<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519666" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Rokeby: Canto III.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. <br>The hunting tribes of air and earth <br>Respect the brethren of their birth; <br>Nature, who loves the claim of kind, <br>Less cruel chase to each assign'd. <br>The falcon, poised on soaring wing, <br>Watches the wild-duck by the spring; <br>The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair; <br>The greyhound presses on the hare; <br>The eagle pounces on the lamb; <br>The wolf devours the fleecy dam: <br>Even tiger fell, and sullen bear, <br>Their likeness and their lineage spare, <br>Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan, <br>And turns the fierce pursuit on man; <br>Plying war's desultory trade, <br>Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, <br>Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son, <br>At first the bloody game begun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. <br>The Indian, prowling for his prey, <br>Who hears the settlers track his way, <br>And knows in distant forest far <br>Camp his red brethren of the war; <br>He, when each double and disguise <br>To baffle the pursuit he tries, <br>Low crouching now his head to hide, <br>Where swampy streams through rushes glide <br>Now covering with the wither'd leaves <br>The foot-prints that the dew receives; <br>He, skill'd in every sylvan guile, <br>Knows not, nor tries, such various wile, <br>As Risingham, when on the wind <br>Arose the loud pursuit behind. <br>In Redesdale his youth had heard <br>Each art her wily dalesmen dared, <br>When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high, <br>To bugle rung and bloodhound's cry, <br>Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, <br>And Lid'sdale riders in the rear; <br>And well his venturous life had proved <br>The lessons that his childhood loved. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. <br>Oft had he shown, in climes afar <br>Each attribute of roving war; <br>The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, <br>The quick resolve in danger nigh; <br>The speed, that in the flight or chase, <br>Outstripp'd the Charib's rapid race; <br>The steady brain, the sinewy limb, <br>To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim; <br>The iron frame, inured to bear <br>Each dire inclemency of air, <br>Nor less confirm'd to undergo <br>Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. <br>These arts he proved, his life to save, <br>In peril oft by land and wave, <br>On Arawaca's desert shore, <br>Or where La Plata's billows roar, <br>When oft the sons of vengeful Spain <br>Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. <br>These arts, in Indian warfare tried, <br>Must save him now by Greta's side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV. <br>‘Twas then, in hour of utmost need, <br>He proved his courage, art, and speed. <br>Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace, <br>Now started forth in rapid race, <br>Oft doubling back in mazy train, <br>To blind the trace the dews retain; <br>Now clombe the rocks projecting high, <br>To baffle the pursuer's eye; <br>Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound <br>The echo of his footsteps drown'd. <br>But if the forest verge he nears, <br>There trample steeds, and glimmer spears; <br>If deeper down the copse he drew, <br>He heard the rangers' loud halloo, <br>Beating each cover while they came, <br>As if to start the sylvan game. <br>Twas then-like tiger close beset <br>At every pass with toil and net, <br>Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare, <br>By clashing arms and torches' flare, <br>Who meditates, with furious bound, <br>To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, <br>'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, <br>Prompting to rush upon his foes: <br>But as that crouching tiger, cow'd <br>By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd, <br>Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, <br>Bertram suspends his purpose stern, <br>And couches in the brake and fern, <br>Hiding his face, lest foemen spy <br>The sparkle of his swarthy eye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V. <br>Then Bertram might the bearing trace <br>Of the bold youth who led the chase; <br>Who paused to list for every sound, <br>Climb'd every height to look around, <br>Then rushing on with naked sword, <br>Each dingle's bosky depths explored. <br>‘Twas Redmond-by the azure eye; <br>‘Twas Redmond-by the locks that fly <br>Disorder'd from his glowing cheek; <br>Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak. <br>A form more active, light, and strong, <br>Ne'er shot the ranks of war along; <br>The modest, yet the manly mien, <br>Might grace the court of maiden queen; <br>A face more fair you well might find, <br>For Redmond's knew the sun and wind, <br>Nor boasted, from their tinge when