For York's pale badge, the milk-white Rose
Was trampled on that day.
And dewy eve, in tears did grieve,
For the loyal and the true,
A leaden sleep, did seem to keep,
When night-winds round them blew.
Watch, Lady Percy, watch no more!
The fight is o'er on Bramham Moor;
For winding up the narrow dell,
Comes one, the heavy tale to tell;
Fighting against a host of foes,
His spirit reach'd its earthly close.
With martial pomp they deck'd his grave,
And o'er him haughty banners wave.
And now beneath a Gothic dome,
They show the noble Percy's tomb:-
With hands together join'd in prayer,
A marble form is lying there :-
And there, a dim "religious light,"
From the rich painted windows' height,
Duskily on the warrior sleeps,
Where no returning mourner weeps.
Ah no! for Time's resistless sway,
Sweeps even Percy's fame away!
And, wanderer, wouldst thou wish to trace,
Where Thornton stands in hoary grace,
Bedeck'd with ivy wreath;—
All silent will thy welcome be,—
The wild wind through the old oak tree,
To fancy's ear will breathe ;—
Of long past things, that claim a tear,
For Percy, and sweet Agnes Vere!
Mourn not to see grey ruin lie,
On the proud convent's majesty-
To mark decay usurp the scene,
Where once monastic pomp has been ;-
Oh, mourn not this! for centuries past,
With time's soft beauty o'er them cast,
Give not to view the chain that bound,
Pale superstition's votaries round,—
The errors dark, the thraldom dread,
That gather'd on each victim's head;
But pray that o'er the land may come,
No more the tyrant rule of Rome.-
Search history's page,-the record well,
Of martyr'd saints will proudly tell,
Names hallow'd there, that never die,
Destined to shine immortally!
Stars in our sky, that shed their light,
Far o'er the flitting clouds of night,
That seek to veil the lustre fair,
Of undiminish'd splendour there!
And He who gave them innate power,
To triumph in their tortur'd hour,
Will not forsake the faithful band,
Who round our sacred altars stand.
Still to defend that worship pure,
Built on the "Rock of Ages" sure
Oh, may it through all time endure!
Oh deem not 'mid this wordly strife,
An idle art the Poet brings!"
SWEET Poesy! thou ever art to me,
As a green island in life's stormy sea,
Or a bright flower, far in some desert seen,
Dark frowning rocks and dreary wastes between!
Thy voice is mingling with the breath of Spring,
By opening flowers, and brooklets murmuring.
Far from the haunts of care, and worldly thought,
In nature's realm is thy sweet influence caught;
The leafy woodland, the embowering shade,
The rippling waters, and the silent glade,
Green shadowy haunts, where through the live-
long day,
The fluttering leaves and sighing breezes play!
The starry heavens, the moonlight shadows deep,
That on the records of past glory sleep,
Wild meteor lights, that glance the heavens along,
The rainbow's hues, the parted clouds among.
'Tis thine to listen, while old Ocean's roar
Breaks into murmurs on the pebbled shore
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