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Staindrop, who, from her silvan bowers,
Salutes proud Raby's battled towers;
The rural brook of Egliston,
And Balder, named from Odin's son;
And Greta, to whose banks ere long
We lead the lovers of the song ;
And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild,
And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring child,
And last and least, but loveliest still,
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill.
Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray'd,
Yet long'd for Roslin's magic glade ?
Who, wandering there, hath sought to

Even for that vale so stern and strange,
Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent,
Through her green copse like spires are sent!
Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine,
Thy scenes and story to combine!
Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays,
List to the deeds of other days ;?
'Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the

The refuge of thy champion brave ;3
Giving each rock its storied tale,
Pouring a lay for every dale,
Knitting, as with a moral baud,
Thy native legends with thy land,
To lend each scene the interest high
Which genius beams from Beauty's eye.

V. Stern Bertram shunnid the nearer way, Through Rokeby's park and chase that

lay, And, skirting high the valley's ridge, They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge. Descending where her waters wind Free for a space and unconfined, As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark-wood glen, She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound, Raised by that Legion long renown'd, Whose votive shrine asserts their claim, Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, “ Stern sons of war!” sad Wilfrid sigh'd, “ Behold the boast of Roman pride! What now of all your toils are known A grassy trench, a broken stone!”_ This to himself ; for moral strain To Bertram were address'd in vain.

IV. Bertram awaited not the sight Which sun-rise shows from Barnard's height, But from the towers, preventing day, With Wilfrid took his early way, While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale, Still mingled in the silent dale. By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, The southern bank of Tees they won; Their winding path then eastward cast, And Egliston's grey ruins pass'd ;* Each on his own deep visions bent, Silent and sad they onward went. Well may you think that Bertram's mood,5 To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude; Well may you think bold Risingham Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame; And small the intercourse, I ween, Such uncongenial souls between.

VI. Of different mood, a deeper sigh Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high? Were northward in the dawning seen To rear them o'er the thicket green. O then, though Spenser's self had stray'd Beside him through the lovely glade, Lending his rich luxuriant glow Of fancy, all its charms to show, Pointing the stream rejoicing free, As captive set at liberty, Flashing her sparkling waves abroad, 8 And clamouring joyfui on her road; Pointing where, up the sunny banks, The trees retire in scatter'd ranks, Save where, advanced before the rest, On knoll or hillock rears his crest, Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, As champions, when their band is broke, Stand forth to guard the rearward post, The bulwark of the scatter'd hostAll this, and more, might Spenser say, Yet waste in vain his magic lay, While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower, Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower.

VII. The open vale is soon passed o'er, Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ;'

And nought of mutual interest lay To bind the comrades of the way."

| MS.—" Staindrop, who, on her silvan way,

Salutes proud Raby's turrets grey." . See Notes to the song of Fair Rosabelle, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel.

3 Cartland Crags, near Lanark, celebrated as among the favourite retreats of Sir William Wallace.

* See Appendix, Note M.
3 MS—" For brief the intercourse, I ween,

Such uncongenial souls between;
Well may you think stern Risingham
Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame;

6 See Appendix, Note N. 7 See Appendix, Note 0. 8 MS.—" Flashing to heaven her sparkling spray,

And clamouring joyful on her way." 9 MS. -" And Rokeby's tower is seen no more ;

Sinking 'mid Greta's thickets green,
The journeyers seek another scene."

Sinking mid Grata's thickets deep, A wild and darker course they keep, A stern and lone, yet lovely road, As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode !! Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, Deeper and narrower grew the dell; It seem'd some mountain, rent and riven, A channel for the stream had given, So high the cliffs of limestone grey Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, Yielding, along their rugged base, A finty footpath's niggard space, Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, May hear the headlong torrent rave, And like a steed in frantic fit, That Alings the froth from curb and bit,3 May view her chafe her waves to spray, O’er every rock that bars her way, Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, Thick as the schemes of human pride That down life's current drive amain, As frail, as frothy, and as vain !

IX. Now from the stream the rocks recede, But leave between no gunny mead, No, nor the spot of pebbly sand, Oft found by such a mountain strand; Forming such warm and dry retreat, As fancy deems the lonely seat, Where hermit, wandering from his cell, His rosary might love to tell. But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew A dismal grove of sable yew, With whose sad tints were mingled seen The blighted fir's sepulchral green. Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast, The earth that nourish'd them to blast; For never knew that swarthy grove The verdant hue that fairies love; Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower, Arose within its baleful bower: The dank and sable earth receives Its only carpet from the leaves, That, from the withering branches cast, Bestrew'd the ground with every blast. Though now the sun was o'er the hill, In this dark spot 'twas twilight still, Save that on Greta's farther side Some straggling beams through copsewood glide; And wild and savage contrast made That dingle's deep and funeral shade, With the bright tints of early day, Which, glimmering through the ivy spray, On the opposing summit lay.

VIII. The cliffs that rear their haughty head High o'er the river's darksome bed, Were now all naked, wild, and grey, Now waving all with greenwood spray; Here trees to every crevice clung, And o'er the dell their branches hung; And there, all splinter'd and uneven, The shiver'd rocks ascend to heaven; Oft, too, the ivy swath'd their breast,* And wreathed its garland round their crest, Or from the spires bade loosely flare Its tendrils in the middle air. As pennons wont to wave of old O'er the high feast of Baron bold, When reveli'd loud the feudal route, And the arch'd halls return'd their shout; Such and more wild is Greta's roar, And such the echoes from her shore. And so the ivied banners gleam, Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream.

