Dramas, Discourses, and other Pieces | ||
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH, A NORTHUMBERLAND BALLAD.
CANTO I.
And loud the torrent's roar;
And loud the sea was heard to dash
Against the distant shore.
The lonely Hermit lay;
When, lo! he heard a female voice
Lament in sore dismay.
And waked his sleeping fire;
And snatching up a lighted brand,
Forth hied the reverend sire.
A beauteous maid he found,
Who beat her breast, and with her tears
Bedewed the mossy ground.
Nor let vain fears alarm;
My little cell shall shelter thee,
And keep thee safe from harm.”
Nor for myself I fear;
But for my dear and only friend,
Who lately left me here:
Within this lonely wood,
Ah! sore I fear his wandering feet
Have slipt in yonder flood.”
“And to my cell repair;
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend,
And ease thee of thy care.”
He scales the cliff so high;
And calls aloud, and waves his light,
To guide the stranger's eye.
With careful steps and slow:
At length a voice returned his call,
Quick answering from below:
If you have chanced to see
A gentle maid, I lately left
Beneath some neighbouring tree:
Or she hath gone astray;
And much I fear this fatal stream
Hath snatched her hence away.”
“The lady 's safe and well;”
And soon he joined the wandering youth,
And brought him to his cell.
They loved each other dear:
The youth he pressed her to his heart;
The maid let fall a tear.
Beheld so sweet a pair:
The youth was tall, with manly bloom;
She, slender, soft, and fair.
With bugle-horn so bright:
She in a silken robe and scarf,
Snatched up in hasty flight.
“Sweet rest your limbs require;”
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,
And mends his little fire.
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;”
And spreading all upon the board,
Invites with kindly words.
The youthful couple say:
Then freely ate, and made good cheer,
And talked their cares away.
My counsel may avail,)
What strange adventure brought you here,
Within this lonely dale?”
“(Nor blame mine eager tongue,)
What town is near? What lands are these?
And to what lord belong?”
“Why do I live to say,
The rightful lord of these domains
Is banished far away?
On this my lowly hall,
Since valiant Hotspur (so the North
Our youthful lord did call)
Led up his northern powers,
And, stoutly fighting, lost his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.
His country's hope and heir;
And, oh! to save him from his foes
It was his grandsire's care,
Beyond the reach of strife,
Nor long before the brave old Earl
At Bramham lost his life.
Our northern pride and boast,
Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;
Their honors reft and lost.
Now leads our youth to arms;
The bordering Scots despoil our fields,
And ravage all our farms.
Now moulder in decay;
Proud strangers now usurp their lands,
And bear their wealth away.
Runs winding down the lea,
Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers,
And overlooks the sea.
With noisome weeds o'erspread,
Where feasted lords and courtly dames,
And where the poor were fed.
The Percy lives unknown;
On strangers' bounty he depends,
And may not claim his own.
But live to see him here,
Then should my soul depart in bliss!”
He said, and dropt a tear.
Of all his friends and thee?
Then bless me, father,” said the youth,
“For I, thy guest, am he.”
To wipe the tears he shed;
And lifting up his hands and eyes,
Poured blessings on his head:
Thy country's hope and care:—
But who may this young lady be,
That is so wondrous fair?”
And thou shalt know the truth:
And let thy sage advice direct
My unexperienced youth.
Beneath the Regent's hand,
In feats of arms, and every lore,
To fit me for command.
My native land to see:
To yield that boon to me.
I wandered as in chase,
Till in the noble Neville's house
I gained a hunter's place.
Till I'd the hap so rare,
To please this young and gentle dame,
That Baron's daughter fair.”
“The truth I must reveal;
Souls great and generous, like to thine,
Their noble deeds conceal.
Led by the fragrant breeze,
I wandered forth to take the air
Among the green-wood trees.
That near in ambush lay,
Moss-troopers from the border-side,
There seized me for their prey.
But Heaven, that saw my grief,
Brought this brave youth within my call,
Who flew to my relief.
And dagger in his hand,
He sprung like lightning on my foes,
And caused them soon to stand.
