Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak,
Its boughs by weight of age broke;
And tow'rs erect, in sable spire,
The pine-tree scath'd by lightning-fire;
The drooping ash and birch, between,
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green,
And all beneath, at random grow
Each coppice dwarf of varied show,
Or, round the stems profusely twin'd,
Fling summer odours on the wind.
Such varied group Urbino's hand
Round Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd,
What time he bade proud Athens own
On Mars's Mount the God Unknown!
Then grey Philosophy stood nigh,
Though bent by age, in spirit high:
There rose the scar-seam'd vet'ran's spear,
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear,
While Childhood at her foot was plac'd
Or clung delighted to her waist.
"And rest we here," Matilda said,
And sate her in the varying shade.
Chance-met, we well may steal an hour,
To friendship due from fortune's power.
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend;
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest,
No farther urge thy desp'rate 'quest.
For to my care a charge is left,
Dang'rous to one of aid bereft,
Well nigh an orphan, and alone,
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown."
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness grac'd,
Beside her on the turf she plac'd;
Then paus'd, with downcast look and eye,
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh,
Her conscious diffidence he saw,
Drew backward as in modest awe,
And sat a little space remov'd,
Unmark'd to gaze on her he lov'd.
Wreath'd in its dark-brown rings, her hair
Half hid Matilda's forehead fair.
Half hid and half reveal'd to view
Her full dark eye of hazel hue.
The rose, with faint and feeble streak,
So slightly ting'd the maiden's cheek,
That you had said her hue was pale;
But if she fac'd the summer gale,
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker mov'd,
Or heard the praise of those she lov'd,
Or when of int'rest was express'd
Aught that wak'd feeling in her breast,
The mantling blood in ready play
Rivall'd the blush of rising day.
There was a soft and pensive grace
A cast of thought upon her face,
That suited well the forehead high,
The eyelash dark, and downcast eye;
The mild expression spoke a mind
In duty firm, compos'd, resign'd;-
"Tis that which Roman art has giv'a,
To mark their maiden Queen of Heav
In hours of sport, that mood gave way
To Fancy's light and frolic play;
And when the dance, or tale, or song,
In harmless mirth sped time along,
Full oft her doting sire would call
His Maud the merriest of them all.
But days of war, and civil crime,
Allow'd but ill such festal time,
And her soft pensiveness of brow
Had deepen'd into sadness now.
In Marston field her father ta'en,
Her friends dispers'd, brave Mortham slain,
While ev'ry ill her soul foretold,
From Oswald's thirst of pow'r and gold,
And boding thoughts that she must part,
With a soft vision of her heart,-
All lower'd around the lovely maid,
To darken her dejection's shade.
Who has not heard-while Erin yet
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron hit-
Who has not heard how brave O'Neale
In English blood imbrued his steel,
Against St George's cross blaz'd high
The banners of his Tanistry,
To fiery Essex gave the foil,
And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil?
But chief arose his victor pride,
When that brave Marshal fought and died,"
And Avon-Duff to ocean bore
His billows red with Saxon gore.
"Twas first in that disastrous fight,
Rokeby and Mortham prov'd their might.
There had they fall'n among the rest,
But pity touch'd a chieftain's breast;
The Tanist be to great O'Neale;+
He check'd his foll'wers' bloody zeal,
To quarter took the kinsman bold,
And bore them to his mountain-hold,
Gave them each silvan joy to know,
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could show,
Shar'd with them Erin's festal cheer,
Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer,
And, when a fitting time was come,
Safe and unransom'd sent them home,
Loaded with many a gift, to prove
A gen'rous foe's respect and love.
The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the English was in a battle fought near Blackwater, while he besieged a fort garrisoned by the English, which commanded the passes into his country. He is said to have entertained a personal animosity against the knight-marshal, Sir Henry Bagual, whom he ac cused of detaining the letters which he sent to Queen Elizabeth, explanatory of his conduct, and offering terms of submission. The river, called by the English, Black water, is terined in Irish, AvonDuff, which has the same signification.
+ When an Irish chiet died, it was not the eldest son who succeeded to his authority, but a captain elected for the occasion; after whom the eldest son was generally nominated the Tanist, that is, the successor to the captain. The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was the heir apparent of his power. This kind of suc cession appears also to have regulated, in very remote times, the succession to the crown of Scotland. It would have been impradent, if not impossible, to have asserted a minor's right of succession in those stormy days, when the principles of policy were the mere impulses of seinsnness and violence,
Years speed away. On Rokeby's head
Some touch of early snow was shed;
Calm he enjoy'd, by Greta's wave,
The peace which James the Peaceful gave,
While Mortham, far beyond the main,
Wag'd his fierce wars on Indian Spain.-
It chane'd upon a wintry night,
That whiten'd Stanmore's stormy height,
The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd,
In Rokeby hall the cups were fill'd,
And by the huge stone chimney sate
The Knight in hospitable state.
Moonless the sky, the hour was late,
When a loud summons shook the gate,
And sore for entrance and for aid
A voice of foreign accent pray'd.
The porter answer'd to the call,
And instant rush'd into the hall
A Man, whose aspect and attire
Startled the circle by the fire.
His plaited hair in elf-locks spread*
Around his bare and matted head;
On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim,
His vesture show'd the sinewy limb;
In saffron dyed, a linen vest
Was frequent folded round his breast;
A mantle long and loose he wore,
Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore,
He clasp'd a burden to his heart,
And, resting on a knotted dart,
The snow from hair and beard he shook,
And round him gaz'd with wilder'd look.
It would seem, that the ancient Irish dress was (the bonnet excepted) very similar to that of the Scottish Highlanders. The want of a covering on the head was supplied by the mode of plait ing and arranging their hair, which was called the g voe glibbes, according to Spenser, were fit marks for a thief, since, when he wished to di-guse himseif, he could either cut it off e tirely, or so pull it over his eyes as to render it very hard to recognise him.
Then up the hall, with stagg'ring pace
He hasten'd by the blaze to place,
Half lifeless from the bitter air,
His load, a Boy of beauty rare.
To Rokeby, next, he louted low,
Then stood erect his tale to show,
With wild majestic port and tone,
Like envoy of some barb'rous throne.*
"Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear!
Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear;
He graces thee, and to thy care
Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair,
He bids thee breed him as thy son,
For Turlough's days of joy are done;
And other fords have seiz'd his land,
And faint and feeble is his hand;
And all the glory of Tyrone
Is like a morning vapour flown.
To bind the duty on thy soul,
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl!
If any wrong the young O'Neale,
He bids thee think of Erin's steel.
To Mortham first this charge was due,
But, in his absence, honours you.-
Now is my master's message by,
And Ferraught will contented die."
His look grew fix'd, his cheek grew pale,
He sunk when he had told his tale;
For, hid beneath his mantle wide,
A mortal wound was in his side.
Vain was all aid-in terror wild,
And sorrow, scream'd the orphan Child.
Poor Ferraught rais'd his wistful eyes,
And faintly strove to soothe his cries;
All reckless of his dying pain,
He blest, and blest him o'er again!
And kiss'd the little hands outspread,
And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head.
The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and with each other, were wont to assume the language and style of independent royalty.
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