Some knew then but to love thee.
For names the but to foray_
Peace dwells not here—this rugged face
Betrays no spirit of repose;
The sullen warrior sole we trace,
The marble man of many woes.
PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RE Recording oft what grace each one had
COUNTETH HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED.
So cruel prison how could betide, alas!
As proud Windsor? where I in lust and joy,
What hope of speed, what dread of long
The wild forest, the clothed holts with green; With reins avail'd, and swift-ybreathed horse,
With a King's son, my childish years did With cry of hounds and merry blasts be
In greater feast than Priam's sons of
Where we did chase the fearful hart of force.
Where each sweet place returns a taste full The void vales, eke, that harbor'd us each
With words, and looks, that tigers could The friendship sworn, each promise kept
The palme-play, where despoilèd for the And with this thought the blood forsakes
With dazed eyes oft we by gleams of love
The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue:
The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas,
Upsuppèd have, thus I my plaint renew: O place of bliss! renewer of my woes! Give me account, where is my noble fere?
Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose;
To other lief; but unto me most dear: Echo, alas! that doth my sorrow rue,
Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint. Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew, In prison pine with bondage and restraint. And with remembrance of the greater grief, To banish the less, I find my chief relief. HENRY HOWARD, Earl of Surrey.
THE GOOD LORD CLIFFORD. SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, THE SHEPHERD, TO THE ESTATES AND HONORS OF HIS ANCESTORS.
HIGH in the breathless hall the minstrel sate, And Emont's murmur mingled with the
The words of ancient time I thus translate,
A festal strain that hath been silent long.
"From town to town, from tower to tower,
The red rose is a gladsome flower.
Her thirty years of winter past,
The red rose is revived at last;
She lifts her head for endless spring,
For everlasting blossoming:
Both roses flourish, red and white.
In love and sisterly delight
The two that were at strife are blended,
And all old troubles now are ended.
Joy! joy to both! but most to her
Who is the flower of Lancaster!
Behold her how she smiles to-day
On this great throng, this bright array!
Fair greeting doth she send to all
From every corner of the Hall;
But, chiefly, from above the board
Where sits in state our rightful lord,
A Clifford to his own restored!
"They came with banner, spear, and shield:
And it was proved in Bosworth field.
Not long the avenger was withstood-
Earth help'd him with the cry of blood
St. George was with us, and the might
Of blessed angels crown'd the right.
Loud voice the land has utter'd forth,
We loudest in the faithful north:
Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring,
Our streams proclaim a welcoming;
Our strong abodes and castles see
The glory of their loyalty.
"How glad is Skipton at this hour-
Though she is but a lonely tower!
To vacancy and silence left;
Of all her guardian sons bereft-
Knight, squire, or yeoman, page or groom;
We have them at the feast of Brougham.
How glad Pendragon-though the sleep
Of years be on her! She shall reap
A taste of this great pleasure, viewing
As in a dream her own renewing.
Rejoiced is Brough, right glad, I deem,
Beside her little humble stream;
And she that keepeth watch and ward
Her statelier Eden's course to guard;
They both are happy at this hour,
Though each is but a lonely tower :-
But here is perfect joy and pride.
For one fair House by Emont's side,
This day, distinguish'd without peer,
Him and and his Lady Mother dear !
To see her Master, and to cheer
"Oh! it was a time forlorn,
When the fatherless was born-
Give her wings that she may fly,
Or she sees her infant die!
Swords that are with slaughter wild
Hunt the mother and the child.
Who will take them from the light?
-Yonder is a man in sight-
Yonder is a house-but where?
No, they must not enter there.
To the caves, and to the brooks,
To the clouds of heaven she looks ·
She is speechless, but her eyes
Pray in ghostly agonies.
Blissful Mary, mother mild,
Maid and mother undefiled,
Save a mother and her child!
"Now who is he that bounds with joy
On Carrock's side-a Shepherd Boy?
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass
Light as the wind along the grass.
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