Of yonder harp?-Nay, clear thy brow." Marwood-chase is the old park extending along the Durham side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Hill is an eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding a superb view of the ruins.

3 MS." Where rose and lily I will twine In guerdon of a song of thine."

4 "Mr. Scott has imparted a delicacy, (we mean in the colouring, for of the design we cannot approve,) a sweetness and a melancholy smile to this parting picture, that really enchant us. Poor Wilfrid is sadly discomfited by the last instance of encouragement to Redmond; and Matilda endeavours to cheer him by requesting, in the prettiest, and yet in the most touching manner, Kind Wycliffe, to try his minstrelsy. We will

On favour'd Erm s crest be seen
The flower she loves of emerald green-
But, Lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree.

Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare

The ivy meet for minstrel's hair;
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves,
With bloody hand the victor weaves,
Let the loud trump his triumph tell;
But when you hear the passing-bell,
Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me,
And twine it of the cypress-tree.

Yes! twine for me the cypress bough;
But, O Matilda, twine not now!
Stay till a few brief months are past,
And I have look'd and loved my last!
When villagers my shroud bestrew
With panzies, rosemary, and rue,-
Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me,
And weave it of the cypress-tree.

XIV.

O'Neale observed the starting tear,

And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer"No, noble Wilfrid! ere the day

When mourns the land thy silent lay,

Shall many a wreath be freely wove

By hand of friendship and of love.
I would not wish that rigid Fate
Had doom'd thee to a captive's state,
Whose hands are bound by honour's law,
Who wears a sword he must not draw;
But were it so, in minstrel pride
The land together would we ride,
On prancing steeds, like harpers old,
Bound for the halls of barons bold,5
Each lover of the lyre we'd seek,
From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's

And I, thy mate, in rougher strain,
Would sing of war and warriors slain.
Old England's bards were vanquish'd
then,

And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden,'
And, silenced on Iernian shore,

M'Curtin's harp should charm no more!"?
In lively mood he spoke, to wile

From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile.

XV.

"But," said Matilda, " ere thy name,
Good Redmond, gain its destined fame,
Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call
Thy brother-minstrel to the hall?
Bid all the household, too, attend,
Each in his rank a humble friend;

I know their faithful hearts will grieve,
When their poor Mistress takes her leave;
So let the horn and beaker flow
To mitigate their parting woe."
The harper came;-in youth's first prime
Himself; in mode of olden time
His garb was fashion'd, to express
The ancient English minstrel's dress,3
A seemly gown of Kendal green,
With gorget closed of silver sheen;
His harp in silken scarf was slung,
And by his side an anlace hung.

It seem'd some masquer's quaint array,
For revel or for holiday.

XVI.

He made obeisance with a free

Yet studied air of courtesy.

Each look and accent, framed to please,
Seem'd to affect a playful ease;
His face was of that doubtful kind,
That wins the eye, but not the mind;
Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss
Of brow so young and smooth as this.
His was the subtle look and sly,
That, spying all, seems nought to spy;
Round all the group his glances stole,
Unmark'd themselves, to mark the whole.
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look,
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook.1

To the suspicious, or the old,
Subtle and dangerous and bold
Had seem'd this self-invited guest;
But young our lovers,-and the rest,

Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear At parting of their Mistress dear, Tear-blinded to the Castle-hall, Came as to bear her funeral pall.

XVII.

All that expression base was gone,
When waked the guest his minstrel tone;
It fled at inspiration's call,

As erst the demon fled from Saul."
More noble glance he cast around,
More free-drawn breath inspired the sound,
His pulse beat bolder and more high,

In all the pride of minstrelsy!
Alas! too soon that pride was o'er,
Sunk with the lay that bade it soar!
His soul resumed, with habit's chain,
Its vices wild and follies vain,
And gave the talent, with him born,
To be a common curse and scorn.
Such was the youth whom Rokeby's Maid,
With condescending kindness, pray'd
Here to renew the strains she loved,
At distance heard and well approved.

XVIII.
Song.

THE HARP.

1 was a wild and wayward boy,
My childhood scorn'd each childish toy,
Retired from all, reserved and coy,
To musing prone,

I woo'd my solitary joy,
My Harp alone.

My youth, with bold Ambition's mood,
Despised the humble stream and wood,
Where my poor father's cottage stood,
To fame unknown;—
What should my soaring views make good?
My Harp alone!

Love came with all his frantic fire,
And wild romance of vain desire:7
The baron's daughter heard my lyre,
And praised the tone;-
What could presumptuous hope inspire?
My Harp alone!

