Margaret of Anjou; a poem in ten cantos

Front matter

I ondon : Printed by C. Rowoilli, Bell-yard, Turn pie-bar. A POEM. IN TEN CANTOS. BY MISS HOLFORD, AUTHOR OF "WALLACE, OR THE FIGHT OF FALKIRK." LONDON: PRINTED FOR JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 1816. In addressing the Work I am now exposing to public opinion to my Dear Mother, I am only endeavouring to strengthen the claim it already possesses on the favour and affection of its most natural friend, — on one who, should it be doomed to encounter the frown of the world, would, in its hour of adversity, cherish it the rather with increased consideration and tenderness. To my Mother, likewise, I consider this tribute as an appropriate acknowledgment, that from her I have imbibed and inherited the taste which has devoted me to the service of the Muse, and lent me courage to risk the trial, to which, with a mixture of hope and fear, I am looking forward.

CANTO THE FIRST. I. Oh, I do feel thee now! oh, once again Warm gleams of rapture burst upon my brain ! Quick heaves my lab'ring breast, and to my eyes, Lo ! what .strange forms in long succession rise ! Oh, Muse belov'd, I know thee now! I feel thee glowing in my soul, I feel thy beam upon my brow, I feel thee thro' each artery roll Tumultuous, fierce and bright— impatient of controul! !. CANTO i II. Lead on, my Muse ! For many a day, With rapid pulse and uprais'd eye, How have I chidden thy delay And woo'd thee from thy sky ! Oh, thou art she who led me forth Mid the cold mountains of the north, Where freezing whirlwinds blow; She, whose benign and generous glow Pour'd warmth into my heart even in those realms of snow. III. Lo! where old Walden's hallow'd wood Bends its grey arms o'er Tyne's fair flood, There, in the dark and distant years Deep swallow d by oblivious time, Long pour'd a saint* his holy tears For human care and human crime; And, as they say, no elvish sprite, Nor imp, nor goblin's wayward powers, * St. John of Beverley.

CANTO That The shade i. MARGARET OF ANJOU. Even in the darkness of the night, May blight old Walden's bowers, Because the holy man forbade aught accurs d should tread that venerable IV. But time rolls on ; the once green spray, Moss-mantled now, is turn'd to grey, And, tears and painful penance paid, The saint, long since, in dust is laid. Well may he rest! for harder fare Did never mortal pilgrim share. In bitter drops he steep'd his bread, Earth's flinty bosom was his bed; He thought it meet thro' life to go Frowning in voluntary woe; And still his spirit did not bend, He bore, unmurmuring, to the end; For well he ween'd, man's little lot Is but a speck, a point, a spot, A moment's conflict bravely born, prize, eternal day! an ever golden morn! b ■1 That MARGARET OF ANJOU.

Canto I

V. Well ! rest his spirit ! In the dell Where once this holy man did dwell, And where, amid this later age, Still peeps the ivied hermitage, Where close the social branches twin'd O'erarch the pensive wanderer's head, Where, seldom scar'd by human tread , Meek, musing Silence sits enshrin'd, — Oh, now, from whence arise the echoes rude wake the slumbering scene, and break its solitude? VI. The dawn just risen o'er Walden's shade Had rouz'd the warblers from their nests, When, mid the centre of the glade, Its ruddy light the forms betray'd Of fearful, strange, unwonted guests ! Now, who is she, whose awful mien, Whose dauntless step's firm dignity, Whose high-arch'd brow, sedate, serene,

CANTO I.

Whose eye, unbending, strong and keen, The solemn presence hint of conscious majesty? VII. And, lo! she speaks! Her lips severe Some wondrous secret sure disclose, For that mail'd form, who listens near, Bends mute, and fix'd, the attentive ear; And now he frowns with aspect drear, And now his cheek with ardour glows ; A burning glance around he throws, As kindling into rage he shakes his glittering spear VIII. But she is calm: — a peace profound On the unruffled surface rests; Yet is that breast in iron bound, And fill'd with rude and sullen guests. No female weakness harbour'd there, Relentings soft, nor shrinking fear, Within its centre deep abide: The stern resolve, the purpose dire CANTO r Tho And And grim revenge's quenchless fire, The intrepid thought, cold, thawless pride. And fortitude, in torture tried, — These are its gentlest inmates now, lawless love, they say, once heard its secret vow.

