Poets may sing of woe, and painters tiy

To place the tear of sorrow in the eye ;

Poets and orators, and painters too.

Would fail, though greatest — hers was Nature's woe ;

Such as we feel when on the earth alone,

Our hopes all blasted, all our pleasures gone.

Poor Anna ! yet methinks I see her stand,

The ring he bought her glistening in her hand,

And his last letter blotted o'er with tears,

While on her cheeks the hectic flush appeal's :

Soon did she fade, and never smiled again,

But sung these verses over Henry slain : —



Thou purple heather on the rocky fells,

Wither and droop, and hang thy head like me !

Bloom not, ye cowslips, with your honied bells,
But fatle and weep o'er Anna's misery !

Ye opening daises, every eye-lid close !

Ye skylarks, sadly chaunt when soaring high !
Ye thrushes, mourn, as if ye felt my woes —

Sing, all ye birds, of Anna's misery !



LYEE OF EBOB. 23

Thou tliorn, where last v\'e met, no blossoms bear !

Thou garden, if fail* flowers should bloom in thee,
May pinks and roses bend with many a tear,

And lihes weep o'er Anna's misery !

This earth has nothing now^ this heart to cheer —

No bliss with him but in eternity,
When Heniy comes, my mourning soul to cheer,

And take me with him fi'om this misery.

O, Henry ! if thou canst on Anna wait,
Or canst petition heaven to set me free,

Eat my tired spirit soon regain its mate,
And bid farew^ell to earth and misery.

0, cruel warrior 'of the furious North!

What had my youtliful Henry done to thee.
That thou shouldst send the fatal arrow ferth.

When on its point was Anna's misery ?

Could I but tell where cold in earth he lies,
On wings of love to his lone grave I'd fly —

There would I weep till death had closed, these eyes.
And this sad heart forgot its misery.

Time, spread thy wings I — I know not where he lies ;

Haste with my spirit to the bridal day !
Come, lovely death, and close these weeping eyes !

Come, Heniy, bear thy Anna's soul av/ay I



Thus did she mourn and wander in the vale,
Till echo learnt her melancholy tale ;



24 LYRE OF EBOE.

But few licr days that mournfully she sung,
Her garland soon was in the Abbey hung.



The Hall of Barden now shines I'icli in state.
Her warriors march in triumph through her gate ;
The ancient bard upon the rampart stands,
The willing strings obey their master's hands ;
With eyes of raptm^, loud their deeds he sings.
As if his soul was living in the strings.
All joined the chorus, till the neighbouring wood
Echoed their song to Wharf's clear rolling flood.

The song was ended — and brave Chfford sprung
From his black charger, and his aniiour rung ;
The aims of Tempest answered to the sound.
And spears and scabbards clashed upon the gi^ouud.
Each brave foot-soldier then his anns uproars,
Till in the court they fonn a pile of spears.
The waiTiors enter, each a welcome guest —
The brave are ever worthy of a feast —
The strength of England, beef in Craven fed ;
The spacious horns, with foam upon each head ;
Ale which slew every anguish, care, and woe —
Such as they brewed tliree hundred years' ago.

Bereft of sons, the mothers came to moum ;
For many went who never could return.
The sorrowing fathers left the scene of mirth,
To seek the dead, ere they were laid in earth.
The harper's lyre, the victor's patriot song.
The widow's grief more poignant made and strung ;
IMusic brought sorrow — triumph brought a tear —
Despair still whispering, "01 my son's not here!"



LYEE OF EBOK. 95

And, pale the widow stood, witli gi-ief oppressed,
The child, unconscious, smiling at her breast.
Such are the mournful scenes the warriors see.
Though triumph crowns their aiTQs with victory ;
Such feasts in days gone by have often been,
With bursts of joy, and mouniful thoughts between ;
Joy for the conquest, then the solemn strain
Swelled on the lyre, as dirges o'er the slain.

