Poems in Two Volumes, vol 1 | Page 5

to the last,
From well to better, daily
self-surpast:
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
For
ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or He must go to dust without his
fame,
And leave a dead unprofitable name, 80 Finds comfort in
himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering,

draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause;
This is the
happy Warrior; this is He
Whom every Man in arms should wish to
be.

_The above Verses mere written soon after tidings had been
received
of the Death of Lord Nelson, which event directed the Author's
thoughts to the subject. His respect for the memory of his great
fellow-countryman induces him to mention this; though he is well
aware that the Verses must suffer from any connection in the Reader's
mind with a Name so illustrious_.
THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE.
When the Brothers reach'd the gateway,
Eustace pointed with his
lance
To the Horn which there was hanging;
Horn of the inheritance.

Horn it was which none could sound,
No one upon living ground,

Save He who came as rightful Heir
To Egremont's Domains and
Castle fair.
Heirs from ages without record
Had the House of Lucie born, 10
Who of right had claim'd the Lordship
By the proof upon the Horn:

Each at the appointed hour
Tried the Horn, it own'd his power;
He
was acknowledged: and the blast
Which good Sir Eustace sounded
was the last.
With his lance Sir Eustace pointed,
And to Hubert thus said he,

"What I speak this Horn shall witness
For thy better memory. 20 Hear,
then, and neglect me not!
At this time, and on this spot,
The words
are utter'd from my heart,
As my last earnest prayer ere we depart."
"On good service we are going
Life to risk by sea and land;
In
which course if Christ our Saviour
Do my sinful soul demand,

Hither come thou back straightway,
Hubert, if alive that day; 30
Return, and sound the Horn, that we
May have a living House still

left in thee!"
"Fear not," quickly answer'd Hubert;
"As I am thy Father's son,

What thou askest, noble Brother,
With God's favour shall be done."

So were both right well content:
From the Castle forth they went.

And at the head of their Array
To Palestine the Brothers took their
way. 40
Side by side they fought (the Lucies
Were a line for valour fam'd)

And where'er their strokes alighted
There the Saracens were tam'd.

Whence, then, could it come the thought,
By what evil spirit brought?

Oh! can a brave Man wish to take
His Brother's life, for Land's and
Castle's sake?
"Sir!" the Ruffians said to Hubert,
"Deep he lies in Jordan flood."--
50 Stricken by this ill assurance,
Pale and trembling Hubert stood.

"Take your earnings."--Oh! that I
Could have seen my Brother die!

It was a pang that vex'd him then;
And oft returned, again, and yet
again.
Months pass'd on, and no Sir Eustace!
Nor of him were tidings heard.

Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer
Back again to England
steer'd. 60 To his Castle Hubert sped;
He has nothing now to dread.

But silent and by stealth he came,
And at an hour which nobody
could name.
None could tell if it were night-time,
Night or day, at even or morn;

For the sound was heard by no one
Of the proclamation-horn.

But bold Hubert lives in glee:
Months and years went smilingly; 70
With plenty was his table spread;
And bright the Lady is who shares
his bed.
Likewise he had Sons and Daughters;
And, as good men do, he sate

At his board by these surrounded,
Flourishing in fair estate.
And,
while thus in open day
Once he sate, as old books say,
A blast was

utter'd from the Horn,
Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn. 80
'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace!
He is come to claim his right:

Ancient Castle, Woods, and Mountains
Hear the challenge with
delight.
Hubert! though the blast be blown
He is helpless and alone:

Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!
And there he may be lodg'd,
and thou be Lord.
Speak! astounded Hubert cannot;
And if power to speak he had, 90
All are daunted, all the household
Smitten to the heart, and sad.
'Tis
Sir Eustace; if it be
Living Man, it must be he!
Thus Hubert thought
in his dismay,
And by a Postern-gate he slunk away.
Long, and long was he unheard of:
To his Brother then he came,

Made confession, ask'd forgiveness,
Ask'd it by a Brother's name, 100
And by all the saints in heaven;
And of Eustace was forgiv'n:
Then
in a Convent went to hide
His melancholy head, and there he died.
But Sir Eustace, whom good Angels
Had preserv'd from Murderers'
hands,
And from Pagan chains had rescued,
Liv'd with honour on
his lands.
Sons he had, saw Sons of theirs:
And through ages, Heirs
of Heirs, 110 A long posterity renown'd,
Sounded the Horn which
they alone could sound.
THE AFFLICTION of MARGARET ---- OF ----

Where art thou, my beloved Son,
Where art thou, worse to me than
dead?
Oh find me prosperous or undone!
Or, if the grave be now
thy bed,
Why am I ignorant of the same
That I may rest; and neither
blame,
Nor sorrow may