For louder clamour'd Greta's tide,
And Tees in deeper voice replied,
And fitful waked the evening wind,
Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd.*
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul,
Felt in the scene a soft control,
With lighter footstep press'd the ground,
And often paused to look around;
And, though his path was to his love,
Could not but linger in the grove,
To drink the thrilling interest dear,
Of awful pleasure check'd by fear.
Such inconsistent moods have we,
Even when our passions strike the key.

III.

Now, through the wood's dark mazes past,
The opening lawn he reach'd at last,
Where, silver'd by the moonlight ray,
The ancient Hall before him lay.†
Those martial terrors long were fled,
That frown'd of old around its head:
The battlements, the turrets gray,
Seem'd half abandon'd to decay :
On barbican and keep of stone

Stern Time the foeman's work had done.
Where banners the invader braved,
The harebell now and wallflower waved;
In the rude guard-room, where of yore
Their weary hours the warders wore,
Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze,
On the paved floor the spindle plays ;§
The flanking guns dismounted lie,
The moat is ruinous and dry,||
The grim portcullis gone-and all
The fortress turn'd to peaceful Hall.
IV.

But yet precautions, lately ta'en, T
Show'd danger's day revived again:
The court-yard wall show'd marks of care,
The fall'n defences to repair,

Lending such strength as might withstand
The insult of marauding band.

The beams once more were taught to bear
The trembling drawbridge into air,
And not, till question'd o'er and o'er,
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door,
And when he entered, bolt and bar
Resumed their place with sullen jar;
Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch,
The old gray porter raised his torch,
And view'd him o'er from foot to head,
Ere to the hall his steps he led.
That huge old hall of knightly state,
Dismantled seem'd and desolate.

The moon through transom-shafts of stone,
Which cross'd the latticed oriels, shone,
And by the mournful light she gave,
The Gothic vault seem'd funeral cave.
Pennon and banner waved no more
O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar,
Nor glimmering arms were marshall'd seen,
To glance those sylvan spoils between.
Those arms, those ensigns, borne away,
Accomplish'd Rokeby's brave array,
But all were lost on Marston's day!
Yet here and there the moonbeams fall
Where armour yet adorns the wall,
Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight,
And useless in the modern fight!
Like veteran relic of the wars,
Known only by neglected scars.
[MS.-"By fits awaked the evening wind,

By fits in sighs its breath resign'd."]
[MS.-"Old Rokeby's towers before himn lay."]

The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of the present mansion, by which a part of its walls is enclosed. It is surrounded by a profusion of fine wood, and the park in which it stands is adomed by the junction of the Greta and of the Tees. The title of Baron Rokeby of Armagh was, in 1777, conferred on the Right Reverend Richard Robinson, Primate of Ireand, descended of the Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, in Yorkshire.

[MS.-"The weary night the warders wore,
Now by the fazot's gladsome light,
The maidens plied the spindle's sleight."
[MS.-"The beams had long forgot to bear

V.

Matilda soon to greet him came,
And bade them light the evening flame:
Said, all for parting was prepared,
And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard.
But then, reluctant to unfold **
His father's avarice of gold,
He hinted, that lest jealous eye
Should on their precious burden pry,
He judged it best the castle gate
To enter when the night wore late
And therefore he had left command
With those he trusted of his band,
That they should be at Rokeby met,
What time the midnight watch was set.
Now Redmond came, whose anxious care
Till then was busied to prepare

All needful, meetly to arrange

The mansion for its mournful change.
With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased,
His cold unready hand he seized,
And press'd it, till his kindly strain
The gentle youth return'd again.
Seem'd as between them this was said,
"Awhile let jealousy be dead;

And let our contest be, whose care
Shall best assist this helpless fair."

VI.

There was no speech the truce to bind;
It was a compact of the mind,

A generous thought, at once impress'd
On either rival's generous breast.
Matilda well the secret took,
From sudden change of mien and look
And-for not small had been her fear
Of jealous ire and danger near-
Felt, even in her dejected state,

A joy beyond the reach of fate.
They closed beside the chimney's blaze,
And talk'd, and hoped for happier days,
And lent their spirits' rising glow
A while to gild impending wo;-
High privilege of youthful time,
Worth all the pleasures of our prime!
The bickering fagot sparkled bright,
And gave the scene of love to sight,
Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow,
Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow,
Her nut-brown curls and forehead high,
And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye.
Two lovers by the maiden sate,
Without a glance of jealous hate;
The maid her lovers sat between,
With open brow and equal mien ;-

It is a sight but rarely spied,

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride.