free, <br>The charm of regularity; <br>But every feature had the power <br>To aid the expression of the hour: <br>Whether gay wit, and humour sly, <br>Danced laughing in his light-blue eye; <br>Or bended brow, and glance of fire, <br>And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire; <br>Or soft and sadden'd glances show <br>Her ready sympathy with woe; <br>Or in that wayward mood of mind, <br>When various feelings are combined, <br>When joy and sorrow mingle near, <br>And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear, <br>And rising doubts keep transport down, <br>And anger lends a short-lived frown; <br>In that strange mood which maids approve <br>Even when they dare not call it love; <br>With every change his features play'd, <br>As aspens show the light and shade. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI. <br>Well Risingham young Redmond knew: <br>And much he marvell'd that the crew, <br>Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, <br>Were by that Mortham's foeman led; <br>For never felt his soul the woe, <br>That wails a generous foeman low, <br>Far less that sense of justice strong, <br>That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. <br>But small his leisure now to pause; <br>Redmond is first, whate'er the cause: <br>And twice that Redmond came so near <br>Where Bertram couch'd like hunted deer, <br>The very boughs his steps displace, <br>Rustled against the ruffian's face, <br>Who, desperate, twice prepared to start, <br>And plunge his dagger in his heart! <br>But Redmond turn'd a different way, <br>And the bent boughs resumed their sway, <br>And Bertram held it wise, unseen, <br>Deeper to plunge in coppice green. <br>Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, <br>When roving hunters beat the brake, <br>Watches with red and glistening eye, <br>Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, <br>With forked tongue and venom'd fang <br>Instant to dart the deadly pang; <br>But if the intruders turn aside, <br>Away his coils unfolded glide, <br>And through the deep savannah wind, <br>Some undisturb'd retreat to find. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII. <br>But Bertram, as he backward drew, <br>And heard the loud pursuit renew, <br>And Redmond's hollo on the wind, <br>Oft mutterd in his savage mind <br>'Redmond O'Neale! were thou and I <br>Alone this day's event to try, <br>With not a second here to see, <br>But the gray cliff and oaken tree, <br>That voice of thine, that shouts so loud, <br>Should ne'er repeat its summons proud! <br>No! nor e'er try its melting power <br>Again in maiden's summer bower.' <br>Eluded, now behind him die, <br>Faint and more faint, each hostile cry; <br>He stands in Scargill wood alone, <br>Nor hears he now a harsher tone <br>Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry, <br>Or Greta's sound that murmurs by; <br>And on the dale, so lone and wild, <br>The summer sun in quiet smiled. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII. <br>He listen'd long with anxious heart, <br>Ear bent to hear, and foot to start, <br>And, while his stretch'd attention glows, <br>Refused his weary frame repose. <br>‘Twas silence all-he laid him down, <br>Where purple heath profusely strown, <br>And throatwort with its azure bell, <br>And moss and thyme his cushion swell. <br>There, spent with toil, he listless eyed <br>The course of Greta's playful tide; <br>Beneath, her banks now edding dun, <br>Now brightly gleaming to the sun, <br>As, dancing over rock and stone, <br>In yellow light her currents shone, <br>Matching in hue the favourite gem <br>Of Albin's mountain-diadem. <br>Then, tired to watch the current's play, <br>He turn'd his weary eyes away, <br>To where the bank opposing show'd <br>Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood. <br>One, prominent above the rest, <br>Rear'd to the sun its pale gray breast; <br>Around its broken summit grew <br>The hazel rude, and sable yew; <br>A thousand varied lichens dyed <br>Its waste and weather-beaten side, <br>And round its rugged basis lay, <br>By time or thunder rent away, <br>Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, <br>Were mantled now by verdant thorn. <br>Such was the scene's wild majesty, <br>That fill'd stern Bertram's gazing eye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX. <br>In sullen mood he lay reclined, <br>Revolving, in his stormy mind, <br>The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, <br>His patron's blood by treason spilt; <br>A crime, it seem'd, so dire and dread, <br>That it had power to wake the dead. <br>Then, pondering on his life betray'd <br>By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, <br>In treacherous purpose to withhold, <br>So seem'd it, Mortham's promised gold, <br>A deep and full revenge he vow'd <br>On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud; <br>Revenge on Wilfrid-on his sire <br>Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire! <br>If, in such mood, (as legends say, <br>And well believed that simple day,) <br>The enemy of Man has power <br>To profit by the evil hour, <br>Here stood a wretch, prepared to change <br>His soul's redemption for revenge! <br>But though his vows, with such a fire <br>Of earnest and intense desire <br>For vengeance dark and fell, were made, <br>As well might reach hell's lowest shade, <br>No deeper clouds the grove embrown'd, <br>No nether thunders shook the ground; <br>The demon knew his vassal's heart, <br>And spared temptation's needless art. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">X. <br>Oft, mingled with the direful theme, <br>Came Mortham's form-Was it a dream? <br>Or had he seen, in vision true, <br>That very Mortham whom he slew? <br>Or had in living flesh appear'd <br>The only man on earth he fear'd? <br>To try the mystic cause intent, <br>His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, <br>Counter'd at once a dazzling glance, <br>Like sunbeam flash'd from sword or lance. <br>At once he started as for fight, <br>But not a foeman was in sight; <br>He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse, <br>He heard the river's sounding course; <br>The solitary woodlands lay, <br>As slumbering in the summer ray. <br>He gazed, like lion roused, around, <br>Then sunk again upon the ground. <br>Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam, <br>Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream; <br>Then plunged him in his gloomy train <br>Of ill-connected thoughts again, <br>Until a voice behind him cried, <br>'Bertram! well met on Greta side.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI. <br>Instant his sword was in his hand, <br>As instant sunk the ready brand; <br>Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood <br>To him that issued from the wood: <br>'Guy Denzil!-is it thou?' he said; <br>'Do we two meet in Scargill shade! <br>Stand back a space!-thy purpose show, <br>Whether thou comest as friend or foe. <br>Report hath said, that Denzil's name <br>From Rokeby's band was razed with shame.' <br>'A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, <br>Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, <br>Of my marauding on the clowns <br>Of Calverley and Bradford downs. <br>I reck not. In a war to strive, <br>Where, save the leaders, none can thrive, <br>Suits ill my mood; and better game <br>Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same <br>Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, <br>Who watch'd with me in midnight dark, <br>To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. <br>How think'st thou?'-'Speak thy purpose out; <br>I love not mystery or doubt.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII. <br>'Then, list.-Not far there lurk a crew <br>Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, <br>Glean'd from both factions-Roundheads, freed <br>From cant of sermon and of creed; <br>And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine, <br>Spurn at the bonds of discipline. <br>Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, <br>A warfare of our own to hold, <br>Than breathe our last on battle-down, <br>For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. <br>Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, <br>A chief and leader lack we yet. <br>Thou art a wanderer, it is said; <br>For Mortham's death, thy steps waylaid, <br>Thy head at price-so say our spies, <br>Who range the valley in disguise. <br>Join then with us:-though wild debate <br>And wrangling rend our infant state, <br>Each to an equal loath to bow, <br>Will yield to chief renown'd as thou.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI1I. <br>'Even now,' thought Bertram, 'passion-stirr'd, <br>I call'd on hell, and hell has heard! <br>What lack I, vengeance to command, <br>But of stanch comrades such a band? <br>This Denzil, vow'd to every evil, <br>Might read a lesson to the devil. <br>Well, be it so! each knave and fool <br>Shall serve as my revenge's tool.' <br>Aloud, 'I take thy proffer, Guy, <br>But tell me where thy comrades lie?' <br>'Not far from hence,' Guy Denzil said; <br>'Descend, and cross the river's bed, <br>Where rises yonder cliff so grey.' <br>'Do thou,' said Bertram, 'lead the way.' <br>Then mutter'd, 'It is best make sure; <br>Guy Denzil's faith was never pure.' <br>He follow'd down the deep descent, <br>Then through the Greta's streams they went; <br>And, when they reach'd the farther shore, <br>They stood the lonely cliff before. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV. <br>With wonder Bertram heard within <br>The flinty rock a murmur'd din; <br>But when Guy pull'd the wilding spray, <br>And brambles, from its base away, <br>He saw, appearing to the air, <br>A little entrance, low and square, <br>Like opening cell of hermit lone, <br>Dark, winding through the living stone. <br>Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here; <br>And loud and louder on their ear, <br>As from the bowels of the earth, <br>Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. <br>Of old, the cavern strait and rude, <br>In slaty rock the peasant hew'd; <br>And Brignall's woods, and Scargill's wave, <br>E'en now, o'er many a sister cave, <br>Where, far within the darksome rift, <br>The wedge and lever ply their thrift. <br>But war had silenced rural trade, <br>And the deserted mine was made <br>The banquet-hall and fortress too, <br>Of Denzil and his desperate crew. <br>There Guilt his anxious revel kept; <br>There, on his sordid pallet, slept <br>Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd <br>Still in his slumbering grasp retain'd; <br>Regret was there, his eye still cast <br>With vain repining on the past; <br>Among the feasters waited near <br>Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, <br>And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, <br>With his own crimes reproaching heaven; <br>While Bertram show'd, amid the crew, <br>The Master-Fiend that Milton drew. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV. <br>Hark! the loud revel wakes again, <br>To greet the leader of the train. <br>Behold the group by the pale lamp, <br>That struggles with the earthy damp. <br>By what strange features Vice hath known, <br>To single out and mark her own! <br>Yet some there are, whose brows retain <br>Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain. <br>See yon pale stripling! when a boy, <br>A mother's pride, a father's joy! <br>Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, <br>An early image fills his mind: <br>The cottage, once his sire's, he sees, <br>Embower'd upon the banks of Tees; <br>He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, <br>And shares the dance on Gainford-green. <br>A tear is springing-but the zest <br>Of some wild tale, or brutal jest, <br>Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest. <br>On him they call, the aptest mate <br>For jovial song and merry feat: <br>Fast flies his dream-with dauntless air, <br>As one victorious o'er Despair, <br>He bids the ruddy cup go round, <br>Till sense and sorrow both are drown'd; <br>And soon, in merry wassail, he, <br>The life of all their revelry, <br>Peals his loud song!-The muse has found <br>Her blossoms on the wildest ground, <br>Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd, <br>Themselves all profitless and rude. <br>With desperate merriment he sung, <br>The cavern to the chorus rung; <br>Yet mingled with his reckless glee <br>Remorse's bitter agony. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI. <br>SONG.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, <br>And Greta woods are green, <br>And you may gather garlands there, <br>Would grace a summer queen. <br>And as I rode by Dalton-hall, <br>Beneath the turrets high, <br>A Maiden on the castle wall <br>Was singing merrily, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHORUS. <br>'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, <br>And Greta woods are green; <br>I'd rather rove with Edmund there, <br>Than reign our English queen.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, <br>To leave both tower and town, <br>Thou first must guess what life lead we, <br>That dwell by dale and down. <br>And if thou canst that riddle read, <br>As read full well you may, <br>Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, <br>As blithe as Queen of May.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHORUS. <br>Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, <br>And Greta woods are green; <br>I'd rather rove with Edmund there, <br>Than reign our English queen. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII. <br>'I read you, by your bugle-horn, <br>And by your palfrey good, <br>I read you for a Ranger sworn, <br>To keep the king's greenwood.'- <br>'A ranger, lady, winds his horn, <br>And 'tis at peep of light; <br>His blast is heard at merry morn, <br>And mine at dead of night.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHORUS. <br>Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, <br>And Greta woods are gay; <br>I would I were with Edmund there, <br>To reign his Queen of May! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'With burnish'd brand and musketoon, <br>So gallantly you come, <br>I read you for a bold Dragoon, <br>That lists the tuck of drum.' <br>'I list no more the tuck of drum, <br>No more the trumpet hear; <br>But when the beetle sounds his hum, <br>My comrades take the spear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHORUS. <br>'And, O! though Brignall banks be fair, <br>And Greta woods be gay, <br>Yet mickle must the maiden dare, <br>Would reign my Queen of May! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV1II. <br>'Maiden! a nameless life I lead, <br>A nameless death I'll die; <br>The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, <br>Were better mate than I! <br>And when I'm with my comrades met, <br>Beneath the reenwood bough, <br>What once we were we all forget, <br>Nor think what we are now. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHORUS. <br>'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, <br>And Greta woods are green, <br>And you may gather garlands there <br>Would grace a summer queen.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Edmund ceased his simple song, <br>Was silence on the sullen throng, <br>Till waked some ruder mate their glee <br>With note of coarser minstrelsy. <br>But, far apart, in dark divan, <br>Denzil and Bertram many a plan, <br>Of import foul and fierce, design'd, <br>While still on Bertram's grasping mind <br>The wealth of murder'd Mortham hung; <br>Though half he fear'd his daring tongue, <br>When it should give his wishes birth, <br>Might raise a spectre from the earth! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX. <br>At length his wondrous tale he told: <br>When, scornful, smiled his comrade bold; <br>For, train'd in license of a court, <br>Religion's self was Denzil's sport; <br>Then judge in what contempt he held <br>The visionary tales of eld! <br>His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd <br>The unbeliever's sneering jest. <br>''Twere hard,' he said, ' for sage or seer, <br>To spell the subject of your fear; <br>Nor do I boast the art renown'd, <br>Vision and omen to expound. <br>Yet, faith if I must needs afford <br>To spectre watching treasured hoard, <br>As bandog keeps his master's roof, <br>Bidding the plunderer stand aloof, <br>This doubt remains-thy goblin gaunt <br>Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt; <br>For why his guard on Mortham hold, <br>When Rokeby castle hath the gold <br>Thy patron won on Indian soil, <br>By stealth, by piracy, and spoil?' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XX. <br>At this he paused-for angry shame <br>Lower'd on the brow of Risingham. <br>He blush'd to think, that he should seem <br>Assertor of an airy dream, <br>And gave his wrath another theme. <br>'Denzil,' he says, 'though lowly laid, <br>Wrong not the memory of the dead; <br>For, while he lived, at Mortham's look <br>Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook! <br>And when he tax'd thy breach of word <br>To yon fair Rose of Allenford, <br>I saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound, <br>Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. <br>Nor dare to call his foreign wealth <br>The spoil of piracy or stealth; <br>He won it bravely with his brand, <br>When Spain waged warfare with our land. <br>Mark, too-I brook no idle jeer, <br>Nor couple Bertram's name with fear; <br>Mine is but half the demon's lot, <br>For I believe, but tremble not. <br>Enough of this.-Say, why this hoard <br>Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored; <br>Or think'st that Mortham would bestow <br>His treasure with his faction's foe?' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXI. <br>Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-timed mirth; <br>Rather he would have seen the earth <br>Give to ten thousand spectres birth, <br>Than venture to awake to flame <br>The deadly wrath of Risingham. <br>Submiss he answer'd,-' Mortham's mind, <br>Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined. <br>In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, <br>A lusty reveller was he; <br>But since return'd from over sea, <br>A sullen and a silent mood <br>Hath numb'd the current of his blood. <br>Hence he refused each kindly call <br>To Rokeby's hospitable hall, <br>And our stout knight, at dawn of morn <br>Who loved to hear the bugle-horn, <br>Nor less, when eve his oaks embrown'd, <br>To see the ruddy cup go round, <br>Took umbrage that a friend so near <br>Refused to share his chase and cheer; <br>Thus did the kindred barons jar, <br>Ere they divided in the war. <br>Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair <br>Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXII. <br>'Destined to her! to yon slight maid! <br>The prize my life had wellnigh paid, <br>When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave, <br>I fought my patron's wealth to save! <br>Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er <br>Knew him that joyous cavalier, <br>Whom youthful friends and early fame <br>Call'd soul of gallantry and game. <br>A moody man, he sought our crew, <br>Desperate and dark, whom no one knew; <br>And rose, as men with us must rise, <br>By scorning life and all its ties. <br>On each adventure rash he roved, <br>As danger for itself he loved; <br>On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine <br>Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine; <br>Ill was the omen if he smiled, <br>For 'twas in peril stern and wild; <br>But when he laugh'd, each luckless mate <br>Might hold our fortune desperate. <br>Foremost he fought in every broil, <br>Then scornful turn'd him from the spoil; <br>Nay, often strove to bar the way <br>Between his comrades and their prey; <br>Preaching, even then, to such as we, <br>Hot with our dear-bought victory, <br>Of mercy and humanity. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIII. <br>'I loved him well-His fearless part, <br>His gallant leading, won my heart. <br>And after each victorious fight, <br>'Twas I that wrangled for his right, <br>Redeem'd his portion of the prey <br>That greedier mates had torn away: <br>In field and storm thrice saved his life, <br>And once amid our comrades' strife. <br>Yes, I have loved thee! Well hath proved <br>My toil, my danger, how I loved! <br>Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, <br>Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. <br>Rise if thou canst!' he look'd around, <br>And sternly stamp'd upon the ground <br>'Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, <br>Even as this morn it met mine eye, <br>And give me, if thou darest, the lie!' <br>He paused-then, calm and passion-freed, <br>Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIV. <br>'Bertram, to thee I need not tell, <br>What thou hast cause to wot so well, <br>How Superstition's nets were twined <br>Around the Lord of Mortham's mind; <br>But since he drove thee from his tower, <br>A maid he found in Greta's bower, <br>Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway, <br>To charm his evil fiend away. <br>I know not if her features moved <br>Remembrance of the wife he loved; <br>But he would gaze upon her eye, <br>Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. <br>He, whom no living mortal sought <br>To question of his secret thought, <br>Now every thought and care confess'd <br>To his fair niece's faithful breast; <br>Nor was there aught of rich and rare, <br>In earth, in ocean, or in air, <br>But it must deck Matilda's hair. <br>Her love still bound him unto life; <br>But then awoke the civil strife, <br>And menials bore, by his commands, <br>Three coffers, with their iron bands, <br>From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep, <br>To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, <br>Ponderous with gold and plate of pride, <br>His gift, if he in battle died.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXV. <br>'Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, <br>These iron-banded chests to gain; <br>Else, wherefore should he hover here, <br>Where many a peril waits him near, <br>For all his feats of war and peace, <br>For plunder'd boors, and harts of greese? <br>Since through the hamlets as he fared, <br>What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, <br>Or where the chase that hath not rung <br>With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung?' <br>'I hold my wont-my rangers go, <br>Even now to track a milk-white doe. <br>By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, <br>In Greta wood she harbours fair, <br>And when my huntsman marks her way, <br>What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey? <br>Were Rokeby's daughter in our power, <br>We rate her ransom at her dower.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVI. <br>'Tis well!-there's vengeance in the thought, <br>Matilda is by Wilfrid sought; <br>And hot-brain'd Redmond, too, 'tis said, <br>Pays lover's homage to the maid. <br>Bertram she scorn'd-If met by chance, <br>She turn'd from me her shuddering glance, <br>Like a nice dame, that will not brook <br>On what she hates and loathes to look; <br>She told to Mortham she could ne'er <br>Behold me without secret fear, <br>Foreboding evil:-She may rue <br>To find her prophecy fall true! <br>The war has weeded Rokeby's train, <br>Few followers in his halls remain; <br>If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, <br>We are enow to storm the hold; <br>Bear off the plunder, and the dame, <br>And leave the castle all in flame.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVII. <br>'Still art thou Valour's venturous son! <br>Yet ponder first the risk to run: <br>The menials of the castle, true, <br>And stubborn to their charge, though few; <br>The wall to scale-the moat to cross- <br>The wicket-grate-the inner fosse.' <br>'Fool! if we blench for toys like these, <br>On what fair guerdon can we seize? <br>Our hardiest venture, to explore <br>Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, <br>And the best prize we bear away, <br>The earnings of his sordid day.' <br>'A while thy hasty taunt forbear: <br>In sight of road more sure and fair, <br>Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath, <br>Or wantonness, a desperate path? <br>List, then;-for vantage or assault, <br>From gilded vane to dungeon-vault, <br>Each pass of Rokeby-house I know: <br>There is one postern, dark and low, <br>That issues at a secret spot, <br>By most neglected or forgot. <br>Now, could a spial of our train <br>On fair pretext admittance gain, <br>That sally-port might be unbarr'd: <br>Then, vain were battlement and ward!