Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and now
Fired was each eye, and flush'd each brow;
On either side loud clamours ring,

'God and the Cause! '—' God and the King!
Right English all, they rush'd to blows,
With nought to win, and all to lose.
I could have laugh'd—but lack'd 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, i
That counter'd 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 march'd through,

And sack'd the splendours of Peru,

Till sunk Pizarro's daring name,

And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame."

forty-seven colours, 10,000 arms, two waggons of carabins and pistols, 150 barrels of powder, and all their bag and baggage."-Whitelocke's Memoirs, fol. p. 89. Lond. 1682.

Lord Clarendon informs us, that the King, previous to receiving the true account of the battle, had been informed, by an express from Oxford, "that Prince Rupert had not only relieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, with many particulars to confirm it, all which was so much believed there, that they had made public fires of joy for the victory."

2 [The Quarterly Reviewer (No. xvi.) thus states the causes of the hesitation he had had in arriving at the ultimate opinion, that Rokeby was worthy of the "high praise" already quoted from the commencement of his article :-"We confess, then, that in the language and versification of this poem, we were, in the first in stance, disappointed. We do not mean to say that either is invariably faulty; neither is it within the power of accident that the conceptions of a vigorous and highly cultivated mind, should uniformly invest themselves in trivial expressions, or in dissonant rhymes; but we do think that those golden lines, which spontaneously fasten themselves on the memory of the reader are more rare, and that instances of a culpable, and almost slovenly inattention to the usual rules of diction and of metre, are more frequent in this, than in any preceding work of Mr. Scott. In support of this opinion, we adduce the following quotation, which occurs in stanza xii.; and in the course of a description which is, in some parts, unusually splendid

to

'Led Bertram Risingham the hearts,'

'And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame.'

"The author, surely, cannot require to be told, that the feebleness of these jingling couplets is less offensive than their obscurity. The first line is unintelligible, because the conditional word 'If,' on which the meaning depends, is neither expressed nor implied in it: and the third line is equally faulty, because the sentence, when restored to its natural order, can only express the exact converse of the speaker's intention. We think it necessary to remonstrate against these barbarous inversions, because we consider the rules of

"Still from the purpose wilt thou stray!
Good gentle friend, how went the day?"-

XIII.

"Good am I deem'd 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 wheel'd'
Ambiguous, till that heart of flame,
Hot Rupert, on our squadron 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 tost,

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost.

A thousand men, who drew the sword

For both the Houses and the Word,

Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and down,

To curb the crosier and the crown,

Now, stark and stiff, lie stretch'd in gore,
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more.-

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-feign'd sorrow to belie.

"Disastrous news!-when needed most,

grammar as the only shackles by which the Hudibrastic metre, already so licentious, can

be confined within tolerable limits."]

Told ye not that your chiefs were lost?
Complete the woful 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 honour'd 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," answer'd 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 nor judgment nor reply."

The wrath his art and fear suppress'd,
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-
"A health!" he cried; and, ere he quaff'd,
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laugh'd;
"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 bucanier.

What reck'st thou of the Cause divine,
If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine ?
What carest thou for beleaguer'd York,
If this good hand have done its work?
Or what though Fairfax and his best
Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast,

3 [MS. Chose death in preference to shame."]

If Philip Mortham with them lie,
Lending his life-blood to the dye ?-
Sit, then! and as mid comrades free
Carousing after victory,

When tales are told of blood and fear,
That boys and women shrink to hear,
From point to point I frankly tell3
The deed of death as it befell.

XVI.

"When purposed vengeance I forego,
Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe;
And when an insult I forgive, 4

Then brand me as a slave, and live!—
Philip of Mortham is with those
Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes;
Or whom more sure revenge attends, 5
If number'd with ungrateful friends.
As was his wont, ere battle glow'd,
Along the marshall'd ranks he rode,
And wore his vizor up the while.
I saw his melancholy smile,
When, full opposed in front, he knew
Where ROKEBY's kindred banner flew.
'And thus,' he said, 'will friends divide!'
I heard, and thought how, side by side,
We two had turn'd the battle's tide,
In many a well-debated field,

Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield.
I thought on Darien's deserts pale,

Where death bestrides the evening gale,
How o'er my friend my cloak I threw,
And fenceless faced the deadly dew;
I thought on Quariana's cliff,

Where, rescued from our foundering skiff,
Through the white breakers' wrath I bore
Exhausted Mortham to the shore;

3

4

5

[MS.-"And heart's-blood lend to aid the dye?
Sit, tben! and as to comrades boon
Carousing for achievement won."]
[MS.-"That boys and cowards," etc.]
[MS." Frank, as from mate to mate, I tell
What way the deed of death befell."]
[MS.-"Name when an insult I forgave,

And, Oswald Wycliffe, call me slave."]
[MS." Whom surest his revenge attends,

If number'd once among his friends."]

And when his side an arrow found,

I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound.

These thoughts like torrents rush'd along, '
To sweep away my purpose strong.

XVII.

"Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent;
Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent.
When Mortham bade me, as of yore,
Be near him in the battle's roar,
I scarcely saw the spears laid low,
I scarcely heard the trumpets blow;
Lost was the war in inward strife,
Debating Mortham's death or life.
'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come,
As partner of his wealth and home,
Years of piratic wandering o'er,
With him I sought our native shore.
But Mortham's lord grew far estranged
From the bold heart with whom he ranged;
Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears,
Sadden'd and dimm'd descending years;
The wily priests their victim sought,
And damn'd each free-born deed and thought.
Then must I seek another home,
My license shook his sober dome;
If gold he gave, in one wild day
I revell'd thrice the sum away.
An idle outcast then I stray'd,
Unfit for tillage or for trade;
Deem'd, like the steel of rusted lance,
Useless and dangerous at once.
The women fear'd my hardy look,
At my approach the peaceful shook;
The merchant saw my glance of flame,

And lock'd his hoards when Bertram came;
Each child of coward peace kept far

From the neglected son of war.

XVIII.

"But civil discord gave the call, And made my trade the trade of all. By Mortham urged, I came again

I

[MS.

These thoughts rush'd on, like torrent's sway,
To sweep my stern resolve away."]

IMS.-"Each liberal deed." ]