"Wilfrid !-what, not to sleep addressed? Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor; Bertram brings warrant to secure The menials will thy voice obey; Let his commission have its way, In every point, in every word.". "Then, in a whisper,-" Take thy sword! Bertram is-what I must not tell. I hear his hasty step-farewell!" END OF CANTO FIRST. ROKEBY. CANTO SECOND. I. FAR in the chambers of the west, The gale had sighed itself to rest ; The thin grey clouds waxed dimly light But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell, And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; While, as a livelier twilight falls, High crowned he sits, in dawning pale, The sovereign of the lovely vale. II. What prospects, from his watch-tower high, Down his deep woods the course of Tees, And ere he pace his destined hour By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower, These silver mists shall melt away, And dew the woods with glittering spray. |