keep their ground, 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 121 
 
 But still the foemen press around 
 
 In numbers thick and fast ; 
 The Germans, forty thousand strong, 
 
 Hem in the Prince's corps ; 
 They cannot bide the struggle long 
 
 With only half a score : 
 Then Philip of Valois is prest 
 
 With thirty thousand more, 
 Who all the while have been at rest, 
 
 On our thin ranks to pour. 
 Our men act wonders ; ne'er can tongue 
 
 Do justice to each feat; 
 But Sire, full sure their knells are rung, 
 
 Unless thou thinkest mete 
 To lead thy warriors to aid. 
 
 Oh ! all that can be done 
 Is done ; and many a knight is laid, 
 Who ne'er again with spear or blade 
 
 His martial course will run." 
 
122 
 
 x. 
 
 How fares it with our Boy, Sir Knight ? 
 
 Is he alive and sound ? 
 For if he be unscathed and right, 
 
 I will not quit this ground." 
 My liege ! thy noble son is well, 
 
 Right bravely hath he foughten. 
 De Blois beneath his young arm fell- 
 But time would fail me now to tell 
 
 The deeds which he hath wroughten. 
 And if it be thy will, he saith, 
 
 He'll fight the battle out 
 Alone, if Heaven will grant him breath, 
 Nor will he budge an inch till death 
 
 Shall stop his battle-shout." 
 Then good Sir Thomas, tell my son 
 
 That I did roundly swear, 
 This battle should be solely won 
 By those who have so well begun ; 
 
 And they alone shall wear 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 123 
 
 The honor, who so valiantly 
 
 Have toiled through strife and heat : 
 So back, Sir Thomas, and from me 
 
 Most kindly each one greet; 
 And say that Heaven, full well I know, 
 
 Will shine upon our right : 
 Now, do your doing on the foe, 
 
 Farewell, my trusty Knight." 
 
 XI. 
 
 Sir Thomas reached the battle plain : 
 " What says our Sovereign Lord ?" 
 Cried Warwick, as he paused again, 
 
 And wiped his streaming sword. 
 " He saith he will not quit his post ; 
 
 And swears his son shall earn 
 His spurs, whatever be the cost ; 
 
 But those around him burn 
 To run a course and deal a blow, 
 
 And think it shame to sit 
 In idleness so near a foe : 
 
 Much grumble they at it." 
 
124 
 
 THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 The gallant Prince of Wales then rose 
 
 High in his saddle-seat ; 
 He ope'd his visor, bared his brows, 
 
 To cool their burning heat; 
 How proud he was you all might see 
 
 When his Father's message came, 
 For in the lists of chivalry, 
 There was not a braver Knight than he 
 
 With a brighter or purer name; 
 Gallants ! our royal Sire is kind ; 
 
 We are indeed much graced : 
 Now, by St. George, he shall not find 
 
 His trust in us misplaced ; 
 Are any here of sickly mood, 
 
 Or wishful to depart, 
 Or one that fears to look on blood, 
 For a sword in the hand is little good 
 
 If there be an unwilling heart ?" 
 Better for such to speed away, 
 Ere we who are sound resume our play ; 
 
 He hath our leave to start." 
 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 125 
 
 XII. 
 
 But it seemed as if new hearts were stirr'd, 
 When each King Edward's message heard ; 
 More fiercely then the battle raged : 
 The English chivalry engaged, 
 
 Some two, some three, some four ; 
 With desperate energy all fought, 
 And mighty feats indeed were wrought, 
 As to the charge fresh foes were brought 
 
 Against the English corps. 
 Charge after charge the Frenchmen led, 
 But left a towering pile of dead ; 
 Many a chieftain's banner fell, 
 Whose silken folds no more would swell 
 In blazon' d pride upon the gale, 
 There left for foemen's hand to trail 
 In dust and gore along the earth ; 
 Many a youth of noble birth, 
 Whose soul, as glanced that morning's sun 
 His polish'd shield and casque upon, 
 
126 
 
 THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 "Was mounting with chivalric fire, 
 Dreaming ere night to tell his Sire 
 What feats had graced his maiden shield, 
 Lay stiffening on the battle-field. 
 Fortune had darkly lowered on France, 
 In vain her countless lines advance, 
 In vain each Lord his vassals cheer'd, 
 In vain the Oriflamme upreared 
 Her ample folds of gold and red, 
 The Lilies of fair France were dead: 
 Around and o'er them hovering, 
 Screamed raven birds of evil wing, 
 So deemed, at least in wizard's lore, 
 Disheartening many a warrior. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Old Luxenbourg sat on his steed, 
 
 And with his harness on ; 
 His dim grey eyes rolTd quick indeed, 
 
 Their sight had long been gone : 
 " How fares the battle noble Lords 
 To us, or ill or well?" 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 127 
 
 " Oh ! Sire, we have but evil words 
 
 Indeed as yet to tell. 
 No longer stout Alen9on cries, 
 
 ' St. Denis ! a la France !' 
 Beneath his banner-flag he lies, 
 Closed in death are his fierce eyes, 
 
 Shent are his sword and lance. 
 D'Aumale hath fall'n, and breathed his last, 
 
 De Blois and brave Lorraine ; 
 Tho' loud may speak the trumpet blast, 
 
 They ne'er will rise again." 
 " Brave Lords and Vassals, ye are all 
 
 Companions old in fight, 
 Come, lead me now where I may fall 
 
 As best becomes a Knight." 
 That ancient King they gathered round, 
 
 And one on either side 
 Their bridle-reins in his then wound, 
 
 And linked together ride, 
 Full in the thickest of the strife 
 
 Charged that devoted band 
 Not one came out again with life, 
 
 Not one had sheathed his brand. 
 
128 
 
 XIV. 
 
 King Philip grasped his good sword hilt, 
 
 And flung his scabbard down : 
 " To live would now be fearful guilt, 
 When so much noble blood is spilt, 
 
 I'll perish with my crown." 
 Count Hainault seized his bridle rein, 
 " Oh Sire, I pray not so ; 
 All valour now would be in vain, 
 'Twere best to quit this fatal plain, 
 
 And live to meet our Foe 
 Some other day, when better chance 
 
 May even yet be ours ; 
 Remember still our merry France 
 
 Hath raised but half her powers. 
 Come, Sire, away ! whilst yet thy steed 
 
 Thy royal weight can carry ; 
 'Twill try e'en now his speed and wind, 
 Some resting-place this night to find, 
 
 Where we may safely tarry." 
 
THE BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The light of day declined apace, 
 Night rolled her clouds o'er Heaven's face, 
 And lesser grew the battle yell 
 As banner after banner fell ; 
 Each charge grew fainter and more slack, 
 And many failed in the attack : 
 Whilst in the thickening veil of night 
 Many a one turned from the fight, 
 Where panic raged in fearful sway, 
 And rushed in wild despair away ; 
 Then by degrees the clamour sank 
 And died away ; a heavy clank 
 Told when the last mailed warrior 
 Had fallen ; the battle raged no more, 
 And loudly cheered each English son, 
 When the mighty victory was won. 
 
