4815?iiii!!iiii!iii i i 7 littiiiiili liiiiiiiitiiiiiuiiiiiiui !l :i*i lllli i i-, \" t j; I: 1; :!i 1 , ' 1 ' 1 n THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES u^- /2 8'! -A > C iU^j • ^-^^^ <^ .^2^t /(,c^^^ L SANDAL I N T 11 K O I. D E N i' I M E. SANDAL THE OLDEN TIME HISTORICAL POEM, 11 Y THE AUTHOi; OF "a TUAVELLtR's THOUGHTS*', "THE VICTIM", ETC. LONDON; LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS. 18 3 9. RIl riAUD MCH0L5, TYroGRATHER, M'AI'SFIIiLD. f l\ A D V E R T I S E iM E N T 852866 A U VERTI SE M E NT. Ik the Author of " Sandal in tuf. Olokn TiMr." should have succeeded in interweaving' a wliolesoine moral with the narrative herein contained, and at the same time have proved instrununtal in raising from unmerited obscu- rity, or in vesting' with an additional interest^ the neglected luin in his own immediate neighbourliood, he will have performed more than his most sanguine expeclalion could have led him to anticipate. CONTENTS CONTENTS. CANTO r. THE PROPHECY. CANTO II. . THE harper's tale. CANTO III. THE CONFLAGRATION. CANTO IV. BATTLE OF WAKEFIELD. C A N T O V. THE SIEGE. C A N T O V I . SANDAL CASTLE IN RUINS HISTORICAL NOTES SANDAL I .V THE O L D E N T I M E CAN T O I SANDAL IN THE OLDEN TIME. CANTO I. 'Twas morn — a summer's sun shone bright, O'er Sandal's green and thick-set wood;' The Castle, bathed in floods of light, Above the forest proudly stood ; The chequered flag of Warren's Earl Hung listless in the stilly air ; The dubious smoke, with gentle curl. Rose in the sky and lingered there ; The rooks aloft were wheeling round The topmost boughs in rapid flight; Their voices mingling with the sound Of murmuring streams — now gleaming bright B 10 SAND A I. 1 N I' II K In sunshine o'er smooth pebbles spread — Now hiding in their deeper bed. Full thickly gemmed with glittering dew Was hill, and dale, and spangled yew ; The yellow furze, the scented thorn, Breathed incense to the rising morn; A mist hung still o'er Calder's stream, V And tracked his many winding source, Where far away a struggling beam Of silvery light pursued its course, By fits around some distant oar, That woke the waters near his shore. II. Such was the morn, when through the glade, A palfrey hied, whereon there rode In dark green suit, a lovely maid. And by her side twin pages strode ; The maid looked sad, and in her eye Stood tears, and oft she heaved a sigh, And fearful glanced on Sandal's tower. OLDEN TIME. 11 One might, in gazing on her face, A more than common sadness trace, 'Twas not the anguish of an hour, No — years of mingled wrong and scorn From one she loved, and loves, had worn The settled stamp of inward woe. That tinged with grief her youthful brow. But who is she, whose humble train Approach De Warren's proud domain ? Whose tearful eye, and suppliant mien, And palid brow of beauty rare, So sweetly sad, so passing fair, Would melt an adamant, I ween : Say, who is she ? what boon is her's ? 'Tis Joan-de-Barr, Earl Warren's bride,* Though wed, has known but widowed years, Now seeks her lord, and by his side, Claims once again his plighted love : Nor wrongs — nor threats — nor fears remove Her troth once pledged — unchanged through life, through weal and woe, De Warren's wife. B 2 12 S A N D A L I N T II E III. Full now in sight the castle lay ; Her steed has clonib the winding way, And halts before the massive gate; The pages knock, and as he sate, The warder peeped with wistful eye, At lady, palfrey, page, and boy. Though dim with age, he could descry His long-lost mistress — scarce for joy, His trembling hand unloosed the bar — " God bless my lady Joan !" quoth he, " God bless old Richard !" answered she, Then turned to hide a starting tear. The portal passed— the draw-bridge gained, And reached the court— her steed is reined. A crowd of menials stepping through, She straightway asks for Father Hugh. (Now father Hugh was saint and priest, An ancient man by all obeyed. Save by De Warren — he at least A kind of dubious reverence paid.) It happ'd the Earl with hounds and men. O I. D E N r I W K . 1 3 To chase the wild roe from her glen, Had sallied forth at early dawn. As Joan and Hugh in parley stood Within the hall in earnest mood, Jaded the Baron homeward hied, With stricken red-deer at his side, And briskly wound his bugle horn. IV. The bars rolled back — the tramp of horse Falls on the sullen towers. And steeds within to steeds without Neigh shrill — the drawbridge lowers ; With heavy tread, and winding course. They gain the castle's central force ; The grooms dismount with utmost speed, And seize De Warren's smoking steed ; The Earl alights, and in the rout O'erlooks the page and palfrey grey. Who wait without the lady's stay ; To none he speaks, but bends his way. By chance within, where Hugh and Joan Are still discoursing all alone. 14 S A N D A L I N T H E V. With less of hope, and more of fear, Her lieart beats high as he draws near ; Prostrate she falls with eyes cast down, And proffers thus her humble boon — " Time was — and love shall ne'er forget, " When thou a willing suppliant stood, " And knelt to me with humble suit : " I chose thee 'mid the glittering crowd, " Who swore their hearts, their swords, were mine : " We vowed eternal love, but thine " Scarce lasted through the honey-moon : " My wrongs thou know'st full well — my boon, " Is that thou wilt not break the tie, " That heaven has blest, and earth must keep, " Till thou and I in dust shall sleep, " Or wake to immortality. " I love thee still — my heart is true " As when I breathed the marriage vow — " Thy Joan has come in tears to sue " That thou wilt raise her pallid brow ; " And — if she ne'er may dream of love, " That thou at least wilt let her bear O L D E N T 1 M E. 15 " The chain she vowed in youth to wear; " And this is all she asks, to prove " That ills on ills are nought to her, " If this last link thou wilt not tear !" She paused awhile, then weeping turned Her e\e oi his, whose dark glance burned. VI. They met — and Warren's haughty brow Had gathered gloom, foreboding ill The guilty purpose of his Will, His stony heart had ceased to flow With aught towards her of kindliness, And softened not at her distress. Her words were idly lost in air, Unheeded fell each burning tear ; With sullen frown of cold disdain, And coming wrath, the Earl replies, " 'Tis useless, Joan, 'tis most unwise — " To thv^-art my firm resolve were vain — " This hour we part — and never more " Recross the threshold of mv door 16 SANDAI, INTHK " On pain of death !" The Baron ceased, And turned to go, when thus the priest Spoke as he caught his flowing vest : " I tell thee, Earl ! thou shalt not shun " The curse of sin — the fire of hell, " If bent upon thine evil will, " Such mighty crime as this be done. " There lurk beneath thy moody brow, " Yet darker — deadlier deeds, I trow : " Thy word recall — or blasted be, " For this, I vow, is heaven's decree, " That none shall live of Surrey's line — " De Warren's name shall cease Avith thine !' " Avaunt ! thou dotard ! cease to rave, " Or all thy priestcraft shall not save " Thy lying throat ! — Guards ! drag him out," " And bear the lady to her steed ; " Haste ! set them forth beyond the moat, " Obey ! or die ! 'tis vain to plead !" O L D E N T I M E . 