Firft tell me, father, faid the youth, (Nor blame mine eager tongue) What town is here? What lands are these? And to what lord belong? Alas! my fon, the Hermit faid, The rightful lord of thefe domains Ten winters now have fhed their fnows Since valiant HOTSPUR (fo the North Against Fourth HENRY BOLINGBROKE Near proud Salopia's towers. One fon he left, a lovely boy, In Scotland fafe he plac'd the child And now the PERCY name, fo long No chieftain of that noble house Their halls and caftles, once fo fair, Proud ftrangers now ufurp their lands, Nor far from hence where yon full ftreạm Runs winding down the lea, Fair WARKWORTH lifts her lofty towers, And overlooks the fea. Thofe towers, alas! now stand forlorn, Meantime far off mid Scottish hills, O might I with thefe aged eyes, Then fhould my foul depart in blifs !- And is the PERCY ftill fo lov'd, Silent he gaz'd, then turn'd aside Welcome, our dear and much lov'd lord, But who may this young lady be, That is fo wonderous fair. H Now, father, listen to my tale, In Scotland I've been nobly bred With fond impatience long I burn'd At length I won my guardian friend Then up and down in hunter's garb Sometime with him I liv'd unknown, To please this young and gentle dame, Now, PERCY, faid the blufhing maid, Souls great and generous, like to thine, *Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the contiBuator of Fordon's Scoti-Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c. + Ralph Neville, firft 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, Sudden a band of rugged Scots, My fhricks had all been fpent in vain, But heaven, that faw my grief, Brought this brave youth within my call, Who flew to my relief. With nothing but his hunting fpear, He fought, till more affiftance came ; O happy day! the youth replied: And when the knew my name and birth, But oh we fear'd, (alas, the while!) H 2 Sitter of haughty BOLINGBROLE * To me I thought a banish'd wight, Defpairing then to gain confent; This evening, as the night drew on, We turn'd adown the right hand path, Then lighting from our weary fteeds, Now reft ye both, the Hermit faid; * Joan, countefs of Weftmoreland, mother of the young Lady, was daughter of John of Gaunt, and halffifter of king Henry IV. t Adjoining to the cliff, which contains the Chapel of the Hermitage, are the remains of a fmall building, in which the Hermit dwelt. This confifted of one lower Apartment, with a little Bed-chamber over it, and is now in ruins: whereas the Chapel, cut in the folid rock, is ftill very intire and perfect. THE END OF THE FIRST PART. |