 G 3 
 
CKECY. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Listen, brave Knights;' said England's King, 
 " By my faith that's a British shout : 
 They have won the day, let the welkin ring 
 
 With an echo long and stout. 
 Now Sirs, we will forward to meet our Son :" 
 
 And hastily on rode he, 
 " My Boy! my Boy! thou hast nobly done! 
 And my noble British hearts, each one 
 
 Hath quitted him valiantly." 
 The young Prince lighted from his steed, 
 
 And kneeled down on the ground : 
 
 Father, we've foughten with good speed, 
 
 First with all thanks to Heaven indeed, 
 
 Then to my comrades around." 
 King Edward's cheeks were moist with joy ; 
 He strained to his heart his gallant Boy: 
 " Thou art a Plantagenet I own, 
 Bight worthy thou of England's throne." 
 
The following piece is intended as a sketch of three 
 passages in the life of Charles II. 
 
OMjarles IS. 
 
 i. 
 
 )OURNFULLY, mournfully, 
 
 Whistle the night winds over me ! 
 These melancholy gales 
 Seem to me as the wails 
 
 For my lost majesty. 
 Why was I born 
 
 In royal pride and power, 
 To be an outcast most forlorn, 
 
 Forsaken in my needful hour ? 
 It is young Autumn now, 
 Whose breath should cool my burning brow ; 
 But yet the very elements 
 
 Methinks are leaguers with my foes ; 
 
134 
 
 CHAKLES II. 
 
 And, whilst these slumber in their tents, 
 
 And take their sweet repose, 
 Keep up continuous war and strife, 
 To crush, or wear away my life. 
 Dark clouds are sweeping o'er the arch 
 
 Of the incensed Heaven, 
 Like troopers on their march 
 
 To whom is given 
 License to desolate at will 
 Each smiling vale and rich crowned hill : 
 The very thunder speaks in wrath 
 
 Against such parricidal deeds ; 
 The forked lightning marks a path 
 
 Where the avenger leads 
 His ministers to overwhelm 
 This miserable realm." 
 
 II. 
 
 In ragged garb and clouted shoon 
 The Koyal Wanderer traced his way 
 
 Through the dark forest, star and moon 
 Witliheld their friendly ray ; 
 
CHARLES II. 135 
 
 And well they might, for evil powers 
 
 Ran riot through the land, 
 Whose deeds were meet for darkest hours ; 
 
 And many a godless band 
 Were scouring upland, lowland glen, 
 Woodland, glade, and distant fen, 
 
 Island, and rock and strand, 
 In eager haste and thirsty mood 
 For one more drop of royal blood. 
 
 ill. 
 
 " I faint, I faint, 
 
 From my heart's very weariness ! 
 Oh martyr'd Saint ! 
 
 My Father ! canst thou bless 
 Thine outcast Son, 
 Driven from his old paternal halls, 
 And dare not bide in cottage walls : 
 Whom each must shun, 
 Because 'tis death to see 
 
 And not betray 
 To his blood-thirsty enemy ; 
 
 I faint, would it were day ! 
 
CHARL1 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet what will daylight bring to me ? 
 
 The merry lark may wing 
 Up to the Heavens upon the breath 
 
 Of balmy scented Spring ; 
 But I must cower beneath, 
 
 Like any guilty thing. 
 Hist ! some one passes ; 'tis the tramp 
 Of warrior from rebel camp : 
 Be darker, darkest night, 
 Or else put out my life's own light, 
 For feeble is its lamp. 
 'Tis past ; again I am alone, 
 My heart sits lighter on its throne; 
 And see, the day already breaks 
 Along the skies in golden streaks." 
 
 IV. 
 
 At last in flood of glorious sheen, 
 The majesty of Heaven forth sailed ; 
 
 Up soared into the Heavens serene 
 The merry lark, and hailed 
 
 His brother choristers, to wake 
 
 On every dew bespangled brake ; 
 
CHARLES II. 137 
 
 And sweet and loud that matin-song 
 CarolFd forth by the feather'd throng, 
 Whose rich melodious strains deep sank 
 
 Into that fugitive's sad breast, 
 As on the perfum'd green turf bank 
 
 His aching feet to rest 
 He laid him down. But short the grace 
 He had to rest from weary race ; 
 For soon the ring of charger's foot, 
 And distant trumpet-call to boot, 
 Warned him the foe was passing near ; 
 The sounds came nearer, and his ear 
 Could mark the words of import dread : 
 A thousand pounds upon his head ! 
 We've followed hard upon his rout, 
 He must be somewhere hereabout." 
 
 V. 
 
 "Where shall I hide? 
 
 These limbs are all too tired to save ; 
 Oh ! Earth, my mother, open wide 
 And cover me in kindly grave 
 
138 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 Or shall I fight, and die, 
 
 Like gallant knight of old ; 
 'Twere better than to yield, and lie 
 In dungeon dark and cold : 
 Yet, on the topmost bough, perchance, 
 
 Of yon' magnificent oak tree, 
 May be they will not think to glance 
 
 Up there for me ; 
 Up higher now another yet ; 
 
 Peace, and be still my heart ! 
 Under this tree the files are met, 
 
 Each one to tell his part. 
 They little guess how near is he, 
 Whose head its worth in gold would be. 
 They heed me not but sit beneath, 
 
 And fill their horns with cheer so good, 
 Spiced with the perfumes of the heath ; 
 
 Drink of it heartily I could, 
 
 For it is long since I took food. 
 Now thanks to Heaven all merciful ! 
 
 They go and I am safe once more ; 
 The storm within me is at lull, 
 
 And I may reach the shore." 
 
CHARLES II. '139 
 
 VI. 
 
 Another footstep on the ground ! 
 But now it falls with lighter sound 
 Than soldier's foot, the step is free ; 
 And hither comes across the lea, 
 Some peasant in whose open face 
 I can at least kind spirit trace. 
 Methinks I know those features well ; 
 Surely 'tis Arthur Penderell I 
 A friend more staunch unto the death 
 Never had monarch who drew breath. 
 My Royal Master !" " Nay, arise ! 
 Thou knowest me in this disguise ! 
 Must I command thee ? Rise, my friend ! 
 It is not here thy knee should bend ; 
 No regal crown is on my brow, 
 Nought am I but Charles Stuart now." 
 f Oh ! good my liege, I cannot brook 
 To see thy sad and haggard look, 
 He ill deserves an English name, 
 Who will not bend to thee the same 
 
140 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 Whether thou art on England's throne 
 
 Circled in pomp and power, 
 Or wandering sadly and alone 
 In poverty's dark hour. 
 That I have found thee, glad am I, 
 For there are good friends watching nigh ; 
 Although the round-head troopers came 
 
 To search my cottage on the bourne 
 Of this wide forest ; sword and flame 
 
 They threatened me this very morn, 
 (Their leader was fell Hambleton,) 
 If I should harbour Stuart's Son. 
 They promised me a guerdon rare, 
 If I would sell them England's heir ; 
 But now we shall be free awhile ; 
 And until better days do smile, 
 In safety may my liege abide 
 In my poor cottage, whilst I ride 
 To loyal Wilmot's lord ; 'twill cheer 
 His heart, that thou art well to hear ; 
 And God will help us whilst we plan 
 How we can shield thee from that man 
 
CHARLES II. 141 
 
 Whose hand will ne'er be clean again 
 From the blessed Martyr's life-blood stain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Gallantly, gallantly, 
 Over the bright waves of the sea 
 Glides yonder bark and bears away 
 Him for whom loyal hearts will pray. 
 Deep prayers were breathed for thee, 
 
 Thou royal fugitive, 
 
 That thou might'st live 
 Until a nation's voice and might 
 
 Hurling the rebels down, 
 Give back thy own birthright, 
 
 Thine own ancestral Crown ! 
 God speed thee, gallant bark ! 
 
