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Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail,
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH, A NORTHUMBER
And loud the torrents roar;
Against the distant shore.
Musing on man's weak hapless state,
The lonely Hermit lay ;
Lament in sore dismay.
With hospitable haste he rose,
And wak'd his sleeping fire;
Forth hied the reverend sire.
All sad beneath a neighbouring tree
A beauteous maid he found,
Bedew'd the mossy ground.
• O weep not, lady, weep not so;
Nor let vain fears alarm; My little cell shall shelter thee,
And keep thee safe from harm.'
It is not for myself I weep,
Nor for myself I fear;
• And while some sheltering bower he sought
Within this lonely wood,
Have slipp'd in yonder flood.'
"And to my cell repair;
And ease thee of thy care.'
Then climbing up his rocky stairs,
He scales the cliff so high;
To guide the stranger's eye.
Among the thickets long he winds,
With careful steps and slow :
Quick answering from below:
"O tell me, father, tell me true,
If you have chanc'd to see A gentle mnaid, I lately left
Beneath some neighbouring tree :
But either I have lost the place,
Or she hath gone astray:
Hath snatch'd her hence away.'
· Praise Heaven, my son,' the Hermit said ;
The lady's safe and well :'
And brought him to his cell.
Then well was seen these gentle friends,
They lov'd each other dear :
The maid let fall a tear.
Ah! seldom had their host, I ween,
Beheld so sweet a pair :
She slender, soft, and fair.
The youth was clad in forest green,
With bugle horn so bright: She in a silken robe and scarf,
Snatch'd up in hasty flight.
•Sit down, my children,' says the Sage ;
Sweet rest your limbs require :' Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,
And nends his little fire. • Partake,' he said, my simple store,
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;' And spreading all upon the board,
Invites with kindly words.
The youthful couple say:
And talk'd their cares away.
My counsel may avail) What strange adventure brought you here
Within this lonely dale ?"
First tell me, father,' said the youth,
(Nor blame mine eager tongue) What town is near? What lands are these ? And to what lord belong ?'
Alas! my son,' the Hermit said,
Why do I live to say,
Is banish'd far away ?
Ten winters now have shed their snows
On this my lowly hall,
Our youtbful lord did call)
Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke
Led up his northern powers, And, stoutly fighting, lost his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.
One son he left, a lovely boy,
His country's hope and heir; And, oh! to save him from his foes
It was his grandsire's care.
Beyond the reach of strife,
At Bramham lost his life.
Our northern pride and boast,
Their honours reft and lost.