IX. Mark well that port sublime, that peerless mien! Then, duteous, bend to earth the vassal knee, For she it is, — meek Henry's warrior Queen ! Unquell'd by frowning fortune's hard decree, She stems with royal spirit, unsubdued, Of many a stormy day the conflict rude, meets, with scornful brow, the wrongs of destiny X. Margaret, her solemn counsel o'er, On the arm'd warrior bends her eye, As she would fain the thoughts explore Which treasur'd in his bosom lie; Clifford, with honest, ready zeal, Thus boldly meets the mute appeal,

CANTO I.

" Doubt not, my Queen, thy soldier's word, While, looking on thy princely bud, He swears to plant it with his sword, And feed it with his blood." XL If aught by gentler spirits felt In that stern baron's bosom dwelt, It wak'd as he beheld with joy The promise of the royal boy, As something like a father's sigh Commingled with his loyalty! Nature, when, with creative toil, By unmark'd crowds, thou mouldest man, The trampled earth, the common soil Supplies the general plan; — But when a godlike soul demands Fit clothing from thy skilful hands, Thy care explores the secret mine Where gold is form'd, where diamonds shine: Earth's finest atoms never yet To mould a fairer fabric met, Than shrin'd the spirit bright of young Plantagenet •> XII Alas, sweet rose! thou dost but blow, The wonder of a ruthless season !

Gay bloom thy petals, while below Preys at thy root the canker treason ! And thou shalt fall ! But shall the Muse In sullen silence see thee perish, And shall her rigid eye refuse The bright, benign, embalming dews Which fall the hero's name to cherish? XIII. " Brave Clifford !" cried the gallant youth, With glowing cheek and kindling eye, " Long since thy deeds have seal'd thy truth Bright pledges of thy fealty! Then swear not! — Should mistrust pervade, Wavering and base, thy prince's heart, Go, leave him— meet to be betray'd ! And conquer on some nobler part! i. MARGARET OF ANJOU. 9 CANTO i XIV. " Yet, Baron, in thy manly breast Some shrinkings cold may well abide, To see our princely House's pride On such a feeble column rest! And, trust me, I forgive the sigh With which e'en now I mark'd thee trace Heedful, intent, with pensive eye, The untried stripling's beardless face; Yet ere this young and smiling day Shall change his crimson robe for grey, And faint and falter on his way, Or I will win thy generous trust Or shroud my feebleness in dust!"

XV. Now to the Cumbrian Baron's ear I wot that modest boast was dear. " Oh, by St. George!" he cried, Ff to-day This boy shall shew our veterans play! Spirit of Monmouth! even now I hear thee speak! I see thee glow! c I 10 Tis Beneath our banners walks there one On whom the breath of fear has blown, Who, marching coldly to the fray, Thinks sadly on the close of day, Now let him cheerly lift his head, Monmouth's spirit leads, which never droop'd or fled !" XVI. Some Gallic drops there lurk'd, I ween, In the proud veins of England's Queen ; No marvel then fifth Harry's fame On Margaret's ear unkindly grates, — How can she love that dreadful name Which every Frenchman hates? XVII. " What, Clifford! wouldst thou teach thy tono-ue. Thy rude and rugged tongue, to praise? Trust me, it ill abides the wrong, And awkwardly its task obeys, It hates to mould the courtier's phrase ! i. MARGARET OF ANJOU.