At manhood's touch the bubble burst, And manhood's pride the vision curst,

1 Drummond of Hawthornden was in the zenith of his reputation as a poet during the Civil Wars. He died in 1649. 2 See Appendix, Note 3 E. 3 Ibid, Note 3 F. 4 MS." Nor could keen Redmond's aspect brook."

5 MS." Came blindfold to the Castle-hall,

As if to bear her funeral pall."

6" But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the Lord troubled him.

"And Saul said unto his servants, Provide me now a man that can play well, and bring him to me. And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: So Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him."-1 SAMUEL, chap. xvi. 14, 17, 23.

7 MS.-"Love came, with all his ardent fire, His frantic dream, his wild desire."

And all that had my folly nursed
Love's sway to own;

Yet spared the spell that lull'd me first,
My Harp alone!

Woe came with war, and want with woe;
And it was mine to undergo
Each outrage of the rebel foe:-1
Can aught atone

My fields laid waste, my cot laid low?
My Harp alone!

Ambition's dreams I've seen depart. Have rued of penury the smart, Have felt of love the venom'd dart, When hope was flown; Yet rests one solace to my heart,My Harp alone!

Then over mountain, moor, and hill,
My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still;
And when this life of want and ill
Is wellnigh gone,

Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill,
My Harp alone!

XIX.

"A pleasing lay!" Matilda said;
But Harpool shook his old grey head,
And took his baton and his torch,
To seek his guard-room in the porch.
Edmund observed; with sudden change,
Among the strings his fingers range,
Until they waked a bolder glee
Of military melody;

Then paused amid the martial sound,
And look'd with well-feign'd fear around ;-
"None to this noble house belong,"
He said, "that would a Minstrel wrong,
Whose fate has been, through good and ill,
To love his Royal Master still;
And with your honour'd leave, would fain
Rejoice you with a loyal strain."
Then, as assured by sign and look,
The warlike tone again he took;
And Harpool stopp'd, and turn'd to hear
A ditty of the Cavalier.

Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down ; Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown!

He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear, He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing hair, From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down,

Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown!

For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws,

Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause;
His watchward is honour, his pay is renown,-
GOD strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown!

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all
The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall;
But tell these bold traitors of London's proud town,
That the spears of the North have encircled the
Crown.3

There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose! Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown,

With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown?

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier!
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear,
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown,
In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her
Crown.1

XXI.

"Alas!" Matilda said, "that strain, Good harper, now is heard in vain! The time has been, at such a sound, When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round, An hundred manly hearts would bound; But now the stirring verse we hear, Like trump in dying soldier's ear! 5 Listless and sad the notes we own, The power to answer them is flown. Yet not without his meet applause, Be he that sings the rightful cause, Even when the crisis of its fate To human eye seems desperate. While Rokeby's Heir such power retains, Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains :And, lend thy harp; I fain would try, If my poor skill can aught supply,

"If they boast that fair Reading by treachery fell,

Of Stratton and Lansdoune the Cornish can tell,
And the North tell of Bramham and Adderton Down,
Where God bless the brave gallants who fought for the
Crown."

5 MS." But now it sinks upon the ear,

Like dirge beside a hero's bier."

Are yet I leave my fathers' hall,

To mourn the cause in which we fall."

XXII.

The harper, with a downcast look,
And trembling hand, her bounty took.—
As yet, the conscious pride of art
Had steel'd him in his treacherous part;
A powerful spring, of force unguess'd,
That hath each gentler mood suppress'd,
And reign'd in many a human breast;
From his that plans the red campaign,
To his that wastes the woodland reign.
The failing wing, the blood-shot eye,-1
The sportsman marks with apathy,
Each feeling of his victim's ill
Drown'd in his own successful skill.
The veteran, too, who now no more
Aspires to head the battle's roar,
Loves still the triumph of his art,
And traces on the pencill'd chart
Some stern invader's destined way,
Through blood and ruin, to his prey;
Patriots to death, and towns to flame,
He dooms, to raise another's name,
And shares the guilt, though not the fame.
What pays him for his span of time
Spent in premeditating crime?
What against pity arms his heart?—
It is the conscious pride of art.3

XXIII.

But principles in Edmund's mind
Were baseless, vague, and undefined.
His soul, like bark with rudder lost,
On Passion's changeful tide was tost;
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power
Beyond the impression of the hour;
And, O! when Passion rules, how rare
The hours that fall to Virtue's share!
Yet now she roused her-for the pride,
That lack of sterner guilt supplied,
Could scarce support him when arose
The lay that mourned Matilda's woes.