X. The lated peasant shunn'd the dell; For Superstition wont to tell Of many a grisly sound and sight, Scaring its path at dead of night. When Christmas logs blaze high and wide, Such wonders speed the festal tide; While Curiosity and Fear, Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near, Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, And village maidens lose the rose.

1 See Appendix, Note P. 2 MS.—" Yielding their rugged base beside

6 MS.

"a torrent's strand; Where in the warm and dry retreat, May fancy form some hermit's seat."


{ niggard }path by Greta's tide.

7 MS.-"A darksome grove of funeral yew,

Where trees a baleful shadow cast,
The ground that nourish'd them to blast,
Mingled with whose sad tits were seen
The blighted fir's sepulchral green."

3 MS.-“That flings the foam from curb and bit,

Chafing her waves to whiten wrath,

O'er every rock that bars her path,

Till down her boiling eddies ride," &c. - MS.-" The frequent ivy swathed their breast,

And wreathed its tendrils round their crest,
Or from their summit bade them fall,
And tremble o'er the Greta's brawl."

green, 5 KS.—“And so the ivy's hanners.

Waved wildly trembling o'er the scene,
Wared wild above the clamorous stream."

8 MS.-" In this dark grove 'twas twilight still,

Save that upon the rocks opposed
Some straggling beams of morn reposed,
And wild and savage contrast made
That bleak and dark funereal shade
With the bright tints of early day,
Which, struggling through the greenwood spray
Upon the rock's wild mummit lay."

The thrilling interest rises higher,'

And canvass, wore in earthly looms, The circle closes nigh and nigher,

No more to brave the storm presumes ! And shuddering glance is cast behind,

Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky, As louder moans the wintry wind.

Top and top-gallant hoisted high, Believe, that fitting scene was laid

Full spread and crowded every sail, For such wild tales in Mortham glade;

The Demon Frigate braves the gale ; For who had seen, on Greta's side,

And well the doom'd spectators know
By that dim light fierce Bertram stride,

The harbinger of wreck and woe.
In such a spot, at such an hour,-
If touch'd by Superstition's power,

Might well have deem'd that Hell had given Then, too, were told, in stifled tone,
A murderer's ghost to upper Heaven,

Marvels and omens all their own;
While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide

How, by some desert isle or key, Like his pale victim by his side.

Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty,

Or where the savage pirate's mood

Repaid it home in deeds of blood,
Nor think to village swains alone

Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear Are these unearthly terrors known;

Appall’d the listening Bucanier, For not to rank nor sex confined

Whose light-arm'd shallop anchor'd lay Is this vain ague of the mind:

In ambush by the lonely bay. Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard,

The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barr’d,

Ring from the moonlight groves of cane; Have guaked, like aspen leaves in May,

The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, Beneath its universal sway.

Who wearies memory for a prayer, Bertram had listed many a tale

Curses the road-stead, and with gale Of wonder in his native dale,

Of early morning lifts the sail, That in his secret soul retain'd

To give, in thirst of blood and prey,
The credence they in childhood gain'd:

A legend for another bay.
Nor less his wild adventurous youth
Believed in every legend's truth;

Learn'd when, beneath the tropic gale,

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child, Full swell’d the vessel's steady sail,

Train'd in the mystic and the wild, And the broad Indian moon her light

With this on Bertram's soul at times Pour'd on the watch of middle night,

Rush'd a dark feeling of his crimes; When seamen love to hear and tell

Such to his troubled soul their form, Of portent, prodigy, and spell: 2

As the pale Death-ship to the storm, What gales are sold on Lapland's shore,3

And such their omen dim and dread, How whistle rash bids tempests roar;*

As shrieks and voices of the dead,Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite,

That pang, whose transitory force 8 Of Erick’s cap and Elmo's light;5

Hover'd 'twixt horror and remorse; Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form

That pang, perchance, his bosom press'd, Shoots like a meteor through the storm;.

As Wilfrid sudden he address'dWhen the dark scud comes driving hard,

“ Wilfrid, this glen is never trode And lower'd is every topsail-yard,

Until the sun rides high abroad;

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1 MS.-—“The interest rises high and higher."

gave them unto the merchants; observing that rule, that when 2 The MS. has not the two following couplets.

they unloosed the first, they should have a good gale of wind; 3 “Also I shall shew very briefly what force conjurers and when the second, a stronger wind; but when they untied the witches have in constraining the elements enchanted by them third, they should have such cruel tempests, that they should or others, that they may exceed or fall short of their natural not be able to look out of the forecastle to aroid the rocks, order: premising this, that the extream land of North Fin- nor move a foot to pull down the sails, nor stand at the helm land and Lapland was so taught witchcraft formerly in hea- to govern the ship; and they made an unhappy trial of the thenish times, as if they had learned this cursed art from truth of it who denied that there was any such power in those Zoroastres the Persian ; though other inhabitants by the sea- knots."-OLAUS MAGNUS's History of the Goths, Sucedes, and coasts are reported to be bewitched with the same madness; Vandals. Lond. 1658, fol. p. 47.-{See Note to The Pirate, for they exercise this devilish art, of all the arts of the world, “ Sale of Winds," Waverley Novels, vol. xxiv. p. 136.] to admiration; and in this, or other such like mischief, they commonly agree. The Finlanders were wont formerly,

4 See Appendix, Noto Q. 6 Ibid, Note R. amongst their other errors of gentilisme, to sell winds to mer

6 See Appendix, Note S. 7 Ibid, Note I chants that were stopt on their coasts by contrary weather; and when they had their price, they knit three magical knots, 8 MS.-"Its fell, though transitory force, not like to the laws of Cassius, bound up with a thong, and they

Hovers, 'twixt pity and remorse."

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