5
Alas! my son, the hermit said,
Why do I live to say,
The rightful lord of these domains
Is banish'd far away!
Ten winters now have shed their snows
On this my lowly hall,
Since valiant Hotspur (so the North
Our youthful lord did eall)
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 eare.
In Scotland safe he plae’d 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.
These 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, ’midst Scottish hills,
The Percy lives unknown:
On stranger’s bounty he depends,
And may not claim his own.
