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• In wild amaze, in speechless wo,
Devoid of sense I lay:
I meant myself to slay :
I seiz'd the bloody brand :*
And wrench'd it from my hand. • A crowd, that from the castle came,
Had miss'd their lovely ward; And seizing me to prison bare,
And deep in dungeon barr’d.
“It chanc'd that on that very morn
Their chief was prisoner ta’en: Lord Percy had us soon exchang’d,
And strove to sooth my pain.
And soon those honoured dear remains
To England were convey'd ;
With holy rites were laid.
“For me, I loath'd my wretched life,
And oft to end it sought;
Had better counsels taught.
Whence heavenly comfort flows: They taught me to despise the world, And calmly bear its woes.
* i. e. sword.
“No more the slave of human pride,
Vain hope and sordid care ;
In penitence and prayer. • The bold sir Bertram now no more,
Impetuous, haughty, wild ;
Now lowly, patient, mild :
And sacred altars raise ;
I came to end my days. * This sweet sequestered vale I chose,
These rocks, and hanging grove ; For oft beside this murmuring stream
My love was wont to rove. * My noble friend approv'd my choice,
This bless'd retreat he gave: And here I carv'd her beauteous form,
And scoop'd this holy cave. * Full fifty winters, all forlorn,
My life I've linger'd here;
I drop the pensive tear. * And thou, dear brother of my heart!
So faithful and so true,
Still makes my bosom rue!
• Yet not unpitied pass'd my life,
Forsaken, or forgot,
Would grace my lowly cot.
And cumbrous pomp of power,
To spend the tranquil hour. • But length of life is length of wo!
1 liv'd to mourn his fall : I liv'd to mourn his godlike son,
Their friends and followers all.
• But thou the honours of thy race,
Lov'd youth, shalt now restore ;
More glorious than before.'
His choicest blessings laid:
His mournful tale repaid.
They ask the good old sire;
To Scotland they retire.
At Raby's stately hall,
Now gladly pardon all.
She suppliant at her nephew's* throne
The royal grace implor'd :
The Percy was restor’d.
Admir'd his beauteous dame:
All worthy of their name.
Note.-The account given in the foregoing ballad of young Percy, the son of Hotspur, receives the following confirmation from the old Chronicle of Whitby.
« Henry Percy, the son of sir Henry Percy, that was slayne at Shrewesbery, and of Elizabeth, the daughter of the erle of Marche, after the death of his father and grauntsyre, was exiled into Scotlandt in the time of king Henry the Fourth : but in the time of king Henry the Fifth, by the labour of Johanne the countess of Westmerland (whose daughter Alianor he had wedded in coming into England), he recovered the king's grace, and the countye of Northumberland, so was the second erle of Northumberland.
*And of this Alianor his wife, he begate IX sonnes, and III daughters, whose names be Johanne, that is buried at Whytbye; l'homas, lord Egremont; Katheryne Gray of Rythyn; sir Raffe Percy; William Percy, a byshopp; Richard Percy; John, that dyed without issue ; [another John, called by Vincent, Johannes Percy senior de Warkworth ;] George Percy, clerk; Henry, that dyed without issue; Anne-'[besides the eldest son and successor here omitted, because he comes in below, viz.] • Henry Percy, the third erle of Northumberland.'
Vid. Har). MSS. No. 692, (26) in the British Museum, * King Henry V. A.D. 1414.
ti. e. remained an exile in Scotland during the reign of king Henry IV. In Scotia exulavit tempore Henrici Regis quarti. Lat. MS. penes. Duc. North. See bis Great Baronag. No. 20, in the Herald's Office.
COOPER'S HILL. SURE there are poets which did never dream Upon Parnassus, nor did take the stream of Helicon; we therefore may suppose Those made not poets, but the poets those. And as courts made not kings, but kings the court, So where the Muses and her train resort, Parnassus stands ; if I can be to thee A poet, thou Parnassus art to me. Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my flight By taking wing from thy auspicious height) Through untrac'd ways and airy paths I fly More boundless in my fancy than my eye: My eye, which swift as thought contracts the space That lies between, and first salutes the place. Crown'd with that sacred pile, so vast, so high, That whether 'tis a part of earth or sky Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud Aspiring mountain, or descending cloud, Paul's, the late theme of such a Muse,* whose flight Has bravely reach'd and soar'd above thy height: Now shalt thou stand, though sword, or time, or fire, Or zeal more fierce than they, thy fall conspire; Secure whilst thee the best of poets sings, Preserv'd from ruin by the best of kings, Under bis proud survey the city lies, And, like a mist beneath a hill, doth rise ; Whose state and wealth, the business and the crowd,' Seem at this distance but a darker cloud; And is, to him who rightly things esteems, No other in effect than what it seems:
* Mr. Waller.