And spoke in anxious whispers low
Of Rupert, Scot, and rebel foe,
And listing ever and anon
For tidings of the battle won,
Glean from the air each warlike sound,
Or read in tremors of the ground,
Prostrate upon the roadway bare,
The murmurs of the distant war;
And ere to Ribstone Godfrey passed,
Twas known some trooper rode in haste
With news of battle fought and done,
So swiftly spread the tremors on;
And ere from Ribstone Godfrey passed,
'Twas said that others followed fast,
For countless tramp and clang confuse
The ear that listens for the news.
Near and more near the clamour drew,
The foremost steed appeared in view
With drooping head and reeking side,
Uncertain course and rolling stride;
He reached the bridge,-its thunders rung
Grimbald's adjacent crags among ;
He gained the slope and bravely pressed
His failing limbs to win the crest,
As on his reeling senses fell
The loud pursuers' vengeful yell.
Amazed, the townsmen stepped aside,
Nor baulked the good steed in his stride,
Nor asked where battle had been fought,
What news of Rupert he had brought,
But silent gazed, as if there passed
The plague-struck dead in hideous haste.
Though swift he passed, 'twas time to tell
The news so sad and terrible,
"Quick, for your lives, the day is lost,-
Rupert is fled,-the rebel host,-
Behind," and "Marston" caught the ear,
Like echoes of his swift career,
As Godfrey hurried on in flight,
And vanished from their startled sight.
Meanwhile the soldiers, one and all,
Stand motionless on tower and wall,
Interpreting in whispers low
The trampling in the vale below;
Spelling with shrewd, attentive ear
The flight that ever drew more near,
The measured stride, the even clang
That on the level roadway rang
And changed to dull and dubious tone
up
the slope he laboured on,
While every sound bespoke distress
And wounds and utter weariness.
They heard along the rattling street
The echoes of his flying feet,
They heard his faint and failing pace
Relax upon the market-place,
As, reeling blindly into sight,
Came the first messenger of fight,
And on the drawbridge, ere it rise,
Falls the good steed and sinks and dies.
Scarce drew the rider from his seat
His stiffened limbs, and gained his feet,
And helpless to the drawbridge clung,
Ere loud the warder's challenge rung;
A hundred voices asked his name,
His news, his need, and whence he came,
Half doubting of his woeful plight,
Nor deeming friend could come in flight.
To speak the trooper thrice essayed,
And thrice he left the words unsaid,
Till the loud tramp of near pursuit
Woke into speech his accents mute.
"Tis Godfrey from the battle come,
Raise the portcullis, speed him home.”
At once a hundred hands have seized
The ponderous chains, the bolts released;
And ere the gate half open swung,
A score of friends on Godfrey sprung,
And bore him fainting and distraught
In safety to the castle court.
Nor aught too soon, the Roundhead chase
Has swept through street and market-place
Has seen the gate half open flung,
And fiercely to the passage sprung,
And gained the bridge's crown ;
E'en Dayrell's giant strength were vain
Against portcullis bars to strain
If e'er they thundered down.
But door ajar, and half-drawn grate
Reveal the scene within the gate,
The startled throng, the desperate chance
To win the court by bold advance.
Quick as the scene upon him flashed
Guy Dayrell to the archway dashed,
Seized on the ponderous nether bar,
And bade his followers speed the war.
Though grasped his hands the iron frame.
One instant ere it downward came,
And stayed the hideous bars a space
To give his panting comrades place
Betwixt them and the ground,
To hurl their force precipitate
Against the slowly closing gate,
And win the courtyard bound;
The terror of the threatening fall
Daunted the boldest, one and all,
And checked their keen, impetuous haste
Till motionless they stand aghast,
And grating bolt and clanging bar
Warn them 'tis now too late to dare
The perils of such venturous war.
But Dayrell, straining limb and nerve,
Felt through his frame each sinew swerve
And harden as to stone,
Ere starting from its ponderous thrall
His o'erstrung frame from bar and wall
Was backward fiercely thrown.
Then rose the cry, "It moves, it moves,"
And hissing in the stony grooves
Crashed the portcullis down.
Their saddle seats the troopers gain,
Whilst guards their muskets on them train
And ply the matchfire free and fast
To urge or stay their reckless haste.
But ere they fled, their leader flung
Dayrell's defiance fierce and strong,
Though loud the hissing balls, around him shrilling,
JANET'S MIDNIGHT FLIGHT-HAMMERTON.
TURN we awhile from Marston fight
To tell how Janet sped her flight,
As darting from the orchard gate,
Like frighted deer precipitate,
She flew adown the meadow slope
In ecstasy 'twixt fear and hope,
And gained the carr, and heeding not
The marshy perils of the spot,
Leapt with such lightsome step along,
She left no footprint where she sprung ;
No Marybud with petals crushed,
No seed awn from the spearplume brushed
Shewed where the flying maid had trod
In trembling haste the dewy sod;
No fragrance from the wounded stem
Upleapt to kiss her garment's hem,
Nor plaint of torture or despair
Rose on the stilly midnight air;
Save for the tiny dewdrops broken,
Her footsteps left no sign nor token;
Ye might have deemed some sprite had passed,
She sped so light, so still, so fast.
The stream was near-a pine o'erthrown
Gave pathway, perilous at noon
To sturdy limbs and nerves inured
By use to feel each step assured;
E'en then with care each step was tried,
And balanced nice 'twixt either side;
But Janet paused not on the brink,
Nor gave her courage time to shrink;
One foot scarce touched the fallen trunk,
Ere on the further bank she sunk
Trembling and breathless with the fear
Of what her frenzied flight could dare.
But keener than her own distress
Came thoughts of Bryan's recklessness,
As, sudden on her attent ear,
Smote the harsh sounds of struggle near,
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