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THE BOY OF EGREMOND.
Say what remains when Hope is fled ?” She answered, “ Endless weeping !" For in the herdsman's eye she read Who in his shroud lay sleeping.
At Embsay rung the matin-bell, The stag was roused on Barden-fell ; The mingled sounds were swelling, dying, And down the Wharfe a hern was flying; When near the cabin in the wood, In tartan clad and forest-green, With hound in leash and hawk in hood, The Boy of Egremond was seen.
* In the twelfth century, William Fitz-Duncan laid waste the valleys of Craven with fire and sword; and was afterwards established there by his uncle, David King of Scotland.
He was the last of the race; his son, commonly called the Boy of Egremond, dying before him in the manner here related; when a Priory was removed from Embsay to Bolton, that it might be as near as possible to the place where the accident happened. That place is still known by the name of the Strid ; and the mother's answer, as given in the first stanza, is to this day often repeated in Wharfedale.-See Wuitaker's list of Craven.
Blithe was his song, a song, of yore ;
There now the matin-bell is rung; The Miserere !" duly sung ; And holy men in cowl and hood Are wandering up and down the wood. But what avail they? Ruthless Lord, Thou didst not shudder when the sword Here on the young its fury spent, , The helpless and the innocent. Sit now and answer, groan for groan. The child before thee is thy own. And she who wildly wanders there, The mother in her long despair,
Shall oft remind thee, waking, sleeping,
WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
There, in that bed so closely curtained round,
He stirs—yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise ; Nor fly, till morning thro' the shutter streams, And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies.
TO . .
Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight,
That in her veins a secret horror slept,
Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew
knew; She moved her lips to bless thee, and expired.
* On the death of her sister.
And now to thee she comes ; still, still the same
Nor less, less oft, as on that day, appears,
TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE.
On thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers
As on she moves with hesitating grace,