Craven Blossoms or, Poems chiefly connected with the district of Craven. By Robert Storey |
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| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. | XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
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| 1. |
| 2. |
 | Craven Blossoms |  |
XXV.
On table rough of mountain stoneA single lamp of iron shone,
Discovering, as it flashed aloof,
Each point and angle of the roof;
And lighting many a visage grim,
And stalwart arm, and sinewy limb!
For, seated round on branches piled,
Or heath in bundles from the wild,
A savage group with can and pot,
Held deep carouse in Gennet's grot.
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In Margaret's countenance appear?
No—she whose heart had quailed of late,
When every flash seemed winged with sate,
Turned on her treacherous Guide an eye
Proud and majestic, calm and high,
As if to pierce his soul, and dare
One lawless thought to waken there!
As if, in rank and virtue strong,
Her glance could blast who offered wrong!
—With look of marvel blent with pride,
The Outlaw to her thought replied:
“Fear nothing, Lady, from my band;
None there will lift injurious hand
To do a gentle Maiden scathe,
Who claims their Chief's unbroken faith.
Up, knaves!” he added “to your feet,
And do this presence homage meet.”
| Craven Blossoms | |