VIII.

Much in the stranger's mien appears,
To justify suspicious fears.

On his dark face a scorching clime,
And toil, had done the work of time,

Roughened the brow, the temples bared,
And sable hairs with silver shared,

Yet left-what age alone could tame-
The lip of pride, the eye of flame,
The full-drawn lip that upward curled,
The eye, that seemed to scorn the world.
That lip had terror never blanched;
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quenched
The flash severe of swarthy glow,
That mocked at pain and knew not woe;
Inured to danger's direst form,

Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm,
Death had he seen by sudden blow,

By wasting plague, by tortures slow,

By mine or breach, by steel or ball,

Knew all his shapes, and scorned them all.

IX.

But yet, though BERTRAM's hardened look,
Unmoved, could blood and danger brook,
Still worse than apathy had place

On his swart brow and callous face;
For evil passions, cherished long,

Had ploughed them with impressions strong.
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay
Light folly, past with youth away,

But rooted stood, in manhood's hour,

The weeds of vice without their flower.

1

And yet the soil in which they grew,
Had it been tamed when life was new,

Had depth and vigour to bring forth

The harder fruits of virtuous worth.

Not that, e'en then, his heart had known

The gentler feelings' kindly tone;

But lavish waste had been refined

To bounty in his chastened mind,

And lust of gold, that waste to feed,
Been lost in love of glory's meed,
And, frantic then no more, his pride

Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide.

X.

Even now, by conscience unrestrained,
Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained,
Still knew his daring soul to soar,

And mastery o'er the mind he bore;
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard,
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard.
And this felt Oswald, while in vain
He strove, by many a winding train,
To lure his sullen guest to show,

Unasked, the news he longed to know,
While on far other subject hung

His heart, than faultered from his tongue.

Yet nought for that his guest did deign

To note or spare his secret pain,

But still, in stern and stubborn sort,
Returned him answer dark and short,

Or started from the theme, to range
In loose digression wild and strange,
And forced the embarrassed host to buy,
By query close, direct reply.

XI.

Awhile he glozed upon the cause
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws,
And Church reformed-but felt rebuke
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look.
Then stammered-" Has a field been fought?
Has Bertram news of battle brought?
For sure a soldier, famed so far

In foreign fields for feats of war,
On eve of fight ne'er left the host,
Until the field were won or lost.".

"Here, in your towers by circling Tees,
You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease;
Why deem it strange that others come
To share such safe and easy home,

From fields where danger, death, and toil,

Are the reward of civil broil ?”—

"Nay, mock not, friend! since well we know

The near advances of the foe,

To mar our northern army's work,
Encamped before beleaguered York;

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay,

And must have fought-how went the day?

XII.

"Would'st hear the tale?-On Marston heath

Met, front to front, the ranks of death;
Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now

Fired was each eye, and flushed each brow;
On either side loud clamours ring,

"God and the Cause!-God and the King!"