17 VII. Joan strives lo speak — but strives in vain, Thick darkness clouds her 'vvildered brain ; Her pallid cheek now deeply flushed, Grows eloquent, though speech be hushed ; Her heart is broke — her hopes are crushed ! The word is passed — the guai-ds obey, And priest, and Joan, and palfrey grey, Pass through the court, and bend their way 'Neath portal arch — nor once they stay To bid adieu — the gates are closed With boding sound — the draw-bridge raised, And they are wanderers in the wide Untravelled world with none beside. VIII. Earl Henry's daughter, faithful still Through every change of hate and ill, Divorced — expelled by dire command — Banished for aye from house and land, A crime so foul in face of heaven, 18 SANDAL IN THE And yet by her pure heart forgiven ! She seeks in some lone cloister's shade, The peace that virtue's self hath made, A holier hope — a brighter crown. Than pomp bestows, or world's renown ; For there within her cell. Religion on the mourner steals, And stills her transports as she kneels ; And calms her bosom's swell ; So gently smooths the bed of death, By glimpse of heaven, and eye of faith. That Sorrow's child may sink to rest, With smiles upon Religion's breast. IX. But where is he, whose ruthless heart From spouse like faultless Joan could part ? Within his now deserted hall. He paces to and fro, and fraught With bitter care and wrinkled thought. His sullen brow : his footsteps fall In echoes round the naked wall ; OLDEN TIME. 19 He stays to list — but all is still — Again thought seeks her busy cell, And step by step he wanders on, Till echo wakes — then starts anon — Looks back — but there, nor sight, or sound Of others' tread than his is found ; Again he paces on — with low Deep — hurried speech his accents flow — " So far so good — for quit of both, " I now am free — I should be loath " To stain my favor with the king, "Or with the world — but now can bring " In aid the holy Port's divorce, " Which cannot be o'erturned by force, " By fraud, or evil calumny ; " And more — thank heaven ! I too am free " From Palmer Hugh, whose province seemed " To thwart each pleasant plot I schemed, ' For, rating at my sinful life, " My gayest moments soured with strife. " But now these walls contain no spy " Upon mine hours of privacy. 20 S A N D A L I N T H !•; " Fve led a pretty life, in sootli, " 'Twixt priestly cant, and slander's tooth, " They've well nigh lied my breath away ! " Indulgences are dear to pay, " And may be spared — for now there's none " Will bring my foibles to the sun, " Or threat to publish tales abroad, " That would not with good fame accord. " So far so good — curse on the priest ! " Methinks his malediction still " Is boding in mine ears of ill, " I know not what be heaven's behest — " That none shall live of Surrey's line ; " That Warren's name shall cease with mine " Were strange, I ween, for sons I have, " As tall, as strong, as stout, as brave, "As Britons need to be, and save " They were not born in wedlock, they " Are scions worthy of their sire ; " The king consents to my desire, " That birth shall not oppose the way *' To their inheritance of all O L D F, N T I M i; . -2 I " The lands I hold, and titles claim, "As true descended heirs the same, " When life and right from me shall fall ; " So far so good — then let him rave " Of Warren's Earldom in the grave ! " To-night San Martin comes — to night ^ " He journeys in the clear moon light, "From CoNiNGSBURG, by covert way;* " Till midnight chimes from Sandal's tower, " He lurks within the woody bower, " The signal given the guards obey — " Ho ! there ! (I'll charge my trusty men) — , rn • 1 -nr i i • • [Soldiers enter.] " To-night san Martin and his train, " Some half score horsemen less or more, " Will entrance seek at midnight hour. " The watchword, none — the signal blow " Repeated thrice, will plainly show ; " Admit them all — mark well the hour, " As midnight chimes from Sandal's tower, [Soldiers exit.] Save by mishap the scheme o'erthrown, « c " San Martin will not come alone. '22 SANDAL IN T II R O I. D K N F 1 I\I F) De Warren thus disclosed apart Tlie working of his impious heart. X. From out his southern bower, the sun Proclaimed earth's breathless hour of noon, When hardy tillers of the soil Repose their weary limbs awhile. And share the meal made sweet by toil, Beneath some cool refreshing shade, The nearest sheltering bough has made. Such was the hour, in times gone by, (When nobles rose at break of day, Or men of high or low degree Alike beheld morn's glories shine) That prince and serf were wont to dine. With sparkling wine and dainty fare The banquet board was spread, As Warren's Earl was seated there. And on his venison fed. The minstrel's harp was heard to chime. And these the words he wove in rhyme, To please the ear, and wile the time. CANTO II. CANTO II THE harper's tale, I. 'Tis midnight now, and Kirby's feudal walls, Lie mute and spell-bound in the charm of sleep, Light visions walk on tip-toe, through the halls, Or round each dreamer's head their vigils keep. Yet ever changing as their shape appals, Or charms fantastic till he smile or weep, Passing from couch to couch throughout the night, As sleep reveals them in her magic light. c 26 SANDALINTHB II The last lliat lingers in the ivy tower, And half illumes the gothic wilderness, Why glimmers still yon lamp in Laura's bower? Say, has her wonted sleep refused to bless? Say, does she watch at this lone midnight hour, While all around their downy pillows press: Her bower is still — there moves no light foot there — She sleeps — but Oh! how strange her 'wildered air. III. Flung idly on her couch — undoffed her vest, She wears the garment that she wore by day; A diamond sparkles as up-heaves her breast. Her jetty hair is braided still and gay. With pearls, and gems, and scented white-rose dressed: She looks a may-queen — woodland nymph — or fay. Flushed with the dance, reposing for a while, But on her parted lip there dwells no smile 5 IV. Lo! how she gasps, and shudders as she sleeps. Then sighs and sobs, and mutters in her dream; OLDENTIME. 27 And now a livid paleness o'er her creeps, Startled she utters forth a stifled scream, A chill in drops upon her forehead weeps, Convulsed with terror all her members seem, With one last pang, her snowy bosom quakes— Tis passed — from out her dream she struggling wakes. V. '"Tis gone! O God! that more than dream is gone, " Methougljt the world was changed — the sky o'erhung " With spiders'-webs, yet all gigantic grown, '' From star to star their slimy net-work hung " Down to earth's centre, where I stood alone, "While o'er my head a myriad reptiles swung, "And wove incessant at their thickning toils. Till 1 was captured in their loathsome coils. (( r VI. " Methought they laughed like demons at my pain, "And wound me closer in their deadly snare; "'But one there was, the Monarch of the train, "Peered forth from out his den with hellish glare; c 2 28 SANDALINTHE " I sought to shun liis red eye, but in vain, "'Tvvas fixed upon nie — ceaseless every where; "Then stealing down from out his hidden nest, "The hideous monster slid upon my breast. VII. "My life blood curdled, and my heart stood still; " I felt the cold dead weight that on me lay, "And now my veins seemed flowing like a rill, "Each sense grew numb, then slowly ebbed away, " Ev'n as the monster sucked his gory fill, " Nor blenched, nor moved from off his wretched prey: "1 saw him watch me with his blood red eye — " 1 strove to perish, but I could not die ! VIII. " Methought when pulse, and breath, and hope were passed, " I lay a living corpse, an age or more, " But deemed in vain each moment was the last : "The monster revelled on, and drank my gore " Unceasingly, and grew more hugely vast, " Draining the last drop from my dead-heart's core, OLDENTIME. 29 " And when that drop was passed, he fiercely shook "My shrunk and bloodless corpse, and I awoke." IX. Then Laura rose, and trimmed her wasted lamp, But drew her breath all heavily and fast. And smoothed her raven hair, and wiped the damp, Which in that vision o'er her white brow passed ; And still there dwelt upon her face the stamp That fear had impressed once, and could not cast Away, and yet there seemed a struggling smile Chasing the tear-drops as she spoke the while. X. " 'Twas but a dream ! — is this an hour for dreams ? "I little recked to sleep on such a night, "For ere the East with coming daylight gleams, " 1 flee with Godfrey through the dusky light, " And cross the moorlands, and the mountain streams, "On steed like lightning arrow'y and bright, "Then gain the Border ere the sun go down, "Where Hymen need not fear a father's frown. 