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVIII. <br>'Now speak'st thou well:-to me the same, <br>If force or art shall urge the game; <br>Indifferent, if like fox I wind, <br>Or spring like tiger on the hind. <br>But, hark! our merry-men so gay <br>Troll forth another roundelay.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">SONG.<br>'A weary lot is thine, fair maid, <br>A weary lot is thine! <br>To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, <br>And press the rue for wine! <br>A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, <br>A feather of the blue, <br>A doublet of the Lincoln green, <br>No more of me you knew, <br>My love! <br>No more of me you knew. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'This morn is merry June, I trow, <br>The rose is budding fain; <br>But she shall bloom in winter snow, <br>Ere we two meet again.' <br>He turn'd his charger as he spake, <br>Upon the river shore, <br>He gave his bridle-reins a shake, <br>Said, 'Adieu for evermore, <br>My love! <br>And adieu for evermore.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX. <br>'What youth is this, your band among, <br>The best for minstrelsy and song? <br>In his wild notes seem aptly met <br>A strain of pleasure and regret.' <br>'Edmund of Winston is his name; <br>The hamlet sounded with the fane <br>Of early hopes his childhood gave, <br>Now center'd all in Brignall cave <br>I watch him well-his wayward course <br>Shows oft a tincture of remorse. <br>Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, <br>And oft the scar will ache and smart. <br>Yet is he useful;-of the rest, <br>By fits, the darling and the jest, <br>His harp, his story, and his lay, <br>Oft aid the idle hours away: <br>When unemploy'd, each fiery mate <br>Is ripe for mutinous debate. <br>He tuned his strings e'en now-again <br>He wakes them, with a blither strain.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXX. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Song - Allen-a-Dale</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, <br>Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, <br>Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, <br>Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. <br>Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale! <br>And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, <br>And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. <br>The mere for his net, and the land for his game, <br>The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame; <br>Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, <br>Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, <br>Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; <br>Allen-a Dale is no baron or lord, <br>Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word; <br>And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, <br>Who at Rere-cross on Stanimore meets Allen-aDale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come; <br>The mother, she ask'd of his household and home: <br>'Though the castle of Richmond stands fair on the hill, <br>My hall,' quoth bold Allen, 'shows gallanter still; <br>'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, <br>And with all its bright spangles!' said Allen-a-Dale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The father was steel, and the mother was stone; <br>They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone; <br>But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry: <br>He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye, <br>And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, <br>And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXI. <br>'Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay, <br>Love mingles ever in his lay. <br>But when his boyish wayward fit <br>Is o'er, he hath address and wit; <br>O! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape <br>Each dialect, each various shape.' <br>'Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy- <br>Soft! who comes here?'-'My trusty spy. <br>Speak, Hamlin! hast thou lodged our deer?' <br>'I have-but two fair stags are near. <br>I watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd <br>From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade; <br>But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side, <br>And then young Redmond, in his pride, <br>Shot down to meet them on their way: <br>Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say: <br>There's time to pitch both toil and net, <br>Before their path be homeward set.' <br>A hurried and a whisper'd speech <br>Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach; <br>Who, turning to the robber band, <br>Bade four, the bravest, take the brand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519666" data-title="Rokeby: Canto III. de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="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 wake..."></div> </div> </div>

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