A weak and cowardly untruth ! Our Clifford was a happy Youth, And thankful through a weary time, That brought him up to manhood's prime. Again he wanders forth at will, And tends a flock from hill to hill: To his side the fallow-deer Came and rested without fear ; The eagle, lord of land and sea, And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright, Alas! the impassioned minstrel did not know How, by Heaven's grace, this Clifford's heart was framed, How he, long forced in humble walks to go, 160 Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; The sleep that is among the lonely hills. In him the savage virtue of the Race, 165 Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead : Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place The wisdom which adversity had bred. Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth; The Shepherd-lord was honoured more and more ; 170 "The good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore. 1807. THE FORCE OF PRAYER; OR THE FOUNDING ९९ A TRADITION. What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my Tale; And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring ee And she made answer ENDLESS SORROW!" She knew it by the Falconer's words, -Young Romilly through Barden woods And holds a greyhound in a leash, To let slip upon buck or doe. The pair have reached that fearful chasm, How tempting to bestride! For lordly Wharf is there pent in With rocks on either side. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 The striding-place is called The Strid, A name which it took of yore : A thousand years hath it borne that name, And hither is young Romilly come, And what may now forbid That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, He sprang in glee,- for what cared he 25 That the river was strong, and the rocks were steep? — 30 But the greyhound in the leash hung back, And checked him in his leap. The Boy is in the arms of Wharf, And strangled by a merciless force; For never more was young Romilly seen 35 Now there is stillness in the vale, A name more sad than Yarrow. If for a lover the Lady wept, A solace she might borrow From death, and from the passion of death; 40 She weeps not for the wedding-day 45 Which was to be to-morrow: Her hope was a further-looking hope, And hers is a mother's sorrow. He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, 50 And her first words were, "Let there be LOVING she is, and tractable, though wild; 5 |