'O weep not, lady, weep not so,
Nor let vain fears alarm;
My little cell shall shelter thee,
And keep thee safe from harm.'
'It is not for myself I weep,
Nor for myself I fear,

But for my dear and only friend,
Who lately left me here.

And while some sheltering bower he sought
Within this lonely wood,

Ah! sore I fear his wandering feet
Have slipt in yonder flood.'

'O trust in Heaven,' the hermit said,
'And to my cell repair;

Doubt not but I shall find thy friend,
And ease thee of thy care.'

Then climbing up his rocky stairs,
He scales the cliff so high,
And calls aloud, and waves his light
To guide the stranger's eye.
Among the thickets long he winds,
With careful steps and slow;
At length a voice returned his call,
Quick answering from below:
'O tell me, father, tell me true,
If you have chanced to see
A gentle maid I lately left

Beneath some neighbouring tree?

But either I have lost the place,
Or she hath gone astray;
And much I fear this fatal stream
Hath snatched her hence away.'

'Praise Heaven, my son,' the hermit said, 'The lady's safe and well;'

And soon he joined the wandering youth,
And brought him to his cell.

Then well was seen these gentle friends
They loved each other dear :

The youth he pressed her to his heart,
The maid let fall a tear.

Ah! seldom had their host, I ween,
Beheld so sweet a pair :

The youth was tall, with manly bloom;
She, slender, soft, and fair.

The youth was clad in forest green,
With bugle-horn so bright;
She, in a silken robe and scarf,
Snatched up in hasty flight.

'Sit down, my children,' says the sage;
'Sweet rest your limbs require :'
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,
And mends his little fire.

'Partake,' he said, 'my simple store-
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds ;'
And spreading all upon the board,
Invites with kindly words.

'Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare,
The youthful couple say;

Then freely ate, and made good cheer,
And talked their cares away.

'Now say, my children (for perchance
My counsel may avail),

What strange adventure brought you here Within this lonely dale?'

'First tell me, father,' said the youth (Nor blame my eager tongue),

What town is near? What lands are these?

And to what lord belong?'

'Alas! my son,' the hermit said,

'Why do I live to say

The rightful lord of these domains

Is banished far away?

Ten winters now have shed their snows

On this my lowly hall,

Since valiant Hotspur (so the north

Our youthful lord did call)

Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke
Led up his northern powers,
And stoutly fighting, lost his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.

One son he left, a lovely boy,
His country's hope and heir;

And, oh! to save him from his foes,
It was his grandsire's care.

In Scotland safe he placed the child,
Beyond the reach of strife,
Not long before the brave old earl
At Bramham lost his life.

And now the Percy name, so long
Our northern pride and boast,
Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;
Their honours reft and lost.

No chieftain of that noble house
Now leads our youth to arms;
The bordering Scots despoil our fields,
And ravage all our farms.

Their halls and castles, once so fair,
Now moulder in decay;

Proud strangers now usurp their lands,
And bear their wealth away.

Not far from hence, where yon full stream
Runs winding down the lea,

Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers,
And overlooks the sea.

Those towers, alas! now stand forlorn,
With noisome weeds o'erspread,
Where feasted lords and courtly dames,
And where the poor were fed.

Meantime, far off, 'mid Scottish hills,
The Percy lives unknown;
On strangers' bounty he depends,
And may not claim his own.

O might I with these aged eyes

But live to see him here,

Then should my soul depart in peace!'—

He said, and dropt a tear.

'And is the Percy still so loved

Of all his friends and thee?

Then bless me, father,' said the youth,
'For I, thy guest, am he.'

Silent he gazed, then turned aside
To wipe the tears he shed;
And lifting up his hands and eyes,
Poured blessings on his head.

'Welcome, our dear and much-loved lord,
Thy country's hope and care.
But who may this young lady be,
That is so wondrous fair?'

'Now, father, listen to my tale,
And thou shalt know the truth;
And let thy sage advice direct
My inexperienced youth.

In Scotland I've been nobly bred
Beneath the Regent's hand,*

In feats of arms, and every lore
To fit me for command.

With fond impatience long I burned
My native land to see;

At length I won my guardian friend
To yield that boon to me.

Then up and down, in hunter's garb,
I wandered as in chase,

Till, in the noble Neville's house,t
I gained a hunter's place.

Some time with him I lived unknown,
Till I'd the hap so rare

To please this young and gentle dame,
That baron's daughter fair.'

'Now, Percy,' said the blushing maid,
'The truth I must reveal;
Souls great and generous like thine
Their noble deeds conceal.

It happened on a summer's day,
Led by the fragrant breeze,
I wandered forth to take the air
Among the greenwood trees.
Sudden, a band of rugged Scots,
That near in ambush lay,
Moss-troopers from the border-side,
There seized me for their prey.

My shrieks had all been spent in vain ;
But Heaven, that saw my grief,

Brought this brave youth within my call,
Who flew to my relief.

* Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany.

t Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland. whose principal residence was at Raby Castle, in the bishopric of Durham.