"My word? True, I was urged to mince my speech,
Some pledge demanded; but I never gave it.
He lies, the tadpole spawn of a horse-leech!
Young John o' the Scales, forsooth, presumes to brave it! Poyntz misconceived him then; the Jack must preach
Of injured honour!-Well, if he will have it-
No, God forbid! He feels but as a son:
I'll spare him, if he bring not two to one.
"What ho, Dame Alice! I must start betimes; My cloak-bags go for Bristol port by Bath: Breakfast and reckoning quick. These go the chimes'Tis seven o'clock. A proper man of Gath!-But the fool shares not in his father's crimes.
The horses-I shall walk the footway path
Meet me at Theale. No; blood enough I've spilt;
But his sword tastes some dunghill to the hilt!"
Was Isolde in his thoughts just now, I wonder?
No: his wrath proved a godsend, a relief,
Like a good downright clearing storm of thunder
To the charged welkin; it absorb'd his grief,
And roused his stomach, like a wolf's, to plunder;
And when mine hostess clear'd away the beef
And poised the tankard, "Come, he 's play'd his part,"
Thought she; "much good may't do him, bless his heart!
"He was half-starved-lost his young appetite
All yesterday-'twas never much to boast of--
D'rat them law-books as keeps him up all night,
Them unkit things as he reads such a host of!"--
Alice, thy reckoning's there; thoul't find it right:
That crown for thy brave boys to make the most of
In some poor keepsake. Should it come to pass
We meet no more-bless thee, my kind old lass!"
Mine hostess wip'd the first tear from her cheek
That her young guest had shed for many a year.
How came it there? Sir Critic, I must speak
My utter, sheer contempt of that half sneer:
He lost his mother early,-oft would seek
In childhood's visions the remembrance dear
Of mother's love, as a thing faintly known,
So prized the only one by whom 'twas shown.
Her son, a favorite trooper, by his side
Fell gallantly; two nianly buxom boys,
The soldier's legacy, their grandame's pride,
Had won his heart, and oft would leave their toys,
To hear him tell how their bold father died.
Add that he gave no trouble, had no choice
In food, and spoke all kindly, you'll discern all
The secret of the good dame's love maternal.
"A blessing on thee, too," old Alice said,
"Where'er thou goest!-but where now can that be? There's somewhat here too deep for my poor head. What could be in that letter ?-mercy me!
His eye struck fire, his cheek turn'd crimson red,
And he that looks so quiet commonly,
Just like poor George-I never know'd him heated,
Save to see children or dumb things ill treated.
"Lord send us quiet times when I am gone,
For his boys' sakes. Ah me, that awful fray!
No news to trust how things were going on;
Peal after peal of guns the Newbury way-
And then-no youth but his own father's son
Would have thought on 't-1 loved him from that day
The letter that my eyes so oft have wetted,
To say how his brave comrade was regretted.
"But sorrow does no good. I'll take a turn
At doing out his room; 'twill ease my heart.-
Why, there's that paper, crumpled up to burn;
Depend on't, 'twill explain this sudden start."
What came of this her pious fraud, you 'll learn
When I have leisure, in some future part.
We must catch Walter, journeying in his wrath,
And now some half mile on his road to Bath.
Though his first towering rage was half subdued
By what he then conceived a final parting
With an old loving friend, the threaten'd feud
Still kept some well-born indignation smarting,
Which forming with the strength of solid food
A substitute for sleep, he strode at parting
Like Ajax, the Achaian fleet's protector,
Sallying well-victuall'd forth to battle Hector.
He paused upon the Castle Hill; a view
Spacious and rich spread round on every side. Thames to the northward, boldly breaking through The wooded cliffs that bar him from his bride, Fair, silver-eddying Kennet,-then anew
Rolling far east his deep majestic tide
To lay the homage of her added dower
Low at the feet of Windsor's regal tower.
"There goest thou," cried he, "like a baron brave,
Cleaving thy way for love and loyalty;
Thus-but my liege is in his bloody grave,
And Isolde's nought, and can be nought to me.
Thames! I could gaze for ever on thy wave;
But farewell once for all-it may not be.
May better times return thy shores to bless,
When I lie mouldering in the wilderness!"