30 SANDALINTHK XL " Oh Love ! why is it that thy subtle guile " Should tempt me thus to break a sire's command ? " Oh I ever have I shared a father's smile, "And met a daughter's welcome at his hand, "But now — ungrateful grown — I seek to pile " A heap of curses, numberless as sand, " Upon my head, and anguish on his own : "Shall Laura's sire his daughter's face disown? XIL "And must it be ? I pledged my guilty word, "In that frail moment when my heart was weak, "I owned but Godfrey for my future lord: "It must be so — that vow I will not break — "The stars bore witness, and the night breeze heard, "And creeping listened as my Godfrey spake "Love's witching words, the promise of our bliss, "And sealed their softness with his parting kiss. XIIL "Yon stars now linger on the sleeping lake — "The East as yet betrays no glimpse of morn — OLDENTIME. 31 " Yet night wears on — but should ray father wake, ''And seize the fugitives in wrath and scorn ? " Oh think ! I tremble for my lover's sake — "Yes! blood must flow ere Laura's arms be torn *' From his, he holds me dearer than his life, " He vows to win, or perish in the strife. XIV. "My sire! — ray sire! — 1 durst not think of him — " His life — Oh God ! then may he still sleep on, " But when his eye with tears at morn grows dim, " Grieves that his daughter thus in stealth hath gone ; " Kate too will weep, and seek to solace him ; " He will not mourn for Laura quite alone ; " I was not wont to disobey his word, " He will not hate me though his wrath be stirred ; XV. " He will not hate me for my mother's sake, " He will forgive, and Oh ! may he forget, " Back to his heart this erring bosom take, "And fondly, freely, call me daughter yet; 32 S A N D A T, I N T H E " Yes ! I will strive atonement still to make, " Ere strength shall fail him, and his bright sun set ; "And Godfrey too, when once his heart is won, " Shall far surpass in tenderness a son." XVI. She snatched her lamp, and softly as a cloud, Passed to her sister's chamber o'er the floor. Where Kate lay sleeping in her spotless shroud ; Shielding the light she gently op'ed the door, And found her dreaming, for she laughed aloud As Laura stood, and viewed her o'er and o'er, Smiling unconscious of her sister's fate. Whose tears fell warm upon the cheek of Kate. XVII. " Thy dream is joyous — how unlike to mine, " Sweet child of innocence, and mirth, and glee ! "Oh! for a heart as free from care as thine, " From pain, from dread, as spotless and as free ! " Sleep on, my sister ! ever round thee shine "The light that guides to peace and purity, " Sleep on, thou seraph ! I was once as thou — " Alas ! how strangely — sadly altered now ! O L D E N T 1 M E . 33 XVIII. "When day shall dawn, and thy blue eyes unclose, " To greet with rapture morning's purple light, "And thou arise all beauteous as the rose, " Fresh with the fragrance of a dewy night, "To wake thy sister from her soft repose, " Alas ! what then shall meet thine aching sight ? "My bower deserted — and my sire in tears — " The earliest anguish of thine infant years ! XIX. " Yes ! thou wilt weep who scarce hast wept before ; "Then must I drive the dimple from the cheek "That knew not sorrow had one grief in store ? "And must the voice in tearful accents speak, " Whose gay tone carolled as when sky-larks soar " The fount of heaven and happiness to seek ? " Yes I thou wilt weep for me, but not for aye, "From thy young heart the sting will pass away. XX. "The gem thou loved'st most my gift shall be, " 1 leave enclosed with this small lock of hair, 34 SANDALINTHE "At vvaldng they will prove nay love to thee: " Farewell — sweet Kate ! and must I leave thee there ? " I know those cherub lips will plead for me, " And they a father's kiss shall love and share, "A father's blessing thou shalt live to find, "These tears are thine — no — his I leave behind." XXI. She turned away with many a look and sigh, But paused an instant as she crossed the floor, And lingering listened, though she knew not why. Unless she feared to pass her father's door, When twice there issued forth a seeming cry Of "Laura! Laura!" but she heard no more, And yet it struck like lightning through her frame, She deemed that voice was his that breathed her name. xxu. With trembling feet she reached her dim-lit bower. Her heart high beating like a wave of ocean ; Each tardy moment nearer brought the horn- That flushed her cheek and breast with wild emotion ; O L D li N T I M E . 35 And oft she looked from out her gothic tower, Until the East grew grey — an indication Of brighter beams that usher in the dawn — Hark ! 'tis the signal — Godfrey's distant horn ! XXIII. How Love can waft the lightest sound in air ! '•Tis Godfrey's horn 1" — and Laura quits her bower, And now her small feet softly tread the stair ; (Borne on Love's pinions, guided by his power. What deed too great for woman's soul to dare ?) A moment swung her from her father's tower, A little moment — silenced all alarms. For where was Laura ? — clasped in Godfrey's arms ! XXIV. The early mist long lingered round the wall Of old Lord Marmaduke's ancestral pile ; A mingled mass — half castle and half hall, Rose by enchantment of the morning's smile, Arches and battlements, and turrets tall. All richly fretted in the olden style, 3G S A N D A L I N T H E Full many a tower with ivy overrun, And latticed window glittering in the sun. XXV. Blithe Morn awoke, and with the morn the Earl, Who loved the first fresh incense of the day, When dew-drops sparkle, and light vapours curl From out the mountain streams and steal away; When all the balmy flowers their buds unfurl ; When woodland songsters tune their matin lay. Start into music in their bridal bovver; Oh I Earth looks loveliest in her waking hour ! XXVI. The Earl arose long ere his sluggish hinds, And took his wonted stroll 'neath Kirby's tower, And marvelled much, that dangling in the winds, There hung all knotted down from Laura's bower, Mantle and scarf of varied hues and kinds, In one long streamer reaching from the floor ; But when he saw small footprints underneath. Flashed on his 'wildered brain the fearful truth. O L D E N T I M E . 37 XXVII. He rushed into her bower — but found her not — He called — but Echo answered him again — He summoned all his menials to the spot, He queried — swore — and threatened them in vain, For none were traitors in the hidden plot. " To horse ! to horse ! away ! and scour the plain !" Then steeds rushed clattering through the portal wide, All Kirby's huntsmen thronged their master's side. XXVIIT. The Earl rode foremost on his gallant grey, Swift as a tempest in its mad career; Steed after steed dashed on his headlong way, While many a shrill neigh broke upon the ear, As one by one they joined the bright array. Prancing and snorting as the huntsmen cheer ; Old Kirby's walls fling back the stirring sound Of tramping courser, and deep baying hound. XXIX. They're gone, but who is she who gazes yet, Though horse and hound have vanished from her view? 38 s A N D A L I N T rr R Her cheeks are pale, hev soft blue eyes are wet With tears that sparkle as the morning dew, Ringing her little hands in sorrow set, The sweetest victim anguish ever knew, Too still for passion, and too mild for hate. How eloquent thy grief, alas 1 poor Kate ! XXX. She turned away, and sobbed, and wept aloud. Then hid her little face in her small hands. While the bright golden ringlets o'er them flowed, In clusters breaking from their ribbond bands; Her grief grew full — upon the earth she bowed. An infant captive striving with her bonds, Her thoughts too sad for lips like hers to tell ; Her heart seemed bursting in iis narrow cell. XXXI. Awhile she knelt till nature found a vent. And then she breathed her woes in broken prayer ; Kind heaven had pity as she lisping sent Her Child's petition for a Father's care ; OLDEN TIME. 39 Her sobs were hushed, and then her tears were blent With looks more placid, and a thoughtful air, That dwelt upon