The Scots were overthrown;
Thus freed me, captive, from their bands,
To make me more his own.”
“Blest were the wounds I bare!
From that fond hour she deigned to smile,
And listen to my prayer.
She vowed to be my bride;
But oh! we feared (alas, the while!)
Her princely mother's pride:
Our house's ancient foe,
To me, I thought, a banished wight,
Could ne'er such favor show.
At length to fly with me
I won this lovely, timorous maid;
To Scotland bound are we.
Fearing we were pursued,
We turned adown the right-hand path,
And gained this lonely wood:
To shun the pelting shower,
We met thy kind conducting hand,
And reached this friendly bower.”
“Awhile your cares forego;
Nor, lady, scorn my humble bed;
—We'll pass the night below.”
CANTO II.
And every storm was fled;
But lovelier far, with sweeter smile,
Fair Eleanor left her bed.
And cheered him with her sight:
The youth consulting with his friend
Had watched the livelong night.
Her cheek what blushes dyed,
When fondly he besought her there
To yield to be his bride!—
There is a chapel meet;
Then grant, dear maid, my fond request,
And make my bliss complete.”
Can I thy suit withstand?
When thou, loved youth, hast won my heart,
Can I refuse my hand?
And mother's tender care;
And, whether weal or woe betide,
Thy lot I mean to share.”
Such matchless favor show,
To share with me, a banished wight,
My peril, pain, or woe?
To crown thy constant breast;
For, know, fond hope assures my heart
That we shall soon be blest.
Surrounded by the sea;
There dwells a holy friar, well known
To all thy friends and thee:
For every worthy deed;
To Raby Castle he shall go,
And for us kindly plead.
Our reverend host is gone;
And soon, I trust, his pious hands
Will join us both in one.”
The lingering hours beguile:
At length they see the hoary sage
Come from the neighbouring isle.
He greets the noble pair,
And glad consents to join their hands
With many a fervent prayer.
He kindly wends his way;
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet
They spend the livelong day.
The Hermitage they viewed,
Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff,
And overhung with wood.
All cut with nicest skill,
And piercing through a stony arch,
Ran winding up the hill.
His little garden stands;
With fruitful trees, in shady rows,
All planted by his hands.
Three sacred vaults he shows:
The chief a chapel, neatly arched,
On branching columns rose.
That should a chapel grace;
The lattice for confession framed,
And Holy-water vase.
Invites to godly fear;
And in a little scutcheon hung
The cross, and crown, and spear.
Two easy steps ascend;
And, near, a glimmering, solemn light
Two well-wrought windows lend.
All in the living stone;
On which a young and beauteous maid
In goodly sculpture shone.
Leaned hovering o'er her breast:
A weeping warrior at her feet:
And near to these her crest.
Attract the wondering pair:
Eager they ask, what hapless dame
Lies sculptured here so fair.
For sorrow scarce could speak:
At length he wiped the trickling tears
That all bedewed his cheek:
Is but a vale of woe;
And very mournful is the tale
Which ye so fain would know.”.
THE HERMIT'S TALE.
“Young lord, thy grandsire had a friendIn days of youthful fame;
Yon distant hills were his domains,
Sir Bertram was his name.
His friend was at his side;
And many a skirmish with the Scots
Their early valor tried.
As fair as fair might be;
The dewdrop on the lily's cheek
Was not so fair as she.
Yon towers her dwelling-place;
Her sire an old Northumbrian chief,
Devoted to thy race.
To this fair damsel came;
But Bertram was her only choice;
For him she felt a flame.
Her father soon consents;
None but the beauteous maid herself
His wishes now prevents.
Defers the blissful hour;
And loves to try his constancy,
And prove her maiden power.
Which is too lightly won;
And long shall rue that easy maid,
Who yields her love too soon.’
In Alnwick's princely hall;
And there came lords, and there came knights,
His Chiefs and Barons all.
The Castle rung around;
Lord Percy called for song and harp,
And pipes of martial sound.
All clad in robes of blue,
With silver crescents on their arms,
Attend in order due.
They sung: their high command:
How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas
First led his northern band.
With venturous Rollo came;
And, from his Norman Castles won,
Assumed the Percy name.
