Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known.
And must I lift the bloody veil
That hides my dark and fatal tale!
I must-I will-Palę phantom, cease!
Leave me one little hour in peace!
Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill
Thine own commission to fulfil?

Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce,
Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse,
How can I paint thee as thou wert,
So fair in face, so warm in heart!

XX.

"Yes, she was fair!-Matilda, thou
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow;
But hers was like the sunny glow,
That laughs on earth and all below!
We wedded secret-there was need-
Differing in country and in creed;
And, when to Mortham's tower she came,
We mentioned not her race and name,
Until thy sire, who fought afar,'
Should turn him home from foreign war,
On whose kind influence we relied
To soothe her father's ire and pride.
Few months we lived retired, unknown,
To all but one dear friend alone,
One darling friend-I spare his shame,
I will not write the villain's name!
My trespasses I might forget,"
And sue in vengeance for the debt
Due by a brother worm to me,
Ungrateful to God's clemency,3
That spared me penitential time,
Nor cut me off amid my crime.-
XXI.

"A kindly smile to all she lent,
But on her husband's friend 'twas bent
So kind, that from its harmless glee,*
The wretch misconstrued villany.
Repulsed in his presumptuous love,
A 'vengeful snare the traitor wove.
Alone we sat the flask had flow'd,
My blood with heat unwonted glow'd,
When through the alley'd walk we spied
With hurried step my Edith glide,
Cowering beneath the verdant screen,
As one unwilling to be seen.
Words cannot paint the fiendish smile,
That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while!
Fiercely I question'd of the cause;
He made a cold and artful pause,

1 MS.-"Until thy father, then afar."
MS.-"I, a poor debtor, should forget."
MS.-"Forgetting God's own clemency."
MS.-"So kindly, that from harmless glee."
MS. "I caught a cross-bow that was near,

Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood-
'There was a gallant in the wood!'
We had been shooting at the deer;
My cross-bow (evil chance!) was near:
That ready weapon of my wrath

I caught, and, hasting up the path,"
In the yew grove my wife I found:
A stranger's arms her neck had bound!

I mark'd his heart-the bow I drew

I loosed the shaft-'twas more than true!

I found my Edith's dying charms
Lock'd in her murder'd brother's arms!

He came in secret to inquire
Her state, and reconcile her sire.

XXII.

"All fled my rage-the villain first,
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed;
He sought in far and foreign clime
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime.
The manner of the slaughter done
Was known to few, my guilt to none;
Some tale my faithful steward framed-
I know not what-of shaft mis-aim'd;
And even from those the act who knew,
He hid the hand from which it flew.
Untouch'd by human laws I stood,
But God had heard the cry of blood!
There is a blank upon my mind,
A fearful vision ill-defined,
Of raving till my flesh was torn,
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn—
And when I waked to woe more mild,
And question'd of my infant child-
(Have I not written, that she bare
A boy, like summer morning fair ?)—
With looks confused my menials tell
That armed men in Mortham dell
Beset the nurse's evening way,
And bore her, with her charge, away.
My faithless friend, and none but he,
Could profit by this villany;

Him then, I sought, with purpose dread
Of treble vengeance on his head!
He 'scaped me-but my bosom's wound
Some faint relief from wandering found;
And over distant land and sea

I bore my load of misery.

XXIII.

""Twas then that fate my footsteps led Among a daring crew and dread,' With whom full oft my hated life

The readlest weapon of my wrath,

And hastening up the Greta path." This couplet is not in the MS.

7 MS.-" "Twas then that fate my footsteps threw Among a wild and daring crew."

I ventured in such desperate strife,
That even my fierce associates saw
My frantic deeds with doubt and awe.
Much then I learn'd, and much can show,
Of human guilt and human woe,

Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known

A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own!-
It chanced, that after battle fray,
Upon the bloody field we lay;
The yellow moon her lustre shed
Upon the wounded and the dead,

While, sense in toil and wassail drown'd,
My ruffian comrades slept around,
There came a voice-its silver tone
Was soft, Matilda, as thine own-

'Ah, wretch!' it said, 'what makest thou here,

While unavenged my bloody bier,
While unprotected lives mine heir,
Without a father's name and care?'

XXIV.

"I heard-obey'd-and homeward drew;
The fiercest of our desperate crew
I brought at time of need to aid
My purposed vengeance, long delay'd.
But, humble be my thanks to Heaven,
That better hopes and thoughts has given,
And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught
Mercy by mercy must be bought !-
Let me in misery rejoice-

I've seen his face-I've heard his voice

I claim'd of him my only child.
As he disown'd the theft, he smiled!
That very calm and callous look,
That fiendish sneer his visage took,
As when he said, in scornful mood,
"There is a gallant in the wood!'-
I did not slay him as he stood-
All praise be to my Maker given!
Long suffrance is one path to heaven."

XXV.