What names extinct, and families no more,
Since Craven youths the vales and hiUs mai'ched o'er I
Some names, who then to nothing could aspire,
Ai'e titled now with baron, laiight, or squire ;
While those who noblest com^age there displayed,
Are hid in Time's impenetrable shade,
Those who from Barden cheerful marched away.
To reach their homes the next approaching day,
\Mien, through respect, the ladies carried far.
For those they loved, the weapons used in war.
One youth a quiver takes, and proudly walks,
W^iile of the battle his brave brother tallvs ;
Another in a helmet takes delight,
And sore regrets he was not at tlie fight.
Thus to their hamlet each one hastes away.
To tell their friends of Flodden's bloody day ;
Mothers, expectant, saw their sons return.
Wept tears of joy, and there forgot to mom-u.
Peace and soft rural charms the warriors greet.
And Scotland never more durst Craven meet.
"WTien Sabbath comes, to Bolton each repair.
And praise is foUowed by the fervent prayer ;
Warrior and yeoman, peasant, join the throng,
And help to make the Jubilate strong ;
And hundreds w^ent on Clifford's fqrm to gaze,
Wlio for the triumph gave his God the praise.



^0 LYEE OF ECOIl.

O Bolton, what a cliange ! but still tlioii art
Noble in ruin, great in every part !
When we beliold thee, signs of gi'andeur gone,
Live on thy walls, and shine on every stone ;
Thy shades are lovely through each varied day.
Thy woods, thy rocks, thy streams, where beauties

phiy ;
Lovely, when rosy in the east, the sun
Shows the high hills the cheerful day's begun.
Throughout the day, in all the hours that shine,
Peace, beauty, and rich sceneiy are thine ;
But, when the evening shades, like cui'tains, are
Thro"SMi o'er the wheels of day's resplendent car ;
When the broad moon, as though she rose to see
The hoary columns of antiquity ;
Then, solemn grandeur greets the changing queen,
And ^^Qiarf s reflection helps to light the scene.
At eveiy well-selected point of view,
Fresh scenes appear, as beautiful as new ;
There the broad river glancing in the smi,
And there the streams in eddying circles run :
Deep roars the Strid in snow-white robe of spray,
At rest below the wearied waters stay.
Thus have I seen the rock-verged deep at rest,
The foam, like mai'ble, vaiying on its breast ;
The hy bower, secure from summer's heat,
For contemplation, what a blest retreat !
Where the gray ruin, and each varied hill,
Exceed in beaut}', fine descriptive sldll.
There may the rural poet sit and write,
The learned astronomer survey the night ;
The love-sick lover there may sit and dream,
Lulled into slmnber by the murmuring stream :



LTEE OF EBOE. 27

But streams and woods, and waterfalls and flowers.
Lovers' retreats, rich la^\Tis, and shady bowers,
Have all been sung in lovers' verse so fine,
No room is left to hold another line.

Muse of the svlvan shades, if yet thou dwell
Amid those scenes which make my bosom swell,
Descend, and to niy pensive mind impart
Such thoughts as thrill the breast, and wann the

heart ;
To sweetest measure tune my humble tyre,
Since Bolton's groves demand the purest fire !
The brave, the good, the noble warrior now
Sleeps with his fathers in the tomb below ;
The noble Chfford now no more can be
True to his king in honest loyalty ;
The earl has left his helmet, sword, and shield,
And rides no more, imdaunted, to the field,
To combat treason m its darkest foiTQ,
And meet, unmoved, the Northern's fiercest stonn.
Peace to the dust of those Avho bravely fight
In honour's cause, and for their coimtry's right ;
In praise of such the bard should ever sing,
'\^^lOse duty tells them to defend their king ;
And worthy is the baron, knight, or lord,
VHao in his country's cause unsheathes his sword !

AMiarfedale, no more the sounds of wai' annoy,
But all is changed to peace and rm-al joy ;
Here can tlie aged spend a peaceful day,
Beguile sad grief, and to their ]Maker pray ;
The widow, weeping o'er depai^ted love,
Is helped to mom-n by many a mourning dove ;



28 LYUE OF EBOE.

Aiicl hidden here from any mortal's ken,

May weep in silence o'er the best of men,

WTiose cai'es, and joys, and sorrows, hopes and fears.

