165

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

Fit the First.

DARK was the night, and wild the storm,
And loud the torrent's roar;

And loud the sea was heard to dash
Against the distant shore.

Musing on man's weak hapless state,
The lonely hermit lay;
When, lo! he heard a female voice
Lament in sore dismay.

With hospitable haste he rose,
And wak'd his sleeping fire;
And snatching up a lighted brand,
Forth hied the rev'rend sire.

All sad beneath a neighbouring tree
A beauteous maid he found,

Who beat her breast, and with her tears
Bedew'd the mossy ground.

"O weep not, lady, weep not so;
Nor let vain fears alarm;

My little cell shall shelter thee,

And keep thee safe from harm."

"It is not for myself I weep,

Nor for myself I fear;

But for my dear and only friend,

Who lately left me here:

"And while some sheltering bower he sought

Within this lonely wood,

Ah! sore I fear his wandering feet

Have slipt in yonder flood.'

"O! trust in Heaven," the Hermit said,

"And to my cell repair;

Doubt not but I shall find thy friend,

And ease thee of thy care.'

Then climbing up his rocky stairs,
He scales the cliff so high;
And calls aloud, and waves his light
To guide the stranger's eye.

Among the thickets long he winds,
With careful steps and slow:
At length a voice return'd his call,
Quick answering from below:

"O tell me, father, tell me true,
If you have chanc'd to see
A gentle maid, I lately left
Beneath some neighbouring tree:

"But either I have lost the place,
Or she hath gone astray:
And much I fear this fatal stream
Hath snatch'd her hence away."

"Praise Heaven, my son," the Hermit said: "The lady's safe and well:

And soon he join'd the wandering youth,
And brought him to his cell.

Then well was seen, these gentle friends,
They lov'd each other dear:

The youth he press'd her to his heart;
The maid let fall a tear.

Ah! seldom had their host, I ween,
Beheld so sweet a a pair :

The youth was tall, with manly bloom;
She, slender, soft, and fair.

The youth was clad in forest green,
With bugle-horn so bright:
She in a silken robe and scarf,
Snatch'd up in hasty flight.

"Sit down, my children," says the sage,
"Sweet rest your limbs require:"
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,
And mends his little fire.

"Partake," he said, "my simple store,
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;"
And spreading all upon the board,
Invites with kindly words.

"Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare," The youthful couple say:

Then freely ate, and made good cheer,
And talk'd their cares away.

"Now say, my children, (for perchance
My counsel may avail),

What strange adventure brought you here Within this lonely dale?"

"First tell me, father," said the youth, "(Nor blame mine eager tongue,) What town is near? 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 now have shed their snows

On this my lowly hall,

Since valiant Hotspur (so the North
Our youthful lord did call)

"Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke
Led up his northern powers,
And, stoutly fighting, lost his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.

"One son he left, a lovely boy,
His country's hope and heir;
And, oh! to save him from his foes
It was his grandsire's care.

"In Scotland safe he plac'd the child
Beyond the reach of strife,

Nor long before the brave old Earl
At Braham lost his life.

"And now the Percy name, so long
Our northern pride and boast,
Lies hid alas! beneath a cloud;
Their honours reft and lost.

"No chieftain of that noble house
Now leads our youth to arms;
The bordering Scots despoil our fields,
And ravage all our farms.

"Their halls and castles, once so fair,
Now moulder in decay;

Proud strangers now usurp their lands,
And bear their wealth away.

"Nor far from hence, where yon full stream Runs winding down the lea,

Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers,
And overlooks the sea.

"Those towers, alas! now lie forlorn,
With noisome weeds o'erspread,
Where feasted lords and courtly dames,
And where the poor were fed.

"Meantime far off, 'mid Scottish hills,
The Percy lives unknown:
On strangers' 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;
And lifting up his hands and eyes,
Pour'd blessings 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 wondrous fair?"

"Now, father! listen to my tale,
And thou shalt know the truth:
And let thy sage advice direct
My inexperienc'd youth.

"In Scotland I've been nobly bred
Beneath the Regent's 1 hand,
In feats of arms, and every lore
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.

"Then up and down in hunter's garb
I wander'd as in chase,

Till in the noble Neville's 2 house
I gain'd a hunter's place.

"Some time 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 must reveal;

Souls great and generous, like to thine,
Their noble deeds conceal.

"It happen'd on a summer's day,
Led by the fragrant breeze,

I wander'd forth to take the air
Among the green-wood trees.

(1) Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany.

(2) Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly resided at his two castles of Brancepeth, and Raby, both in the Bishopric of Durham.