her face as she arose. The trace without the anguish of her woes. XXXII. But where are they whose flight had drawn those tears? Say, where were Laura and her dashing Knight? Fair Eve her garb of solemn twilight wears. Yet Kirby's fleet steeds come not back with night; 'Tis strange — 'tis sad — nor hound, or horse appears, Are not the fugitives o^ erta'en in flight ? Alas! for one lies bleeding on the ground. While Godfrey strives in vain to staunch her wound. XXXIII. Her steed fell headlong in his full career, And dashed his hoof, on Laura's tender breast. And yet she lived awhile in pain and fear, Her cold cheek trembling, to her lover's pressed ; Her eyes were fixed in one long vacant stare, The deep emotion of her heart confessed; 40 SANDALINTIIE Her wound tho' mortal seemed a lesser pang, Her's was the anguish of a Father's wrong. XXXIV. But as she lay upon the soft green sward, A Huntsman's bugle sounded from afar, By fits a blood-hound's deep-mouthed bay was heard, And Godfrey's courser, pricked his listening ear. "He comes ! thy Sire !" when Laura heard that word, As aspens quiver, so she shook with fear, Her eye awaking from its deadly trance, Shot restless lightnings in its liquid glance. XXXV. "My Daughter!" and he saw the welling blood. Gush from life's fountain in her tender side; "My bleeding daughter!" and transfixed he stood, To mark the ebbing of that purple tide: The truth seemed spoken in the wider flood, Wherein her steed in death lay gasping wide - " My dying daughter ! freely I forgive ! " Those words but spoken, and she ceased to live. OLDEN TIME. 41 XXXVI. But ere her spirit passed, her sire's last words Lit all her features with a smile of love; She died in peace, and though her spirit erred, « Pardon was her's in this world and above ; Altho' no prayer upon her pale lip stirred. Her eye waxed bright, and eloquent to prove. Her heart's soft language had not breathed in vain, For death seera'd reft of terror, doubt and pain. XXXVIT. Pardon was hers — the longing of her soul. Its last sweet solace ere it soared above ; Through death and pain a gleam of brightness stole. And hailed forgiveness, and a father's love. As lightnings speed them to their distant goal, So Laura cast one parting glance to prove, Her heart was his on whom her cold cheek lay. Her last kiss breathing as she passed away. XXXVIII. Father and lover stood — amazed — transfixed — Godfrey hung speechless o'er his perished all — 42 SANDALINTHE His love was passion — and his woe unmixed With one sweet drop to drug the bitter gall, On him the curse — the guilt — the deed was fixed — On him — for ever ! Heaven be merciful ! He spoke — but Laura answered not again, His grief grew wild, and phrenzy seared his brain. XXXIX. Remorse has chains that penitence may wear, But love is life, and when its hope is gone, The heart has nought remaining but despair, Till crazed, and then its shattered form lives on, A wreck that none can save, and none repair. Such was poor Godfrey ere the morning shone, And such he lingered to his latest breath. Then sank a maniac in the arms of death. XL. The Earl survived — for Kate was his support : Oft would they scatter flowers on Laura's tomb. Day after day her grave was their resort. Till time by slow degrees wore off his gloom ; L D E N T I M E. 43 And though his aspect seemed of graver sort, There was too much of fragrance in her bloom Shed o'er his path to leave his soul in grief, Kate's winning playfulness was his relief. END OF CANTO SECOND. u'2 CANTO III. CzVNTO III. I. The minstrel ceased, and round the wall His last faint echoes feebly fall ; With harp in hand he rose to go, Obeisance made, then tottering, slow- He bent his way from out the hall. II. Noon beckoned Eve, and Eve called Night, And Night brought stars like diamonds bright, And set them round the fading sky, A blest — a countless company. 48 S A N D A L 1 N T II E Disrobed of fleecy shroud, Of halo, mist, or cloud, Pale Dian shone with raptured eye, Arrayed in vestal purity. Oh ! 'twas a rare — a heavenly sight. To watch the clear unearthly light R,e-mantle in that peaceful hour. Or hill, or dale, or stream, or tower ; In fainter glories half revealed, A world at rest in slumber sealed — A world at rest — for care and pain Had fled to sleepless climes again, Till morrow's dawn, and slumber's flight, Dissolve the magic trance of night. Oh ! why should sin still linger where There's not a home for pain and care ? Oh ! why should sin alone remain, Of all earth's dark and deadly train, To work beneath so fair a face Man's lasting ruin and disgrace ? 111. Amidst his various deeds of ill. The Earl had ta'en against her will, OLDENTIME. 49 By force or fraud of San Martin, (A subtle man and near of kin) The Countess fair of Lancaster, In Reigate Castle holding her. Her injured lord had straightway sent Commands, that on a certain night A chosen band well armed for fight, De Warren's Earldom north of Trent, Should waste — he little deemed so near. The vengeance of that haughty peei*. IV. Hark '• slowly peals from Sandal's tower The midnight chimes — the signal hour — Listl they come — they come — once — twice — thrice — The portal rings — then open flies. An ag'd — and now a youthful knight. With half score horsemen gleaming bright In polished cuirass, quick alight. And straightway quit their smoking steeds ; The elder then the younger leads, Who stranger seems to all around ; 50 SANDALINTHE With eyes cast down he scans the ground, And shuns all converse from without, His step betrays or fear, or doubt ; The other of most hideous mien, With crooked shank, and savage grin, And form distorted, hunchback, lean. Proclaims him Richard San Martin. V. The lamps shone bright, and either guest. With choicest wines, and meats was pressed ; As Bacchus circled round the feast. With every cup constraint decreased ; Nor young nor old had doffed as yet. His iron mail, or burnished helm. Whose massive weight might well o'erwhelm. San Martin first, o'ercome by heat, Unarmed — his visage gaunt and grim. So foully writhed — so rudely scarred, With grizly chin, like bearded pard. And neck awry — each tortured limb, More hideous than when closely steeled, Was now in naked guise revealed. O L D E N T 1 M E . 51 The youthful knight looked wistful round, Then cast his armour on the ground, When Lo ! instead of youthful knight, A youthful dame confessed the light ! Her hair fell dangling, curled, and bright, O'er glowing cheeks with blushes dight ; The Earl looked pleased, and told the dame. Her fence of steel but ill became A form so soft — a face so fair, Then raised his cup — and pledging her. Drank to the "Countess Lancaster." VI. The words scarce uttered when a cry, Rung through the castle wild and high ; As dread unbid took place of mirth, The cup scarce tasted sank to earth ; And guest and host in wondering stare. Astounded heard those cries of fear. Till shriek on shriek rose higher and higher. At length proclaimed the pile on fire. With breathless haste the news is brought, 52 SANDALINTHE That tower and battlement are wrought In fierce devouring flames ; And round about the cirding moat, As breaks the wild exulting shout, A countless crowd proclaims ; All pictured in the lurid light, A thousand spears are gleaming bright, In serried ranks on every hand, A mighty host of foemen stand, And louder still the midnight air Is rent with shouts of " Lancaster !" VII. " Arm ! Arm !" cries Warren — round the hall Plucks down his black-mail from the wall : Then one and all obey their lord. And gird on buckler, helm, and sword ; Ev'n Alice, 'mid her wild surprise. Trembling assumes her false disguise. Meanwhile the tumult overhead. Waxes more loud, and clear, and dread ; The timber crash — the crackling flame. OLDEN TIME. The falling ponderous beam proclaim ; And as each bm-ning rafter fell, The foe send forth a fiercer yell Of savage joy — the furious rout, Who raise that wild exulting shout. As tower and battlement give