"Summer eve is gone and past,
Summer dew is falling fast;
I have wander'd all the day,
Do not bid me farther stray!
Gentle hearts, of gentle kin,,
Take the wandering harper in!"

The trembling drawbridge into air;
The huge portcullis gone," &c.]
TIMS." But yet precaution show'd, and fear,
That dread of evil times was here;
There were late marks of jealous
For there were recent marks of
The fall'n defences to repair;
And not till question'd o'er and o'er,

studded?

For Wilfrid oped the jealous

care

door,

And, on his entry, bolt and bar
Resumed their place with sullen jar."]

** [MS.-" Confus'd he stood, as loath to say What might his sire's base mood display Then hinted, lest some curious eye."]

But the stern porter answer gave,

With "Get thee hence, thou strolling knave!
The king wants soldiers: war, I trow,
Were meeter trade for such as thou."
At this unkind reproof, again

Answer'd the ready Minstrel's strain.

SONG RESUMED.

แ "Bid not me, in battle-field,
Buckler lift, or broadsword wield!
All my strength and all my art
Is to touch the gentle heart,*
With the wizard notes that ring
From the peaceful minstrel-string."-
The porter, all unmoved. replied,-
"Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide;
If longer by the gate thou dwell,

Trust me, thou shalt not part so well."
VIII.

With somewhat of appealing look,
The harper's part young Wilfrid took :
"These notes so wild and ready thrill,
They show no vulgar minstrel's skill;
Hard were his task to seek a home
More distant, since the night is come;
And for his faith I dare engage-
Your Harpool's blood is sour'd by age!
His gate, once readily display'd,
To greet the friend, the poor to aid,
Now even to me, though known of old,
Did but reluctantly unfold."-

"O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime, An evil of this evil time.

He deems dependant on his care
The safety of his patron's heir,

[MS.-"O, bid not me bear sword and shield,
Or struggle to the bloody field,

[MS.

For gentler art this hand was made."]

To vagrants at our parting hour."]

The following brief pedigree of this very ancient and once pow erful family, was kindly supplied to the author by Mr. Rokeby of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient barons of Rokeby :"Pedigree of the House of Rokeby.

1. Sir Alex. Rokeby, Knt. married to Sir Hump. Liftle's daugh

7. Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Ury's daughter †

8. Ralph Rokeby, Esq, to daughter of Mansfield, heir of Morton.I 9. Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt to Stroode's daughter and heir. 10. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Jas, Strangwayes' daughter. Sir Thus, Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John Hotham's daughter. 12. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Danby of Yaflorth's daughter and heir. 13. Tho. Rokeby, Esq. to Rob. Constable's daughter, of Cliff, serit, at law.

14. Christopher Rokeby, Esq. to Lasscells of Brackenburgh's daugh

ter."

15. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Thweng.

16. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Lawson's daughter of Brough.

17 Frans. Rokeby, Esq. to Faucett's daughter, citizen of London. 15. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Wickliffe of Gales. High Sheriffs of Yorkshire.

17. 11 Edw. 3. Ralph Hastings and Thos. de Rokeby. 1343. 17 Edw. 3. Thos. de Rokeby, pro. sept. annis. 1:59. 25 Edw. 3. Sir Thomas Rok by, Justiciary of Ireland for six years; died at the castle of Kilka.

1467. 8 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles, defeated and slew the Duke

of Northumberland at the Battle of Bramham Moor. 1411. 12 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles.

1158

1539.

Thos. Rokeby, Esq.

..... Robert Holgate, Bish. of Landaff, afterwards P. of York, Ld. President of the Council for the Preservation of Peace in the North.

1561. 6 Eliz.

Thomas Younge, Archbishop of Yorke, Ld. President.

30 Hen. 8. Tho. Rokeby, LL.D. one of the Council. Jn. Rokeby, LL.D. one of the Council. Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, Ld. Pre

1572. 15 Eliz.

1574. 17 Eliz.

sident.

