The lowest dungeon, in that hour, Of Brackenbury's dismal tower, Had been his choice, could such a doom Have open'd Mortham's bloody tomb ! Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear To each surmise of hope or fear, Murmur'd among the rustics round, Who gather'd at the 'larum sound; He dared not turn his head away, E'en to look up to heaven to pray, Or call on hell, in bitter mood, For one sharp death-shot from the wood !

XXIX. At length o'erpast that dreadful space, Back straggling came the scatter'd chase; Jaded and weary, horse and man, Return'd the troopers, one by one. Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, All trace was lost of Bertram's way, Though Redmond still, up Brignall wood, The hopeless quest in vain pursued. – O, fatal doom of human race ! What tyrant passions passions chase ! Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone, Avarice and pride resume their throne ; The pang of instant terror by, They dictate thus their slave's reply :

XXX. “Ay-let him range like hasty hound ! And if the grim wolf's lair be found, Small is my care how goes the game With Redmond, or with Risingham. -Nay, answer not, thou simple boy! Thy fair Matilda, all so coy To thee, is of another mood To that bold youth of Erin's blood. Thy ditties will she freely praise, And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ; In a rough path will oft commandAccept at least-thy friendly hand; His she avoids, or, urged and pray'd, Unwilling takes his proffer'd aid, While conscious passion plainly speaks In downcast look and blushing cheeks. Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh, And all her soul is in her eye ; Yet doubts she still to tender free The wonted words of courtesy. These are strong signs !-yet wherefore

sigh, And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ?

Thine shall she be, if thou attend
The counsels of thy sire and friend.

XXXI. “ Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of

light Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. Brave Cromwell turn'd the doubtful tide, And conquest bless'd the rightful side ; Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ; Nobles and knights, so proud of late, Must fine for freedom and estate. Of these, committed to my charge, Is Rokeby, prisoner at large; Redmond, his page, arrived to say He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. Right heavy shall his ransom be, Unless that maid compound with thee! Go to her now-be bold of cheer, While her soul floats'twixt hope and fear; It is the very change of tide, When best the female heart is triedPride, prejudice, and modesty, Are in the current swept to sea ; And the bold swain, who plies his oar, May lightly row his bark to shore." CANTO THIRD.

I. The hunting tribes of air and earth Respect the brethren of their birth; Nature, who loves the claim of kind, Less cruel chase to each assign'd. The falcon, poised on soaring wing, Watches the wild-duck by the spring ; The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair; The greyhound presses on the hare; The eagle pounces on the lamb; The wolf devours the fleecy dam : Even tiger fell, and sullen bear, Their likeness and their lineage spare ; Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan, And turns the fierce pursuit on man ; Plying war's desultory trade, Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son, At first the bloody game begun.

II.

The Indian, prowling for his prey, Who hears the settlers track his way,

And knows in distant forest far
Camp his red brethren of the war;
He, when each double and disguise
To baffle the pursuit he tries,
Low crouching now his head to hide,
Where swampy streams through rushes

glide,
Now covering with the wither'd leaves
The foot-prints that the dew receives;
He, skill'd in every silvan guile,
Knows not, nor tries, such various wile,
As Risingham, when on the wind
Arose the loud pursuit behind.
In Redesdale his youth had heard
Each art her wily dalesmen dared,
When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high,
To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry,
Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear,
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; .
And well his venturous life had proved
The lessons that his childhood loved.

III. Oft had he shown, in climes afar, Each attribute of roving war; The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, The quick resolve in danger nigh; The speed, that in the flight or chase, Outstripp'd the Charib's rapid race; The steady brain, the sinewy limb, To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; The iron frame, inured to bear Each dire inclemency of air, Nor less confirm'd to undergo Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. These arts he proved, his life to save, In peril oft by land and wave, On Arawaca's desert shore, Or where La Plata's billows roar, When oft the sons of vengeful Spain Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. These arts, in Indian warfare tried, Must save him now by Greta's side.

IV. 'Twas then, in hour of utmost need, He proved his courage, art, and speed. Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace, Now started forth in rapid race, Oft doubling back in mazy train, To blind the trace the dews retain ; Now clombe the rocks projecting high, To baffle the pursuer's eye ;

Now sought the stream, whose brawling

sound The echo of his footsteps drown'd. But if the forest verge he nears, There trample steeds, and glimmer

spears ; If deeper down the copse he drew, He heard the rangers' loud halloo, Beating each cover while they came, As if to start the silvan game. 'Twas then-like tiger close beset At every pass with toil and net, 'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare, By clashing arms and torches' flare, Who meditates, with furious bound, To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, 'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, Prompting to rush upon his foes : But as that crouching tiger, cow'd By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd, Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, Bertram suspends his purpose stern, And crouches in the brake and fern, Hiding his face, lest foemen spy The sparkle of his swarthy eye.

v. Then Bertram might the bearing trace Of the bold youth who led the chase; Who paused to list for every sound, Climb' every height to look around, Then rushing on with naked sword, Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 'Twas Redmond-by the azure eye ; 'Twas Redmond-by the locks that fly Disorder'd from his glowing cheek ; Mien, face, and form, young Redmond

speak. A form more active, light, and strong, Ne'er shot the ranks of war along; The modest, yet the manly mien, Might grace the court of maiden queen; A face more fair you well might find, For Redmond's knew the sun and wind, Nor boasted, from their tinge when free, The charm of regularity; But every feature had the power To aid the expression of the hour : Whether gay wit, and humour sly, Danced laughing in his light blue eye ; Or bended brow, and glance of fire, And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ;

Or soft and sadden'd glances show
Her ready sympathy with woe;
Or in that wayward mood of mind,
When various feelings are combined,
When joy and sorrow mingle near,
And hope's bright wings are check'd by

fear,
And rising doubts keep transport down,
And anger lends a short-lived frown ;
In that strange mood which maids ap-

prove Even when they dare not call it love ; With every change his features play'd, As aspens show the light and shade.