way, Throng round expectant of their prey. VIII. How scant his force the Baron knew, Though none more valliant, stout, and true ; To sally forth were death to all ; ' Grown tenantless the burning wall, The garrison as last resort, Assemble in the inner court. All hope of safety now is gone. All chance of flight excepting one ; Beneath the dungeon-keep there lay * A winding subterranean way. Explored by none for many a day. By this Earl Warren gives command, To seek an exit torch in hand. 54 SANDALINTHE And strive to reach the neighbouiing town, Where friendly steeds may bear them on. IX. The Baron leads the shrinking dame, Through dreary vaults, by torches' flame. And thus escape revenge in store, Alice and her dark paramour. As one by one the yeomen sped, The archway rang with heavy tread. And thundering rolled each massive door, (Which none repassed that passed before. But all around the cold dank floor, Their mouldering bones in heaps were spread) Then closed again with dreary sound, Shaking the dungeons underground, Till arch, and vault, and cell resound. Fainter still, and still more low, Their steps receding come and go As wends their way — the torchlight gleams Adown the rock in paler streams, Till all is passed — or sound or sight To tell the story of their flight. OLDENTIME. 55 X The night breeze fans the raghig fire, Each instant waxing broader — higher, Around the country sheds a glare Of lurid brightness far and near, Till Calder's streams like blood appear. The blazing faggots whirled about, Plunge hissing in the circling moat ; The melted lead adown the mount. Pours like Hecla's fiery fount ; The tottering tower — the crumbling wall, One by one in thunder fall, And darkly rolls the smoke away. With bright sparks scattered on its way. Full many a war-steed perished there, And courser swift, and gallant hound. Entombed within the burning mound. Whose death-shriek pierced the troubled air. xr. Thirsty of blood, the countless throng Impatient grown, had marvelled long 0() S A N D A L I N T H E That none of all De Warren's train Escaped the fire-engulphed domain, Till weary grown — they part in bands, To desolate the Baron's lands, Where'er their vengeful Lord commands. Full many a cot ere break of day. Fell to devouring flames a prey, And houseless wanderers knew not where To 'scape the wrath of Lancaster. Alas ! hard fate, in lawless times, That serf should bleed for nobles' crimes, And bear all penalties incurred, WJiere might makes right, sole sovereign lord ! Nor was Earl Lancaster appeased. Till every several hamlet blazed ; The land with thousand such was sprent, From Calder's stream to banks of Trent. Just was the price Earl Warren paid, For broken vows and hopes betrayed. For crime accursed of God and men. The forfeit of his heinous sin. OLDENTIME. 57 XII. Years rolled on — till slone on stone Restored the wreck that fire had made, But ere the tedious work was done De Warren's strength began to fade : '' He was an old — a childless man,. Perished his offspring one by one, Bereft of all, he lived to view, And own the prophecy too true, In anger spoke by Palmer Hugh. What end was his, or bad or good, Is not for mortal man to know, The record is not writ below, 'Twixt God and him the reckoning stood, XIII. Bethink thee, mortal ! for an eye Thou canst not see is watching thee, Nor Hell's abyss, nor Heaven's expanse, Nor silent darkness of the tomb, Nor midnight's deepest sable gloom, Can shun Jehovah's sleepless glance. E 58 SANDAL IN T II K OLDEN TIME. Bethink thee, mortal ! fur a pen Records above the deeds of men, And thine are written in that page, Or good or bad, where all are sealed, Till the Archangel's blast has peeled, And woke the dead of every age. Bethink thee, mortal ! of thy state Or Heaven or Hell on thee await. Thy life hangs trembling at the nod Of Him who gave thy clay its breath. Worm that thou art ! and heir of Death ! Oh ! haste, and make thy peace with God. END OF CAN ID THIRD. , C A N T O IV. CANTO IV. I. For lack of heirs, the Earl's domain Devolved to Britain's crown again. As time rolled on, each royal guest Of Sammerhall became possessed, And thither kings whilom repaired, In chase a lordly pastime shared. Till civil war brought butcher-work 'Twixt house of Lancastkr and York. 62 S A N I) A L I N T H E II. If fabled story speats aright, And Philomel in P2 astern bovvers Attunes his lay to thee by night, Love-sacred rose ! fair queen of flowers ! And thou vvert reared in Paradise, And robed in pure unearthly dyes, To glad not men's, out angels' eyes, And perfume with ambrosial scent A spirit's joyous element, When deadliest feud—when fiercest hate, In mortal strife o'erwhelmed the state. Why didst thou plume war's bloody crest, Or smile upon each foeman's breast? Why yield thy blossoms red or white. To mark twin rival hosts in fight? Alas ! beneath thy spotless flower, How many a chieftain sank in gore. And stained the bloodless badge he wore ! Or if the red-rose decked his side. In deeper shades of blood was dyed' ! OLDEN TIME. 63 III. Rallying round Plantagenet/ Five thousand valiant swords were met ; Their tents were pitched in open ground, Old Sandal's friendly walls around, And glancing on their four-fold foes, The cry for battle fiercely rose. Queen Margaret, trusting in her might. Accepts with joy the proffered fight; On either hand, in ambuscade, Lords Wilts and Clifford's squadrons laid, Whilst Somerset commands the force. For main attack, both foot and horse ; And thus arrayed, the royal host Assail the Duke with taunt and boast, To draw him from his sheltered post. IV. 'Tvvas morn, and dimly broke the day. With chilly breath and feeble ray, Piercing December's wintry shroud Of gathering storm and murky cloud ; 64 SAN DA r. I N I' II K And cold bleak gusts wiiii boding sound, Old Sandal's turrets swept around, And shook sharp icicles to ground. Each watchman closer drew his cloak, And smote his breast with brisker stroke^ And paced his round in quicker time, Then quenched his torch, and brushed the rime From off his matted locks and eye. And strained his sight if he might spy The camp where friend and foeman lie ; Thick o'er the plain the vajjour lay, And all was still, and cold, and grey. V. Plantagenet within the pile. In lengthened council sate meanwhile ; And there Sir David sued in vain," The Duke's rash prowess to restrain, Nor battle risk 'gainst four-fold foes. But in his walls his host enclose, Till Edwakd's arms, and martial train, With succour Sammerhall could gain. O L 1) E N T 1 M K . do " What ! hast thou loved me long, Davy ! " And will'st that I dishonored be ? '' Regent I was in Normandy, " But did not skulk in fortress there, " But manlike sallied on the foe, " And how he fled thou well dost know, " My sword found little left to spare ! " To-day I'll fight ere setting sun, " Let cowards flee ! I'll fight alone ! Deaf to all prayers the Duke remained, By force of speech his purpose gained. Till old and young deemed honor stained To shrink from fight, how great so e'er The battle's hazard might appear." VI. The council o'er — the trumpet's clang Throughout the spacious area rang : The call to arms was quick obeyed, As horse and man were fast arrayed : Full many a knight of high degree. Scions of South and West Country, 66 SANDALINTHE Nevill, and Hall, and Harrington, Earl Salisbury, York's tender son Ev'n 3'outliful Rutland, joined the train ; All fear disgrace if they remain. On jetty steed, Plantagenet, Pennache lie wore, and bascinet. Gorget of steel — surcoat of blue. His charger decked in azure hue, With glittering lance upreai^ed in rest. His buckler dight with blazoned crest, Proclaimed the Duke armed cap-a-pie. And none more knightly rode than he. Side by side came Salisbury, His golden casquette fenced with steel. And golden rowels tipped his heel, His jupon — plume — and traj)pings too, All of the deepest crimson hue, In brazen armour clad for fight. He pranced along on steed milk-white. VII. The tread of hoofs on frozen ground, Echoes the castle's walls around ; OLDENTIME. 