Jo. Rokeby, Esq. one of the Council.

Jo. Rokeby, LL.D. ditto.

Ralph Rokeby, Esq one of the Secretaries.
Jo. Rokeby, Precentor of York.

7 Will. 3. Sir J. Rokeby, Knt. one of the Justices of the King's Bench.

• Live.

↑ Temp. Edw. 2dL. Temp. Edw. Jul.

Temp. Henr. 7mi, and from him is the house of Skyers, of a fourth brother. From him is the house of Hotham, and of the second brother that had

Nor judges meet to ope the tower
To guest unknown at parting hour,t
Urging his duty to excess

Of rough and stubborn faithfulness.
For this poor harper, I would fain
He may relax :-Hark to his strain !"-

IX.

SONG RESUMED.

"I have song of war for knight
Lay of love for lady bright,
Fairy tale to lull the heir,
Goblin grim the maids to scare.
Dark the night, and long till day,
Do not bid me farther stray!

"Rokeby's lords of martial fame,
I can count them name by name;
Legends of their line there be,
Known to few, but known to me;
If you honour Rokeby's kin,
Take the wandering harper in!

"Rokeby's lords had fair regard
For the harp, and for the bard;
Baron's race throve never well,
Where the curse of minstrel fell.
If you love that noble kin,

Take the weary harper in !"

"Hark! Harpool parleys-there is hope," Said Redmond, "that the gate will ope.' --"For all thy brag and boast, I trow, Naught know'st thou of the Felon Sow,"§ The family of De Rokeby came over with the Conqueror. The old motto belonging to the family is In Bivio Dextra. The arms, argent, chevron sable, between three rooks proper.

There is somewhat more to be found in our family in the Scot tish History about the affairs of Dun-Bretton town, but what it is, and in what time, I know not, nor can have convenient leisure to search. But Parson Black wood, the Scottish chaplain to the Lord of Shrewsbury, recited to me once a piece of a Scottish song, wherein was mentioned, that William Wallis, the great deliverer of the Scots from the English bondage, should, at Dun-Bretton, have been brought up under a Rokeby, captain then of the place; and as he walked on a cliff, should thrust him on a sudden into the sea, and thereby have gotten that hold, which, I think, was about the 33d of Edw. I. or before. Thus, leaving our ancestors of record, we must also with them leave the Chronicle of Malmesbury Abbey, called Eulogium Historiarum, out of which Mr. Leland reporteth this history, and coppy down unwritten story, the which have yet the testimony of later times, and the fresh memory of men yet alive, for their warrant and creditt, of whom I have learned it, that in K. Henry the 7th's reign, one Ralph Rokeby, Esq. was owner of Morton, and I guess that this was he that deceived the fryars of Richmond with his felon swine, on which a jargon was made."

The above is a quotation from a manuscript written by Ralph Rokeby; when he lived is uncertain.

To what metrical Scottish tradition Parson Blackwood alluded, it would be now in vain to inquire. But in Blind Harry's History of Sir William Wallace, we find a legend of one Rukbie, whom he makes keeper of Stirling Castle under the English usurpation, and whom Wallace slays with his own hand :

"In the great press Wallace and Rukbie met, With his good sword a stroke upon him set; Derfly to death the old Rukbie he drave, But his two sons escaped among the lave.' These sons, according to the romantic Minstrel, surrendered the castle on conditions, and went back to England, but returned to Scotland in the days of Bruce, when one of them became again keeper of Stirling Castle. Immediately after this achievement follows another engagement, between Wallace and those Western Highlanders who embraced the English interest, at a pass in Glendonchart, where many were precipitated into the lake over a precipice. These circumstances may have been confused in the narrative of Parson Black wood, or in the recollection of Mr. Rokeby.

In the old ballad of Chevy Chase, there is mentioned, among the English warriors, "Sir Raff the ryche Rugbe," which may apply to Sir Ralph Rokeby, the tenth haron in the pedigree. The more modern copy of the ballad runs thus :

"Good Sir Ralph Rabey ther was slain,
Whose prowess did surmount."

This would rather seem to relate to one of the Nevilles of Raby. But, as the whole ballad is romantic, accuracy is not to be looked for.

