His search a small steel casket found.
Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp,
His shoulder felt a giant grasp;
He started, and look'd up aghast,

Then shriek'd -"Twas Bertram held him fast.
"Fear not!" he said; but who could hear
That deep stern voice, and cease to fear?
"Fear not -By heaven, he shakes as much
As partridge in the falcon's clutch:"-
He raised him, and unloosed his hold,
While from the opening casket roll'd
A chain and reliquaire of gold.'
Bertram beheld it with surprise,
Gazed on its fashion and device,
Then, cheering Edmund as he could,
Somewhat he smooth'd his rugged mood:
For still the youth's half-lifted eye
Quiver'd with terror's agony,
And sidelong glanced, as to explore,
In meditated flight, the door.

"Sit," Bertram said, "from danger free:
Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee.
Chance brings me hither; hill and plain
I've sought for refuge-place in vain.'
And tell me now, thou aguish boy,

What makest thou here? what means this toy?
Denzil and thou, I mark'd, were ta'en;
What lucky chance unbound your chain?
I'deem'd, long since on Baliol's tower,
Your heads were warp'd with sun and shower.
Tell me the whole-and, mark! naught e'er
Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear."
Gathering his courage to his aid,
But trembling still, the youth obey'd.

VIL

"Denzil and I two nights pass'd o'er
In fetters on the dungeon floor.
A guest the third sad morrow brought;
Our hold dark Oswald Wycliffe sought,
And eyed my comrade long askance,
With fix'd and penetrating glance.
'Guy Denzil art thou call'd?-The same.'-
'At Court who served wild Buckinghame;
Thence banish'd, won a keeper's place,
So Villiers will'd, in Marwood-chase;
That lost-I need not tell thee why-
Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply,
Then fought for Rokeby:-Have I guess'd
My prisoner right ?-At thy behest.'-
He paused a while, and then went on

With low and confidential tone;-
Me, as I judge, not then he saw,
Close nestled in my couch of straw.-
'List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great
Have frequent need of what they hate;
Hence, in their favor oft we see
Unscrupled, useful men like thee.
Were I disposed to bid thee live,
What pledge of faith hast thou to give?'

VIII.

"The ready Fiend, who never yet
Hath fail'd to sharpen Denzil's wit,
Prompted his lie-'His only child

Should rest his pledge.'-The Baron smiled
And turn'd to me- -Thou art his son?'
I bow'd-our fetters were undone,
And we were led to hear apart
A dreadful lesson of his art.
Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son,
Had fair Matilda's favor won;
And long since had their union been,
But for her father's bigot spleen,
Whose brute and blindfold party rage
Would, force per force, her hand engage
To a base kern of Irish earth,
Unknown his lineage and his birth,
Save that a dying ruffian bore
The infant brat to Rokeby door.
Gentle restraint, he said, would lead
Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed;
But fair occasion he must find
For such restraint well-meant and kind,
The Knight being render'd to his charge
But as a prisoner at large.

IX.

"He school'd us in a well-forged tale,
Of scheme the Castle walls to scale,"
To which was leagued each Cavalier
That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear;
That Rokeby, his parole forgot,
Had dealt with us to aid the plot.
Such was the charge, which Denzil's cal
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale
Proffer'd, as witness, to make good,
Even though the forfeit were their blood.
I scrupled, until o'er and o'er

His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore;
And then-alas! what needs there more!

I knew I should not live to say

4 MS.-"With the third morn that baron old,
Dark Oswald Wycliffe, sought the hold."
MS.-" And last didst ride in Rokeby's band.
Art thou the man ?'- At thy command.'"
MS." He school'd us then to tell a tale
Of plot the Castle walls to scale,
To which had sworn each Cavalier "9

The proffer I refused that day;
Ashamed to live, yet loth to die,
I soil'd me with their infamy !"—
"Poor youth," said Bertram, "wavering still,'
Unfit alike for good or ill!

But what fell next?"-"Soon as at large1
Was scroll'd and sign'd our fatal charge,
There never yet, on tragic stage,
Was seen so well a painted rage

As Oswald's show'd! With loud alarm
He call'd his garrison to arm;

From tower to tower, from post to post,
He hurried as if all were lost:
Consign'd to dungeon and to chain
The good old Knight and all his train;
Warn'd each suspected Cavalier,
Within his limits, to appear
To-morrow, at the hour of noon,
In the high church of Egliston."-

His hand like summer sapling shook,
Terror and guilt were in his look.
Denzil he judged, in time of need,
Fit counsellor for evil deed;

And thus apart his counsel broke,
While with a ghastly smile he spoke :-

XL

"As in the pageants of the stage,
The dead awake in this wild age,*
Mortham-whom all men deem'd decreed
In his own deadly snare to bleed,
Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea,
He train'd to aid in murdering me,-
Mortham has 'scaped! The coward shot
The steed, but harm'd the rider not.'"*
Here, with an execration fell,
Bertram leap'd up, and paced the cell:-
"Thine own gray head, or bosom dark,”
He mutter'd, "may be surer mark !”
Then sat, and sign'd to Edmund, pale

With terror, to resume his tale.