Smothering a sigh, he took his onward road,
The remnant of his ire abated quite.
Sloping due southward, Loddon's valley broad
In morning's bright repose regaled his sight;
Varied by woodland-crested knolls, that show'd
More wooingly fair park and dwelling white,
And in the distance, far as eye could trace,
Swell'd into heathery moor and forest-chase.
"How doth that view recall old times and scenes!
Basing's well-timed relief,-my plighted wife,
Dear young Elizabeth. By what strange means
Thrives this same puppy-love in times of strife!
A stripling I, she scarcely in her teens;
Yet the child took in earnest, on my life,
My only trinket, and my boyish vow:-
She must be grown a lovely woman now.
Gage carried it that day with a high hand.
O'er yonder western ridge we spurr'd all night
Through tangling forest, then on level land
Pounced on scared Norton with the morning light.
'St. George, and on!'-his horsemen made no stand;
But ne'er shall I forget the two hours' fight
With the foot-levies, resolute and tough;
Howbeit, for once we pepper'd them enough.
"How proudly then we enter'd Basing Park,
Reining tired steeds that scarce could keep their feet! 'Twere worth a year of toilsome nights to mark How, after a brave onslaught, such men greet As Gage and its good lord; from morn till dark Oft Winchester had drubb'd the lesson meet Into that Norton's hide, (the crop-ear'd vassal!) 'An Englishman's own dwelling is his castle.'"
"Then the poor womankind! Their guard of honour
Bolted the foremost, in no seemly plight;
The Whig aunt's horse came down, and fell upon her;
Though not much hurt, she was quite ill with fright;
And, we not knowing what could best be done, her
Quarters were fix'd in Basing House that night.
How like an angel that young girl behaved!
'Tis strange-but I was half, nay, quite enslaved.
"Such temper, thought, and care I witness'd never.
The old one in the tantrums, raging mad
With anger, fright, and a small touch of fever,
'Captive to vile malignants !'-'twas too bad
To rave at us, who did our best endeavour,
And took a charge we'd rather not have had.
We promised safeguard and a flag of truce
As soon as she could stir-'twas all no use.
"Here you, my gentle squire of dames,' said Gage,
Adding some idle compliment or other,
'Be you our scapegoat.' Oh! 'twould fill a page
To count up all the trouble and the pother.
At last she fairly put me in a rage.
'Turn from thy ways,' she cried; 'that child's Died of sheer grief for her mad husband slain, Warring, like thee, proud boy, in Ahab's train.'
"Then, when I scarce could gulp a stifled oath,
How the sweet niece's eyes would plead with me!
I soothed her, promised no one should be wroth
With the cross-patch: drew out her fund of glee
When her sick aunt grew better, and we both
Laugh'd soundly at the old trot's absurdity;
And, by St. George, and every saint above!
We ended-yes-in making serious love.
"Perhaps 'twas fellow-feeling; for we both
Were orphans, with not much to love beside:
Playmates and cousins thus may plight their troth.
I've lost all trace of this my early bride.
The cross suspicious aunt was plainly loth
To tell their surnames; and, from proper pride,
Scorning to train young girls to a bad habit,
I never press'd Elizabeth to blab it.
"She doubtless has forgot me yet her eye
Had a deep earnestness:- I love but once,'
Were her last words. Where late did I espy
Some fancied likeness? Visionary dunce!
That Isolde's ever present; let me try
No matter what, she starts up for the nonce.
I turn'd my thoughts to calm this heart-sick pain,
And here she is in breathing life again!
"Forward, and put an end to 't!--Well, to-morrow,
Please Heaven, I shail revisit Roundway Down,
Some spice of private self-esteem to borrow,
Lest I should run to rust when I turn clown.
Ay, that's one comfort; none need die of sorrow
Who shared that signal conquest for the Crown.
Wilmot himself,--'tis well the thought occurs
To cheer me now,-said, 'Wat, thou'st won thy spurs.'
"I must have walk'd a mile; when three are done,
Yon pestilent proud ass will cross my path.
A choice wet Puritan !-the mumper's son
Turns malapert !-apes gentlemanly wrath!
I had a father once, (a different one!)