The ancient minstrels had a comic as well as a serious strain of romance; and although the examples of the latter are by far the most numerous, they are, perhaps, the less valuable. The comic romance was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects o. minstrel poetry. If the latter described deeds of heroic achievement, and the events of the battle, the tourney, and the chase, the former, as in the Tournament of Tottenham, introduced a set of

Quoth Harpool,, nor how Greta-side
She roam'd, and Rokeby forest wide;
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast
To Richmond's friars to make a feast.
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale,

clowns debating in the field with all the assumed circumstances of chivalry; or, as in the Hunting of the Hare, (see Weber's Metrical Romances, vol. iii.) persons of the same description fol lowing the chase, with all the grievous mistakes and blunders incident to such unpractised sportsmen. The idea, therefore, of Don Quixote's frenzy, although inimitably embodied and brought out, was not, perhaps, in the abstract, altogether original. One of the very best of these mock romances, and which has no small portion of comic humour, is the Huting of the Felon Sow of Rokeby by the Friars of Richmond, Ralph Rokeby, who (for the jest's sake apparently) bestowed this intractable animal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have flourished in the time of Henry VII, which, since we know not the date of Friar Theobald's Wardenship, to which the poem refers us, may indicate that of the composition itself. Morton, the Mortham of the text, is mentioned as being this facetious baron's place of residence; accordingly, Leland notices, that Mr. Rokeby hath a place call ed Mortham, a little beneath Grentey-bridge, almost on the mouth of Grentey." That no information may be lacking which is in my power to supply, I have to notice, that the Mistress Rokeby of the romance, who so charitably refreshed the sow after she had discomfited Friar Middleton and his auxiliaries, was, as appears from the pedigree of the Rokeby family, daughter and heir of Danby of Yatforth.

This curious poem was first published in Mr. Whitaker's History of Craven, but, from an inaccurate manuscript, not corrected very happily. It was transferred by Mr. Evans to the new edition of his Ballads, with some well-judged conjectural improvements. I have been induced to give a more authentic and full, though still an imperfect, edition of this humorous composition, from being furnished with a copy from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. Rokeby, to whom I have acknowledged my obligations in the last Note. It has three or four stanzas more than that of Mr. Whitaker, and the language seems, where they differ, to have the more ancient and genuine readings.

The Felon Sow of Rokeby and the Friars of Richmond.
Ye men that will of aunters* winne,
That late within this land hath beene,

Of one I will you tell;

And of a sew that was seal strang,
Alas! that ever she lived sea lang,
For fells folk did she whell

She was mare than other three,
The grisliest beast that ere might be,
Her head was great and gray:
She was bred in Rokeby wood,
There were few that thither goed,**
That came on livett away.

Her walk was endlong!! Greta side;
There was no brengs that durst her bide,
That was froe! heaven to hell;
Nor never man that had that might,
That ever durst come in her sight,
Her force it was so fell.

Ralph of Rokeby, with good will,

The Fryers of Richmond gave her till,TT
Full well to garre*** them fare;
Fryar Middleton by his name,
He was sent to fetch her hame,
That rued him sinettt full sare.

With him tooke he wicht men two,

Peter Dale was one of thoe,

That ever was brin as beare ;111

And well durst strike with sword and knife, And fight full manly for his life,

What time as mister ware.$$$

These three men went at God's will,
This wicked sew while they came till,
Liggan under a tree;

Rugg and rusty was her haire;
She raise up with a felon fare, TTT
To fight against the three.

She was so grisely for to meete,
She rave the earth up with her feete,
And bark came fro the tree;

When Fryar Middleton her saugh,****
Weet ye well he might not laugh,

Full earnestly look't hee.

These men of aunters that was so wight,++++ They bound them bauldly!111 for to fight,

And strike at her full sare:

Until a kiln they garred her flee.
Wold God send them the victory,

They wold ask him noa mare.

Both the MS. and Mr. Whitaker's copy real ancestors, evidently a corruption of aunters, adventures, as corrected by Mr. Evans - Sow, according to provincial pronunciation-1 So Yorkshire dialect.- Fele. many; Sax. A corruption of quell, to kill — More, greater.-** Went.ft Alive Along the side of Greta.- Barn, chill, man in general.