Song.

THE FAREWELL.

The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear,
They mingle with the song:
Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear,
I must not hear them long.
From every loved and native haunt
The native Heir must stray,

And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt, Must part before the day.

Soon from the halls my fathers rear'd,

Their scutcheons may descend,

A line so long beloved and fear'd

May soon obscurely end.

No longer here Matilda's tone
Shall bid those echoes swell;
Yet shall they hear her proudly own
The cause in which we fell.

The Lady paused, and then again Resumed the lay in loftier strain.*

XXIV.

Let our halls and towers decay,
Be our name and line forgot,
Lands and manors pass away,-
We but share our Monarch's lot.
If no more our annals show

Battles won and banners taken, Still in death, defeat, and woe, Ours be loyalty unshaken !

Constant still in danger's hour,

Princes own'd our fathers' aid;

Lands and honours, wealth and power,"
Well their loyalty repaid.

Perish wealth, and power, and pride!
Mortal boons by mortals given;
But let Constancy abide,-
Constancy's the gift of Heaven.

XXV.

While thus Matilda's lay was heard,
A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'd
In peasant life he might have known
As fair a face, as sweet a tone;
But village notes could ne'er supply
That rich and varied melody;
And ne'er in cottage-maid was seen
The easy dignity of mien,

Claiming respect, yet waving state,
That marks the daughters of the great.
Yet not, perchance, had these alone
His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown;
But while her energy of mind
Superior rose to griefs combined,
Lending its kindling to her eye,
Giving her form new majesty,-
To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'd
The very object he had dream'd;

When, long ere guilt his soul had known,
In Winston bowers he mused alone,
Taxing his fancy to combine

The face, the air, the voice divine,
Of princess fair, by cruel fate
Reft of her honours, power, and state,'
Till to her rightful realm restored
By destined hero's conquering sword.

XXVI.

"Such was my vision!" Edmund thought; "And have I, then, the ruin wrought

Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er

In fairest vision form'd her peer?
Was it my hand that could unclose
The postern to her ruthless foes?
Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith,
Their kindest mercy sudden death!
Have I done this? I! who have swore,
That if the globe such angel bore,

I would have traced its circle broad,
To kiss the ground on which she trode!-
And now-O! would that earth would rive,
And close upon me while alive!—

Is there no hope? Is all then lost ?—
Bertram's already on his post!
Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door,
I saw his shadow cross the floor!
He was to wait my signal strain-
A little respite thus we gain :

By what I heard the menials say,

Young Wycliffe's troop are on their way-
Alarm precipitates the crime!

My harp must wear away the time."-
And then, in accents faint and low,
He falter'd forth a tale of woe.2

Let mass be said, and trentrals read, When thou'rt to convent gone, And bid the bell of St. Benedict Toll out its deepest tone."

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,
Blindfolded as he came
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall
Were weeping for their dame.

Wild Darrell is an alter'd man,

The village crones can tell; He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray, If he hears the convent bell.

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way,
He'll beard him in his pride-
If he meet a Friar of orders grey,
He droops and turns aside.*

XXVIII.

"Harper! methinks thy magic lays,"
Matilda said, "can goblins raise!
Wellnigh my fancy can discern,
Near the dark porch, a visage stern;
E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook,
I see it! Redmond, Wilfrid, look !—
A human form distinct and clear-
God, for thy mercy!-It draws near!"
She saw too true. Stride after stride,
The centre of that chamber wide
Fierce Bertram gain'd; then made a
stand,

And, proudly waving with his hand,
Thunder'd-"Be still, upon your lives!—
He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives."
Behind their chief, the robber crew
Forth from the darken'd portal drew
In silence-save that echo dread

Return'd their heavy measured tread."
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave

Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave;
File after file in order pass,

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass.

Then, halting at their leader's sign,

At once they form'd and curved their line,

Hemming within its crescent drear
Their victims, like a herd of deer.
Another sign, and to the aim
Levell'd at once their muskets came,

As waiting but their chieftain's word,
To make their fatal volley heard.

1 MS." Of some fair princess of romance, The guerdon of a hero's lance."

* The MS. has not this couplet.

8 MS." And see thy shrift be true, Else shall the soul, that parts to-day, Fling all its guilt on you."

4 See Appendix, Note 3 G,-[to which the author, in his interleaved copy, has made considerable additions.-ED.]

5 MS.-"Behind him came his savage crew,

File after file in order due;

Silent from that dark portal pass,
Like forms on Banquo's magic glass."