Lord William shipped his powers,
And gained a fair young Saxon bride,
With all her lands and towers.
There bravely fought and died:
But first the silver Crescent won,
Some Paynim Soldan's pride.
The Queen's own brother wed,
Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne,
In princely Brabant bred.
And how his noble line,
Still foremost in their country's cause,
With godlike ardor shine.
Applaud the master's song,
And deeds of arms and war became
The theme of every tongue.
Their perils past recall:
When lo! a damsel young and fair
Stepped forward through the hall.
And kneeling on her knee;—
‘Sir Knight, the Lady of thy love
Hath sent this gift to thee.’
Well-plated many a fold,
The casque was wrought of tempered steel,
The crest of burnished gold.
And yields to be thy bride,
When thou hast proved this maiden gift
Where sharpest blows are tried.’
And thrice he kissed the same;
‘Trust me, I'll prove this precious casque
With deeds of noblest fame.’
Then fix upon a day
To scour the marches, late oppressed,
And Scottish wrongs repay.
A thousand horse and more;
Brave Widdrington, though sunk in years,
The Percy standard bore.
And range the borders round:
Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale
Their bugle-horns resound.
Hath heard the hunters' cries,
And rushes forth to meet his foes,
So did the Douglas rise.
A thousand warriors wait:
And now the fatal hour drew on
Of cruel, keen debate.
Advance before the rest;
Lord Percy marked their gallant mien,
And thus his friend addressed:
Attack yon forward band;
Dead or alive I'll rescue thee,
Or perish by their hand.’
And spurred his eager steed,
And, calling on his Lady's name,
Rushed forth with whirlwind speed.
The livid lightning rends;
So fiercely 'mid opposing ranks
Sir Bertram's sword descends.
And keenly pierces through;
And many a tall and comely knight
With furious force he slew.
They hem Sir Bertram round:
But dauntless he repels their rage,
And deals forth many a wound.
Had well-nigh won the field;
When pond'rous fell a Scottish axe,
And clave his lifted shield.
And reft his helm in twain;
That beauteous helm, his Lady's gift!
—His blood bedewed the plain.
Amid the unequal fight;
‘And now, my noble friends, he said,
Let 's save this gallant knight.’
He o'er the warrior hung:
As some fierce eagle spreads her wing
To guard her callow young.
Three times they quick retire:
What force could stand his furious strokes,
Or meet his martial fire?
The battle raged amain;
And many a Lady wept her Lord,
That hour untimely slain.
There all their courage showed;
And all the field was strewed with dead,
And all with crimson flowed.
The Scots reluctant yield,
And, after wond'rous valor shown,
They slowly quit the field.
And weltering in his gore,
Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend
To Wark's fair Castle bore.
Her father kindly said;
‘And she herself shall dress thy wounds,
And tend thee in thy bed.’
Fair Isabel ne'er appears:
‘Beshrew me,’ said the aged chief,
‘Young maidens have their fears.
So soon as thou canst ride;
And she shall nurse thee in her bower,
And she shall be thy bride.’
He blessed the soothing sound;
Fond hope supplied the nurse's care,
And healed his ghastly wound.
CANTO III.
Hung trembling on the tree,
Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose,
His bride he would go see.
Of courage firm and keen;
And he would tend him on the way,
Because his wounds were green.
By many a lonely tower;
And 't was the dew-fall of the night
Ere they drew near her bower.
That wont to shine so bright;
And long and loud Sir Bertram called,
Ere he beheld a light.
With voice so shrill and clear:
‘What wight is this, that calls so loud,
And knocks so boldly here?’
Come from his bed of care:
All day I 've ridden o'er moor and moss
To see thy Lady fair.’
‘Alas! how may this be?
For six long days are gone and past
Since she set out to thee.’
And oft he deeply sighed;
When now the drawbridge was let down,
And gates set open wide.
Since she set out to thee;
And sure, if no sad harm had happed,
Long since thou wouldst her see.
She tore her hair, and cried,
Alas! I 've slain the comeliest knight,
All through my folly and pride!