From To. Make-111 Since-11 Pierce as a bear. Mr. Whitaker's copy reads, perhaps in consequence of mistsking the MS "T'other was Bryan of Bear.-$5$Need were. Mr. Whitaker reads musters.Lying- A fierce countenance or manner. Saw.- Wight, brave. The Rokeby MS. reads incounters, and Mr. Whitaker, auncestors. -1111 Boklly.

That well could strike with sword amain,
And of the valiant son of Spain,
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph;
There were a jest to make us laugh!
If thou canst tell it in yon shed
Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed."

Street.

The sew was in the kiln hole down,
As they were on the balke aboon,*
For hurting of their feet;
They were so saulted: with this sew,
That among them was a stalworth stew,
The kiln began to recke.

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand,
But put a rapes down with his wand,
And haltered her full meele;
They hurled her forth against her will,
Whiles they came into a hill

A little fro the street.

And there she made them such a fray,
If they should live to Doomes-day,
They tharrow it ne'er forgett;
She braded** upon every side,
And ran on them gaping full wide,
For nothing would she lett. **
She gave such brades!! at the band
That Peter Dale had in his hand,

He might not hold his feet.
She chafed them to and fro,
The wight men was never soe woe,
Their measure was not so meete.
She bound her boldly to abide;
To Peter Dale she came aside,

With many a hideous yell;
She gaped soe wide and cried soe hee,
The Fryar seid, "I conjure thee,$$
Thou art a fiend of hell.

"Thou art come hither for some traine,

I conjure thee to go againe

Where thou wast wont to dwell."

He sayned him with crosse and creede, Took forth a book, began to reade

In St. John his gospell.

The sew she would not Latin heare,
But rudely rushed at the Frear

That blinked all his blee ;***

And when she would have taken her hold,
The Fryar leaped as Jesus wold,
And bealed him with a tree.
She was as brim!!! as any beare,
For all their meete to labour there.$$$

To them it was no boote:

Upon trees and bushes that by her stood, She ranged as she was wood,

And rave them up by roote.

He sayd, Alas, that I was Frear!
And I shall be rugged TTT in sunder here,
Hard is my destinie!

Wist**** my brethren in this houre.
That I was sett in such a stoure,****

They would pray for me.'

This wicked beast that wrought this woe,
Tooke that rape from the other two,

And then they fledd all three;
They fledd away by Watling-street,
They had no succour but their feet,
It was the more pity.

The feild it was both lost and wonne;!!!!
The sew went hame, and that full soone,

To Morton on the Greene;
When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape.$$$$
He wist that there had been debate,
Whereat the sew had beene.

He bad them stand out of her way,
For she had had a sudden fray,-
"I saw never so keene;
Some new things shall we heare
Of her and Middleton the Frear,
Some battell hath there beene.
But all that served him for nought,
Had they not better succour sought,
They were served therefore loe.
Then Mistress Rokeby came anon,
And for her brought shee meate full soone,
The sew came her unto.

On the beam above. To prevent.- Assaulted- Rope. Wading See the sequel.- Dare. Rushed - Leave it. Pulle $ This line is wanting in Mr. Whitaker's copy, whence it has been cu Jectured that something is wanting after this stanza, which now there is occasion to suppose.- Evil device. Blessed. Fr.- Lost his colour. -111 Sheltered himself Fierce-$$$ The MS. reads, to labour we The text seems to mean that all their labour to obtain their intended meat was of no use to them. Mr. Whitaker reads,

X. Matida smiled!" Cold hope," said she, "From Harpool's love of minstrelsy! But, for this harper, may we dare, Redmond, to mend his couch and fare?"O, ask me not!-At minstrel-string My heart from infancy would spring;

She gave her meate upon the flower,
* * [*]
[Hiatus valde de flendus.]
When Fryar Middleton came home,
His brethren was full faine ilkone,
And thanked God of his life;
He told them all unto the end,
How he had foughten with a fiend,
And lived through mickle strife.
"We gave her battell half a day,
And sithen! was fain to fly away
For saving of our life ;§

And Pater Dale would never blinn,"
But as fast as he could ryn. T

Till he came to his wife."

The warden said, "I am full of woe,
That ever ye should be torment so,
But wee with you had beene!
Had wee been there your brethren all,
Wee should have garred the warle** fall,
That wrought you all this teyne."**
Fryar Middleton said soon," Nay,
In faith you would have fled away,
When mister! had been;

You will all speake words at hame,
A man would ding§§ you every ilk ane,
And if it be as I weine."