 God shield the Martyr's son 
 From traitors' guile and treasons dark 
 
 Until their woof be spun ! 
 And o'er the waves the vessel sped, 
 And many a loyal tear was shed, 
 
142 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 As the young Charles waved last farewell. 
 Little was said, but you may tell 
 By the language of the eye 
 Where the deepest sorrows lie ; 
 Their hearts grew sadder as the trace 
 Of their hopes was lost on ocean's face ; 
 They wended homeward and each one, 
 Moved silently, and mused alone 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Well might the generous and free 
 Weep o'er the page of History, 
 To read the names of Priest and Peer 
 And loyal-hearted Cavalier, 
 Who deemed their wealth no sacrifice, 
 Nor forfeit life too great a price 
 For England's Holy Church and laws, 
 Her sainted Monarch's rights and cause, 
 And swelled the tide of loyal blood 
 Shed in the nation's frenzied mood. 
 Upon the martyr-roll full high 
 Stands noble Stafford's name, 
 
CHARLES II. 143 
 
 The good old Laud whose fearless eye 
 
 No headsman's axe could tame ; 
 Earl Derby, King of Mona's Isle, 
 Lord Capel, Lucas, gallant Lisle, 
 And Scotland's glorious Montrose 
 Whose dauntless spirit loftier rose, 
 Though the wild puritanic hate 
 Gave noble blood to felon's fate. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Merrily, merrily, 
 
 The church bells echo chimes of glee ; 
 Banners stream from high church towers ; 
 Arches of the rich May-flowers, 
 
 Culled by the fairest hands, 
 Are reared in rustic lanes, 
 And village streets, and plains. 
 
 Along the road, were bands 
 Of well-dressed burghers, cavaliers, 
 Surpliced priests, and noble peers, 
 Gather in proud array ; 
 And 'prentice boys all gay 
 
144 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 Are hastening down 
 From city and from town, 
 As on some holiday. 
 
 The May-sun is in heaven's high arch, 
 
 The winds are fair and free, 
 Yon' bark glides on in stately march 
 
 Over the glassy sea ; 
 Gay banners from her top-mast float ; 
 
 Upon her deck there stand 
 A group of men who seem of note, 
 
 The high-born of the land. 
 And what rich argosy hath she, 
 
 That every English eye 
 Is gazing there so fixedly, 
 
 And each heart beating high ? 
 Whilst stately lords, and yeomen brave 
 
 Crowd down unto the beach, 
 And to the margent of the wave, 
 
 As far as eye can reach ; 
 
CHARLES II. 145 
 
 Fair maidens' eyes are filled with tears, 
 
 Not dimm'd with sorrow's leaven ; 
 And yon' grey-headed cavaliers 
 
 Raise thankful eyes to Heaven. 
 He comes, he comes, oh happy day ! 
 
 Our deep loved, long lost King, 
 To take his own again, for aye, 
 
 With a nation's welcoming ! 
 
 x. 
 
 With thankful heart and joyous bound, 
 
 Charles stepped along the plank, 
 And stood upon his native ground 
 
 Erect in kingly rank : 
 Old Earls, and burghers, yeomen bold, 
 
 Each on his bended knee, 
 Tendered their homage as of old; 
 
 'Twas a glad sight to see, 
 As up unto the flagstaff-head 
 
 On Dover's castle high, 
 The Royal Standard rose, and spread 
 
 Her broad folds to the sky ; 
 
146 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 Then twice ten thousand voices pour 
 
 Their cheerings loud and long, 
 And echoed to the cannon's roar 
 
 That burst above the throng. 
 Brave Monk ! proud thoughts must overwhelm 
 
 Thy loyal heart that day, 
 Thou broughtest back old England's realm 
 
 To her rightful monarch's sway, 
 And saw each sterling English heart 
 
 Gush forth in loyalty ; 
 I would that I had borne a part 
 
 In such high jubilee. 
 
MINOR POEMS. 
 
149 
 
 Hunntmrtre. 
 
 Barons of our fair free land, 
 Each with his harness on, 
 Grasping the buckler, lance, and brand, 
 To Runnimede are gone. 
 
 Above their heads their banners float, 
 Swords in the sunlight flashing ; 
 
 Uprose the trumpet's stirring note, 
 And the heavy arms were clashing. 
 
 John turned his dark and fiery eye 
 
 Upon those sturdy lords ; 
 They quailed not from its scrutiny, 
 
 As they rested on their swords. 
 
 And then he turned his eye away, 
 For his heart within was cold, 
 
 To see their firm and brave array, 
 Their bearing free and bold. 
 
150 
 
 RUNNIMEDE. 
 
 For they were gathered there, he knew 
 
 For merry England's right"; 
 Their hearts were strong as oak, and true 
 
 And dauntless in the fight. 
 
 Then stept the Earl Fitzwalter forth, 
 And due obeisance rendered ; 
 
 John's spirit in him waxed wrath, 
 As a parchment-scroll he tendered. 
 
 Said he, " Why are my Barons met ? 
 
 And what is it they need ?" 
 ' My Liege we crave of thee to set 
 Thy seal unto this deed." 
 
 John took the deed, he looked behind, 
 
 His Brabanons were there ; 
 He knew them faithless as the wind, 
 
 And groaned in his despair. 
 
 And then he watched those Lords again ; 
 
 Amongst them all, thought he, 
 It may be I can lay some train 
 
 For feud or jealousy. 
 
RUNNIMEDE. 151 
 
 But no, each feud aside was laid, 
 
 Forgotten every broil ; 
 For each had sworn on his sword's blade 
 
 All lawless schemes to foil. 
 
 Then John, when he affixed his seal, 
 
 Returned it to them proudly ; 
 The doughty Barons clashed their steel, 
 
 And shouted long and loudly. 
 
 'Twas thus those famous Lords of yore 
 
 Stood for the common weal ; 
 When John had stained his hands with gore, 
 
 His Nephew's crown to steal. 
 
 And if the boon our Barons won 
 
 Our Commons ere forget, 
 Too soon, I fear, our England's Sun 
 
 In infamy will set. 
 
152 
 
 <ueen 3Eli?aietf) at 
 
 Maiden Queen is on her steed, 
 In glittering steel bedight ; 
 And troops are raised for England's creed 
 And every Briton's right. 
 
 All gallantly she looked in arms, 
 
 And wondered every Lord, 
 No woman's fear her heart alarms 
 
 As she unsheathed her sword. 
 