Had bomid them closer through successive years.

Here may the poet, Nature's " helpless child,"

Wliose soul is bomidless, and whose thoughts are wild,

Imagine things beyond the torrid zone.

And how the ancient Grecian temples shone ;

How earth, and every orb, was formed on high,

Till his full soul burst out in ecstasy : —

" Ye trees, ye leaves, and every varied flower.

Were nothing else, ye show Eternal Power !

The verdant grass on every hill that groAvs,

The goodness of the great Creator shows !

Insects and birds, that dwell amid the grove.

The creej^ing worm, and things that soai' above ;

All beasts, however varied their abode.

Proclaim the power, the majesty of God I

The shining orbs, that deck the arch of night.

Orb above orb, till distance dims their light ;

Planets by circling motions show his skill,

^\llile others burn through ages and are still."

Grand are the heavens unto the feeble eye ;

But when the poet can the tube apply.

New wonders open, and new worlds appear.

Which tell tlie mind. Infinity is there !

Lost in the thought, his ardent fancy bums.

He thinks — and to himself with reverence turns ;

His soul is fiUed with solemn hopes and fears.

To think he's co-existent with the spheres !

E'en when no more one ray of light they give,

His bosom holds what must for ever live.

When sun, and moon, and stars, and skies are lost.

And Nature's self is to old Chaos tossed !



LTEE OF EBOS. 29

Now as the ^Tiarf to Olicano moves,
And leaves the rocky Strid and Bolton's groves,
Old Castleberg, the toiTent-wasted scar,
Uprears his head, where Romans met in war,
AYhen on its topmost point the watch-tower st»od,
And deep below, beheld the tiunbhng flood,
Britons and Saxons have contended there.
And on the ramparts mingled spear ^ith spear '.
The warriors tnmbhng headlong down the steep,
Pressed with their armom% plunged into the deep :
But Time, who leaves behind all earthly things.
And overtakes fresh objects with his wings,
Has left so far behind swift-pinioned Fame,
She could not reach us with a warrior's name.

Through shades of oak which have for centuries
gi-OA\-n,
\\Tiarf winds her vray to Illdey's ancient tovvii :
No altars now unto her streams are raised.
As when the Roman sacrifices blazed ;
Yet she rolls on, when Romans are no more,
Unworshipped, hastes to mix ^ith ocean's roar.
]\Iore worthy is the mighty King of all,
Vslio raises kingdoms, speaks — and empires fall ;
"vMio made all systems, and who formed the sun,
AMio spoke, and bade yon ciystal foimtain run.
Praise to receive, and glory, power, and might,
Through Time, and in the bhssful realms of hght !

Illdey, thy healthy mountains, wells, and air,
Can cure the nervous, trembhng in despah !
Upon thy crags, to climb the granite rocks,
.. Aud see the sportive youths pursue the fox,



30 LYKE OF EBOR.

Would make the trembling liml)s be finn again,
And banish jMelancholy and her train.
To tliec, how many on their crutches come,
Soon dance without them, and run smiling home ;
Then to their friends in highest raptures tell
How strength imj^roved at Ilkley and its well.
Here tliey can walk amid the valley fine ;
The angler into crystal throw his line.
And watch the trout, though in the water deep —
Behold his eyes, which ne'er are closed in sleej)-
Peace, Love, and Solitude neai' Illdey dw^ell.
And Health sits smiling at her mountain well :
Thus did she sit, and made tliis vale her home,
Before invading Caesar marched from Kome.



Denton, thou rural village, little known,
Thou once hadst warriors who could shake a throne !
When Fairfax, with a patriot feeling strong,
Was led by false designing Cromwell wrong,
A race courageous from tliy shades arose,
Who feai'ed nor foreign nor domestic foes.
In civil war, the numerous fields were red,
Vvliere Fairfax fought, and where his brothers bled ;
But now 'tis peace, — ^no warriors from thy hall
Kide forth in armour at the ti'umpet's call.
How blest the land, when martial days are o'er,
Like tliose of Towton or of Marston Moor ;
When regal power, and law were laid aside,
And Britons by the swords of Britons died !