Thus far the woful tale was heard,
When something in the thicket stirr'd.
Up Redmond sprung; the villain Guy
(For he it was that lurk'd so nigh),
Drew back-he durst not cross his steel
A moment's space with brave O'Neale,
For all the treasured gold that rests
In Mortham's iron-banded chests.
Redmond resumed his seat;-he said,
Some roe was rustling in the shade.
Bertram laugh'd grimly when he saw
His timorous comrade backward draw;
"A trusty mate art thou, to fear
A single arm, and aid so near!
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer.
Give me thy carabine-I'll show

An art that thou wilt gladly know, How thou mayst safely quell a foe."

XXVI.

On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew
The spreading birch and hazels through,
Till he had Redmond full in view;
The gun he level'd-Mark like this
Was Bertram never known to miss,
When fair opposed to aim there sate
An object of his mortal hate.

That day young Redmond's death had seen,
But twice Matilda came between
The carabine and Redmond's breast,
Just ere the spring his finger press'd.
A deadly oath the ruffian swore,
But yet his fell design forbore:

"It ne'er," he mutter'd, "shall be said,
That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid!"
Then moved to seek more open aim,
When to his side Guy Denzil came:
"Bertram, forbear!-we are undone
Forever, if thou fire the gun.
By all the fiends, an armed force
Descends the dell, of foot and horse!
We perish if they hear a shot-
Madman! we have a safer plot-
Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back!
Behold, down yonder hollow track,

The warlike leader of the band
Comes, with his broadsword in his hand."
Bertram look'd up; he saw, he knew
That Denzil's fears had counsell'd true,
Then cursed his fortune and withdrew,
Threaded the woodlands undescried,
And gain'd the cave on Greta side.

XXVII.

They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath,
Doom'd to captivity or death,
Their thoughts to one sad subject lent,
Saw not nor heard the ambushment.
Heedless and unconcern'd they sate,
While on the very verge of fate;
Heedless and unconcern'd remain'd,
When Heaven the murderer's arm restrain'd;
As ships drift darkling down the tide,
Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide.
Uninterrupted thus they heard
What Mortham's closing tale declared.
He spoke of wealth as of a load,
By Fortune on a wretch bestow'd,
In bitter mockery of hate,

His cureless woes to aggravate;
But yet he pray'd Matilda's care
Might save that treasure for his heir-
His Edith's son-for still he raved
As confident his life was saved;

In frequent vision, he averr'd,
He saw his face, his voice he heard;
Then argued calm-had murder been,
The blood, the corpses, had been seen;
Some had pretended, too, to mark
On Windermere a stranger bark,

Whose crew, with zealous care, yet mild,
Guarded a female and a child.

While these faint proofs he told and press'd,
Hope seem'd to kindle in his breast;
Though inconsistent, vague, and vain,
It warp'd his judgment, and his brain.1

XXVIII.

These solemn words his story close:-
"Heaven witness for me, that I chose
My part in this sad civil fight,
Moved by no cause but England's right.
My country's groans have bid me draw
My sword for gospel and for law :—
These righted, I fling arms aside,
And seek my son through Europe wide.
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh
Already casts a grasping eye,
With thee may unsuspected lie.
When of my death Matilda hears,
Let her retain her trust three years;
If none, from me, the treasure claim,
Perish'd is Mortham's race and name.
Then let it leave her generous hand,
And flow in bounty o'er the land;
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot,
Rebuild the peasant's ruin'd cot;
So spoils, acquired by fight afar,
Shall mitigate domestic war."

XXIX.

The generous youths, who well had known
Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone,
To that high mind, by sorrow swerved,
Gave sympathy his woes deserved;"
But Wilfrid chief, who saw reveal'd
Why Mortham wish'd his life conceal'd,
In secret, doubtless, to pursue

The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew.
Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell,
That she would share her father's cell,
His partner of captivity,

Where'er his prison-house should be;
Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall,
Dismantled and forsook by all,
Open to rapine and to stealth,
Had now no safeguard for the wealth
Intrusted by her kinsman kind,

1 MS.-"Hope, inconsistent, vague, and vain, Seem'd on the theme to warp his brain." *MS-"To that high mind thus warp'd and swerved,

And for such noble use design'd.
"Was Barnard Castle then her choice,"
Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice,
"Since there the victor's laws ordain
Her father must a space remain?"
A flutter'd hope his accents shook,
A flutter'd joy was in his look.
Matilda hasten'd to reply,

For anger flash'd in Redmond's eye;—
"Duty," she said, with gentle grace,
"Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place;
Else had I for my sire assign'd

Prison less galling to his mind,

Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees
And hears the murmur of the Tees,
Recalling thus, with every glance,
What captive's sorrow can enhance;
But where those woes are highest, there
Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care."

XXX.

He felt the kindly check she gave,

And stood abash'd-then answer'd grave:-
"I sought thy purpose, noble maid,
Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid.
I have beneath mine own command,
So wills my sire, a gallant band,
And well could send some horseman wight
To bear the treasure forth by night,
And so bestow it as you deem
In these ill days may safest seem."-
"Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said:
"O, be it not one day delay'd!
And, more, thy sister-friend to aid,
Be thou thyself content to hold,
In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold,
Safest with thee."-While thus she spoke,
Arm'd soldiers on their converse broke,
The same of whose approach afraid,
The ruffians left their ambuscade.
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low,
Then look'd around as for a foe.