VI.

Well Risingham young Redmond knew :
And much he marvelld that the crew,
Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead
Were by that Mortham's foeman led;s
For never felt his soul the woe,
That wails a generous foeman low,
Far less that sense of justice strong,
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong.
But small his leisure now to pause;
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause :
And twice that Redmond came so near
Where Bertram couch'd like hunted deer,
The very boughs his steps displace,
Rustled against the ruffian's face,
Who, desperate, twice prepared to start,
And plunge his dagger in his heart !
But Redmond turn'd a different way,
And the bent boughs resumed their sway,
And Bertram held it wise, unseen,
Deeper to plunge in coppice green.
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake,
When roving hunters beat the brake,
Watches with red and glistening eye,
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh,
With forked tongue and venom'd fang
Instant to dart the deadly pang;
But if the intruders turn aside,
Away his coils unfolded glide,
And through the deep savannah wind,
Some undisturb'd retreat to find.

VII.
But Bertram, as he backward drew,
And heard the loud pursuit renew,
And Redmond's hollo on the wind,
Oft mutter'd in his savage mind-

“Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I
Alone this day's event to try,
With not a second here to see,
But the grey cliff and oaken tree,-
That voice of thine, that shouts so

loud,
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud !
No! nor e'er try its melting power
Again in maiden's summer bower."
Eluded, now behind him die,
Faint and more faint each hostile cry;
He stands in Scargill wood alone,
Nor hears he now a harsher tone
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry,
Or Greta's sound that muimurs by ;
And on the dale, so lone and wild,
The summer sun in quiet smiled.

VIII. He listen'd long with anxious heart, Ear bent to hear, and foot to start, And, while his stretch'd attention glows, Refused his weary frame repose. 'Twas silence all -- he laid him down, Where purple heath profusely strown, And throatwort with its azure bell, And moss and thyme his cushion swell. There, spent with toil, he listless eyed The course of Greta's playful tide ; Beneath, her banks now eddying dun, Now brightly gleaming to the sun, As, dancing over rock and stone, In yellow light her currents shone, Matching in hue the favourite gem Of Albin's mountain-diadem. Then, tired to watch the currents play, He turned his weary eyes away, To where the bank opposing show'd Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy

wood. One, prominent above the rest, Rear'a to the sun its pale grey breast ; Around its broken summit grew The hazel rude, and sable yew ; A thousand varied lichens dyed Its waste and weather-beaten side, And round its rugged basis lay, By time or thunder rent away, Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, Were mantled now by verdant thorn. Such was the scene's wild majesty, That fill'd stern Bertram's gazing eye.

And now I can interpret well
Each syllable the tablets tell.
Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy
Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy;
But from her sire and country fled,
In secret Mortham's Lord to wed.
O'Neale, his first resentment o'er,
Despatch'd his son to Greta's shore,
Enjoining he should make him known
(Until his farther will were shown)
To Edith, but to her alone.
What of their ill-starr'd meeting fell,
Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so well.

xv.
“O'Neale it was, who, in despair,
Robb’d Mortham of his infant heir ;
He bred him in their nurture wild,
And call'd him murder'd Connel's child.
Soon died the nurse; the Clan believed
What from their Chieftain they received.
His purpose was, that ne'er again
The boy should cross the Irish main ;
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy.
Then on the land wild troubles came,
And stronger Chieftains urged a claim,
And wrested from the old man's hands
His native towers, his father's lands.
Unable then, amid the strife,
To guard young Redmond's rights or life,
Late and reluctant he restores
The infant to his native shores,
With goodly gifts and letters stored,
With many a deep conjuring word,
To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord.
Nought knew the clod of Irish earth,
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth;
But deem'd his Chief's commands were

laid
On both, by both to be obey'd.
How he was wounded by the way,
I need not, and I list not say.'-

Malignant to our rightful cause,
And train'd in Rome's delusive laws.
Hark thee apart!'-They whisper'd long,
Till Denzil's voice grew bold and

strong : "My proofs ! I never will,' he said, ‘Show mortal man where they are laid. Nor hope discovery to foreclose, By giving me to feed the crows; For

I have mates at large, who know Where I am wont such toys to stow. Free me from peril and from band, These tablets are at thy command ; Nor were it hard to form some train, To wile old Mortham o'er the main. Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand Should wrest from thine the goodly

land.'-
-'I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, 'well ;
But here in hostage shalt thou dwell.
Thy son, unless my purpose err,
May prove the trustier messenger.
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear
From me, and fetch these tokens rare.
Gold shalt thou have, and that good

store,
And freedom, his commission o'er ;
But if his faith should chance to fail,
The gibbet frees thee from the jail.'

XVII.
"Mesh'd in the net himself had twined,
What subterfuge could Denzil find ?
He told me, with reluctant sigh,
That hidden here the tokens lie;
Conjured my swift return and aid,
By all he scoff'd and disobey'd,
And look'd as if the noose were tied,
And I the priest who left his side.
This scroll for Mortham Wycliffe gave,
Whom I must seek by Greta's wave;
Or in the hut where chief he hides,
Where Thorsgill's forester resides.
(Thence chanced it, wandering in the

glade, That he descried our ambuscade.) I was dismissed as evening fell, And reach'd but now this rocky cell."“Give Oswald's letter."-Bertram read, And tore it fiercely, shred by shred :“All lies and villany! to blind His noble kinsman's generous mind,