CANTO 11

That And, speech! own! Oh, I have heard it in the field In thunder bid a foeman yield ; And I have heard its thrilling shout Recal the base, dispersing rout; And I have heard it rend the sky With the bless d peal of victory ; But never, Clifford, wilt thou teach organ, tun'd to war, the flatterer's silver XVIII. " Now hear me, Edward! In thy heart, TJiy arm and sword, put /my trust! Margaret invokes not, on thy part, A grandsire from the dust! Go, win me back thy father's throne; even as the wrong, be the success thine XIX. " Know, Prince, I send thee not to war As son by low-born mother sent: — Serene aud fix'd, I watch thy star Now rising in the firmament, c Yet, And wait unshrinking the event! To its high course if Fate unkind Has but a short career assign'd, falling, it may leave a brilliant track behind!

XX. " Oh, heaven! what evil days of gloom Have left their furrows in my breast ! Yet distant, distant be the doom Which stays my troubles in the tomb And yields ignoble rest! Where is the pang, the woe, the care, This dauntless spirit shall not dare? What path too rugged, wild and strange, For Margaret's fearless foot to range? Ordain but heaven that, at the last, Guerdon of wrongs and sorrows past, She feeds, she feasts her eager eye Upon her foeman's misery!"

CANTO I. MARGARET OF ANJOU.

13 _> XXI. Bright was the beam of Edward's eye, And rich the bloom on Edward's cheek Yet from his gallant breast a sigh, A human sigh, did break; He sigh'd to think so dire a guest Might harbour in a woman's breast! XXII. " Mother, from yonder concave sky, Far rais'd above our earthly ken, An awful, just, eternal eye Looks on the deeds of men ! Whether in open, manly wise, With glowing blood, in combat bold I seize the hard-contested prize, Or loosen honour's noble ties With hand deliberate and cold, Shall that unerring eye behold! " Oh, rather fail this ardent breath, And palsied sink this hand in death, Ere with keen taunt, and lingering blow, I hover o'er a fallen foe! No! when the battle rages dire, And the rouz'd soul is all on fire, Think' st thou a noble heart can stay Hate's rancorous impulse to obey?

XXIV. " Then, Madam," said the Cumbrian lord, " Bid him obey thy just behest Who still delights with lance or sword, Or sharper edge of bitter word, To goad thy foeman's breast! The lance unblunted still remains Which open'd Rutland's infant veins ; Proud York, the voice which on thine ear Pour'd sounds thy soul abhorr'd to hear, Still frames, to vex thy rebel race, Like words of insult and disgrace!" XXV. " Enough, good Clifford. Yonder throng Of lawless rebels know thee well ; Nor holds yon hostile camp a tongue Which, mix'd with curses, cannot tell That Clifford's name is dire and fell As ban-dog's howl, or witch's spell. Warriors, begone! — the advancing day To glory summons ye away! Begone! a breathless nation waits — And \ ictory the ling-erer hates ! Begone, begone! — his steps are slow }\ ho hears a Avoman bid him go !

Away! Towards yonder royal height, My eaglet, imp thy wing for flight! Be rapid and be bold! — and God defend thy right!' " Yet, mother, yet — how long soe'er The coming conflict may appear, Oh, let no ill-endur'd suspense, No keen impatience tempt thee hence! Success sometimes a traitor proves; But, Lady, while thou shelterest here Amid these dark and hallow d groves, Nor wrong, nor insult shalt thou fear! If, which the powers of heaven forefend ! Our blushing Rose her stalk must bend, Yet, thou art safe — some loyal hand, Spar'd mid the ruin of our band, Unknown, shall lead thee hence to Scotia's friendly land." XXVII. " Get thee to horse ! — if longer here Thou waste in idle talk the day, By heaven ! ourself will seize the spear, And rush before thee to the fray!" i. MARGARET OF ANJOU. 17 CANTO But while she spake the taunting word, Audacious, ardent, and elate Young Edward on the saddle sate, And ne er did lovelier, braver lord Ride forth to challenge Fate!