From J\Iarston to old Tockwith spread the line
Of those who fought against the royal sign ;



LYEE OF EBOn. 31

The stout right wing Sir Thomas Fairfax led.

And seemed another Hector at its head ;

Lord FairfcLx led the centre to the fray.

The left, grim Cromwell's stern commands obey.

DoT\-n in the plain the royal anny stood,

^^llo for their monarch soon must shed their blood ;

True loyalty was spread from wing to wing,

And each forgave the follies of his king.

Dreadful the sight, when thus two annies meet.

All softer feelings sunk beneath then- feet.

And those who hung upon the selfsame breast,

Taught by one father, by one mother blest,

Waiting the signal for the deadly fray,

"WTiere brothers take their Idndred's lives away !

But so 'twas here, when young Prince Rupert led

The right vdiig, brave as e'er a banner spread.

^Yhile General Goring led the centre on.

To meet the Scots, as oft their sires had done ;

Lucas and Porter often rode to cheer

The wings, the centre, vanguard and the rear ;

Tvliile those who marched at great Newcastle's word.

Were brave as any that e'er wielded svrord.

Novv^ ready stood each fierce embattled host,

WTien all distinction in their dress was lost,

"VNTien handl^erchiefs, and shps of red or white.

Were all that showed the king's-men whom to fight.

The trumpet sounded, and the march began,

Fairfax and Cromv\'ell leading forth the van ;

Th' usui'per cried — " For battle all prepare !"

Then the arch-hj^ocrite breathed forth a prayer ;

As if Omnipotence could smile to see

Britons o'er Britons gain such victory.

"\Miile Cromwell's files marched rapid doT^ii the hill.

Firm in their lines the Pioyalists stood still ;



32 LTEE OF EBOPt.

With no impetnons haste Lord Goring led —
The foes appeared, hut not a king's-mau fled.

Now front to front the hostile annies are,
Each hosom feels the dread of civil war ;
Awful the silence — not a sound is heard
Of drum, or trumpet, or commander's word,
But just a solemn hum hefore they fire,
For brothers wished from brothers to retire :
And, truly, but for Cromwell's haughty pride,
All had been friends, and not a warrior died.
\\liat anxious breasts were left in every hall,
Lest the loved lord should in the conflict fall !
The lady, often, with her children prays
For heav'n's protection in the battle's blaze.

As when a thunder storm the valley fills,
The rapid rivers tumble from the hills.
Falling impetuous from each rocky height,
So rushed the host of Cromwell to the fight.
The Royalists, though few, like ramparts stood ;
Or, as the sea-beat rock defies the flood.
From their close-serried files no warriors fled —
Their firmness struck proud Cromwell's host with

dread :
His legions cheered, then like a raging flood
Pom'cd on the Royalists, who bravely stood ;
But when the brave young Rupert spurred his horse,
The royal anny burst with such a force,
Their foes gave way — but Fairfiix, quick as thought,
Wlieeled round his steed, and man to man they

fought.
Then came the Scots ; — but Rupert, like a flood,
O'erwhehned the bold, and stained their flags with

blood.



LYRE OF EBOE. .S3

As ^Yllen on seas two rolling cliannels fight,
And furious waves are tui-ned to foaming white,
Thus did they meet, swords clashing 'gainst the spears,
Till ^Major Fairfax in the slain aj^peai's ;
Till not a weapon but with gore was red' —
So fought both wings, till great Sii* Thomas fled.
Wlien Pompey fled on famed Pharsalia's plain,
In such a space were fewer warriors slain.
The noble Prince, whose loyalty was wann,
0'ei's\'helmed the sons of Scotland like a stoiTQ !
But see Lord Goring the finn centre lead,
VvTiile fiiTn they folloY/ his dnrk prancing steed ;
Deep are their lines, their spears stand thick as corn,
And Cromwell's musquetry they meet with scorn ;
Close in their ranlcs, the dauntless warriors stand,
And hard the spears ai-e grasped in ev'ry hand,
Kushing hke fire, or, as the lightning red.
They met their foes, and Cromwell's centre fled-!
Again the brave Sir Thomas Fairfax tnrns,
Meets Kupert's colmnns, and the battle bm'ns.
The lines are broken — muskets useless lie.
Swords clash on swords, the balls no longer fly —
E^ge, horror, death, revenge, and wounds and blood,
Swelled the confusion of the battle's flood !
With more detennined rage no aimies met,
^or eai'tli A\ith nobler gore was ever wet.
At length, o'ercome, brave Fairfax flies again,
Woiuided himself, and his brave brother slain :
Thus Kupert fought, though loth to take the field,
Yet, when once waimed, his heart would never yield-
Now \ictory seemed the Royahsts to cro^^^l ;
The banners of their foes were trampled dovra ;
The noble files whom valiant Porter led,
O'erwhelmed all force, and every General fled.

