XVII.

O hero of a race renown'd of old,

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell,* Since first distinguish'd in the onset bold,

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber own'd its fame, Tummell s rude pass can of its terrors tell,

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name, Than when wild Ronda learn'd the conquering shout of GREME!

XVIII.

But all too long, through seas unknown and dark,
(With Spenser's parable I close my tale)
By shoal and rock hath steer'd my venturous bark;
And land-ward now I drive before the gale,
And now the blue and distant shore

hail,

And nearer now I see the port expand,

And now I gladly furl my weary sail,

And, as the prow light touches on the strand,

I strike my red-cross flag, and bind my skiff to land.

This stanza alludes to the various achievements of the warlike family of Græine, or Grahame. They are said, to have descended from the Scottish chief, under whose command his countrvinen stormed the wall built by the Emperor Severus Sir John the Grahame, the hardy wight and wise," is well known as the friend of Sir William Wallace, Alderne, Kilsyth, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the victories of the heroic Marquis of Montrose The pass of Killy-crankie is famous for the action between King Wiliam's forces and the Highlanders in 1689,

"Where glad Dundee in faint huzzas expired.”

}

ROKEBY;

A Poem,

IN SIX CANTOS.

ΤΟ

JOHN R. S. MORRITT, Esq.

THIS POEM,

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF ROKEBY,

THE Scene of this poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjacent fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that vicinity.

The time occupied by the action is a space of five days, three of which are supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and beginning of the Sixth Canto.

The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great battle of Marston Moor, 3d July, 1644. This period of public confusion has been chosen, without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the fictitious narrative now presented to the Public.

ROKEBY.

CANTO FIRST.

I.

THE Moon is in her summer glow,
But hoarse and high the breezes blow,
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud
Varies the tincture of her shroud;
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream,*
She changes as a guilty dream,

When Conscience, with remorse and fear,
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career.
Her light seems now the blush of shame,
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame,
Shifting that shade, to come and go,
Like apprehension's hurried glow;
Then sorrow's livery dims the air,
And dies in darkness, like despair.
Such varied hues the warder sees
Reflected from the woodland Tees,
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth,
Sees the clouds mustering in the north,
Hears, upon turret-roof and wall,
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall,
Lists to the breeze's boding sound,
And wraps his shaggy mantle round,

The once magnificent fortress of Barnard Castle derives its name from its founder. Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the short and unfortunate dynasty of that name, which succeeded to the Scottish throne under the patronage of Edward I. and Edward III. Baliol's Tower, fterwards mentioned in the poem, is a round sower of great size, situated at the western extremity of the building. The prospect from the top of the Tower commands a rich and magnificent view of the wooded valley of the Tees.

II.

Those towers, which in the changeful gleam
Throw murky shadows on the stream,
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest,
The emotions of whose troubl'd breast,
In wild and strange confusia driven,
Rival the flitting rack of heaven.
Ere sleep stern OSWALD'S senses tied,
Oft had he chang'd his weary side,
Compos'd his limbs and vainly sought
By effort strong to banish thought.
Sleep came at length, but with a train
Of feelings true and fancies vain,
Mingling, in wild disorder cast,
The expected future with the past.
Conscience, anticipating time,"
Already rues the enacted crime,
And calls her furies forth, to shake

The sounding scourge and hissing snake;
While her poor victim's outward throes

Bear witness to his mental woes,

And show what lesson may be read

Beside a sinner's restless bed.

III.

Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace
Strange changes in his sleeping face,

Rapid and ominous as these

With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees

There might be seen of shame the blush,
There anger's dark and fiercer flush,
While the perturbed sleeper's hand
Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand.
Relax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh,
The tear in the half-opening eye,
The pallid cheek and brow confess'd
That grief was busy in his breast;
Nor paus'd that mood-a sudden start
Impell'd the life-blood from the heart:
Features convuls'd, and mutterings dread,
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead.
That pang the painful slumber broke,
And Oswald with a start awoke.