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noble mansion on his patrimony which lord Clifford would reach on his return from exile. It was, in fact, the most magnificent of the four structures, as its remains yet testify; and in the great hall, which occupied one of the stories of the massive Norman tower, did the friends and retainers of lord Clifford assemble to celebrate his restoration. Here also, there can be little doubt, as she survived the happy event six years*, came his mother, lady Clifford, and with her, in all probability, the venerable partner of her days, sir Lancelot Threlkeld. The scene of festivity which we may suppose to have taken place on this occasion has furnished to one of the most original poets of the present day a pleasing opportunity for the exercise of his talents; and as the song of exultation which, for this purpose, he has put into the mouth of the family minstrel, is beautifully illustrative of the character and
* She died at Londsborough, where, on a plain brass near the altar of the church, may be read the following inscription in black letter, the oldest memorial of the family, says Whitaker, now remaining:
"Orate pro anima Margarete D'ne Clyfford, et Vescy, olim sponse nobilissimi viri Joh's D'ni Clifford et Westmorland, filie et heredis Henrici Bromflet quondam D'ni Vescy, ac matris Henrici Domini Clyfford, Westmorland, et Vescy, quæ obiit xv die mens' Aprilis, Anno Domini MCCCCICI. cujus corpus sub hoc marmore est humatum."
disposition of lord Clifford, and of some of the incidents which befel him during his sojourn in the wilds of Cumberland, I shall not, I am convinced, be accused of irrelevancy in transferring it hither.
AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE, UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, THE SHEPHERD, to the ESTATES AND HONOURS OF HIS ANCESTORS.
High in the breathless hall the minstrel sate,
A festal strain that hath been silent long.
"From Town to Town, from Tower to Tower,
Her thirty years of Winter past,
She lifts her head for endless spring,
For everlasting blossoming:
The two that were at strife are blended,
They came with banner, spear, and shield ;
Not long the Avenger was withstood-
How glad is Skipton at this hour—
Of all her guardian sons bereft
Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page or Groom;
Oh! it was a time forlorn
When the Fatherless was born-
Swords that are with slaughter wild
'Blissful Mary, Mother mild, Maid and Mother undefiled, Save a Mother and her child!'
Now who is he that bounds with joy
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass
Can this be he who hither came
In secret, like a smother'd flame?
O'er whom such thankful tears were shed
For shelter, and a poor man's bread!
God loves the child; and God hath willed
That those dear words should be fulfilled
The lady's words, when forced away,
The last she to her babe did say :
My own, my own! thy fellow-guest
I may not be; but rest thee, rest;
For lowly shepherd's life is best!'
Alas! when evil men are strong,
No life is good, no pleasure long.
The boy must part from Mosedale's groves,
A recreant harp that sings of fear