And would ask pardon of this man of lath,
Would he, as is their wont, exhort, expound,
And prove me wrong on any Scripture ground.
"But should he swagger like a raw recruit
Of Goring's madcaps, what I've said I'll do ;
The sheath that a fool's bilbo best doth suit
Holds it hilt-deep, and Poyntz shall hear on't too.
The renegade deserves-how little boot
To those who wrong their conscience can accrue!-
A ludicrous, quaint vengeance, worse than cruel.
Oh, dear Consistency! thou art a jewel.
"Ha! I now see the crest, but little more,
Of the rich woodland ground embosoming deep
That ancient royal pleasance, where of yore
Old lion-hearted Bess was wont to keep
High revel. Englefield! thy day is o'er,
The bloodhound's bay, the bugle-echoes sleep,
And cold in dust that noble hunting-train.
Oh! for one hour of such !-but thought is vain.
"My Queen! I fain would seat thee in yon hall,
Mann'd by a thousand men of Berkshire mould,
By tenure bound to face at trumpet-call
Thrice our own force in siege or sally bold,
Myself in strength and worth the least of all,
Brave Lisle thy castellan--But he is cold,
Done in cold blood to death; and thou, hard fate!
Art, in thy father's land, poor, desolate.
"St. George! but we'd revive the camisades⭑
Of old Shaw House; and in our leisure then
Ranging with hawk and hound yon forest-glades,
Enact the princely pastimes of Ardenne,
In one sense so. Colonels Lisle, Page, and Thelwall, and their favourite officers, while defending the post of Shaw House at the second battle of Newbury, threw off their buff coats, and charged in their shirt-sleeves,to give the men confi
Cheer'd by the smiles of lovely high-born maids,
Like Rosalind-1 hat fatal thought again!
Oh! Shakspeare, thou 'rt my bane; I learnt of thee
To set my fancies in this hopeless key.'"
Quick'ning his pace, he clear'd a four-foot stile
To break his reverie-perhaps his shin,
As he half wish'd; then with a bitter smile,
"Here am I, some adventure to begin,
As bare perhaps, as well-born, woe the while!
As poor Orlando; but a lion's skin
Grows not, I trow, on back of Berkshire beast
Snakes in the grass--that claims a thought at least.
"'Tis well I brought the pistols, by my fay!
Who knows but some vile ambush-for the loon
Dared me to come alone--'tis like their way.
Halt, then,--locks, priming, bullets,--all in tune;
My father's gift from Weimar on the day
Of Lützen; and, as I may need thee soon,
Old trusty Ribeaumont, come, quit thy sheath,
And taste a moment the fresh morning's breath.
Strange sympathy that human hearts can bind
To mute material things; the hardy tar
To his bold bark, the soldier unrefined
To his bright sword that shared the tug of war--
I scarce now can conceive thee in my mind
Forged by rude hands from a mere iron bar.
I prize thee still as dearly, my good brand,
As when Caernarvon gave thee to my hand.
"For some slight exploit, which I now forget,
He call'd me to the front of his proud train,-
'Brother in arms, I pay my country's debt,'
He said. The forward stripling felt as vain
As though he had been dubb'd knight-banneret
By a king's hand on stricken battle-plain.
Oh, gallant heart! high promise early reft!
How many such are gone, and I am left!
"Thanks to thy temper, he that ran him through
Lived not to tell the tale of Newbury field.
I love thy posy, 'Esperance en Dieu !'
Ay, by St. George! a true man's sword and shield
Are in the thought. Right well th' old Percys knew
The might of this their battle-word, which steel'd
A thousand hearts that might have quail'd before,
And, in just cause, were worth a thousand more!
"I've read it by the watch-fire faint and tired,
At close of many a hard disastrous fight;
Then, when the trumpet-call no longer fired
My mettle, oft, ere study grew delight,
dence. The first charge was "for the King," the next " for the Queen," the third for "Prince Charles ;" and Lisle is reported to have said that he would have gone through the whole Royal Family, if necessary. The defence was as determined as it was successful. The royal cavalry in the rear were surprised and outflanked by the enemy's horse, who crossed the Lamborne at Bagnor, and were roughly handled before Cleveland in some degree retrieved the mishap
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