XXVIII. As Clifford vaulted on his steed, New sounds along the woodland rang, For of the veteran's ponderous weed Echo repeats the bruyant clang; The gallant steed obey'd the check. Used to his master's strong command, As bending o'er his arching neck Courteous he kiss'd his iron hand. XXIX. They are gone ! The half embracing boughs Before their rapid course recede, But soon again the branches close Concealing man and steed: — Awhile the Queen a listener stood D

CANTO I

As And eager caught the lessening sound, Which faint and fainter smote the ground, Of war-horse fleet and good; Then Margaret turn'd, and turning smil'd, Yet ghastly was the smile, and wild, inwardly she breathe! a farewel to her child XXX. She was alone: nor sound, nor sight, Or near or distant, met her sense; 'Twas like the stillness of the night, Or fearful pausing of suspense. — That breathless, noiseless calm oppress'd The warrior Queen's unquiet breast; She fear'd, tho' all unus'd to fear, And, trembling, felt that God was near! Yet Margaret pray'd not, tho' her child, Her only child, mid havoc stood, And hardly staid the effort wild Of foeman burning for his blood, — She rais'd not for her gallant son The mother's tender orison!

CANTO I. XXXI.

The yielding turf as Margaret press'd She listen'd eager for a sound, She felt the discord in her breast Insulted by the peace profound, And darkly on the scene she frown'd; Y et still the woodland smil'd serene, Unconscious of the frowning Queen ! XXXII. Now from the distant battle field A mingled sound of tumult came; The lady starts — for all her frame With strange delight is thrill'd! — " The stern defiance then is past! Our trumpets have provok'd the foe, And at the loud triumphant blast Rebellion vails his caitiff brow; — Lo, they encounter! — horse to horse In gallant onset wildly dashing ! Methinks I mark their headlong course, — I hear, I hear the menace hoarse ! d I seC their falchions fiery flashing ! — I hear the ponderous shock of arms together clashing! XXXIII. " 111 didst thou, Nature, to combine With woman's form a soul like mine!

What heart in either grim array Throbs to the charge with wilder beat! What ear so loves the trumpet's bray That bids contending thousands meet! Whose thirst like mine, when blood of foes Warm from the gasping fountain flows! Whose nerves more firmly brae'd to dare! Who loves like me to crush ! who hates like me to spare !" XXXIV. When Winter in his wrath unbinds With ruthless hand his ruffian winds,. And sends them forth in fierce career The shuddering leafless groves to tear, Strange voices seem to fill the sky. — And now the rude and boisterous North, tl Like threatening thousands, clamours forth, — And now one deep convulsive sigh Upon the ear sobs sullenly! — Next comes a ghastly pause — and now Again with rallying force the gather' d whirlwinds blow. XXXV. Thus sometimes to the royal dame, W ith sudden burst, the rumour came As twould the welkin fill,— And then at once upon the gale The victor-shout, the dying wail, And all the mingling sounds would fail As if the bloody work stood still!

XXXVI. Now, flashing thro' the leafy screen, — Revealed now — and now unseen — In lustrous panoply array'd. A knight came glancing thro' the glade ; Right on he rode: — his urgent speed Nor check nor barrier might impede, For fear!" For swift the opposing branches fell, Like foes beneath his trenchant steel; — Swift rode he as the winged blast, Sharply he spurr'd his willing steed, And, in his overweening haste, Even she he sought he would have past, So headlong was his speed ! XXXVII. The Queen beheld with angry eye The hot-brained knight's career, And now her voice she sent on high With accent shrill and clear, " Stay thee, Sir Knight! if cowardly From yonder field thou dost not fly; never sure such speed had other goad than XXXVIII. Nor heard nor felt the impatient spleen, The youthful knight salutes his Queen, While still impatient in his speed, He flung him from his half-curb'd steed; And Margaret sees, with brightening glance, The kneeling captain bears young Beaufort's cognizance.

