Where is that banner now?-its pride
Lies 'whelm'd in Ouse's sullen tide!
Where now these warriors?-in their gore,
They cumber Marston's dismal moor;
And what avails a useless brand,
Held by a captive's shackled hand,
That only would his life retain,
To aid thy sire to bear his chain!"
Thus Redmond to himself apart;
Nor lighter was his rival's heart;
For Wilfrid, while his gen'rous soul
Disdain'd to profit by control,
By many a sign could mark too plain,
Save with such aid, his hopes were vain.-
But now Matilda's accents stole

On the dark visions of their soul,
And bade their mournful musing fly,
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh.

XVIII.

"I need not to my friends recall,
How Mortham shunn'd my father's hall;
A man of silence and of woe,
Yet ever anxious to bestow

On my poor self whate'er could prove
A kinsman's confidence and love.
My feeble aid could sometimes chase
The clouds of sorrow for a space :
But oft'ner, fix'd beyond my pow'r,
I mark'd his deep despondence low'r.
One dismal cause, by all unguess'd,
His fearful confidence confess'd;
And twice it was my hap to see
Examples of that
agony.

Which for a season can o'erstrain
And wreck the structure of the brain.
He had the awful pow'r to know
Th' approaching mental overthrow,
And while his mind had courage yet
To struggle with the dreadful nt.
The victim writh'd against its throes,
Like wretch beneath a murd'rer's blows.

This malady, I well could mark,

Sprung from some direful cause and dark;
But still he kept its source conceal'd,
Till arming for the civil field;
Then in my charge he bade me hold
A treasure huge of gems and gold,
With this disjointed dismal scroll,
That tells the secret of his soul.
In such wild words as oft betray
A mind by anguish forc'd astray."

XIX.

MORTHAM'S HISTORY.

"Matilda! thou hast seen me start,
As if a dagger thrill'd my heart,
When it has happ'd some casual phrase
Wak'd mem'ry of my former days.
Believe that few can backward cast
Their thoughts with pleasure on the past;
But I my youth was rash and vain,
And blood and rage my manhood stain,
And my grey hairs must now descend
To my cold grave without a friend!
E'en thou, Matilda, wilt disown
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-Pale 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-
Diff'ring in country and in creed;

4

And when to Mortham's tow'r she came, We mention'd 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 liv'd retir'd, 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, That spar'd 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.
Repuls'd 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,
Cow'ring 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,
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 loos'd 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 nurs'd;
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 fram'd
I know not what-of shaft mis-aim'd;
And ev'n 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-defin'd,
Of raving till my flesh was torn,
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn-
And when I wak'd 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 confus'd 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 'scap'd me-but my bosom's wound
Some faint relief from wand'ring 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,
I ventur'd in such desp'rate strife,
That e'en 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 wand'rings, known
A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own!-
It chanc'd, that after battle fray,

Upon the bloody field we lay;

The yellow moon her lustre shed

Up

pon the wounded and the dead,

While, senso 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 mak'st thou here, While unaveng'd 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 desp'rate crew
I brought at time of need to aid
My purpos'd vengeance, long delay'd.
But, humble be my thanks to Heav'n,
That better hopes and thoughts has giv'n,
And by our Lord's dear pray'r 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 smil'd!
That very calm and callous look,
That fiendish sneer his visage took,
As when he said, in scornfui mood,
'There is a gallant in the wood!-
I did not slay him as he stood
All praise be to my Maker giv'n!
Long suffrance is one path to heav'n."