c



34 LYRE OF EBOR.

But as the tlmuder stoiin, when once 'tis passed,
Turns with a ten-fold fuiy on the Wast,
WTiile qniv'ring in the cloud the flashes blaze,
And make the boldest that they dare not gaze.
So came proud Cromwell, leading on the horse,
Dark as the storm — ^^vhat could withstand his force ?
The Trojan warriors never better stood,
The Grecian Phalanx never was as good.
As those brave men, who for their sov'reign bled.
And conquered oft, when great Newcastle led !
The heaviest charges of their foes they met.
And each succeeding charge their foes were beat ;
Nor would they fly, nor would a warrior yield,
Till half their numbers fell upon the field.
Then, let not Cromwell of the victory boast-
He need not glory that his foes had lost ;
For had the Prince been there, he ne'er had fled
Ere Cromwell's self and half his host had bled.
Methinks I hear him, when the armies cease.
Speaking, deceitful, in such words as these : —
*' O ! why should war, why should the sword and spear,
And hostile annies in the field appear ?
Why should the haughty pride of man destroy
Youth, sti'ength, and beauty, and a parent's joy?
Has not disease itself a rapid way
To turn the greatest mortals into clay,
But rage, and armour, battle-axe, and fire.
Against the race of mortals must conspire ?
The soldier at the front of battle smiles.
Steps o'er the slain, to close the broken files ;
His fame, his honor, then his chiefest care.
And little leisure has he left for prayer :
A spear may pierce him, or a bullet flies
Swift to his heart — the warrior falls and dies.



LYEE OF EBOE. 35

^Mien shall the lovely days of peace appear.

That sheathes the falchion, and that breaks the spear ?

I praise thee !" and much more the usurper said,

Which never reached ten fathoms o'er his head ;

For God dehghts not in his creatures' pain,

Kor will he hear his praise sung o'er the slain.

"With luckless fate, and in an evil hoiu'.
The haughty conquer'd, not by skill or power,
But by suj)erior numbers gained the day,
"SMiile braver youths were driven far av/ay ;
Youths, who their triple number often met,
And fought till all their swords with gore were wet
Dacres and Lambton fell upon that day,
And Slingsly's noble soul was sent away ;
Fenwick was lost, and Luddon was no more,
And Gledliill's coqDse was scarcely Imo-^ii for gore,
Meetham, the brave, the loyal volunteer,
Heaved his last breath for his loved monarch there ;
Then -^dth neai' thirty womids brave Graham bled,
T^Tio never in the fiercest contest fled ;
To Norton Hall his warriors bear him slow —
Then what a scene of undescrib'd woe !
I hear his Lady's sighs — she caimot weeji —
Hope, love, despair, sink in her bosom deep :
The bleeding stops — she hopes her lord will live,
And for his hfe would every blessing give.
Now a bright beam is lighted in his eyes.
Then pale, the brave, the dauntless Graham sighs !
The statues of the ancients ne'er could show
Such silent grief, such eloquence of woe,
As in his lady's features were expressed.
When the last struggle shook her wai-rior's breast :



36 LYEE OF EBOE.

"WTien the last kiss inlialed the parting breath,
And all she loved on earth was still in death.
Slowly and sad the weeping servants come,
With noiseless feet, and look into the room,
To hear their master's voice, or once behold
The features of the loyal, brave, the bold;
But they no more behold his piercing eyes —
The only sounds are broken-hearted sighs
Of his sad widow, in Avild agony
Of fervent prayer, that death would set her free.
Boast not, usurping Cromwell, o'er the dead —
With hah" his wounds thy bravest knights ha4 fled.

