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And the buff-coat, an ample fold,
Mantles his form's gigantic mould.
Full slender answer deignèd he
To Oswald's anxious courtesy,
But marked, by a disdainful smile,
He saw and scorned the petty wile,
When Oswald changed the torch's place
Anxious that on the soldier's face
Its partial lustre might be thrown,
To show his looks, yet hide his own.
His guest, the while, laid slow aside
The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide,
And to the torch glanced broad and clear
The corslet of a cuirassier;

Then from his brows the casque he drew,
And from the dank plume dashed the dew,
From gloves of mail relieved his hands,
And spread them to the kindling brands,
And, turning to the genial board,
Without a health, or pledge, or word
Of meet and social reverence said,
Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed;
As free from ceremony's sway,
As famished wolf that tears his prey.

VII

With deep impatience, tinged with fear,
His host beheld him gorge his cheer,
And quaff the full carouse, that lent
His brow a fiercer hardiment.
Now Oswald stood a space aside,
Now paced the room with hasty stride,
In feverish agony to learn

Tidings of deep and dread concern,
Cursing each moment that his guest
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast.
Yet viewing with alarm, at last,
The end of that uncouth repast,
Almost he seemed their haste to rue,
As, at his sign, his train withdrew,
And left him with the stranger, free
To question of his mystery.
Then did his silence long proclaim
A struggle between fear and shame.

VIII

Much in the stranger's mien appears,
To justify suspicious fears.

On his dark face a scorching clime,d
And toil, had done the work of time,

In this character I have attempted to sketch one of those WestIndian adventurers, who, during the course of the seventeenth

Roughened the brow, the temples bared,
And sable hairs with silver shared,
Yet left-what age alone could tame-
The lip of pride, the eye of flame,
The full-drawn lip that upward curled,
The eye, that seemed to scorn the world,
That lip had terror never blenched;
Ne'er in that eye hath tear-drop quenched
The flash severe of swarthy glow,

That mocked at pain, and knew not woe;
Inured to danger's direst form,

Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm,
Death had he seen by sudden blow,
By wasting plague, by tortures slow,
By mine or breach, by steel or ball,
Knew all his shapes, and scorned them all.

IX

But yet, though BERTRAM's hardened look
Unmoved could blood and danger brook,
Still worse than apathy had place
On his swart brow and callous face;
For evil passions, cherished long,

Had ploughed them with impressions strong.
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay
Light folly, passed with youth away,
But rooted stood, in manhood's hour,
The weeds of vice without their flower.
And yet the soil in which they grew,
Had it been tamed when life was new,
Had depth and vigour to bring forth
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth.
Not that, e'en then, his heart had known
The gentler feelings' kindly tone;
But lavish waste had been refined
To bounty in his chastened mind,
And lust of gold, that waste to feed,
Been lost in love of glory's meed,
And, frantic then no more, his pride
Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide.

X

Even now, by conscience unrestrained,
Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained,
Still knew his daring soul to soar,

And mastery o'er the mind he bore;

century, were popularly known by the name of Buccaneers. The successes of the English in the predatory incursions upon Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, had never been forgotten; and from that period downward, the exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imitated, upon a smaller scale, indeed, but with equally desperate valour, by small bands of pirates, gathered from all nations, but chiefly French and English.

For meaner guilt, or heart less hard,
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard.
And this felt Oswald, while in vain
He strove, by many a winding train,
To lure his sullen guest to show,
Unasked, the news he longed to know,
While on far other subject hung
His heart, than faltered from his tongue.
Yet nought for that his guest did deign
To note or spare his secret pain,
But still, in stern and stubborn sort,
Returned him answer dark and short,
Or started from the theme, to range
In loose digression wild and strange,
And forced the embarrassed host to buy,
By query close, direct reply.

ΧΙ

A while he glozed upon the cause
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws,
And Church reformed-but felt rebuke
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look.
Then stammered-" Has a field been fought?
Has Bertram news of battle brought?
For sure a soldier, famed so far
In foreign fields for feats of war,
On eve of fight ne'er left the host,
Until the field were won or lost."