XXXIX. Breathless he cries, " Hail, Royal Dame! I bring thee news shall make thee smile ! Twas therefore Beaufort hither came And left the work of death awhile, To fill thy dauntless heart with mirth, And tell thee that thy subject earth Insatiate drinks, in thirsty mood, Libations large of rebel blood ! The day is ours! and day more bright Ne'er mid the welkin rose to gild auspicious fight! XL. " Before the onset, while we stood In sullen, silent, grim delay, Fronting the foe in vengeful mood, Each bosom panting for the fray, Even then, before a foot was stirr'd, Before a trumpet-breath was heard, Swift pass'd before my prophet sight The glorious issue of the fight; — For, Lady, as with eager eye The rebels' level lines I scann'd, The gale, averse and drowsily, The hostile streamers fann'd; Close to its staff the banner clung, Forlorn each chieftain's plumage hung, And ne'er, methought, with colder cheer Did warlike band to foe draw near! — For us, upon the buoyant gale Banners and plumes were proudly floating, While from our gaily glancing mail Long streams of radiance pour'd, heaven's fav'ring smile denoting."

XLI. Now when the knight, o'erblown and panting, Paus'd because breath and speech were wanting, And lean'd in silence on his sword, The Queen, with penetrating word, Half doubting, half in hope, bespake the youthful lord.

CANTO I.

_ XLII. " Oh, say, Lord Edmund, art thou sure, Sure art thou that the day is ours? Is veering victory quite secure, Quite broken are yon rebel powers? — And didst thou see the victory won, And see the hot pursuit begun? Did Montague forsake the fight? Did Warwick fly the adverse field? Oh, conquest proud! — triumphant sight, To see the stubborn Warwick yield ! Half England's treasure would I give To him who takes that lord alive! One groan, one heart-wrung groan, from thee Warwick, were more than victory! — But say, Lord Edmund, soothly say, Does Fate confrm the victory ours, Or merely, in capricious play, A moment shine upon our day, In darkness once again to plunge its endless hours? E And XLIII. Meanwhile the Knight had loos'd the brace Which close the stifling bever tied, And with embroiderd kerchief dried, By Margaret's royal hand supplied, The dew which bath'd his glowing face : Reflexion now reprov'd the wrong Done rashly by his sanguine tongue, For now the generous youth was sored To chill the joy his ardour nurs'd. XLIV.

" When princely Edward bade me speed To thee with goodly tidings fraught, As swift I flew as winged thought, So eagerly I prick' cl my steed; And now, I fear, the race intense Cons us'd and whirl'd my giddy sense, And taught my foolish tongue to speak At random, heedless, rash, and weak, Of things as done which were beginning, of that prize as won, which we were only winning!" ' XLV. Scarce eighteen rapid years had sped, With trackless course, o'er Beaufort's head, And they who mark'd his beardless chin, And ruddy lip, could ill have guess'd The steady hate that lurk'd within That youthful captain's breast! There, unappeasable and dire, Stern Vengeance blew the ruthless fire And told him of his murder' d sire ! Train' d to the work of danger early, Young Beaufort, joyous and content, His latest Use-drop would have spent To nourish and maintain a cause he lov'd so dearly XLVI.

Seldom Lord Edmund had beheld, Save mid the strife of hostile field, Of bended brow the menace keen; And sure the wight whose visage grim Had glanc'd an angry look on him Were ill advised, I ween; — e2 C8 MARGARET OF ANJOU. What was there then in woman's frown That brought this mounting spirit down? For now, what man nor dar'd, nor could, Queen Margaret's look of scorn effected ; Abash'd, rebuk'd, young Beaufort stood, CANTO Drooping his lofty crest, dishearten'd and dejected ! XLVIL " Beshrew thee, rash presumptuous boy! What ! must the royal ear be fill'd With every empty, idle toy, At pleasure of a heedless child ! Go, teach thy crude unripen'd sense The act of subject reverence; And tell the Prince, when next he sends His Mother and his Queen to greet, Twere well he sought, among his friends, Embassador more meet!"

XLVIIL Scarce had the haughty Margaret's word, Like burning arrow, lanc'd his breast, Than, feeling all his strength restor'd, Aloft young Beaufort flung his crest, W hile o'er the cheek that shame had dy'd Mantled the deeper glow of pride; The flash which shot from either eye The kindling of his soul betray'd, Yet still his tongue confest the tie Impose! by deep-sworn fealty, Which all indignant phrase, or rough retort forbade XLIX. He paus'd,' — while to the earth he cast His eyes, which burn'd with angry flame: — " By princely Edward's mandate grace!, To seek thy presence, royal Dame, Unworthy of the charge, I came ! — 1 Go, Beaufort, seek the Queen, and say The heavens fight for us to-day! Go, tell her, that the sunshine hour Smiles gaily on our blushing flow'r; Already, say, a thousand foes Have shed their blood to feed our Rose; — .

MARGARET OF ANJOU. CANTO i And tell her, that her son has vaunted In heart of England's Isle to see it firmly planted !' L. " Then, mid the centre of the fight, Audacious plung'd the royal Knight! Till then — so please you — we had stood Together striving with the flood; As brother by the side of brother, Our friendly shields still fenc'd each other: — Reluctant, I obey'd his word, And stay'd, half-quench'd, my thirsty sword: — Even as I left the glorious scene, An humble herald to my Queen, Mine ear was greeted by the cry, The thunder-peal of Victory ! Scarce from the host had Beaufort parted, Than, sweeping down upon the left, Young Edward, like a falcon, darted, And Hastings' well-knit line with force resistless cleft !

CANTO I.

31 Our LI. u Now pardon, Lady! — ere I fly To fight again for thee and thine, Even as my father died, to die, Perchance, for thy illustrious line, — One moment's pleading, Lady, hear, One word for youthful Lancaster ! I know not but his princely eye Sought vainly mid the armed throng, One, whose hoar head, and pausing tongue, And colder spirit, might supply A missive meet for majesty: — Alas, alas! the ripen' d ear Has perish' d from your golden field! The crops which now your meadows bear A crude and unsunn'd harvest yield! Each warrior sage, maturely brave, Who to the blushing Red Rose clave, Too early summon'd, yielded place To us, a wild uncounsel'd race ! sires are past away — we combat on their grave !"

CANTO I

Her fold LIT. The mild rebuke was all unfelt; Idly it fell on Margaret's ear, Because her mind intensely dwelt Upon a vision proud and dear, The fame of youthful Lancaster ! Not with a mother's tender joy She thought upon her gallant boy, — Twas joy, concenter'd, and austere, Unwater'd by maternal tear, Unmingled with maternal fear! Even such her joy as might possess The breast of mountain lioness, When first her flashing eyes behold young ones raging wild amid the slaughter'd LIII. A smile so fraught with sovereign grace Illum'd the Royal Lady's face, That well, I ween, the Knight forgot The ireful glance those eyes had shot;

CANTO I.

» born !" The smile just reach'd the galled heart, And heald at once the wounded part. LIV. And now Lord Edmund, bending low, Besought the Queen with courteous pray r. That she some guerdon might bestow, Some relic, gaud, or riband fair: — " Trust me, my Queen, this heedless boy, Like relic bless'd, shall guard the toy; And he will wear it in despite Of yon Pale Rose's sharpest thorn ! Oh ! should her fiercest, proudest knight U plift his hand to do it scorn, Malignant was the star that shone when he was LV. Then round his armed wrist she bound Her kerchief, stiff with beaten gold, Y\ here, blushing fair on glittering ground, The crimson rose you might behold; Quick to his lips and to his breast F

CANTO I.

34 The royal hand young Beaufort press'd, Then swift upspringing rose the Knight, And with impetuous hand he freed The noose which held his barded steed, And, reckless of his cumbrous weed, Leapt in his lofty seat, impatient for the fight ! END OF CANTO THE FIRST. NOTES TO CANTO THE FIRST. Lo! where old Walden's hallow 'd wood. — Stanza III. 1. 1. At a little distance from the Tyne lies Nether Walden; it is hal lowed to churchmen as having been the retirement of Saint John of Beverley : Pennant says, Saint John of Beverley made the ad jacent woods his retreat from the world. Clifford, with honest, ready zeal. — St. X. 1.5. The Author has here ventured somewhat to extend the wonted limits of poetical privilege, by the introduction in this place of the warlike personage in question, who was, according to fact, slain two years earlier in a conflict at Ferrybridge, the Lord Falcon bridge commanding on the adverse side.