67 Arrayed in costly furniture, A hundred youthful knights appear ; What varied crests of quaint device ! What plumes and banners flout the skies ! From out the court — through darkened glade, Their burnished steel illumes the shade, And flings o'er stem — and rock — and stream, A moment's strange and hurried gleam. Till lost amid the thickening glen. Vanished from sight are horse and men. VIII. The neigh of steeds, and coursers' tramp, Was heard meanwhile in Margaret's camp. With odds that number four to one, The conquest seemed already won. The Queen beheld with joy and pride Each noble knight to battle ride ; For each equipped, in duly went, To pay his homage at her tent. And then took up his several post Throughout the widely scattered host. 68 SANDALINTHE Dukes Somerset and Exeter, Earls Devon, Wilts, Northumberland, In bright array before her stand, Receive the red rose from her hand. The loyal badge of Lancaster. Lords Clifford — Nevill — D acres — Ross, Before their royal mistress pass ; And knights and squires of varied class, Doffing their plumes to greet the Queen, In gorgeous suits and trappings seen, The flower of Northern chivalry. The trumpet sounds — they march — on high The Scots' jet plume nods gracefully ; They wheel — disperse to left — to right — Where'er their troops lie ranged for fight, And rank on rank in dread array Pause breathless for the coming fray. IX. The sun arose o'er helm and shield, And all the pomp of war revealed ; Then fiercely rolled each wakeful eye, And hearts beat high for victory. O L D E N T I M E . 69 Then loud and dread the clarion peeled, On — on they rush — like steeds of fire, All armed with death and quenchless ire : The fluttering plume — the brandished lance. Awhile in liquid ether dance. Then clash with foemen's deadliest hate. As steeds with steeds contending meet. The archer bends his yew-tree bow, And wings destruction on the foe ; The matchlock — gun — and arquebus, Hurl bolt and ball with thundering voice ; The pelting storm of iron hail, Smites pitiless on rattling mail ; Halbert and sword, and battle axe, Gory and hot in slaughter wax ; The din of arms, the frantic bound, Of blood-stained hoof on icy ground, The shriek of death — the victor's yell. Mingling in one wide tumult swell. X. Where'er the thickest — deadliest fray, Salisbury's red falchion cleaves its way ; 70 SANDALINTHE Where'er his crimson plume arose, Back scattered fell his vanquished foes, And triumph hailed the spotless rose. Plantagenet beholds with pride, How deep in blood his glaive is dyed. And hews a path with mortal blows, Strives hard with Exeter to close. Or if in battle he may meet, To cope with knightly Somerset. XI. But Hark ! what sound breaks on the ear ? 'Twixt York and Sandal's tower appear The ambushed foe — they charge the rear ; :? Clifford and Wilts pour rank on rank, From copse and brake on either flank ; In vain 1 alas ! the vahant few Wheel round, and face the coming blow : They meet — their glittering spears are crossed, The tide is turning — wavering — lost ! The bloody Clifford, sword in hand, Purples with gore the cumbered land. O L D E N TI M E. 71 In vain ! alas ! York's battle shout Grows faint amid the deadly rout. Down sinks Plantaganet — his steed Lies gasping 'neatii him on t]ie mead : On every hand stern foemen strive To take the rebel Duke alive ; O'ercome at length, and wounded sore, His feeble frame they eaptive bear, For him a darker fate in store. XII. When Richard's azure plume went down, The last faint flickering hope was gone : But fevv there were who recked to fly, Ihey fought to conquer or to die. And none for life were heard to crave. No quarter sued — no quarter gave ; They deemed the battle sweeter tomb. Than meet the scaffold's bitter doom. XIII. But one there was — a tender boy,** By priest led forth from out the fray. 72 SAN I) A L IN J 11 K Whose hasty flight caught Clifford's eye. He marked his gold-embroidered vest. Most like what Rutland's self possessed, And spurred his steefd, and hotly pressed The fleeing youth, who sought in vain A refuge from his foes to gain. Oh ! ruthless deed ! Oh ! bloodiest war ! A soul so meek — could'st thou not spare ? The bridge half crossed — where chantry stood,'" On buttress based, midway the flood, Where Calder's swollen streamlet poured, Their steeds abreast— the vengeful lord In Rutland's heart deep plunged his sword. The deed is done — mortal the wound — The shrieking victim sinks to ground ; The silken scarf the stripling wore, The murderer dipped in Rutland's gore, And straightway to his father bore. XIV. The Duke was seated on a mound, In mockery robed — with paper crowned, / o L D r: N T I M E . 73 Whilst nobles scoffing circled round. With bloody scarf, and bloodier sword, Approached, and thus spake Earl CLiFFORn, " Hail ! prince without a people — Hail ! " King- Richard ! kingdomless — all hail ! " Rebel ! ray sire was slain by thee ; " Behold young Rutland's fresh warm blood, " Vengeance now bids that thine be shed, " To pay old quits 'twixt thee and me !" He stabs — as sinks Plantagenet, Beholds unmoved Queen Margaret, And fiercely shout the rabble rout Of vulgar souls that stand without, And heaping insult on the dead, The prostrate body they behead. XV. Salisbury's Earl — ah ! where is he ? " With comrades few has ta'en to flight, Alas ! ere dawns the morrow's light, Is doomed a captive knight to be. And ere another sun be set, Three bloody heads in insult meet, 74 S A N 1) A L I N T II E Salisbury and Rutland, side by side, With York all ghastly gaping wide. On Ebor's proud embattled gate. XVI. Sandal meanwhile unguarded lay, And fell to Wilts an easy prey. The day declined, and twilight brought The sound of mirth within, As wild and high through hall and court. Arose the festive din. The Queen and nobles bold A royal banquet hold, And hands with slaughter crimsoned o'er. Goblets of wine all heedless pour ; Lord Clifford fills the chair of state. The murderer where the murdered sate, And rules the noisy fete. XVII. York's headless corse unburied lay Upon the cold and senseless clay, OLDEN TIME. 75 Beneath the moonbeam's chilHng ray, Which shone on him, and thousands more, Grown stiff and black in freezing gore. But vengeance only sleeps awhile Upon the dead's deserted pile. And holds her darkest deeds in store Against wrath's swiftly coming hour. XVIII. Oh ! lust of empire, could'st thou tell The yet unnumbered host that fell, In each protracted war unknown, 'Twixt nobles striving for a throne ? Oh ! say what boots an empire's sway. When crime and blood have paved the way, Have dimmed the crown — the sceptre stained, The laws of God and man profaned ? Go view the slaughter-covered field. By morrow's rising sun revealed. Go ask each mangled — bleeding corse. What is ambition ? — hell's own curse ! f2 76 SANDAL IN THE OLDEN TIME. Oh ! tale of blood, how full of woe Thy crimson streams of carnage flow '• The widow's tear — the orphan's sigh, Speak of their speechless agony. How tainted by the breath of war The loveliest spots in nature are ! Lo ! Sandal ! on thy shattered brow There dwells the stamp of vengeance now, Ambition's scourge — the curse of war, Has left his deadly impress there. END OF CANTO FOURTH. CANTO V. CANTO V. I. But thrice the wintry moon had waned,'* Ere Towton's plain with slaughter stained, Bold Edward Britains sceptre gained. At eve the rival armies meet, 'Mid mingled storm of snow and sleet ; So fiercely closed the fiendish fight, Unheeded passed the faded light ; Unbroken through the dismal night. 