And his dear health regain,
I'll go myself, and nurse my love,
And soothe his bed of pain.
One morn at break of day;
And two tall yeomen went with her,
To guard her on the way.’
And grief o'erwhelmed his mind:
‘Trust me,’ said he, ‘I ne'er will rest
Till I thy Lady find.’
And with sad-boding heart,
Or ever the dawning of the day,
His brother and he depart.
O'er Scottish hills to range;
Do thou go north, and I'll go west;
And all our dress we'll change.
And bore her to his den;
And ne'er will I tread English ground
Till she is restored agen.’
O'er Scottish hills to range;
And hide themselves in quaint disguise,
And oft their dress they change.
Most like a palmer poor,
To halls and castles wanders round,
And begs from door to door.
With pipes so sweet and shrill;
And wends to every tower and town,
O'er every dale and hill.
All sunk in deep despair,
An aged pilgrim passed him by,
Who marked his face of care.
Are full of game and glee;
But thou art sad and woe-begone!
I marvel whence it be!’
Whose grief afflicts my mind;
His only child is stolen away,
And fain I would her find.’
Some tidings I may bear;
For oft when human hopes have failed,
Then heavenly comfort's near.
Down in the lowly glen,
There stands a Castle fair and strong,
Far from the abode of men.
About this evening hour,
Methought I heard a Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.
What Lady sick there lay,
They rudely drove me from the gate,
And bade me wend away.’
He thanked him for his tale;
And soon he hasted o'er the hills,
And soon he reached the vale.
Which stood in dale so low,
And sitting down beside the gate,
His pipes he 'gan to blow.
To hear a minstrel's song?
Or may I crave a lodging here,
Without offence or wrong?’
To hear a minstrel's song:
And, should I lend thee lodging here,
My life would not be long.’
Such power sweet sounds impart,
He won the churlish Porter's ear,
And moved his stubborn heart.
Fair entrance thou shouldst win;
But, alas, I'm sworn upon the rood
To let no stranger in.
Thou 'lt find a sheltering cave;
And here thou shalt my supper share,
And there thy lodging have.’
And pipes both loud and clear:
All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.
All at the midnight hour,
He plainly heard his Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.
And gilt the spangled dew;
He saw his Lady through the grate,
But 't was a transient view.
Till near the morning tide;
When, starting up, he seized his sword,
And to the Castle hied.
Depending from the wall;
And o'er the moat was newly laid
A poplar, strong and tall.
Wrapt in a tartan plaid;
Assisted by a sturdy youth
In Highland garb y-clad.
He lay unseen and still;
And soon he saw them cross the stream,
And mount the neighbouring hill.
The youthful couple fly.
But what can 'scape the lover's ken?
Or shun his piercing eye?
Behind the flying pair,
And saw her hang upon his arm,
With fond, familiar air.
‘My thanks thou well hast won:
For me what wiles hast thou contrived!
For me what dangers run!
Thy services repay:’—
Sir Bertram could no further hear,
But cried, ‘Vile traitor, stay!
And quick his sword he drew.
The stranger turned in sudden rage,
And at Sir Bertram flew.
Gave many a vengeful blow:
But Bertram's stronger hand prevailed,
And laid the stranger low.
Attends each furious word.
Ah! then fair Isabel knew his voice,
And rushed beneath his sword.
Thou dost thy brother slay!’”—
And here the Hermit paused and wept:
His tongue no more could say.
How shall I tell the rest?
Ere I could stop my piercing sword,
It fell, and stabbed her breast.”
Ah! cruel! fate!” they said.
The Hermit wept, and so did they:
They sighed; he hung his head.
“What evils from thee flow?”
The Hermit paused; they silent mourned:
He wept, and they were woe.
And saw my Lady bleed,
I raved, I wept, I curst my arm,
That wrought the fatal deed.
And closed the ghastly wound;
In vain I pressed his bleeding corpse,
And raised it from the ground.
His precious life was flown.
She kindly strove to soothe my pain,
Regardless of her own.
And live to think on me:
May we in heaven that union prove,
Which here was not to be!
Thou only hadst my heart:
May we hereafter meet in bliss!
