Far from his kindred and his home: So fatal the distress that fell
On all who loved their King too well. But sleep comes grateful to the heart Untouched by vice or treason's art; And warrior's couch is easy spread On plains or caverns lowly bed- The softest down gives not such rest To frames by luxury's thrall oppressed: And often had the battle field
Been ARTHUR'S only bed- His only pillow been his shield, On which to lay his head!
But worse than toil, than scanty food, To one with nervous strength endued- No tidings could he hope to get Of Her on whom his heart was set With all the love pure, fond, and deep, Which still his heart in thrall could keep. How many fears his anxious breast In mournful solitude possessed
For her-the only one from whom Came rays of hope that cheered the gloom And soothed the rigour of his doom.
Meantime young AGNES, (orphan now) With throbbing heart and gloomy brow, In lonely sorrow pined away,
And seemed to wither day by day: Her lover lost-her father slain- DE CLIFFORD's fair and wide domain' Had now become a stranger's care- Till EDWARD deemed a rightful heir Might from his gay and gallant band Claim CLIFFORD's tower, and AGNES hand; For she was now a royal ward Of him her inmost soul abhorred.
It needed not long time to find Some warrior to his fate resigned— To whom the King gave ample pow'r To claim as lord, DE CLIFFORD's tower, And share its lady's noble dower. And FALCONBERG, a biron dread,
Of manners harsh, austere, and wild, Was chosen from the train, to wed Lord CLIFFORD's orphan child!
Oh with what grief her soul was stirred, When first in that loved home she heard The tidings that her hand was claimed By one she hated to be named; In whom no gentle soul was found- For cruelty alone renowned; Fierce in the battle's fiery shower, But much unfit for maiden's bower- Whose lawless passions uncontrolled In stormy fits of anger rolled;
To whom the soft'ning course of age Had not brought worth, or feelings sage; For time upon his brow had press'd, But had not still'd his savage breast: Alas when grey hairs still can bring The passions of our manhood's spring! Alas how AGNES' spirit spurned
The thought-whene'er her mem'ry turn'd To him, her cherish'd love, her first- Ere sorrow's cloud had darkly burst, And both their hearts were light as air, Undimmed by gloom-untouched by care. But FALCONBERG ! his conquest sure, His love not warmer than 'twas pure, Tarried at EDWARD's court awhile, To bask in royal favour's smile; And thus a short, yet sweet relief Was given her in her lonely grief. And hope surmounted dark despair, And showed afar its prospects fair But desperate appears even hope, When thus it dares with fate to cope, And mem❜ry then in sadness yearns For pleasure that no more returns— And she that builds amid such gloom Will find the edifice a tomb; And tho' perchance at first 'tis fair, The ray of truth it cannot bear- Its fabric clouds-its basis air:
And thus her spirit buoyant, bright, From clouds around extracted light; Alas, such flame can only blight— And when 'tis passed, a darker night Succeeds the vivid burning ray That for a moment lit the way!
At last the warrior bridegroom came, The maid's reluctant hand to claim. He came not as a lover should, With eager step, but voice subdued- With eye that flashed with looks of love, Yet 'haviour gentle as the dove- With bosom beating with delight; But with a brow as dark as night, With upright gait, but visage dim- As tho' the ample lands to him Gave more of pleasure and of pride, Than did his gentle timid bride. And how did she the bridegroom meet- Did smile of love his presence greet, Or voice of gladness, still more sweet ? With tones half breathed, yet softly clear, As only meant for love's own ear? With throbbing pulse and beating heart, As if now met, they feared to part? Alas! much dignity of mien, But little love could there be seen; Tho' calm and clear her gentle voice, Its music made no heart rejoice;
Her visage showed nor smile nor frown- In cold composure she looked down; And if she spoke, each word she said Seemed accents uttered by the dead- As she returned, with manner cold, The greeting of the Baron bold, As he expressed, with accents brief, His joy at being appointed chief Of CLIFFORD's warlike hold;
And named his wish, that ere three days Had seen the day-god's burnished rays, The nuptial garland might be twined, And AGNES to his pow'r resigned— As war's loud ordnance might once more Recall him to its sullen roar— For rumour said that merry France
TO MARGARET's aid would now advance,
And once again the war renew, And English plains with blood bedew!
Oh, he that calmly waits to feel The storm its darkest gloom reveal, While worn and weary, tempest toss'd, His vessel reels, her rudder lost, While rugged rocks that frown before Await her drifting on the shore, In foreign seas, on unknown foam, In safety and in strength to roam, And find destruction when at home-
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