 The English Burghers cheered again 
 To see their own loved Queen 
 
 Ride like a warrior on the plain, 
 With voice and brow serene. 
 
 My loving people, I am come 
 
 To share a soldier's toil ; 
 "With ye to guard our English home 
 
 From Popish chain and spoil. 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH AT TILBURY FORT. 153 
 
 " If Heaven so will to shed my blood, 
 
 (Lay ease and pleasure down,) 
 Aye ! in the battle's heat and flood 
 Ere stain my English Crown. 
 
 " I claim it through a famous race 
 
 Of kingly warriors ; 
 Ne'er shall Elizabeth disgrace 
 Her gallant ancestors. 
 
 " Unfurl, unfurl our England's Flag ! 
 
 And rally underneath ; 
 Whilst flutters to the breeze one rag 
 Let sword not rest in sheath. 
 
 " Be all for one and one for all 
 Linked in our sacred cause, 
 The peasant's cot, the baron's hall, 
 The throne, our church, and laws. 
 
 " Ye all are hearts of oak I ween, 
 
 All brave and free and true ; 
 Right proud am I to be the Queen 
 Of such a fearless crew. 
 H 3 
 
154 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH 
 
 " Soon as the Spanish thunder rolls 
 
 Along our English shore, 
 Rouse up the lion in your souls 
 As ye have done of yore. 
 
 " And there your Maiden Queen will ride, 
 
 Nor shun the battle strife 
 The first to plunge in its red tide, 
 The last to quit with life. 
 
 k< For if I have a woman's hand, 
 My blood flows from a King ; 
 And kingly thoughts my heart hath mann'd 
 To think it hath its spring 
 
 " From those whose daring deeds of old 
 Have filled the wide earth's spheres, 
 Plantagenet, the Lion bold, 
 And Edward of Poictiers." 
 
 Shouted the English yeomen then : 
 " Before high Heaven we vow, 
 As we are all true Englishmen, 
 Our knees shall never bow 
 
AT TILBURY FORT. 155 
 
 " Beneath a foreign tyrant's chains : 
 
 Ere Spanish feet shall tread 
 As conquerors upon our plains 
 Our life's last drop we'll shed. 
 
 " But come the Spaniard when he may, 
 
 And strong as ere he can, 
 To drive them back will be mere play 
 To any Englishman." 
 
156 
 
 Young iEnglantr. 
 
 CRY is gone from North to South : we 
 
 want a master mind, 
 To cure the social ills which like a pestilential 
 
 wind 
 Are sweeping o'er our merry land, all we love best 
 
 to blast ; 
 
 God ! hear us in our woful plight, and send us 
 help at last ! 
 
 Our Church which should be unity, and peace 
 
 and love to all, 
 With sore divisions rent in twain, seems ready 
 
 now to fall : 
 Tractarians, and Catholics, and Churchmen High 
 
 and Low, 
 A iv names which should be never heard, and 
 
 cause her children woe. 
 
YOUNG ENGLAND. 157 
 
 They say the march of intellect should change 
 
 our Church's rules, 
 And those who think these should not change are 
 
 bigoted and fools ; 
 Those who are set to teach the Faith, by their 
 
 own Flock are taught : 
 The Sheep against the Shepherd rail ; the good 
 
 Priest set at naught. 
 
 With wealth unbounded in the land, of death from 
 want we hear ; 
 
 We boast we have the Gospel light, as from all 
 error clear ; 
 
 We scorn the Church of Rome because she wor- 
 ships stone and wood; 
 
 Yet worship Mammon ever as the only source of 
 good. 
 
 Tho' thousands perish daily for the lack of Gospel 
 
 lore, 
 Fresh schemes are ever set on foot to encrease 
 
 our golden store ; 
 We cry unto our Governors to help us spread 
 
 the light ; 
 They seem to aid the wrong alone, and will not 
 
 help the right. 
 
158 
 
 YOUNG ENGLAND. 
 
 We've seen the good old Tories merge within a 
 
 motley crew ; 
 Conservatives they call themselves, but who'll 
 
 believe them true 
 To English rights and English laws, which they 
 
 have frittered down, 
 And seem alike indifferent to Poor, or Church, or 
 
 Crown. 
 
 They talk now of Young England, and if Young 
 England be 
 
 A true son of Old England there be none so good 
 as he: 
 
 Far better keep the good old stock and tread the 
 good old ways, 
 
 Than the false and empty doings of these change- 
 ful latter days. 
 
159 
 
 ISerecijurd), 
 
 KNOW a little hallowed spot, 
 
 Where stands with ivy trophies crowned, 
 A lonely church like one forgot 
 By all the world around. 
 
 A few tall trees there are which throw 
 A chequered light and shade o'er those 
 
 Who sleep within the soil below 
 In undisturbed repose. 
 
 The quiet Churchyard guarded off 
 From yonder park with lowly fence, 
 
 Sends man who came perchance to scoff 
 With better feelings thence. 
 
 Close by the fabric, rears its head 
 
 A noble Oak, so brave a tree, 
 With sturdy arms wide overspread, 
 
 You will not often see. 
 
160 
 
 BERECHURCH. 
 
 I said : That oak is England's pride, 
 Meet emblem of her gallant race : 
 
 And yon' old Church which stands beside 
 In venerable grace, 
 
 The mother from whose bosom runs 
 
 The hallowed stream which warms their hearts, 
 
 Nerving the arms of her free sons 
 And holier gifts imparts. 
 
 It seemed as if that ancient pile 
 
 Stood under his protecting care ; 
 And glad my spirit felt the while 
 
 I watched and pondered there. 
 
 'Tis meet, I thought, that every hand 
 Should now be ready like yon' oak 
 
 To guard the churches of our land 
 From foe or tempest stroke. 
 
 There are, I am not one of them, 
 
 Who hold our Church in light esteem, 
 
 And thirst to pluck away each gem 
 Which shed its hallowed gleam 
 
BERECHURCII. 161 
 
 Upon our land, and sends afar 
 Its blessings o'er the distant main 
 
 To other regions where the star 
 Reflects her light again. 
 
 There are who glad would see her fall 
 Beneath the shock of time and foes, 
 
 Unmindful of the sacred call 
 With which her bosom glows. 
 
ffl2Ualton It 
 
 are the joyous days we spent 
 Upon these sunny shores, 
 When friendship, love, and mirth were blent, 
 And each one on his several bent . 
 
 Would open up rich stores 
 To help old Father Time along 
 With revelry or plaintive song ? 
 Where are they we were wont to meet 
 
 Young forms from Beauty's bowers, 
 Smiling with summer looks as sweet 
 
 And lovely as the flowers 
 That flourish on the breath of Spring, 
 Who seemed like graces wandering 
 Over the cliffs that girt the sea, 
 
 Along the sands where every wave 
 Seemed echoing in jubilee 
 
 With the sea-nymphs in their cave ? 
 
WALTON LE SOKEN. 163 
 
 Ah hah ! Old Ocean, was it not 
 
 A joyous sight indeed, 
 To see a group in some wild spot, 
 
 Sit down to take their feed 
 On benches rudely formed around, 
 A neat white cloth spread on the ground, 
 With plenty eye and taste to cheer, 
 And with a jug of stout old beer, 
 Beneath the bright blue canopy 
 Of Heaven, we quaffed a health to thee ? 
 
