The bold usurper's cause to aid :
For YORK and DEVON, side by side,
Together had the foe defied,
When France was humbled in her pride
By England in her might arrayed.
But ARTHUR, at an early age,
Had been Queen MARGARET's favored page,
Had shared in every joy and sport
That youth may find within a court-
The tournament, the strife of arms,
The peril too of woman's charms:
But now when treason boldly dared
Her banner to uprear,
And rebels hands their falchions bared,
Not his the pale unmanly fear
To give his arm, his heart, his life
To aid her in the bloody strife;
And while the struggle, long and dread,
But piled the earth with England's dead,
No braver in the well-fought field
Could MARGARET from her forces yield,
For worth and prudence more renown'd,
With more of well-earned glory crowned:
But midst the battle's awful roar,
Would not at times his spirit soar
Beyond its din, to that loved spot,
(Not e'en in danger's hour forgot)
Where she, his own betrothed bride,
Her native valley's praise and pride,
With downcast heart and visage dim,
Amid the conflict gave for him
To Heaven's high throne the timid prayer,
His precious life for her to spare.
AGNES DE CLIFFORD: not the rose
Which first in early summer blows---
Nor yet the lily tall and pale,
Which seems for earthly sphere too frail,
In bloom or sweetness could compare
With old Lord CLIFFORD's daughter fair.
Oh! language feels its power too weak
Of all her many charms to speak :
The rosy lip, the soft blue eye,
The forehead snowy pale, and high,
The countenance devoid of guile--
That mouth which always seem'd to smile,
That form that bounded on the earth
As if the heart were full of mirth-
Tho' born in peril's darkest hour,
She bloomed as doth an Alpine flower
That sweetly scents the silent breeze,
Tho' falling rocks and crash of trees
With thunder break the gloom profound
That reigns those awful regions round.
She seldom heard of battles, save
When wandering minstrel proudly gave
His meed of glory to the brave,
Whose very names, like war-cries heard,
To deeds of fame men's bosoms stirred.
With gentle eye and soft regard
Would AGNES hail the weary bard,
Who pleased her ear and soothed her heart
With tokens of his touching art-
While now the subject of his lays
Perchance might be Lord CLIFFORD's praise,
And then some younger hero's deed
Would gain the minstrel's transcient meed-
And then perchance his harp would tell
Of those who in the battle fell-
Then mournfully the tones would roll,
And shed a gloom upon the soul;
And often would those bards delight
To speak of ARTHUR'S fame and might,
How when the tide of battle rolled
Against his King, his arm controlled
Upon St. Alban's bloody field
The rush of war, which backward reeled
Till darkness o'er that plain of woe
Shed her dim hue on friend and foe;
Or how he fought with bold success,
And victory seem'd his arms to bless ·
Beside Northampton's ancient town,
Till treason brought his banner down—.
When GREY DE RUTHEN, faithless.lord,
(Long be the traitor's name abhorred)
Deserted from the royal side
And turned the changing combats tide;
Or when on Wakefield's peaceful plain
RICHARD of YORK himself was slain,
And victory, long in fearful doubt,
On royalty once more shone out:
Then would the blood in AGNES' cheek
Her heart's love passion surely speak—
Then paleness would her face o'erspread,
Aud banish all its lovely red:
So sunshine gives a ray of mirth
To deck the loveliness of earth,
Till soon a louring mass of clouds
In gloomy darkness all enshrouds.
And often when a short-lived peace
Bade warfare's rude encounter cease,
Would ARTHUR to her bower haste
O'er river wide and lonely waste,
And think the danger well repaid
By glance at her in bloom arrayed.
Blest intervals of joy and light,
Amid the gloominess of night!
She was the star whose placid ray
Alone could cheer his weary way.
Blest spot! which, like the desert isle,
In lonely verdure loves to smile,
To which the way-worn travellers turn
With fainting heart, and lips that burn.
But though the hour be sofily sweet
When lovers thus mid sorrow meet,
That joy is tarnished by the thought
That tho' the time with peace be fraught,
Tho' they forget their griefs-their cares-
Alas! 'tis but an hour that's their's:
And war and honour's call demand
ARTHUR to join the royal band.
With various change the contest burns-
Now victory leaves, and then returns—
Till fatal Hexham's dreadful strife
With awful consequences rife—
The royal standard beaten down-
On EDWARD's head the royal crown!
The royalists whom war had spared,
Their comrades fate on scaffolds shared ;
Their troops dispersed, their leaders dead,
Their noblest blood in warfare shed;
Their QUEEN a fugitive—their King
No better than an uncrowned thing!
Then ARTHUR, forced by adverse fate
For dawn of better days to wait—
Obscure, unnoticed and unknown,
In forests' darkness dwelt alone;
Condemned by night in caves to sleep,
And anxious watch by day to keep-
For food in solitude to roam
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