Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540107" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle upon the Restoration o</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">, High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate, <br> And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.--<br> The words of ancient time I thus translate,<br> A festal strain that hath been silent long:--<br> &quot;From town to town, from tower to tower,<br> The red rose is a gladsome flower.<br> Her thirty years of winter past,<br> The red rose is revived at last;<br> She lifts her head for endless spring,<br> For everlasting blossoming:<br> Both roses flourish, red and white:<br> In love and sisterly delight<br> The two that were at strife are blended,<br> And all old troubles now are ended.--<br> Joy! joy to both! but most to her<br> Who is the flower of Lancaster!<br> Behold her how She smiles to-day<br> On this great throng, this bright array! <br> Fair greeting doth she send to all<br> From every corner of the hall;<br> But chiefly from above the board<br> Where sits in state our rightful Lord,<br> A Clifford to his own restored!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;They came with banner, spear, and shield;<br> And it was proved in Bosworth-field.<br> Not long the Avenger was withstood--<br> Earth helped him with the cry of blood:<br> St. George was for us, and the might<br> Of blessed Angels crowned the right.<br> Loud voice the Land has uttered forth,<br> We loudest in the faithful north:<br> Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring,<br> Our streams proclaim a welcoming;<br> Our strong-abodes and castles see<br> The glory of their loyalty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;How glad is Skipton at this hour--<br> Though lonely, a deserted Tower;<br> Knight, squire, and yeoman, page and groom,<br> We have them at the feast of Brough'm.<br> How glad Pendragon--though the sleep<br> Of years be on her!--She shall reap<br> A taste of this great pleasure, viewing<br> As in a dream her own renewing.<br> Rejoiced is Brough, right glad, I deem,<br> Beside her little humble stream;<br> And she that keepeth watch and ward<br> Her statelier Eden's course to guard;<br> They both are happy at this hour,<br> Though each is but a lonely Tower:--<br> But here is perfect joy and pride<br> For one fair House by Emont's side,<br> This day, distinguished without peer,<br> To see her Master and to cheer--<br> Him, and his Lady-mother dear!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Oh! it was a time forlorn<br> When the fatherless was born--<br> Give her wings that she may fly,<br> Or she sees her infant die!<br> Swords that are with slaughter wild<br> Hunt the Mother and the Child.<br> Who will take them from the light?<br> --Yonder is a man in sight--<br> Yonder is a house--but where?<br> No, they must not enter there.<br> To the caves, and to the brooks,<br> To the clouds of heaven she looks;<br> She is speechless, but her eyes<br> Pray in ghostly agonies.<br> Blissful Mary, Mother mild,<br> Maid and Mother undefiled,<br> Save a Mother and her Child!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Now who is he that bounds with joy<br> On Carrock's side, a Shepherd-boy?<br> No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass<br> Light as the wind along the grass.<br> Can this be He who hither came<br> In secret, like a smothered flame?<br> O'er whom such thankful tears were shed<br> For shelter, and a poor man's bread!<br> God loves the Child; and God hath willed<br> That those dear words should be fulfilled,<br> The Lady's words, when forced away<br> The last she to her Babe did say:<br> &quot;My own, my own, thy fellow-guest<br> I may not be; but rest thee, rest,<br> For lowly shepherd's life is best!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Alas! when evil men are strong<br> No life is good, no pleasure long.<br> The Boy must part from Mosedale's groves,<br> And leave Blencathara's rugged coves,<br> And quit the flowers that summer brings<br> To Glenderamakin's lofty springs;<br> Must vanish, and his careless cheer<br> Be turned to heaviness and fear.<br> --Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise!<br> Hear it, good man, old in days!<br> Thou tree of covert and of rest<br> For this young Bird that is distrest;<br> Among thy branches safe he lay,<br> And he was free to sport and play,<br> When falcons were abroad for prey.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> &quot;A recreant harp, that sings of fear<br> And heaviness in Clifford's ear!<br> I said, when evil men are strong,<br> No life is good, no pleasure long,<br> A weak and cowardly untruth!<br> Our Clifford was a happy Youth,<br> And thankful through a weary time,<br> That brought him up to manhood's prime.<br> --Again he wanders forth at will,<br> And tends a flock from hill to hill:<br> His garb is humble; ne'er was seen<br> Such garb with such a noble mien;<br> Among the shepherd-grooms no mate<br> Hath he, a Child of strength and state!<br> Yet lacks not friends for simple glee,<br> Nor yet for higher sympathy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> To his side the fallow-deer<br> Came and rested without fear;<br> The eagle, lord of land and sea, <br> Stooped down to pay him fealty;<br> And both the undying fish that swim<br> Through Bowscale-tarn did wait on him; <br> The pair were servants of his eye<br> In their immortality;<br> And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright,<br> Moved to and fro, for his delight.<br> He knew the rocks which Angels haunt<br> Upon the mountains visitant;<br> He hath kenned them taking wing:<br> And into caves where Faeries sing<br> He hath entered; and been told<br> By Voices how men lived of old.<br> Among the heavens his eye can see<br> The face of thing that is to be;<br> And, if that men report him right,<br> His tongue could whisper words of might.<br> --Now another day is come,<br> Fitter hope, and nobler doom;<br> He hath thrown aside his crook,<br> And hath buried deep his book;<br> Armour rusting in his halls<br> On the blood of Clifford calls,--<br> 'Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance--<br> Bear me to the heart of France,<br> Is the longing of the Shield--<br> Tell thy name, thou trembling field;<br> Field of death, where'er thou be,<br> Groan thou with our victory!<br> Happy day, and mighty hour,<br> When our Shepherd, in his power,<br> Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,<br> To his ancestors restored<br> Like a re-appearing Star,<br> Like a glory from afar<br> First shall head the flock of war!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Alas! the impassioned minstrel did not know<br> How, by Heaven's grace, this Clifford's heart was framed:<br> How he, long forced in humble walks to go,<br> Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;<br> His daily teachers had been woods and rills,<br> The silence that is in the starry sky,<br> The sleep that is among the lonely hills.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> In him the savage virtue of the Race,<br> Revenge and all ferocious thoughts were dead:<br> Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place<br> The wisdom which adversity had bred.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Glad were the vales, and every cottage-hearth;<br> The Shepherd-lord was honoured more and more;<br> And, ages after he was laid in earth,<br> &quot;The good Lord Clifford&quot; was the name he bore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</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=540107" data-title="Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle upon the Restoration o de William Wordsworth" data-description=", High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate, 
 And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.--
 The words of ancient time I thus translate,
 A festal strain that hath been silent long:--
 &quot;From town to town, from tower to tower,
 The red rose..."></div>
</div>
</div>