 And now there's many a pleasant spot 
 
 But for thy magic hand, 
 Oh Memory I would be forgot, 
 
 Lies underneath yon' sand ; 
 For I have heard my mother say, 
 
 (Heaven's blessings on her head,) 
 That well she recollects the day 
 When, where the ocean waves now play 
 
 Over the sandy bed, 
 The old grey parish church once reared 
 
 Its venerable roof, 
 
.64 
 
 WALTON LE SOKEN. 
 
 
 Where Gospel messages were heard 
 
 For comfort and reproof. 
 One Sabbath morn the preacher stood 
 
 And often stretched his eye 
 Along the ocean's swelling flood, 
 
 Or watched the darkening sky ; 
 For ever and anon burst forth 
 
 The soughing of the North- West gale ; 
 When it blows strongly from the North 
 
 The old wives' cheeks turn pale ; 
 Yet darker grew the clouds around, 
 The sullen breakers spoke a sound 
 Foreboding strife 'twixt wind and wave, 
 And the fierce shout the tempest gave 
 Quelled many a heart though stout and brave, 
 
 And then the storm awoke ; 
 The wide sea was a yawning grave 
 
 As the huge surges broke 
 And rolled tumultuously on : 
 Shore, cliff, the old church-yard were gone 
 And ne'er within those walls again 
 
 Was heard the psalm or prayer ; 
 
WALTON LE SOKEN. 165 
 
 The murmurs of the heaving main 
 Alone resounded there. 
 
 Deep buried in the womb of time 
 
 Those days are now, and hushed the song, 
 That echoed once so sweet a chime ; 
 
 And many a one of that bright throng 
 
 Once scrambling these tall cliffs among, 
 
 Is calmly slumbering 
 In the dark silent vault of death ; 
 
 And still on noiseless wing 
 The arch destroyer hurrieth 
 All pleasant days into the deep 
 And boundless ocean where they sleep, 
 Never to wake again; whilst I 
 
 Remain, perchance the only one 
 To roam amongst the scenes, and sigh 
 
 For those before me gone, 
 Yet dear to memory. 
 
166 
 
 Gamble, 
 
 jHIS is no night to sit within 
 Poring o'er crabbed books 
 And dusty papers ; 'tis a sin 
 
 When with such winning looks 
 The Moon peers from her throne above, 
 This is a meeter hour to rove. 
 
 I donned my hat and rushed into the street- 
 
 This din of rattling cars 
 Is to my ears but little treat ; 
 
 Besides it mars 
 
 The present humour of my mind, 
 Though it be changeful as the wind. 
 
 I sought the silver flood 
 
 Tracing her course through meadows green, 
 Whose little waves in wanton mood 
 
 Danced in the moonlight sheen. 
 
A RAMBLE. 167 
 
 The fields had late been bright with flowers 
 
 Where daisy and the lady cup 
 Assembled all their brilliant powers, 
 
 And as the kine came out to sup 
 On these my favourites of old, 
 
 I grieved to see they spared not one 
 Which I so loved, because they told 
 
 Of days bygone, 
 When as a merry romping boy 
 
 I culled those simple flowers to braid 
 Garlands and coronals for joy 
 
 And deck some favourite maid ; 
 E'en in those very childish days 
 
 A maiden form would often come 
 To whom my stripling heart would raise 
 
 A shrine within its home. 
 
 I felt the love shaft, and the power 
 
 Of silvery voice, and witching smile ; 
 
 The wounds are gone, but to this hour 
 My memory steals awhile 
 
168 A RAMBLE. 
 
 To many a form whose infant grace 
 The child's light fancy captive led, 
 
 And still she haunts each charmed place 
 Where the young heart first bled. 
 
 But hark ! there is a distant sound 
 
 Of music in yon' wood ; 
 I heard it on all sides around, 
 
 And spirit-chained I stood : 
 The carols of that little bird, 
 
 Void of finesse and art 
 Sweeter and richer are ne'er heard 
 
 Speak volumes to the heart. 
 
 The Moon was in her course above, 
 
 A beauty reigning peerlessly 
 Amidst the glittering ranks of love, 
 
 And such was she. 
 Red Mars, in all his warlike sheen, 
 
 Stood near her silvery car, 
 Paying meet homage to the Queen, 
 
 Yet were his thoughts afar ; 
 
A RAMBLE. 169 
 
 For the chaste maiden stood between 
 
 Him and his lady love, 
 Bright Venus, who near Earth was seen 
 
 With witching looks to move; 
 Oh ! with what matchless light she shone 
 
 Amidst the lesser stars of heaven ! 
 To none, save to my love's eyes alone. 
 
 Such lustre hath been given. 
 
170 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS. 
 
 H ! Holy Mother Church ! 
 
 When will these fierce divisions cease ? 
 Where may thy faithful children search 
 
 For thy best gifts of peace ? 
 Shouldst thou, enduring for awhile 
 
 The chastisement for sin 
 Of careless sons, and sons of guile 
 
 Mingling thy fold within, 
 Be rent with this unhallowed broil 
 
 Now raging in thy heart, 
 And yielded as a goodly spoil 
 
 For eager foes to part? 
 
 Oh ! whither shall we turn 
 
 With weary step and tearful eye, 
 
 Whilst our sad hearts do yearn 
 For blessed unity ? 
 
THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS. 171 
 
 Not to the blood-stained hills of Rome, 
 
 Though now, perchance, with milder voice, 
 She calls her former children home ; 
 
 This may not be our choice, 
 Whilst her unwholesome lore 
 
 Still taints her Church and hides the light, 
 And Gospel truths are hidden o'er 
 
 With superstitious rite. 
 
 Along the dreary waste, 
 
 Behold are Schism's hydra-heads 
 Leading her followers in rash haste 
 
 Wherever self-will treads ; 
 E'en here idolatry, 
 
 Though in more subtil guise, 
 Erects her altars stealthily, 
 
 Whilst Mammon blinds their eyes : 
 And sadder still to tell, 
 
 Bold Infidelity awakes 
 To spread around her baneful spell, 
 
 Whilst Faith's foundation shakes. 
 
172 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS. 
 
 No Sacraments of Grace are here, 
 
 Vigil, nor day of fast, 
 To draw the penitential tear 
 
 For sins and errors past ; 
 No Heaven-commissioned Priest to lead 
 
 The daily round of prayer, 
 The Faith to teach, the Word to read, 
 
 To seal Heaven's infant heir ; 
 No festival, nor holy day, 
 
 When hearers may be told 
 Of Saints who trod the Heavenward way, 
 
 Of high events of old. 
 
 Not here, then, may we rest; 
 
 But from these forms and creeds unsound 
 We turn away as fails each test, 
 
 And sadly gaze around 
 For shelter 'midst the strife, 
 
 And fix our wistful glances back 
 On our loved Church which gave us life, 
 
 Now but a mournful wrack : 
 
THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS. 173 
 
 Not so, a holy pledge is given, 
 
 She standeth on a Rock ; 
 In vain her foes around have striven, 
 
 She may defy the shock. 
 " The gates of Hell shall not prevail," 
 
 Cheer up thou drooping soul, 
 Her Saviour's promise will not fail, 
 
 Fierce as the storms may roll. 
 
