Hundreds and hamlets far from sight, By lonely granges through the night They camped; and, ere the morning light Crimsoned the orient, they By royal road, or baron's park, Waking the watchful ban-dog's bark, Before the first song of the lark, Were on their southward way. XXII. By Althorpe, and by Oxendon, Without a halt they hurried on, Nor paused by that fair cross of stone, Now for the first time seen, (For death's dark billows overwhelm Both jewelled braid, and knightly helm!) Raised, by the monarch of the realm, To Eleanor his queen.[18] [18] This venerable memorial, which gives the name of "Queen's Cross" to the neighbouring locality in Northamptonshire, is a beautiful specimen of architecture, although much defaced by time, and the efforts of renovators. The "trellised" vest, mentioned in stanza XXIV., was a species of armour, so called by contemporary Norman writers; and consisted of a cloth coat, reaching only to the haunches. This was intersected by broad straps of leather, so laid on as to cross each other, and leave small intervening squares of cloth, in the middle of which was a knob of steel. (_Vide_ MEYRICK'S _Ancient Armour_, vol. i. p. 11.) XXIII. Five times through darkness and through day, Since crossing Tweed, with fresh relay Ever in wait, their forward way That cavalcade had held; Now joy!!! for, on the weary wights, Loomed London from the Hampstead heights, As, by the opal morning, Night's Thin vapours were dispell'd. XXIV. With spur on heel, and spear in rest, And buckler'd arm, and trellised breast, Closer around their charge they press'd-- On whirled, with livelier roll, The wheels begirt with prancing feet, And arms,--a serried mass complete, Until, by many a stately street, They reached their destined goal. XXV. Grim Westminster! thy pile severe Struck to the heart like sudden fear;-- "Hope flies from all that enter here!" Seemed graven on its crest. The moat o'erpassed, at warn of bell, Down thundering the portcullis fell, And clang'd the studded gates,--a knell Despairing and unblest. XXVI. Ye guardian angels! that fulfil Heaven's high decrees, and work its will-- Ye thunderbolts! launched forth to kill,-- Where was it then ye slept-- When, foe-bemocked, in prison square, To death fore-doomed, with dauntless air, From out that van, A shackled man-- Sir William Wallace stept! THE GREEN HAND. A "SHORT" YARN. PART VII.