THE PAST.
(IN SIGHT OF DACRE CASTLE.)
Through yon old archway grey and broken
Rides forth a belted knight;
Upon his breast his true-love's token
And armour glittering bright.
His arm a fond adieu is waving,
And answering waves a hand
From one whose love her grief is braving—
The fairest of the land.
The trumpet calls, and plain and valley
Give forth their armed men;
And round the red-cross flag they rally,
From every dale and glen.
And she walks forth in silent sorrow,
Who was so blest to-day,
And thinks on many a lone to-morrow
In those old towers of grey.
From many a piping throat so mellow
The joyful song bursts forth:
On many a field the corn so yellow
Makes golden bright the earth.
And mountains o'er the green woods frowning
Close round the banner'd walls;
While mid-day sunshine, all things crowning,
In summer splendour falls.
But ours is not the age they walk in;
It is the years of yore:
And ours is not the tongue they talk in;
'Tis language used no more.
Yet many an eye in silence bending
O'er this unmurmur'd lay,
Beholds that knight the vale descending,
And feels that summer's day.
Lives it then not? Yes; and when hoary
Beneath our years we stand,
That scene of summer, love, and glory,
Shall still be on the land.
Truth from the earth itself shall perish
Ere that shall be no more;
The heart in song will ever cherish
What has been life of yore.
THE BANNER OF BROUGHTON TOWER
The knight looked out from Broughton Tower;
The stars hung high o'er Broughton Town;
"There should be tidings by this hour,
From Fouldrey Pile or Urswick Down!"
Far out the Duddon roll'd its tide
Beneath; and on the verge afar,
The Warder through the night descried
The beacon, like a rising star.
It told that Fouldrey by the sea
Was signall'd from the ships that bore,
With Swart's Burgundian chivalry,
The false King from the Irish shore.
And Lincoln's Earl, and Broughton's Knight,
And brave Lord Lovel, wait the sign
To march their hosts to Urswick's height,
To hail him King, of Edward's line.
Brave men as ever swerv'd aside!
But faithful to their ancient fame,
The white Rose wooed them in her pride
Once more; and foremost forth they came.
The Knight looked out beneath his hand;
The Warder pointed to the glow;
"Now droop my banner, that my band
May each embrace it! then we'll go.
"And if we fall, as fall we may,
Thus resolute the wronged to raise,
The banner that we bear to-day,
Shall be our monument and praise!"
One look into his lady's bower;
One step into his ancient hall;
And then adieu to Broughton Tower,
Till blooms the white Rose over all!
High o'er the surge of many a fight,
That banner, for the Rose, had led
The liegemen of the Broughton knight
To victory's smiles, or glory's bed.
And 'twas a glorious sight to see
That break of day, from tower and town,
Pour forth his martial tenantry,
To swell the array on Urswick Down:
To see the glancing pennons wave
Above them, and the banner borne
All joyously by warriors, brave
As ever hailed a battle morn.
And 'twas a stirring sound to hear,
Uprolling from the camp,—the drum,
The music, and the martial cheer,
That told the chiefs, "We come, we come!"
Then in that sunny time of June,
When green leaves burdened every spray,
With all the merry birds in tune,
They marched upon their southward way.
And, as through channel'd sands afar
The tides with steady onward force
Push inland, roll'd their wave of war
To Trent, its unresisted course.
And spreading wide its crest where Stoke
O'erlook'd the Royal lines below,
Spent its long gathering strength, and broke,
And plung'd in fury on the foe.
For three long hours that summer morn
King Henry by his standard rode,
Through