174 
 
 
 jfall of 
 
 i. 
 
 LR to the eye, and sweet to taste. 
 Gifts promised, too, of wondrous power ! 
 Eve seized the fruit with trembling haste 
 
 And sought the spousal bower, 
 Where, when the morning breeze first broke 
 
 The silence of the moonlit night, 
 And every bird with song awoke 
 
 To greet the burst of light, 
 She left her Mate, their first repast 
 
 'Midst Eden's unforbidden stores 
 At will to seek ; her eye upcast 
 
 To those aethereal shores 
 Where dwelt the Messengers of Heaven 
 
 Watching the new created pair, 
 To whom the Almighty God had given 
 
 His choicest gifts and rare : 
 
THE FALL OF ADAM. 175 
 
 Free from all guilt she tripped along, 
 
 Through flowering mead and tuneful grove, 
 Her young heart pouring out in song 
 
 Its gratitude and love 
 To Him whose works of power and skill 
 
 Shone in the earth, and seas, and skies, 
 And rose, as yet unstained by ill, 
 
 Before her wondering eyes. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Sad contrast now, as she returned 
 
 With heavy step and slackened pace, 
 No more her buoyant spirit yearned 
 
 To meet her husband's face 
 With smiles and welcome radiant ; 
 
 Over her heart crept feelings strange, 
 Like mildew o'er the healthful plant, 
 
 And shuddered at the change ; 
 Those wandering eyes which late had vied 
 
 With the young planet's beauteous light, 
 Now sought each guilty glance to hide 
 
 In the deep shades of night. 
 
176 
 
 THE FALL OF ADAM. 
 
 The song of bird ceased suddenly ; 
 
 Withered each lovely flower away ; 
 The first storm hurtled in the sky ; 
 
 The first cloud veiled the day; 
 And who shall tell what sounds of grief 
 
 Echoed amidst the angelic host, 
 When Eve first plucked the fatal leaf 
 
 And innocence was lost ; 
 What shouts rose from the daemon guard 
 
 Who kept the fiery lakes below, 
 When the fair work of Heaven was marred 
 
 By His eternal foe. 
 
 in. 
 
 The evening breeze on balmy wing 
 
 Somewhile had cooled the noontide heat, 
 And the red sun was hastening 
 
 Towards his nightly seat ; 
 No more the new created pair, 
 
 Watching his glorious descent, 
 Hymned forth their songs and tuneful prayer ; 
 
 In shame and fear they went, 
 
THE FALL OF ADAM. 177 
 
 To hide them in some distant shade 
 
 From their offended Maker's sight ; 
 Vain hope was theirs, if to evade 
 
 Him, to Whom darkest night 
 Was as the sunny day. Anon, 
 
 They start to hear His voice well known, 
 Calling each terror stricken one 
 
 In deep and chiding tone 
 To come before Him who but he 
 
 Who falls beneath his first offence, 
 Knows the heart-rending agony 
 
 When early innocence 
 Is lost, and the first sin unmasked ; 
 
 The after-pangs grow weaker still, 
 As, day by day, the heart is tasked 
 
 To do the tempter's will. 
 Weak plea they offered for their sin, 
 
 His thought, perchance, whose flatteries 
 Had wrought such fearful change within 
 
 Those bowers of Paradise, 
 
 I 3 
 

 178 
 
 THE FALL OF ADAM. 
 
 Where now they tarry buf to learn 
 God's sentence given : " Dust ye are, 
 
 And unto dust shall ye return, 
 Through toil, and want, and care." 
 
179 
 
 NURSERY RHYMES. 
 
 I love these dear old songs, sweet thoughts they brin- 
 Of old familiar scenes, and faces dear 
 Of loved ones now in churchyard slumbering, 
 Whose souls, we hope, are in a happier sphere ; 
 My mother's tuneful voice seems echoing 
 With each remembered rhyme full in mine ear; 
 There sits my father full well pleased to hear 
 His little one catch up the jingling song 
 In mimicry. I cannot help this tear 
 My heart will burst if I restrain it long, 
 Whilst its affections seeking eagerly 
 For beacons such as these, which they may hold 
 As guides along the track of memory, 
 To those the spirit loves above all price of gold. 
 
180 
 
 SONNET. 
 I. 
 
 If thou art sad, seeing me sorrowful, 
 Then surely pity dwells thy breast within, 
 And pity, say they, is to love akin ; 
 Oh ! let me from that sweet hope solace cull: 
 And if such lovely kinsfolk do begin 
 To take possession of thy vacant heart, 
 Oh ! do not banish them away again, 
 But let them hold an undivided part; 
 Or else then suffer love to have chief reign, 
 And I will be thy servant and thy slave ; 
 Thine eyes look kindly, say not they belie 
 Their seeming nature, but their credit save, 
 Oh! quench not sweetest pity from thine eye; 
 Love me for pity's sake, and pity, else I die. 
 
181 
 
 SONNET. 
 II. 
 
 Of all sweet flowers is Katherine the sweetest ! 
 Of all bright gems is Katherine the brightest ! 
 Alas, that of all moments those are fleetest 
 When spent with those in whom thou most delightest 
 And Katherine to me is fairest, sweetest, dearest ; 
 I cannot mete by words my soul's devotion ; 
 Even the simple pleadings which thou hearest 
 Tremble upon my tongue with deep emotion, 
 Checking the stream within the heart's recesses 
 That floweth upwards to the lips, but meeting 
 With thy cold look which suddenly depresses 
 The rising tide, and sends it back repeating 
 (Yet only to itself) what it hath left unspoken, 
 And there it speaks aloud in eloquence unbroken. 
 
182 
 
 SONNET. 
 III. 
 
 At last the swelling torrents in my soul 
 Are settling down again in stiller course ; 
 It is not they have wasted all their force, 
 Or that the tides of love less deeply roll ; . 
 No, no, the winter frost-winds of despair 
 Are binding them in adamantine chains 
 Of an eternal ice ; a stillness reigns ; 
 But it is one of desolation there : 
 The buoyancy of youth is gone from thence, 
 And with it Hope hath fled, whose sickly lamp 
 Grew paler, for the Autumn mists were dense, 
 As Summer vanished in his merry tramp : 
 To me no Spring will rise with genial beam 
 To melt again the frozen waters of life's stream. 
 
183 
 
 SONNET. 
 IV. 
 
 Hope in my heart divideth sway with fear ; , 
 Sometimes her sunny rays are rich and full, 
 And bids my sadder spirit take some cheer ; 
 Songs chaunteth she so sweetly, which do lull 
 The senses into many a pleasant trance, 
 And on her placid stream the life-bark glides ; 
 Then the dark shadows of fell doubt advance, 
 Obscuring the bright waters where Hope rides : 
 The low winds moan and chiller grows the air ; 
 Anon, Hope ceaseth her delusive chaunts, 
 And veils her stars; then up from his dread haunts 
 Stride forth the daemon spirits of despair, 
 Blasting the flowers around, and poisoning 
 The dews and springs which give them nourishing. 
 