He look't so griesly all that night,

The warden said, Yon man will fight
If you say ought but good;
Yon guest hath grieved him so sare,
Hold your tongues and speake noe mare,
He looks as he were woode."

The warden waged on the morne,
Two boldest men that ever were borne,
Iweine, or ever shall be;

The one was Gibbert Griffin's son,
Fall mickle worship has he wonne,
Both by land and sea.

The other was a bastard son of Spain,
Many a Sarazin hath he slain.

His dint*** hath gart them die.
These two men the battle undertooke,
Against the sew, as says the booke,
And scaled security.

That they should boldly bide and fight,
And skomfit her in maine and might,
Or therefore should they die.

The warden sealed to them againe,
And said, "In feild if ye be slain,
This condition make I:

"We shall for you pray, sing, and read
To doomesday with hearty speede,

With all our progeny."

Then the letters well was made,
Bands bound with seales brade,tt

As deedes of armes should be.

These men of armes that weere so wight,
With armour and with brandes bright,
They went this sew to see:
She made on them slike a rerd,!1!
That for her they were sare afer'd,
And almost bound to flee.
She came roveing them cgaine;
That saw the bastard son of Spaine,
He braded$$$ out his brand;
Full spiteously at her he strake,
For all the fence that he could make,
She gat sword out of hand;
And rave in sunder half his shielde,
And bare him backward in the feilde,
He might not her gainstand.

She would have riven his orivich geare,
But Gilbert with his sword of werre,
He strake at her full strong,
On her shoulder till she held the swerd;
Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd,
When the blade brake in throng.d
Since in his hands he hath her tane,
She tooke him by the shoulder Lane, TTT
And held her hold full fast,

She strave so stiffly in that stower,****
That through all his rich armour

The blood came at the last.

Nor can I hear its simplest strain,
But it brings Erin's dream again,
When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee,
(The Filea of O'Neale was he,*
A blind and bearded man, whose eld
Was sacred as a prophet's held,)
I've seen a ring of rugged kerne,
With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern,
Enchanted by the master's lay,
Linger around the livelong day,

Then Gilbert grieved was sea sarc,
That he rave off both hide and haire,
The flesh came fro the bone;
And with all force he felled her there,
And wann her worthily in werre,
And and her him alone.

And lift her on a horse sea hee,
Into two paniers well made of a tre,
And to Richmond they did hay:*
When they saw her come,
They sang merrily Te Deum,

The Fryers on that day.

They thanked God and St. Francis,
As they had won the best of pris,1
And never a man was slaine:
There did never a man more manly
Knight Marcus, nor yett Sir Gui,
Nor Loth of Louthyane. §

If ye will any more of this,

In the Fryers of Richmond, 'tis
In parchment good and fine;

And how Fryar Middleton that was so kend,
At Greta-Bridge conjured a feind

In likeness of a swine.

It is well known to many a man.

That Fryar Theobald was warden than,

And this fell in his time;

And Christ them bless both farre and neare,
All that for solace list this to heare,

And him that made the rhime.

Ralph Rokeby with full good will,

The Fryers of Richmond he gave her till,
This sew to mend their fare:

Fryar Middleton by his name,

Would needs bring the fat sew hame,

That rued him since full sare.