We now, alas! must part.
And flew to thy relief,
When, lo! near Cheviot's fatal hills,
I met a Scottish chief,
I had refused with scorn;
He slew my guards, and seized on me,
Upon that fatal morn:
He kept me close confined;
And fondly sued, and warmly pressed,
To win me to his mind.
Each night increased my fear!
When, wandering in this northern garb,
Thy brother found me here.
To set me captive free;
And on the moor his horses wait,
Tied to a neighbouring tree.
And for thyself provide;
And sometimes fondly think on her
Who should have been thy bride!’
Even with her latest breath,
She gave one parting, fond embrace,
And closed her eyes in death.
Devoid of sense I lay:
Then sudden all in frantic mood
I meant myself to slay:
I seized the bloody brand:
And wrenched it from my hand.
Had missed their lovely ward;
And seizing me, to prison bare,
And deep in dungeon barred.
Their chief was prisoner ta'en:
Lord Percy had us soon exchanged,
And strove to soothe my pain.
To England were conveyed;
And there within their silent tombs,
With holy rites, were laid.
And oft to end it sought;
Till time, and thought, and holy men
Had better counsels taught.
Whence heavenly comfort flows:
They taught me to despise the world,
And calmly bear its woes.
Vain hope, and sordid care,
I meekly vowed to spend my life
In penitence and prayer.
Impetuous, haughty, wild;
But poor and humble Benedict,
Now lowly, patient, mild:
And sacred altars raise;
And here, a lonely anchorite,
I came to end my days.
These rocks, and hanging grove;
For oft beside this murmuring stream
My love was wont to rove.
This blest retreat he gave:
And here I carved her beauteous form,
And scooped this holy cave.
My life I 've lingered here;
And daily o'er this sculptured saint
I drop the pensive tear.
So faithful and so true,
The sad remembrance of thy fate
Still makes my bosom rue!
Forsaken or forgot;
The Percy and his noble Son,
Would grace my lowly cot.
And cumbrous pomp of power,
Would gladly seek my little cell,
To spend the tranquil hour.
I lived to mourn his fall:
I lived to mourn his godlike Son,
Their friends and followers all.
Loved youth, shalt now restore:
And raise again the Percy name
More glorious than before.”
His choicest blessings laid;
His mournful tale repaid.
They ask the good old sire;
And, guided by his sage advice,
To Scotland they retire.
At Raby's stately hall,
Earl Neville and his princely spouse
Now gladly pardon all.
The royal grace implored:
To all the honors of his race
The Percy was restored.
Admired his beauteous dame:
Nine noble sons to him she bore,
All worthy of their name.
Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuator of Fordun's Scoti-Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c.
Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, whose principal residence was at Raby Castle, in the Bishopric of Durham.
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 entire and perfect.
In the little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are still seen the ruins of a Cell, which belonged to the Benedictine Monks of Tinemouth Abbey.
This is a Bull's Head, the crest of the Widdrington family. All the figures, &c., here described, are still visible; only somewhat effaced with length of time.
In Lower Normandy are three places of the name of Percy: whence the family took the surname of De Percy.
William de Percy, (fifth in descent from Galfred, or Geffrey de Percy, son of Mainfred,) assisted in the conquest of England, and had given him the large possessions in Yorkshire, of Emma de Porte, (so the Norman writers name her,) whose father, a great Saxon lord, had been slain fighting along with Harold. This young lady, William, from a principle of honor and generosity, married: for, having had all her lands bestowed upon him by the Conqueror, “he (to use the words of the old Whitby Chronicle) wedded hyr that was very heire to them in discharging of his conscience.” See Harl. MSS. 692. (26.) He died in Asia, in the first Crusade.
Agnes de Percy, sole heiress of her house, married Josceline de Lovain, youngest son of Godfrey Barbatus, Duke of Brabant, and brother of Queen Adeliza, second wife of King Henry the First. He took the name of Percy, and was ancestor of the Earls of Northumberland. His son, Lord Richard de Percy, was one of the twenty-five Barons, chosen to see the Magna Charta duly observed.
Dramas, Discourses, and other Pieces | ||