80 S A N D A L I N T H i';; Tlie combat raged, and deathblows claslied, As steel with steel in darkness flashed ; The stroke — the shriek — the curse — the groan- The heavy plunge of steed o'erthrown — Man grappling man — the foe unknown, Or half revealed where torches shone— And morn beheld the ceaseless fray Unquelled — unquenched with dawn of day. Nor York nor Lancaster gave way, Till Norfolk brought to Edward's aid Fresh force that turned the battle's tide ; And then the rout — the chase began; Whilst blood in wider torrents ran, O'ercast for leagues the purpled plain. In gory pools — with heaps of slain, Amid the crimsoned snow wreaths lain. II. Still on that memorable field, And round its streamlet's grassy bed, Ev'n now the blood-stained meadows yield The fairest roses white and red ! OLDEN TIME. 81 For as each u'aviior sank to eartli, To these liis gory badge gave birth, Self-sown they bloom on Tovvton's plain, And blossom o'er the slumbering slain ; How few would deem their frai^rant bloom Was shed o'er fellest foemen's tomb ! III. Soon singled forth from out the dead. The bloody Clifford's severed head On Ebor's lofty ai'chvvay stood : Whilst honored burial gained the three Sad victims of his cruelty, Rutland, and York, and Salisbury ; And Edward shed a warrior's tear O'er a loved sire, and brother's bier. IV. Old Swdal's gate wide ope'd to greet The young and brave Plantagenet. With pious hand a cross he built, To mirk where Richard's blood was spilt; And raised a chapel rich and rare, 82 S A N D A L I N T H E Of Gotliic structure, on the pier, Where Rutland fell — and chantry stood, Impmging midway Calder's flood, Endowed by him that priest might pray For such as fell in bloody fray, Upon that slaughter-sickening day. Full oft, whilom, the passer by Who clianced that goodly fane to see, And heard the requiem steal on high, Would stay his foot, and entering there, With reverend mien, and bended knee, Pour forth a solitary prayer. Who now beholds that crumbling fane, Might deem devotion on the wane, Nor priest nor votary enter there, Nor anthem breathes — nor voice of prayer, But busy commerce plies her care. And daily seeks her wonted gain. Devotion owns a purer shrine Than man can rear — a work divine ; The holy oracles impart, That God's own temple is the heart. O L D E N T I M E . 83 V. Age afler age grey Sandal's lower Confessed each reigning monarcli's power. Edwards, and Henrys, one by one, Bequeathed the pile from sire to son, Till House of Stewart held by right The proud and venerable sile>. When Cromwell sought with bloody hand, To grasp the sceptre of our land. Resistless rebel ! Sandal's wall Was doomed with Charles' throne to fall, VI. Brave Bonivant kept Sandal's gate, " And sought to stem the tide of fate ; Then frowned her battlements along War's horrid engines stout and strong, And long flung back defiance bold : A double moat encircling all, Four fathoms deep beneath the wall. Laved the broad basis of the hold. Stout Overton in Cromwell's cause Lays siege — his circle nearer draws, 84 SANDALIN THE Ucais in the castle's rising ground ; The Roundheads raise on every side, Trench, foss, and fortress high and wide; But most where stands yon Danish mound,'^ From cannon's mouth war's tempest lowers. Then pours amain his deadly showers, With thundering voice on Sandal's towers, Till hill, and dale, and plain rebound "With each tumultuous burst of sound. VII. Loop-hole, and keep, and battlement, Robed in dense sulph'rous element. Indignant hurl their death-bolts back With fiercer fire and louder shock, Till dungeons reel and turrets rock. As peal on peal the echoes wake, Answers each distant hill, And trembles every startled lake. And hushed within her woodland brake The songster's note is still : Betwixt the cannon's thundering stroke OLDENTIME. 85 No sound is heard to stir, But wreaths of ever- thickening smoke Hang in the awe-struck air. VIII. Anon, from out the portal rush. Like ocean's tide, or torrent's gush, A chosen band of Cavaliers ; Where'er their serried rank appears The foe retires — or stands his ground. Sheltered by trench, or swelling mound. And stubborn fight strews death around; Till bleeding, foiled, and backward driven, The invader seeks his rocky haven. IX. In vain ! ye shake — but cannot raze Yon massive pile of bygone days ! Onset by day — assault by night Disclose no yawning breach to sight ; War's iron tempest vainly falls On Sandal's adamantine walls. 86 SANDALINTHE But though no outward trace appears Of slackened nerve — or wasted strength, Within a secret canker wears, For Famine's form stalks forth at length, More deadly is her silent thrall. Within the close beleagured wall, Than where war's thickest death-bolts fall. X. As hourly carnage strewed her slain, The moon waxed full, and waned again ; And still the loyal hearts within Were undismayed — their ranks grew thin Whilst famine preyed — yet treason feared, Or cowardice, to breathe one word. Their sinking hearts were ofttimes cheered By fortune's smiles, and when there came Good tidings from Prince Charles, a flame Burned nightly bright on Sandal's tower. And loud the war-shout rent the air ; The Roundheads trembled in their camp. And ran to arms — the distant tramp OLDENTIME. 87 Of Charles' steeds seemed drawing near; Whilst fiercely cried each Cavalier, " A prince ! A prince !" as hill and tower Woke to their shout at midnight hour. XI. Day by day, and night by night, Brave Bonivant prolongs the fight, Famine and sword have dwindled quite His little band of men ; Succour comes not — till hope — alas ! Dies in his breast, and then He calls a truce — and treats for life, But vows to perish in the strife, If liberty be granted not To all witliin the castle's moat. That life — that liberty are won ; The' few, the brave, the famislied pass Forth from the fortress one by one : Ev'n Cromwell's warriors hailed their foes 88 S A N D A L 1 N T H E With one accordant shout, Whilst gazing on their dauntless brows, Loud plaudit fioin each rank arose. As BoNivANT marched out- XII. But they are gone ! — and Sandal's walls Crumble beneath the iron hand That raised a scaffold for a king, For fate ordained iior princely halls Should melt as by enchanter's wand. Quick as the thought's imagining ! Bastion and turrets, where are they ? Gone like the dreams of yesterday ! And Sandal's feudal pride is gone. Or shrunk into yon mouldering stone ! END OF CANTO FIFTH, CANTO VI. CANTO V[. I. Hail, Poesy ! immortal power! Fair dreamer of a by-gone hour ! Oh ! lull thy bard in tranquil bower ; Sit watching o'er his slumbering head, And softly whisper of the dead, Of olden time, of joyance fled. Oh ! 'tis a sacred love thou hast For all that was, but now is past, g2 92 S A N D A L 1 N T H K Though they be ilcd, whose footsteps wore The paths they iiov/ may tread no more, Yet these thou wouldst explore ; By fancy, or by memory's aid. Fly back to days of yore, Re-living them, enraptured maid ! But these are not thine only dreams. Some less beloved, yet brighter far Thou hast, which flit like sunny gleams, Like hghtr.ing's flash, or falling star, Now mount with hope on seraph's wings, Now enter at the gates of heaven, Till fancy loathes all earth-born things, Till reason's steps are backward driven, Then impious grown — thine eye will pry The threshold of eternity ! 'Tis then thy wild imaginings Will dare, alas ! forbidden things , Too bright for earth — too frail for heaven. By every sister fancy given, Wild visions such as ne'er can be Embodied in reality — But these thy bard craves not of thee, OLDEN TIM K. 93 Oh ! grant to liim a parting gVam Of other davr> — a pensive dream ! II. L )uk down on Caldeu's tranquil vale, Her waters reddening in the sun, And mark yon barge's glowing sail, Catch evening's glories one by one ; Behold how burns yon distant spire. Tinged with vesper's fading fire : And far beyond the purpled hills, Slope softly melting in the gleam Of daylight's faint departing beam, Which dances still in C alder's stream And welkin's West with radiance fills — Then turn, and bend thine eye in tears. Where Sandal's ruined arch appears : Sole remnant of her kingly pile ! Gaze on yon arch, and mark the while, Of all her feudal glory reared. How War has xvSt what Time had spared. 94 SANDALINTHE Sandal ! alas '. thy voice is still — Nor wakes as erst from grass-grown hill. The lute's soft strain in lady's bower ; Oh ! for a bard of olden time, To yield thee back thy life in rhyme, And sing afresh thy glorious prime, When wassail-rout convulsed thy tower, And banquet shook thy festive halls ! But all is still — thy crumbling walls No more shall echo back the tread Of prancing steed — no more shall war Arouse the warrior's listening ear With trumpet's clang, and clashing swords; Nor prisoner's sigh, nor love's last words, Whisper amid thy voiceless dead. How still is death ! and thou — how still ! 1 fear to climb thy turf-clad hill, Or wander o'er thy hidden graves; Where'er I gaze, the green-sward heaves In hillocks, and the dark bough waves So gently o'er the sleepers there, I would not trample on their bier. OLDEN TIME. 95 III. But — see ! how soft yon adder glides, In silent course the hill besides ; And now her speckled head she hides, Anon pursues her noiseless way, And doubling shuns each rustling spray; How bright her streaks of silver-grey ! Like tracks of light at break of day Adown a mountain's rugged sides — 'Tis passed — her arrowy form hath fled Where yon dark thicket's shades are spread. IV. The wings of night are brooding now Above — around — beneath ; the gloom Of yon deep elms that shade the tomb Of grandeur, shrouds the haughty brow Of Sandal's triple- vaulted tower ; The rents of time, and ruthless war Grow less and less distinct, and are Effaced as darkness rules the hour ; 96 SANDAL IN T n R Yon loftier pile of massive stone Shoots up into the dusky air, By eve's dim light gigantic grown — The pride of ages lingers there ! And yon rude walls resume their reign By night, and Glory dwells again, Amidst her hoary tenement ; And fancy can create anew Buttress, and arch, and battlement, Hising in splendour on the view, As erst they stood in grim array. High towering in the face of day. V. Dim peering through the veil of night. Yon murky forms bring back a crowd Of images, that seek the light, And leap from out the misty shroud Of ages — picturing as they glide Athwart the tablet of my thought. What did of good or ill betide These walls, and all the deeds here wrought OLDENTIME. 97 VI. But these have been my theme too long, Some happier muse may wake their song, For idly sounds the feeble wire Of my degenerate modern lyre — And yet yon wreck might well inspire In glowing breasts — a poet's fire — And cold — and strange the reckless eye, That could unheeded pass it by, Nor read the dark decree of fate, How war leaves grandeur desolate '• VII. What '• though the bard from out thy wreck Of grey and crumbling stone, May gather strength his lay to deck With strain of loftier tone. And turn from perishable state, O'erwhelmed by time, by war, by fate, To things which perish not, nor die, Changeless in their eternity ; Yes, turn from earth, and earthly toys, To brighter hopes — unfading joys. 98 S A N n A L IN THE U I, D F, N TIME, Then heavenward raise his glistening eye To unseen mansions in the sky, And hail his spirit's destiny ! THE END, HISTORICAL NOTES. NOTES. CANTO i. 1 O'er Sandal's green and thick, set wood ; STANZA I. The castle of Sandvl, or Sammerhall, is situated about two miles south of \Vakefield. It stands on a considerable emhience, commanding a beautiful and extensive prospect, and once formed part of the vast possessions of John, last Eakl of Warren and Surrey. The castle was probably built at a much earlier period, and we are informed that it was destroyed by Thomas, Eaul of Lancaster, out of revenge for an insult committed on his wife by the said Earl of Warren, who afterwards restored Sandal to its original grandeur. 1 02 NOTES. CANTO I. 2 '^' Tis Jo(in-de-Barr, Earl Warren's bride," STANZA II. Joan -de-Barr, daughter of Heniy, Earl of Barr, and grand -daughter to Edw/vrd I., married John, Earl of Warren, by whom she was divorced, the Earl settling upon her 740 marks per annum. She went abroad, and died A. D. 1361. 3 " To-niglit san Martin comes — to night." STANZA IX. Richard San Martin, a deformed knight, and relative of the Earl of Warren, was concerned in the capture of Alice de Lacy, the mfe of Thomas, Earl of Lancaster ; which circumstance occasioned her divorce from her husband, when she afterwards married the said Richard, wlio endeavoured, but without effect, to lay claim to the Earldoms of Lincoln and Salisbury. 4 " From Coningshurg, by covert way," STANZA IX. Coninsburg Castle, near Doncaster, formerly one of the possessions of the Earl of Warren, probably built soon after the Conquest, on the site of a Saxon fort. NOTES. 103 CANTO III. 5 "Beneath the dungeon-keep there lay, " A winding suht erraneun way^^ STANZA VIII. There still exists a tradition among the inhabitants of Sandal, that formerly there was a subterranean way, leading from the castle to the cellars of the Great Bull Inn, Wakefield, and consequently pass- ing under the river Calder. 6 "De Warrens strength began to fade" STANZA XII. John, Earl of Warren, died, without issue, June 30, 1347, on his 61st birthday. He was buried in the abbey church of Lewes, in Sussex. For further particulars see "Memoirs of the ancient Earls of Warren and Surrey, by Rev. J. Watson, M.A., F.A.S." CANTO IV. 7 " Rallying round Plantagenet, " Five thousand valiant swords were met," STANZA III. For a full account of the battle of Wakefield, see — Sharon Turner's History of England — Allen's History of Yorkshire — Speed's History of Great Britain — Henry's History of Great Britain — Fictorial History of England, also Shakspeare's King Henry VI., 3rd part. 1 04 NOTES. CANTO IV. 8 * And there Sir David sued in vain" STANZA V . Sir David Hall, an old and failliful knight of Richard, Duke of York, slain in the 13attle of Wakefield. 9 " Sut one there was — a tender hoy, " By priest led forth from out. the fray ," STANZA XIII. The name of the Earl of Rutland's tutor was, Sir Robert Aspall, a priest. 10 " The hridye half crossed— where chantry stood," STANZA XIII. See "Whitaker's Loidis and Elmete" — who speaks of the very early existence of a chantry on Wakefield bridge, and mentions Edward IV. as the founder of the present chapel. 11 " Salisbury's Earl — ah ! where is he," STANZA XV. The Earl of Salisbury being taken prisoner after the Battle of Wakefield, was sent to Pontefract Castle by Queen Margaret, and beheaded there : his head was afterwards exposed on the gates of York, together with many others. NOTES. r05 C A N T O V. 12 " But thrice the wintry moon had waned, " Ere Toicton'g plain with slaughter stained," Towton, a village three miles S. E. of Tadcaster. The cele- brated battle between the houses of York and Lancaster, so fatal to the latter, was fought on Palm Sunday, 1461. STANZA I. " Brave Bonivant kept Sandal's gate," STANZA VI. Sandal Castle was held by Colonel Bonivant for King Charles, and after a siege of three weeks surrendered to Colonel Overton, September 30, 1645. The castle was dismantled about a year afterwards, by order of the parliament. In the reign of James I. the ruined castle and park adjoining belonged to Sir Richard Beau- mont ; by him it was ronveyed to the Ncviles of Chevet, and from them it found its way into the Pilkington family, and thus to its present possessor, Sir W. Pilkington, l?t. of Chevet. H 106 N O '] K s, CAN T O Y. 14 "But most where stands yon Danish inouiid." STANZA VI. Lowe Hill may liave a Roman origin, but at present it bears the marks of a Danish mount, surrounded with a double ditch. If a watch tower formerly stood here, it may have given name to the town of Wakefield, called in Domesday Book, Wachefield. RICHARD NICHOLS, TyPOGR^PIim:, WAKKFIIiLD. ERRATUM. Canto V, Stanza IX, line 12— /or " beleagured," reac? "beleaguered." UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 THS LIBRART fnnVBRSITT OF CAUFOIMBi V ^-k..^^ A -K^T ^-1 m IT insf PR km I^athaTTi ~- Sandal in the olden time UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY PR 1879 L2ii5s ! i| l