"Ruler of Mortham's destiny!

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee.
Once had he all that binds to life,

A lovely child, a lovelier wife;

Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own-
Thou gavest the word, and they are flown'
Mark how he pays thee:-To thy hand
He yields his honors and his land,"
One boon premised;--Restore his child!
And, from his native land exiled,
Mortham no more returns to claim
His lands, his honors, or his name;
Refuse him this, and from the slain
Thou shalt see Mortham rise again.'-

XII

"This billet while the baron read, His faltering accents show'd his dread; He press'd his forehead with his palm,

5 "Mortham escaped-the coward shot The horse-but harm'd the rider not.”

is truly laughable. How like the denouement of the Covent Garden Tragedy! in which the hero is supposed to have been killed, but thus accounts for his escape,

'I through the coat was, not the body, run !'” Monthly Review. MS." Though dead to all, he lives to thee.” 7 MS.-"Wealth, fame, and happiness, his own-Thou gavest the word, and all is flown."

Then took a scornful tone and calm;
'Wild as the winds, as billows wild!
What wot I of his spouse or child?
Hither he brought a joyous dame,
Unki own her lineage or her name :
Her, in some frantic fit he slew;
The nurse and child in fear withdrew.
Heaven be my witness! wist I where
To find this youth, my kinsman's heir,-
Unguerdon'd, I would give with joy
The father's arms to fold his boy,
And Mortham's lands and towers resign
To the just heirs of Mortham's line.'-
Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer;-
"Then happy is thy vassal's part,'
He said, 'to ease his patron's heart!
In thine own jailer's watchful care
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir;
Thy generous wish is fully won,-
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son.'-

XIII.

"Up starting with a phrensied look,
His clenched hand the Baron shook:
'Is Hell at work? or dost thou rave,
Or darest thou palter with me, slave!
Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers
Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers.'
Denzil, who well his safety knew,
Firmly rejoin'd, 'I tell thee true.
Thy racks could give thee but to know
The proofs, which I, untortured, show.-
It chanced upon a winter night,
When early snow made Stanmore white,
That very night, when first of all
Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall,
It was my goodly lot to gain
A reliquary and a chain,
Twisted and chased of massive gold.
-Demand not how the prize I hold!
It was not given, nor lent, nor sold.-
Gilt tablets to the chain were hung,
With letters in the Irish tongue.
I hid my spoil, for there was need
That I should leave the land with speed;
Nor then I deem'd it safe to bear
On mine own person gems so rare.
Small heed I of the tablets took,
But since have spell'd them by the book,
When some sojourn in Erin's land
Of their wild speech had given command.
But darkling was the sense; the phrase
And language those of other days,
Involved of purpose, as to foil

MS. "It chanced, three days since, I was laid Conceal'd in Thorsgill's bosky shade."

An interloper's prying toil.

The words, but not the sense, I knew, Till fortune gave the guiding clew.

XIV.

"Three days since, was that clew reveal'd, In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd,'

And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid
Her uncle's history display'd;
And now I can interpret well

Each syllable the tablets tell.

Mark, then: Fair Edith was the joy
Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy;
But from her sire and country fled,
In secret Mortham's Lord to wed.
O'Neale, his first resentment o'er,
Despatch'd his son to Greta's shore,
Enjoining he should make him known
(Until his farther will were shown)
To Edith, but to her alone.

What of their ill-starr'd meeting fell,
Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so well.

XV.

"O'Neale it was, who, in despair,
Robb'd Mortham of his infant heir;
He bred him in their nurture wild,
And call'd him murder'd Connel's child.
Soon died the nurse; the Clan believed
What from their Chieftain they received.
His purpose was, that ne'er again?
The boy should cross the Irish main;
But, like his mountain-sires, enjoy
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy.
Then on the land wild troubles came,
And stronger Chieftains urged a claim,
And wrested from the old man's hands
His native towers, his father's lands.
Unable then, amid the strife,
To guard young Redmond's rights or life,
Late and reluctant he restores
The infant to his native shores,
With goodly gifts and letters stored,
With many a deep conjuring word,
To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord.
Naught knew the clod of Irish earth,
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth;
But deem'd his Chief's commands were aid
On both, by both to be obey'd."
How he was wounded by the way,
I need not, and I list not say.'-