66

Here, in your towers by circling Tees,

You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease;
Why deem it strange that others come
To share such safe and easy home,
From fields where danger, death, and toil,
Are the reward of civil broil ?"-
"Nay, mock not, friend!-since
The near advances of the foe,
To mar our northern army's work,
Encamped before beleaguered York;
Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay,

well we know

And must have fought-how went the day?"

XII

"Wouldst hear the tale ?-On Marston heathe
Met, front to front, the ranks of death;

Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now

Fired was each eye, and flushed each brow;
On either side loud clamours ring,

'God and the Cause!'- God and the King!'
Right English all, they rushed to blows,

With nought to win, and all to lose.

The well-known and desperate battle of Long-Marston Moor, which terminated so unfortunately for the cause of Charles, com. menced under very different auspices.

I could have laughed-but lacked the time-
To see, in phrenesy sublime,

How the fierce zealots fought and bled,
For king or state, as humour led;
Some for a dream of public good,
Some for church-tippet, gown and hood,
Draining their veins, in death to claim
A patriot's or a martyr's name.-
Led Bertram Risingham the hearts,
That countered there on adverse parts,
No superstitious fool had I

Sought El Dorados in the sky!

Chili had heard me through her states,
And Lima oped her silver gates,
Rich Mexico I had marched through,
And sacked the splendours of Peru,
Till sunk Pizarro's daring name,
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame."
-"Still from the purpose wilt thou stray!
Good gentle friend, how went the day ?"

XIII

"Good am I deemed at trumpet-sound,
And good where goblets dance the round,
Though gentle ne'er was join'd, till now,
With rugged Bertram's breast and brow.-
But I resume. The battle's rage

Was like the strife which currents wage,
Where Orinoco, in his pride,
Rolls to the main no tribute tide,
But 'gainst broad ocean urges far
A rival sea of roaring war;

While, in ten thousand eddies driven,
The billows fling their foam to heaven,
And the pale pilot seeks in vain,
Where rolls the river, where the main.
Even thus, upon the bloody field,
The eddying tides of conflict wheeled
Ambiguous, till that heart of flame,
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came,
Hurling against our spears a line
Of gallants, fiery as their wine;

Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal,

In zeal's despite began to reel.

What wouldst thou more ?-in tumult tossed,

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost.

A thousand men, who drew the sword

For both the Houses and the Word,

Preached forth from hamlet, grange, and down,
To curb the crosier and the crown,
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched in gore,
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more.-

385

Thus fared it, when I left the fight,

With the good Cause and Commons' right."

XIV

"Disastrous news!" dark Wycliffe said;
Assumed despondence bent his head,
While troubled joy was in his eye,
The well-feigned sorrow to belie
"Disastrous news!-when needed most,
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost ?-
Complete the woeful tale, and say,
Who fell upon that fatal day;
What leaders of repute and name
Bought by their death a deathless fame!
If such my direst foeman's doom,

My tears shall dew his honoured tomb.-
No answer?-Friend, of all our host,

Thou know'st whom I should hate the most,
Whom thou too, once, wert wont to hate,
Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate."-
With look unmoved,-" Of friend or foe,

Aught," answered Bertram, "wouldst thou know,
Demand in simple terms and plain,
A soldier's answer shalt thou gain;
For question dark, or riddle high,
I have not judgment nor reply."

XV

The wrath his art and fear suppressed,
Now blazed at once in Wycliffe's breast;
And brave, from man so meanly born,
Roused his hereditary scorn.

"Wretch! hast thou paid thy bloody debt?
PHILIP OF MORTHAM, lives he yet?
False to thy patron or thine oath,
Trait'rous or perjured, one or both.
Slave! hast thou kept thy promise plight,
To slay thy leader in the fight ?"-
Then from his seat the soldier sprung,
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung;
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail,

Forced the red blood-drop from the nail

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A health!" he cried; and, ere he quaffed, Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laughed: 'Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart! Now play'st thou well thy genuine part! Worthy, but for thy craven fear,

Like me to roam a buccaneer.

What reck'st thou of the Cause divine,
If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine?
What carest thou for beleaguered York,
If this good hand have done its work?

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