[said

XXXI.

Wilfrid changed color, and, amazed,
Turn'd short, and on the speaker gazed;
While Redmond every thicket round
Track'd earnest as a questing hound,
And Denzil's carabine he found;
Sure evidence, by which they knew
The warning was as kind as true.1
Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed
To leave the dell. It was agreed,
That Redmond, with Matilda fair,
And fitting guard, should home repair;2
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend,
With a strong band, his sister-friend,
To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers,
Secret and safe the banded chests,
In which the wealth of Mortham rests.
This hasty purpose fix'd, they part,
Each with a grieved and anxious heart.

Rokeby.

CANTO FIFTH.

Ι.

THE sultry summer day is done,
The western hills have hid the sun,
But mountain peak and village spire
Retain reflection of his fire.

Old Barnard's towers are purple still,
To those that gaze from Toller-hill;
Distant and high, the tower of Bowes
Like steel upon the anvil glows;
And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay,
Rich with the spoils of parting day,
In crimson and in gold array'd,
Streaks yet a while the closing shade,
Then slow resigns to darkening heaven
The tints which brighter hours had given.
Thus aged men, full loth and slow,
The vanities of life forego,

And count their youthful follies o'er,
Till Memory lends her light no more.

2 MS.

1 MS." And they the gun of Denzil find;
A witness sure to every mind
The warning was as true as kind."
It was agreed,
That Redmond, with Matilda fair,
Should straight to Rokeby-hall repair,
And, foes so near them, known so late,

A guard should tend her to the gate."

"The fifth canto opens with an evening-scene, of its accustomed beauty when delineated by Mr. Scott. The mountain fading in the twilight, is nobly imagined."-Monthly Review.

The

II.

eve, that slow on upland fades, Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades, Where, sunk within their banks profound, Her guardian streams to meeting wound. The stately oaks, whose sombre frown Of noontide make a twilight brown, Impervious now to fainter light, Of twilight make an early night." Hoarse into middle air arose The vespers of the roosting crows, And with congenial murmurs seem To wake the Genii of the stream; For louder clamor'd Greta's tide, And Tees in deeper voice replied, And fitful waked the evening wind, Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd. Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul Felt in the scene a soft control, With lighter footstep press'd the ground, And often paused to look around; And, though his path was to his love, Could not but linger in the grove, To drink the thrilling interest dear, Of awful pleasure check'd by fear. Such inconsistent moods have we, Even when our passions strike the key.

III.

Now, through the wood's dark mazes past,
The opening lawn he reach'd at last,
Where, silver'd by the moonlight ray,
The ancient Hall before him lay.
Those martial terrors long were fled,
That frown'd of old around its head:
The battlements, the turrets gray,
Seem'd half abandon'd to decay;"
On barbican and keep of stone
Stern Time the foeman's work had done.
Where banners the invader braved,
The harebell now and wallflower waved;
In the rude guard-room, where of yore
Their weary hours the warders wore,
Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze,
On the paved floor the spindle plays;*
The flanking guns dismounted lie,
The moat is ruinous and dry,

The grim portcullis gone—and all The fortress turn'd to peaceful Hall.

IV.

But yet precautions, lately ta'en,'
Show'd danger's day revived again;

The court-yard wall show'd marks of care,
The fall'n defences to repair,

Lending such strength as might withstand The insult of marauding band.

The beams once more were taught to bear The trembling drawbridge into air, And not, till question'd o'er and o'er, For Wilfrid oped the jealous door, And when he enter'd, bolt and bar Resumed their place with sullen jar; Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch, The old gray porter raised his torch, And view'd him o'er, from foot to head, Ere to the hall his steps he led. That huge old hall, of knightly state, Dismantled seem'd and desolate. The moon through transom-shafts of stone, Which cross'd the latticed oriels, shone, And by the mournful light she gave, The Gothic vault seem'd funeral cave. Pennon and banner waved no more O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar, Nor glimmering arms were marshall'd seen, To glance those silvan spoils between. Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, Accomplish'd Rokeby's brave array, But all were lost on Marston's day! Yet here and there the moonbeams fall Where armor yet adorns the wall, Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, And useless in the modern fight! Like veteran relic of the wars, Known only by neglected scars.

There was no speech the truce to bind,
It was a compact of the mind,-
A generous thought, at once impress'd
On either rival's generous breast.
Matilda well the secret took,
From sudden change of mien and look;
And-for not small had been her fear
Of jealous ire and danger near-
Felt, even in her dejected state,
A joy beyond the reach of fate.
They closed beside the chimney's blaze,
And talk'd, and hoped for happier days,
And lent their spirits' rising glow
A while to gild impending woe;—
High privilege of youthful time,
Worth all the pleasures of our prime!
The bickering fagot sparkled bright,
And gave the scene of love to sight,
Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow,
Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow,
Her nut-brown curls and forehead high,
And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye.
Two lovers by the maiden sate,
Without a glance of jealous hate;

The maid her lovers sat between,
With open brow and equal mien ;—

It is a sight but rarely spied,

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride.