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AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE,
Upon the Restoration of Lord Clifford, the Shepherd, to the Estates and Honours of his Ancestors.
High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,
"From Town to Town, from Tower to Tower,
The two that were at strife are blended,
They came with banner, spear, and shield;
How glad is Skipton at this hour — Though she is but a lonely Tower!To vacancy and silence left;Of all her guardian sons bereft — Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page or Groom;We have them at the Feast of Brough'm. How glad Pendragon — though the sleep Of years be on her! — She shall reap A taste of this great pleasure, viewing As in a dream her own renewing. Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem Beside her little humble Stream;And she that keepeth watch and ward Her statelier Eden's course to guard;They both are happy at this hour, Though each is but a lonely Tower: — But here is perfect joy and pride For one fairJHouse by Emont's side, This day distinguished without peer To see her Master and to cheer;Him, and his Lady Mother dear!
Oh! it was a time forlorn When the Fatherless was born —
Give her wings that she may fly,
Now Who is he that bounds with joy
On Carrock's side, a Shepherd Boy?
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass
Light as the wind along the grass.
Can this be He who hither came
In secret, like a smothered flame?
O'er whom such thankful tears were shed
For shelter, and a poor Man's bread!
God loves the Child; and God hath willed
That those dear words should be fulfilled,
The Lady's words, when forced away,
The last she to her Babe did say,
"My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest
I may not be; but rest thee, rest,
For lowly Shepherd's life is best!"
Alas! when evil men are strong
No life is good, no pleasure long.
The Boy must part from Mosedale's Groves,
And leave Blencathara's rugged Coves,
And quit the Flowers that Summer brings
To Glenderamakin's lofty springs;
Must vanish, and his careless cheer
Be turned to heaviness and fear.
— Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise!
Hear it, good Man, old in days!
Thou Tree of covert and of rest
For this young Bird that is distrest;
Among thy branches safe he lay,
And he was free to sport and play,
When Falcons were abroad for prey.