184 
 
 SONNET. 
 V. 
 
 I revel in the luxury of thought, 
 Which I may do, soaring from earth to heaven 
 Where e'er I list, and fetter'd down by nought 
 Of dull material form ; oh ! there is given 
 To some a power to lull themselves in dreams 
 Of pleasantrie, though all around them seems 
 Dark, tasteless, and brimful of torturing. 
 Plow strange it is that things which have no link 
 Between themselves, yet to our memory bring 
 Scenes, forms most cherished, sweetening, 
 Perchance, or else embittering the drink ; 
 E'en here, where no associations seem to lie, 
 Things do present themselves, which shew my eye 
 One form so idolised, on which I love to think. 
 
185 
 
 SONNET. 
 VI. 
 
 Alas ! when we do love, how slight a thing 
 Will pour into our hearts the dregs of sorrow ; 
 A word, a tone, a look, will often fling 
 A cloud upon those streams which only borrow 
 The sunshine from some momentary gleam 
 Which Hope sheds forth. It is a mystery, 
 A woman's heart ; for if awhile she seem 
 To let her tell-tale eyes unfold to thee 
 The secret of her heart, her tongue denies 
 What these confess; and thou art still in doubt 
 Or fear which check thy native energies, 
 And then each trifling circumstance without 
 Confirms the dark foreboding of the mind ; 
 The darkest overwhelming all Hope leaves behind. 
 
186 
 
 SONNET. 
 VII. 
 
 'Tis true, imagination painteth ills, 
 
 But she hath pleasures too, and in her own 
 
 Warm climes she reareth many flowers alone, 
 
 From whose rich scented blossoms she distils 
 
 A charmed potion, which the spirit drinks; 
 
 And eftsoon in a pleasant trance she sinks, 
 
 Dreaming of all she loves ; and sails along 
 
 As on a moonlit stream when sleeps the breeze ; 
 
 Nought heareth she, unless the heart's own song ; 
 
 Nought seeth she, but the fair sweet forms which 
 
 A golden sky fretted with stars of love ; 
 
 please ; 
 
 Nought feeleth but a sweet tranquillity 
 And glad contentment, such as Heaven above 
 Will yield to those who rightly live and rightly die. 
 
187 
 
 SONNET. 
 VIII. 
 
 I caught one glance of thee, and it awoke 
 The slumbering train of Hope, who for awhile 
 Fed high her meteor beams ; and as she broke 
 The midnight darkness in my soul, the smile 
 Of opening joys, as a fair summer's morn 
 Seemed dawning on me then. I know not how 
 Such strange delusion seized me, but if thou 
 Hast ever loved, with hopes like mine forlorn, 
 Thou well may'st know what joy it is to meet 
 The idol saint of thought and memory 
 As I met thee. I cannot tell thee why 
 Thine image takes its everlasting seat 
 Within my heart, but true it is, to thee 
 All thoughts will take their flight when I dare let them 
 free. 
 
188 
 
 SONNET. 
 IX. 
 
 Yes ! in each reverie, thou art the theme 
 In the fantastic visions of the sleep 
 Thou art the Fairy Queen with whom I seem 
 To hold sweet converse of the soul, and deep 
 Must be the impress thou hast made, to keep 
 The sway o'er those strange fancies ; for they say, 
 'Tis then the spirit calleth to her side 
 Those whom she cherishes, and sails away 
 In her own native colours, on a tide 
 Sunn'd by her own bright hopes. Day may unwind 
 Such sweet enchantment, and dull earth uprear 
 Forms which may fill the eye and dim the mind; 
 It is but few of these she holdeth dear, 
 But seeketh kindred spirits in another sphere. 
 
189 
 
 SONNET. 
 X. 
 
 The seeds of Love are thrown into our hearts, 
 We know not how, or why, by whom or whence 
 They come. Sometimes a quick intelligence 
 Between the meeting eyes of each impart 
 The bosom thoughts of one unto the other, 
 Betraying sympathies with one another ; 
 But if there be no mutual sympathy, 
 Love still is such a spiritual thing, 
 He will find light in dark uncertainty; 
 Rejoice when others would be sorrowing ; 
 Light up Hope's torch when others would despair ; 
 Feed on a look, and on a smile will thrive ; 
 For years, perchance, he'll sleep in his deep lair 
 As if forgot or dead, and then he will revive. 
 
190 
 
 SONNET. 
 XI. 
 
 If Memory were the vision of a dream 
 Alone, not of life's strong realities, 
 I could, perchance, put out the glimmering beam 
 Which ever and anon flits o'er the stream, 
 Tinted with Love and Hope's fond imageries; 
 But there's an essence in our minds defies 
 E'en the strong tyrant hand of circumstance, 
 Making a world within us which we prize 
 Beyond the world of our external glance ; 
 And there our own and dearest home we form 
 Gather the beings of our Spirit's choice, 
 To whom our pure affections deep and warm 
 Will fondly turn, and still despite the storm, 
 With those we most do love we seemingly rejoice. 
 
191 
 
 SONNET. 
 XII. 
 
 Well were it now that I unstring my lyre, 
 Since I to move thy heart have sung in vain, 
 For bards of richer and more brilliant fire 
 Have, like myself, chaunted their lonely strain ; 
 Murmur'd of broken hopes, and withered flowers ; 
 Writhed under unrequited love ; and striven 
 With feelings torn, and young affections driven 
 From dearest ties, and home's delightful bowers, 
 O'er disappointment's scathed and barren waste ; 
 Yes ! it is time to stop, there is within 
 My heart/as yet, a voice like one in haste 
 That telleth me of something yet to win ; 
 But ah ! my energies are faint and slow, 
 As manhood gathers up its weight of woe. 
 
192 
 
 t V. 
 
 RIGHT Royal Scion of a kingly line, 
 Well hast thou earned the laud of men and saints, 
 The sceptre of thy ancestors is thine. 
 Not by man's choice, but by the right divine ; 
 And thou dost spurn to wield it by such feints 
 As this all shallow-minded age would praise 
 As politic and wise. Far deeper ken 
 And purer faith directs thee still to raise 
 Thy proper hopes to Him, Who, not as men, 
 Sees the time's many changes, but doth guide 
 Events to their appointed ends ; and when 
 The principles of truth and right shall ride 
 Triumphant over false expedience, 
 Then wilt thou take thine own, tho' the time be far 
 hence. 
 
193 
 
 HO! EVERY ONE THAT THIRSTETII." 
 
 jHO may come 
 
 And drink of the eternal river 
 Flowing in yon' celestial home 
 Before the Almighty Giver ? 
 
 Merciful Heaven ! 
 
 Thou wouldest all should come ; 
 To all the boon is freely given ; 
 
 Silver nor gold we need. 
 
 The Spirit and the Bride, 
 
 And he that hears, say, ( come and taste ;' 
 Shall he that thirsteth turn aside 
 
 Whilst the stream runs to waste ? 
 
 Which is the way ? 
 