The Lord Clifford and his company were unexpectedly surrounded, and, as Hall says, " either for heat or payne putting off his gorget, sodaynly with an arrowe withoute an hedde he was striken into the throte, and in continent rendered his spirite." That Clifford's name is dire and fell. — St. XXV. 1. 5. In celebrating the staunch adherence of this faithful partisan to the perilous fortunes of the House of Lancaster, it is with regret we add to the record, that his nature was so notoriously sanguinary f2 NOTES TO CANTO THE FIRST. as to obtain for him, alike from friends and foes, the odious appel lation of " John the Butcher." The death of his father in the first battle of St. Alban's was his alleged excuse for the excessive indulgence of this inhuman propensity.

The murder of the infant Earl of Rutland is thus described by Hall, — speaking of the battle of Wakefield, he says, " AVhile this battaill was in fightynge, a prieste called Sir Robert Asphall, chappelein and schole master to the yong Erie of Rutland, sonne to the Duke of Yorke, scarce of the age of 12 yeres, a faire gentelman and a maydenlike person, perceivyng that flight was more saveguard then tarriyng, both for him and his master, secretly conveyed therle out of the felde by the Lord Clifford's band towarde the towne; but, or he could enter into a house, he was by the sayd Lord Clifford espied, folowed and taken, and by reson of his apparell demaunded what he was — the yonge gentelman dismaied had not a word to speake, but kneeled on his knees imploryng mercy and desiryng grace, both with hold yng up his hands and makyng dolorous countenance, for his speache was gone for feare. ' Save hym/ sayd his chappelein, * for he is a prince's sonne and peradventure may do you good hereafter/ With that the Lord Clifford markyd hym, and sayd, ' By God's blode thy father slew myne, and so will I do thee, and all thy kyn/ and with that word stracke the Erie to the hart with his dagger, and bade the chappelein bere the Erie's mother and brother word Avhat he had done and sa}^d. In this act the Lord Clifford was ac compted a tyrauntand no gentelman; for the propertie of the lyon, which is a furious and an unreasonable beaste, is to be cruell to them that withstande hym, and gentle to such as prostrate and hu miliate them seises before hym."

Hall's Chronicle. That kneeling captain bears young Beaufort's cognizance. St. XXXVIII. 1.6. Lord Edmund Beaufort was the second son of Edmund Duke of Beaufort, who fell in the first battle of St. Alban's, and who was NOTES TO CANTO THE FIRST. 37 succeeded in his dignities, and in his attachment to his master's House, by his eldest son Henry, who was taken and beheaded after the battle of Hexham, when Lord Edmund became in his turn Duke of Somerset, an honour which he likewise bore for a very brief yet troublesome period. Did Montague forsake the sight?— St. XLII. 1. 7* Lord John Neville, younger brother of the Earl of Warwick, created by Edward IVth, Marquis of Montacute or Montague, was commander in chief of the Yorkists at the battle of Hexham. THE SECOND. I. Oh, Sorrow ! which of Adam's race Has not beheld thy wrinkled face?

Of all the hearts which life has warm'd Since the first man of clay was form'd, — Of all the mortals who have hasten'd, Like shadows, o'er this rolling sphere, — Has one return' d to earth unchasten'd By thy reproof severe? Each breast, however fortified By courage, apathy, or pride, ! Has still some secret path for thee, Man's subtle foe, Adversity! Along that secret way thou glidest, And deep within the centre hidest, And many a surface fair and shining Conceals a wasted core, where thou art slowly mining II. Who knows thee not? If yesterday, With lightsome step, escap'd thee, Sorrow, Thou dost but lurk beside the way To spring upon thy prey to-morrow, And seize, secure, the fools who lie Channel by Enjoyment's lullaby! Does Hope allure — does Pleasure smile? Then tread the rosy path with trembling, For Pleasure beckons to beguile, And Hope's fair promise is dissembling!