Then stifling back the star-like drop, With woman’s winning voice, She ask’d if tidings from his lord Would not his heart rejoice? “Perchance,” quoth she, “I may you aid, (Assuage your troubled breast,) For oh! methinks the task is good To comfort the distressed!” His kerchief to his furrow’d face He gently did apply, And bright and fervent shone his front, New fire illum’d his eye. “But thrice the golden circling sun, Has rubied yonder east,” The lady said, “Since news there came From Shrewsb’ry’s hostile waste. “There _Hotspur_ and his valiant band, Oppos’d to _Tudor’s_ ire, Encamped lay, and high their hearts Beat for the conflict dire.” So having said, her snowy hand She plac’d across her brow; “Lo! down by _Windingshore’s_ dim vale, A Herald’s coming now.” The Herald flew on wings of wind, Swift to the Royal fane; “A victory,” he stoutly cried, “And valiant _Hotspur_ slain!” The death-sound pierc’d the Harper’s ear, And instant on the plain He dropt,--as light’ning had him struck, Nor e’er spoke word again. _August, 1810._ [Illustration] LEGEND OF _SEWEN SHIELDS CASTLE._ This legendary ballad is an un-embellished versification of an old tradition, still current in the vicinity of Sewen Shields Castle, in Northumberland. Nought but some dæmon’s baleful step For years had pass’d those lands, Where (all its former grandeur fled) An ancient castle stands. Where many a lord, and many a knight, And many a baron bold, The meed of valour oft had won, Or tale of love had told. Once, too, it held Northumbria’s king In days of former fame: But now no courteous tenants boasts-- And Sewen Shields[54] its name. And there, too, superstition’s spell Had cast its gloom around: And none for years had ever been Within its precincts found-- Till Dixon,[55] young advent’rous swain, Who fear’d no mortal arm, Had vow’d to search the site throughout, And find the hidden charm. The morning frown’d: he made th’ attempt; And darker still it grew: And, when he reach’d the castle walls, The owls portentous flew. No well-fed porter now was seen Within the court to wait: And weeds and mould’ring stones appear’d, Where stood the lofty gate. He cross’d the damp deserted halls: He spoke--but all in vain; For Echo, from the ruin’s verge, Return’d his words again. Through many a passage long and dark His weary steps he bent: At length a flight of stairs he saw, And tried the deep descent. He felt unwholesome dewy cold, Yet still pursued his way-- Resolv’d ’till he had all explor’d, No more to view the day. At length a gleam of light he saw; A ray of warmth he found: And down the stairs he quickly was, And trod upon the ground;