The Filea, or Ollamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, as the name literally implies poet. Each chieftain of distinction had one or more in his service, whose office was usually hereditary. The late ingenious Mr. Cooper Walker has assembled a curious collection of particulars concerning this order of men, in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards. There were itinerant bards of less elevated rank, but all were held in the highest veneration. The English, who considered them as chief supporters of the spirit of national independence, were much disposed to proscribe this race of poets, as Edward I. is said to have done in Wales. Spenser, while he admit the merit of their wild poetry, as "savouring of sweet wit and good invention, and sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device," yet ri orously condemns the whole application of their poetry, as abased to "the gracing of wickedness and vice," The household minstrel was admitted even to the feast of the prine whom he served, and sat at the same table. It was one of the customs of which Sir Richard Sewry, I to whose charge Richard I. committed the instruction of four Irish monarcha in the civilization of the period, found it most difficult to break his royal disciples, though he had also much udo to subject them to other English rules, and particularly to reconcile them to wear breeches. "The kyng, my souereviene lord's entent was that in maner, countenance, and apparell of clothyng, they sholde use according to the maner of Englande, for the kynge thought to make them all four knyghtes; they had a fayre house to lodge in. in Duvelyn, and I was charged to abyde styll with them, and not to departe; and so two or three dayes I suffered them to do as they lyst, and sayde nothyng to them, but folowed their owne appetytes: they wolde sitte at the table, and make countenance nother good nor fayre. Than I thought I shulde cause them to chaunge that maner; they wolde cause their mynstrells, their seruantes, and varlettes to sytte with them, and to eate in their owne dyssehe, and to drinke of their cuppes; and they shewed me that the usage of their cuntre was good, for they sayd in all thyngs (except their beddes) they were and lyved as comen. So the fourthe day 1 ordayned other tables to be couered in the hall, after the usage of Englande, and I made these four knyghtes to sytte at the hyzhe table, and there mynstrels at arother borde, and their seruantes and varlettes at another byneth them, wherof by semynge they were displeased, and beheld each other, and wolde not eate, and sayde, how I wolde take fro them their good usage, wherein they had been norished. Then I answered them, smyling, to apeace them, that it was not honourable for their estates to do as they dyde before, and that they must leave it, and use the custom of Englande, and that it was the kynge's pleasure they shulde so do, and how he was charged so to order putte themselfe under the obeysance of the Kynge of England, them. When they harde that, they suffered it, bycanse they had and parceuered in the same as long as I was with them; yet, they had one use which I knew was well used in their cuntre, and that was, they dyde wee nor breches; I caused breches of lynen Hie, Iristen.-† The MS. reals, mistakenly, every day-1 Price. - The father of Sir Gawain, in the romance of Arthur and Merlin. The MS. is thas corrupted,Mere leth of Louth Ryme. Well known, or perhaps kind, well deposed

Shift from wild rage to wilder glee,
To love, to grief, to ecstacy,*
And feel each varied change of soul
Obedient to the bard's control.-
Ah, Clandeboy! thy friendly floor
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more;t
Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze,
Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise!
The mantling brambles hide thy hearth,
Centre of hospitable mirth:
All undistinguish'd in the glade,
My sires' glad home is prostrate laid,
Their vassals wander wide and far,
Serve foreign lords in distant war,
And now the stranger's sons enjoy
The lovely woods of Clandeboy!
He spoke, and proudly turn'd aside,
The starting tear to dry and hide.
XI.

125

Matilda's dark and soften'd eye
Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry.
Her hand upon his arm she laid,--
"It is the will of heaven," she said.
"And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part
From this lov'd home with lightsome heart,
Leaving to wild neglect whate'er
Even from my infancy was dear?
For in this calm domestic bound
Were all Matilda's pleasures found.
That hearth, my sire was wont to grace,
Full soon may be a stranger's place ;+
This hall, in which a child I play'd,

clothe to be made for them. Whyle I was with them I caused them to leaue many rude thynges, as well in clothing as in other causes. Moche ado I had at the fyrst to cause them to wear gownes of sylke, furred with myneuere and gray; for before these Knyges thought themselfe well appareiled whan they had on a mantell. They rode alwayes without saddles and styropes, and with great payne I made them to ride after our usage."-LORD BERNERS' Froissart. Lond. 1812, 4to, vol. ii. p. 621.

The influence of these bards upon their patrons, and their admitted title to interfere in matters of the weightiest concern, may be also proved from the behaviour of one of them at an interview between Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl of Kildare, then about to renounce the English allegiance, and the Lord Chancellor Cromer, who made a long and goodly oration to dissuade him from his purpose. The young lord had come to the council armed and weaponed," and attended by seven score horsemen in their shirts of mail; and we are assured that the chancellor, having set forth his oration "with such a lamentable action as his cheekes were all belubbered with tears, the horsemen, namelie, such as understood not English, began to diuine what the lordchancellor meant with all this long circumstance; some of them reporting that he was preaching a sermon, others said that he stood making of some heroicall poetry in the praise of the Lord Thomas. And thus as every idiot shot his foolish bolt at the wise chancellor his discourse, who in effect had nought else but drop pretious stones before hogs, one Bard de Nelan, an Irish rithmour, and a rotten sheepe to infect a whole flocke, was chatting of Irish verses, as though his toong had run on pattens, in commendation of the Lord Thomas, investing him with the title of Silken Thomas, bicause his horsemens jacks were gorgeously imbroidered with silke; and in the end he told him. that he lingered there ouer long; whereat the Lord Thomas being quickened," as Hollinshed expresses it, bid defiance to the chancellor, threw down contemptuously the sword of office, which, in his father's absence, he held as deputy, and rushed forth to engage in open insurrection. * [MS.