Prince Eupert, then, whose valour ne'er would yield.
Again returns, in hopes to gain the field ;
The firmest of his troops resolved to lie
Cold on the field, or gain the victory !
But not a friend they met — all, all were fled,
Except the wounded, dying, and the dead ;
A^^iile foes in thousands stretched upon the plain.
Showed e'en the noblest effort would be vain.
He had a heart, and such had all his men,
They had not shrunk to meet them one to ten ;
But when five hundred must engage a host,
E'en Cromwell's self must o^vn the day was lost.
TOien in the west the sun in grief had sunk.
That Marston ]Moor such noble blood had drunk.
The troops of Cromwell had no quarters nigh,
For Yorkshire then was true to Koyality.
Through eveiy line the haughty conqueror rode,
Exliorting all to give the praise to God !
Thanking the men vrho had the victoiy gained,
When fai' from balls and swords the Earh;> remainedr

• Earl of Manchester,



LYRE OF EBOR. 37

He seemed to mourn tlie day so far was gone,
That nothing for the wounded could be done ;
But, if they waited till the break of day,
All shattered limbs should then be cut away ;
Balls be extracted, eveiy wound be dressed, —
Both friends and foes with surgeons should be blessed!
Then well to sup he galloped off the ground,
And felt no pain — for he received no wound :
And so it is in battles, nine for ten,
Leaders get praise, and victoiy's gained by men.
The scene was a"\vful, when the light began
To shine on featm-es gory, pale, and wan ;
Some, who had plundered in the shades of night,
Slunk swift away, as though to shun the light,
WTien morning, with a crimson colour, spread
Her beams upon sLx thousand waiTiors dead,
WTiat would the feelings be of tliose who sought
A son or husband, who had bravely fought ?
"\Miat shrieks were heard among the ghastly dead,
Whilst many a widow raised her husband's head,
O'erwhehned with woe — of every hope bereft.
And nothing but her starving children left !
These were the scenes on Marston's gory plain,
And such would be in Anarchy's dread reign.
Witness old Spain, when she was stained with gore,
When France sent rivers crimsoned to the shore.
Till tides of ocean, bearing back her guilt,
U]3braided her with all the blood she spilt ;
WTien wai-'s red bolts through Italy were hurled.
And half destroyed the garden of the world ;
And Moscow's blaze, amid the snowy field.
Ere Piussia to the pride of France would jield,
WTien Natm-e's self was armed with frost and snow,
And slew what Eussians never could lay low.



38 LTKE OF EEOE.

Eetiirn, my muse, what are such scenes to thee ?
Thine be the task to paint antiquity ;
Let Harewood's crumbling towers by thee be sung,
Grey with old Time, with sober i^y hung —
Home of brave hunters, warriors, and the fair.
When mirth and song, and merry dance were there.
Here, in the ruins, sat the rustic bard.
Whose way through life was sorrowful and hard ;
Still were the winds, and beautiful the night,
\^Tlile in a large half circle spread the light.
The herald to the moon, night's modest queen,
W'liose waning orb soon in the east was seen.
The shadows of the towers and risinoj Avood
Stretched through the vale, and trembled on the

flood ;
But as she rose, the trembling shades withdrew.
And showed the silvery Wharf broad in the view ;
With wandering w^eary, tired with study deep,
The poet's eyes were soon sealed fast in sleej).
He dreamt of airy praise, of empty fame,
And to his fancy Ancient History came :
A mural crowai was placed upon her head,
A link-mail cuirass o'er her breast was spread ;
A belt of silvered silk around her waist.
From end to end with Saxon verses graced ;
Saxo-Monastic words were on her vest —
The cross was ruby that adorned her breast ;
A scroll of ancient parchment there she spread.
While to the poet's fancy thus she said : —