 'Tis through yon' straight and narrow gate ; 
 If few do find it, yet all may ; 
 
 Knock, enter ere it be too late. 
 
 K 
 
194 
 
 |HE tears of life grow cold 
 As manhood getteth old 
 Hope sliming in spring-time, 
 Also in summer's clime, 
 So warmeth with her beams 
 Those brief and passing streams 
 Falling in youth's gay hours, 
 That fair and scented flowers 
 Spring thick and fast and sweet 
 Beneath its dancing feet. 
 
 But when the Summer waneth, 
 Hope, false one ! ever feigneth 
 A sickness at the heart, 
 And sigheth to depart 
 For some yet untried soil, 
 Where she may have less toil 
 To raise her flowers again ; 
 For thicker falls the rain, 
 When Summer is quite gone 
 And Winter draweth on. 
 
THE TEARS OF LIFE GROW COLD. 195 
 
 The hearts which she hath left 
 Of her bright smile bereft, 
 Will see on their dull shore 
 Those flowers and fruits no more, 
 For as earth's sorrows press 
 Tears from each deep recess, 
 In icy streams these come 
 To the spirit's very home, 
 And in their chilly flood 
 Kill every young bud. 
 
 Flowers will no longer grow, 
 Or growing, will not blow, 
 Or blowing, will not bear, 
 So with'ring is the air ; 
 And each remaining seed 
 Is washed away indeed, 
 Which might have lived to shed 
 Some halo o'er the bed, 
 Where all now rest in sleep, 
 Unbroken lone and deep. 
 
196 
 
 TO A THRUSH SINGING ON NEW YEAR'S DAY. 
 
 jH Y art thou singing, little bird ? 
 
 Winter is not departed, 
 Not a flower from the ground hath stirred, 
 Nor Spring on her gay course started. 
 
 The Sun cometh o'er the hill, 
 
 And danceth upon the river ; 
 But the flowers and trees are leafless still, 
 
 And the cold winds make us shiver. 
 
 But sing, for thy life is brief, 
 
 And thy heart is free from sorrow ; 
 
 Thou never dreamest of grief 
 That awaits thee on the morrow. 
 
 The song in thy little throat 
 
 Is the truest harmony ; 
 The art of man hath not changed a note, 
 
 It is full, it is clear, it is free. 
 
TO A THRUSH, &C. 197 
 
 Man when he wakes at dawn 
 
 Toils thro' the day in sadness, 
 At night he may sit forlorn, 
 
 And his dream may end in madness. 
 
 But thy heart is free from dread, 
 
 And thy mates will ne'er forsake thee, 
 
 The bright red holly curtains thy head, 
 And the songs of the rill awake thee 
 
 Then warble on, sweet bird ; 
 
 Thy mellow notes come o'er me 
 Like songs in my childhood heard, 
 
 Ere the storm-clouds rolled before me. 
 
 K3 
 

 198 
 
 IN 
 
 M. M. M. 
 
 |ALE is thy cheek and brow, 
 
 Oh very pale ; those lips where hung 
 Sweet kisses, cold and white are now ; 
 
 All silent is the tongue 
 Which called to me in tones so kind, 
 
 I ne'er again shall hear such spoken ; 
 Sure, seven and thirty years will bind 
 Ties not soon broken. 
 
 And yet how tranquilly and calm 
 
 Thou waitest for the hour to part ; 
 Hast Thou, in mercy, poured thy balm, 
 
 Oh Father ! in that lov'd one's heart ? 
 Hear us, O King of Kings, 
 
 And let thy blessed angels come 
 With Christ's salvation on their wings 
 
 To bear her to her heavenly home. 
 
199 IN M. M. M. 
 
 Oh my mother ! 
 
 Dread of this hour hath haunted me 
 Long, long ago, when I did smother 
 
 The immediate poignancy, 
 Because I then could feel 
 
 Thou still wer't near, and I could run 
 Into thy very arms, or kneel 
 
 Whilst thou didst bless thy son ; 
 Aye, and my heart would leap 
 
 With joy to hear thy voice the same 
 As when it lull'd me to my sleep 
 
 Ere I could lisp thy name. 
 
200 
 
 SONG. 
 
 JAY that I am a rover bold, 
 
 And have sighed for many a flower ; 
 That the tale of love has been often told, 
 Or I changed it every hour; 
 
 I have broken vow nor faith with none, 
 I have ne'er left one to weep ; 
 
 If the flame of love was a lonely one, 
 'Twas better to let it sleep, 
 
 Than to wear away life's summer years 
 
 In a solitary dream, 
 Or to fill me a cup of bitter tears, 
 
 When around was a glorious beam. 
 
 When I give my heart and another take, 
 
 It will be a gift for ever ; 
 The vows I plight I shall never break, 
 
 The chain only death will sever. 
 
SONG. L'Ol 
 
 But the gift must be to that one form 
 
 In the sainted throng I cherish ; 
 It hath hovered around in sheen and storm ; 
 
 Its memory ne'er will perish. 
 
202 
 
 "THE END IS NOT YET." 
 
 [NOTHER storm within thy fold 
 
 And bitter foes without ; 
 Thy sister hostile, as of old, 
 Raising her trumpet-shout 
 To urge them on ; sure, perils frown 
 
 All darkly on thee now, 
 Soon must thou wear the martyr's crown 
 Upon thy glorious brow. 
 
 Oh Bridegroom of the stricken Bride ! 
 
 Stretch forth thy mighty arm 
 In love, and let her safely hide 
 
 Free from the threatened harm ! 
 Oh pour into her bleeding wounds 
 
 The balm of charity ! 
 Soften these wild discordant sounds, 
 
 And change the angry cry! 
 
203 
 
 WAIL is echoing in our ears 
 
 From many a sister land ; 
 The chief who erst in Heaven's own spheres 
 First marshall'd forth his angel peers 
 
 In rebel league to stand, 
 Waves his dark wings triumphantly 
 
 Whilst havoc and distress grow rife, 
 Deeming his own dominion nigh 
 As wider spreads the strife. 
 
 Is this a time to be at ease 
 
 Within our England's Isle ? 
 Dare we to say, ' no sounds are these 
 
 To chase away the smile 
 Upon each joyous brow, or stay 
 
 The speculating scheme ; 
 Let youth have out his holiday, 
 
 Man reap his golden dream;' 
 
204 
 
 UPON THE EARTH, &C." 
 
 Or say we, that our lamps are trimm'd, 
 
 Whene'er the Bridegroom calls, 
 His name and praise are ever hymn'd 
 
 In all our cots and halls ; 
 Righteous are we in thought and deed, 
 
 The purest faith we keep, 
 His favored children we, nor need 
 
 We fear to take our sleep ? 
 
 We flutter in broad sheen and glare, 
 
 We think it is the light, 
 Around our paths lie pit and snare 
 
 Scarce hidden from our sight ; 
 With ears all deaf, and mote in eye, 
 
 We hasten to the goal, 
 Blind leading blind, until the die 
 
 Is cast beyond control. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 in- o. PHIPPS, RAMI.M.H 
 
 E\TON SQUARE. 
 
11 i fc 
 
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