It thrilled the sturdy yeoman's frame
With memories of martial fame,
It stirred the old desire
To see the onset's thunder shock,
As on the royal lines it broke,
In storm of wrath and fire.
With words of hurried comfort said
He strove to cheer the startled maid;
Then swiftly from the room he passed,
And bade a drowsy teamster haste
And yoke his oxen to the wain,
And Yorkward drive with load of grain,
While he along the road would ride,
And bide his coming at Nidd-side,
Deeming such provender would gain
Glad welcome for him on the plain.
The noontide's shimmering heats were o'er
Ere Ralph returned from Monkton Moor,
And told how Dayrell's midnight news
Had drawn the Roundheads from the Ouse,
That Rupert and the royal host
At break of day the Ure had crossed,
And now in Galtrees' wilds were lost;
How Leven of the contest rued,
And thought to fly to Holy-Rood.
Neighbours he met and heard them tell,
"Bryan is with the troops and well,
But rides not in the battle line,
Nor seeks the coming fight to join."
This news Ralph told the listening maid
Beneath the ponderous chestnut shade,
Where Janet sate and wondered long
Why she had grown so quickly strong;
For Joy had tried his healing art,
And won to health her every part.
A DISTANT GLIMPSE OF THE BATTLE. -HAMMERTON.
NIGHT brought the yeoman troubled rest ;
The dawn was crimsoning all the east
With threats of elemental war
And tempests gathering from afar,
When pacing on the hills alone
Ralph found the glittering pageant gone;
Nor caske, nor pennon marked the scene
Where yesterday's array had been,
And naught was there of martial power
'Twixt Marston waste and Monkton Moor.
The noon on Bilton Bream revealed
The troops by Wilstrop's woods concealed
At dawn, with faces southward set
In slow, though undisguised retreat,
While, ranged along the hill's broad brow,
The long bright lines of troopers shew
Stately and still and motionless,
As loth on Leven's track to press.
The eve on Marston's sounding waste
In thunderous conflict fiercely passed;
Awhile in smoke and battle breath
Lay hid the fiery strife of death;
Awhile, like thunders from the cloud,
The earthquake roar broke deep and loud;
But as the combat deadlier grew,
And throbbed the earth with onsets new,
Failed musket peal and culverin
In murmurs of still angrier din.
Aside the breeze the curtain drew
And the dread turmoil gave to view ;
Here rushing squadrons wildly rode,
And there the phalanx grimly stood;
Here line 'gainst line of horse was sent,
As in some monstrous tournament,
There whirled the flashing stream of fight
Around the levelled spear-points bright,
Where, islanded amid the storm,
Some band forlorn held order firm ;
Hither and thither swayed the throng
Of strife supreme their ranks among,
Now rising to some effort vast,
As if the fiercest and the last,
Now failing with their failing breath
In mutual impotence for death,
To wake upon the further moor
In wilder conflict than before.
Though teemed the field with countless life,
And seethed with war and eddying strife,
Yet naught might maid or yeoman know
How went the day with friend or foe,
Till bursting from the twilight shade
By Wilstrop's towering pine-trees made,
Rushed frantic on their Yorkward course
Wrecked squadrons of the royal horse,
And, following fierce and resolute,
Pressed on the Roundheads' hot pursuit ;
Then knew old Ralph the day was won,
And ruthless Rupert all undone.
Think not the maid in silence viewed
The distant scene of strife and blood,
Or joy supreme within her breast
Her deep anxiety suppressed;
Far other thoughts her bosom thrilled,
By momentary efforts stilled,
Of grief and pain for others' woe,
Though whelmed in righteous overthrow;
E'en though in God's and Commons' cause,
Such wreck seemed scorn of Nature's laws,
To earth and heaven a challenge sent
Fraught with some future punishment;
And blent with pain mysterious dread
Of trouble came unsummoned,
And fear that Bryan's fiery blood
Had scorned a peaceful attitude,
And in the thickest fight had played
Some desperate part with lance or blade,
And now o'erborne, with helmet riven,
Gazed ghastly on the darkening heaven.
At length the maid her fears confessed,
And sigh and tear no more repressed,
Sad tears that welled uncertainly,
As if they wronged another's joy,
And sighs so deep, they seemed afraid
To chide the triumph Ralph betrayed
In flushing cheek and quivering frame,
And dark eye kindling into flame,
As wider scattering than before
Swept the lost host o'er Hessay Moor,
And louder, ever and anon,
Rose the wild shouts of battle won.
Upon his arm the maiden laid
Her hand, and in low accents said,
"Haste to the moor, God's mercy speed
Our ruth to some poor soul in need;
Perchance some friend for help is crying,
Perchance e'en Bryan now is dying,
And vainly bids with failing breath
His Janet close his eyes in death."
Her tone so pregnant with distress
Woke Ralph to sudden consciousness,
And to her gentle sway subdued
The fiery triumph of his mood.
The battle plain was hid from sight
In twilight deepening into night,
So lone, so still-that field of blood,
Ye might have deemed the heath-bird's brood
Breathless in timorous silence lay
Close sheltering from some bird of prey;
Ye might have deemed o'er Marston waste
The last belated swain had passed
An hour ago-so lone and lost
Lay the wan wrecks of Rupert's host.
THE MIDNIGHT SEARCH ON THE BATTLE-FIELD-
MARSTON MOOR.
MEANWHILE old Ralph and Janet bide
A few short moments by Nidd-side,
Where the old weir, athwart the stream,
Lay dark against the water's gleam,
And shielded from the current's flow
A line of stepping-stones below.
From stone to stone the maiden sprung,
Yet fearful to the yeoman clung,
Who strongly through the shallows strode,
And aid of hand and word bestowed;
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