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Had fought beneath his own command.
With careless step he onward walk'd,
Where up and down the sentry stalk'd—
When challenged, he replied that day
Had left him journeying on his way—
That hither lured by gleam of light
That stream'd from every turret's height,
A pilgrim claimed a rest thro' night:
"A welcome couch," the sentry said,
"Is due to pilgrim's weary head;
Not often do the old walls hear
Such sounds of joy and merry cheer." ́

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Wherefore," said ARTHUR, "is the sound Of gladness heard, when all around

Seems steeped in woe and gloom profound?'
"A stranger, then, I deem thou art,"
The sentry said, "If I impart

As news to thee, that here this night
Will be performed the nuptial rite
When FALCONBERG, with lordly pride,
Will call DE CLIFFORD's heiress bride!
But enter: ah, thou art not well ".
AS ARTHUR staggered back and fell.
The tidings came with such a thrill,
He felt his heart oppressed with chill;
His brain seem'd whirling round and round,
Till rising from the dew-gemmed ground,
He felt that now if he would save

.C

His bride from worse than e'en the grave,
He must advance and strike the blow
To free her from her hated foe.
Upon his trumpet a blast he blew,
His faithful comrades gladly knew ;
He seized the sentry, held him fast,
Then rapidly the draw-bridge pass'd;
Then rushed with all a torrent's might
The castle yard across,

And guided by the lanterns bright,
Without a comrade's loss,
Gained from a menial, in his fright,
The tidings that the pallid bride
Had passed from out the chamber wide,
Into the Chapel's sacred gloom,
To wait the moment of her doom.
So sudden the attack was made,
So few for battle were arrayed,

Their progress to arrest none dared;
They bounded on with falchions bared,
And ARTHUR led them on
To where the Chapel's solemn pile
Amid the darkness seem'd to smile,
So bright with lamps it shone;
There stood in bridal robes arrayed,
DE CLIFFORD's pale and drooping maid......
No lily in the summer's shade

Could look more coldly fair;

There stood the bridegroom-o'er his face
Time's iron hand had left a trace,

And darkness o'er his visage pass'd—
His brow seem'd gloomy and o'ercast,
For not a Priest was there:

Why tarries he? the sun has sunk-
Beshrew this lazy loitering monk;
'Tis ever so the accursed Priest
Will not forget, I ween, the feast.
At last a distant sound was heard,
The flowing brook the wind has stirred-
Louder it comes-it is the train

With which the Priest bas crossed the plain:
It louder comes-an armed force
Rush, following their leader's course;
And ARTHUR, heading his bold band,
To halt a moment gives command.
The Baron was a prisoner made
Before his hand could draw his blade-
And ARTHUR to his beating breast,
The pale, unconscious AGNES press'd!
But there's no time for love's caress,
The Baron's troops may round them press,
And mar the prospect of success.
He treads again the devious ways,
Illumined by the bright lamp's blaze,

And places AGNES on a steed,

Which bears them off with thund'ring speed;

And ere the morning's first faint ray
Had beamed on early pilgrim's way,
He learnt the royal army's course,
And joined them with his gallant force.

In Tewksbury vale encamped they lay,
And waited for the dawn of day
To light them for war's stern array;
For EDWARD, rapid as the flight
Of eagle to the source of light,
And joyous as that bird to soar

Where light gives forth its boundless store→
So his
young heart with stern delight
Was bounding for the coming fight.

The night was cool-this night the last
Perchance on sphere terrestrial past;
The stars in calm and proud array
Shone brightly on the arms that lay
Beside each weary warrior's side,
Whose dreams in sleep the foe defied:
Oh wake them not-this rest to-night
Shall nerve them for the morrow's fight-
Oh wake them not from placid sleep,
Unstirred by trump or gun;

For them how many hearts shall weep-
No further vigil need they keep-
Their course of warfare run;

Oh wake them not-this slumber deep,
It is the last but one!

That awful one which trumpet's sound
At earth's last day shall break—
When heard amid the fear profound

That will pervade earth's regions round-
Mortality shall wake!

Low in the vale there stood a church,
With ancient ivy-covered porch,

Where MARGARET thro' the dim night pray'd
That Heaven the rightful cause would aid--
Thither young ARTHUR took the maid,
How brief the time, and yet how dear
Those moments, snatched from time's career-
In that brief hour how each young heart
Recalled the past, so pleasant now,

Ere woe had made the tear-drop start,

Or care had marked each youthful brow. But see, alas! the stars are pale,

The dawn is breaking o'er the vale

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And morning's faint yet balmy gale
Scents the young air: and they must part!
Oh what lorn anguish feels each heart-
One kiss one sigh-that seemed a gasp;
One farewell glance, one fervent grasp—-
And breaking from the maid away,
He joined the battle's stern array.

Green pastoral vale-how freshly sweet
The scene that here the eye might greet;

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