O weep not, lady, weep not fo; It is not for myself I weep, But for my dear and only friend, Who lately left me here: And while fome fheltering bower he fought O truft in heaven the Hermit faid, Then climbing up his rocky ftairs, Among the the thickets long he winds O tell me father, tell me true, you have chanc'd to fee A gentle maid, I lately left But either I have loft the place, And much I fear this fatal ftream Hath fnatch'd her hence away. Praise heaven, my fon, the Hermit faid; The lady's fafe and well : And foon he joined the wandering youth, And brought him to his cell. Then well was feen, these gentle friends The youth he prefs'd her to his heart; Ah! feldom had their hoft, I ween, The youth was tall with manly bloom, The youth was clad in foreft green, Sit down, my children, fays the Sage; Partake, he faid, my fimple ftore, Dried fruits, and milk, and curds; Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare; Then freely ate, and made good chear, Now fay, my children, (for perchance What ftrange adventure brought you here Firft tell me, father, faid the youth, (Nor blame mine eager tongue) What town is here? What lands are these? And to what lord belong? Alas! my fon, the Hermit faid, Why do I live to say, The rightful lord of these domains Ten winters now have fhed their fnows Since valiant HOTSPUR (fo the North Against Fourth HENRY BOLINGBROKE One fon he left, a lovely boy, In Scotland safe he plac'd the child And now the PERCY name, fo long No chieftain of that noble house Their halls and castles, once fo fair, Proud ftrangers now ufurp their lands, Nor far from hence where full ftream yon Runs winding down the lea, Fair WARKWORTH lifts her lofty towers, And overlooks the sea. Thofe towers, alas! now ftand forlorn, Meantime far off mid Scottish hills, O might I with thefe aged eyes, And is the PERCY ftill fo lov'd, Silent he gaz'd, then turn'd afide To wipe the tears he shed; Then lifting up his hands and eyes, Welcome, our dear and much lov'd lord, Thy country's hope and care: But who may this young lady be, That is fo wonderous fair. H Now, father, listen to my tale, In Scotland I've been nobly bred With fond impatience long I burn'd At length I won my guardian friend Then up and down in hunter's garb I wander'd as in chace, Sometime with him I liv'd unknown, To please this young and gentle dame, Now, PERCY, faid the blufhing maid, The truth I must reveal; Souls and like to thine, great generous, Their noble deeds conceal. Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuator of Fordon's Scoti-Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c. + Ralph Neville, firl Earl of Wedmoreland, who chiefly refided at his two Caftles of Brancepeth, and Raby, both in the Bishoprick of Durham. |