Sidor som bilder

First tell me, father, said the youth,

(Nor blame mine eager tongue) What town is here? What lands are these ?

And to what lord belong?

Alas! my son, the Hermit said,

Why do I live to say,
The rightful lord of these domains

Is banish'd far away?

Ten winters aow have shed their fnows

On this my lowly hall,
Since valiant HOTSPUR (fo the North

Our youthful lord did call)

Against Fourth Henry BOLINGBROKE

Led up his northern powers, And ftoutly fighting lost his life

Near proud Salopia's to

One son he left, a lovely boy,

His country's hope and heir; And oh! to save him from his foes

It was his grandfire's care.

In Scotland safe he plac'd the child

Beyond the reach of strife,
Nor long before the brave old Earl

At Bramham lost his life.

And now the Percy name, so long

Our northern pride and boast, Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud ;

Their honors reft and loft.

No chieftain of that noble house

Now leads our youth to arms :
The bordering Scots dispoil our fields,

rąvage all our farms.

Their halls and castles, once so fair,

Now moulder in decay;
Proud ftrangers now ufurp their lands,
And bear their wealth


Nor far from hence where


full stream Runs winding down the lea, Fair WARKWORTH lifts her lofty towers,

And overlooks the sea.

Those towers, alas ! now stand forlorn,

With noisome weeds o'erspread, Where feafted lords and courtly dames,

And where the poor were fed.

Meantime far off mid Scottish hills,

The Percy lives unknown :
On ftranger's bounty he depends,

And may not claim his own.

O might I with these aged eyes,

But live to see him here, Then should my soul depart in bliss !-

He said, and dropt a tear.

And is the PERCY still so lov'd,

Of all his friends and thee?
Then, bless me, father, said the youth,

For I thy guest am He.
Silent he gaz'd, then turn'd aside

To wipe the tears he shed;
Then lifting up his hands and eyes,

Pour'd blesings on his head :
Welcome, our dear and much lov'd lord,

Thy country's hope and care : But who may this young lady be, That is so wonderous fair.


Now, father, listen to my tale,

And thou shalt know the truth: And let thy fage advice direct,

My unexperienc'd youth.

In Scotland I've been nobly bred

Beneath the Regent's hand , In feats of arms, and every lorc.

To fit me for command.

With fond impatience long I burn'd

My native land to see :
At length I won my guardian friend

To yield that boon to me.




and down in hunter's garb I wander'd as in chace, Till in the noble NEVILLE's house +

I gain'd a hunter's place.

Sometime with him I liv'd unknown,

Till I'd the hap so rare,
To please this young and gentle dame,

That baron’s daughter fair.

Now, Percy, said the blushing maid,

The truth I mult reveal;
Souls great and generous, like to thine,

Their noble deeds conceal.

* Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the conti. puator of Fordon's Scoti-Chronicon, cap. 18, cap.

23, &c.

Ralph Neville, firrt Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly refided at his two Caitles of Brancepeth, and Ruby, both in the Bishoprick of Durham.

It happened on a fummer's day,

Led by the fragrant breeze,
I wander'd forth to take the air.

Among the green-wood trees.

Sudden a band of rugged Scots,

That near in ambush lay,
Moss-troopers from the border-fide,

There seiz'd me for their prey.

My thricks had all been spent in vain,

But heaven, that saw my grief, Brought this brave youth within my call,

who flew to my relief.

With nothing but his hunting spear,

And dagger in his hand,
He sprung like lightning on my foes.

And caus'd them soon to ftand.

He fought, till more affiftance came ;

The Scots were overthrown ; Thus freed me, captive, from their bands,

To make me more his own.

O happy day! the youth replied:

Bleft were the wounds 1 bare ! From that fond hour she deign'd to smile,

And listen to my prayer.

And when she knew my name and birth,

She vowed to be my bride ;
But oh! we fear'd, (alas, the while !:)
Her princely mother's pride :

H 2

Siter of havghty BOLINGBROLE*

Our house's ancient foe,
To me I thought a banish'd wight,

Could ne'er such favour shew.

Despairing then to gain confent;

At length to fly with me
I won this lovely timorous maid,

To Scotland bound are we.

This evening, as the night drew on,

Fearing we were pursued,
We turn'd adown the right hand path,

And gain'd this lonely wood.

Then lighting from our weary fteeds,

To fhun the pelting shower,
We met thy kind conducting hand,

And reach'd this friendly bower.

Now rest ye both, the Hermit faid;

A while your cares foregoe :
Nor, Lady, fcorn my humble bed ;

We'll pass the night below.t

* Foan, countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young Lady, was daughter of John of Gaunt, and halffifter of king Henry IV.

† Adjoining to the cliff, which contains the Chapel of the Hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which the Hermit dwelt. This consisted of one lower Apartment, with a little Bed-chamber over it, and is now in ruins: whereas the Chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very intire and perfect.


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