"to sympathy."]

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve Donard a romantic mountain in the same province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone's great rebellion, and their places of abode laid desolate. The ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in other respects, did not yield even o their descendants in practising the most free and extended hospitality; and doubtless the bards mourned the decay of the mansion of their chiefs in strains similar to the verses of the Briish Llywarch Hen on a similar occasion, which are affecting, even hrough the discouraging medium of a literal translation:

"Silent-breathing gale, long wilt thou be heard!
There is scarcely another deserving praise,

Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid,
The bramble and the thorn may braid;
Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine,
It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line.
Yet is this consolation given,
My Redmond,-'tis the will of heaven."
Her word, her action, and her phrase,
Were kindly as in early days;
For cold reserve had lost its power,
In sorrow's sympathetic hour.

Young Redmond dared not trust his voice,
But rather had it been his choice
To share that melancholy hour,

Than, arm'd with all a chieftain's power,§
In full possession to enjoy
Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy.

XII.

The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek;
Matilda sees, and hastes to speak.-
"Happy in friendship's ready aid,
Let all my murmurs here be staid!
And Rokeby's Maiden will not part
From Rokeby's hall with moody heart.
This night, at least, for Rokeby's fame,
The hospitable hearth shall flame,
And, ere its native heir retire,
Find for the wanderer rest and fire,
While this poor harper, by the blaze,||
Recounts the tale of other days.
Bid Harpool ope the door with speed,
Admit him, and relieve each need.-

This hearth, will it not be overgrown with spreading bramblest
Till now, logs of burning wood lay on it,
Accustomed to prepare the gifts of Reged!

This hearth, will it not be covered with thorns!
More congenial on it would have been the mixed group
Of Owain's social friends united in barmony.
This hearth, will it not be covered over with ants!
More adapted to it would have been the bright torches
And harmless festivities!

This hearth, will it not be covered with dock-leaves!
More congenial on its floor would have been
The mead, and the talking of wine-cheered warriors.
This hearth, will it not be turned up by the swine!
More congenial to it would have been the clamour of men,
And the circling horns of the banquet."

Heroic Elegies of Llyroare Hen, by OWEN
Lond. 1792, 8vo. p. 41.

"The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,
Without fire, without bed--

I must weep awhile, and then be silent!
The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,
Without fire, without candle-

Except God doth, who will endue me with patience!
The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,
Without fire, without being lighted-
Be thou encircled with spreading silence!
The hall of Cynddylan, gloomy seems its roof
Since the sweet smile of humanity is no more-
Wo to him that saw it, if he neglects to do good!
The hall of Cynddylan, art thou not bereft of thy appearance?
Thy shield is in the grave;

Whilst he lived there was no broken roof!

The hall of Cynddylan is without love this night,
Since he that owned it is no more-

Ah, death: it will be but a short time he will leave me!
The hall of Cynddylan is not easy this night,

On the top of the rock of Hydwyth,

Without its lord, without company, without the circling feasts!
The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,
Without fire, without songs-

Tears afflict the cheeks!

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,
Without fire, without family-

My overflowing tears gush out!

The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it,
Without a covering, without fire-

My general dead, and I alive myself!

The hall of Cynddylan is the seat of chill grief this night,
After the respect I experienced;

Without the men, without the women, who reside there!
The hall of Cynddylan is silent this night,
After losing its master-

The great merciful God, what shal! I do!"

Ibid. p. 77. [MS.-"That hearth, my father's honour'd place, Full soon may see a stranger's face."] § [MS. "Tanist's power."], (MS.-" Find for the needy room and fire,

And this poor wanderer by the blaze."]

7