Page:Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry - 1887.djvu/64

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60
TRADITIONAL TALES.

OH! PRESTON, PROUD PRESTON.

Oh! Preston, proud Preston! come hearken the cry
Of spilt blood against thee—it sounds to the sky;
Thy richness a prey to the spoiler is doomed,
Thy homes to the flame, to be smote and consumed:
Thy sage with grey locks, and thy dame with the brown,
Descending long tresses and grass-sweeping gown,
Shall shriek when there's none for to help them: the hour
Of thy fall is not nigh, but it's certain and sure.
Proud Preston, come humble thy haughtiness—weep—
Cry aloud; for the sword it shall come in thy sleep.

What deed have I done, that thou liftst thus thy cry,
Thou bard of ill-omen, and doomst me to die?
What deed have I done thus to forfeit the trust
In high Heaven, and go to destruction and dust?
My matrons are chaste and my daughters are fair;
Where the battle is hottest my sword 's shining there;
And my sons bow their heads, and are on their knees kneeling,
When the prayer is poured forth and the organ is pealing:
What harm have I wrought, and to whom offered wrong,
That thou comest against me with shout and with song?

What harm hast thou wrought! List and hearken: the hour
Of revenge may be late, but it's certain and sure:
As the flower to the field and the leaf to the tree,
So sure is the time of destruction to thee.
What harm hast thou wrought! Haughty Preston, now hear:
Thou hast whetted against us the brand and the spear;
And thy steeds through our ranks rush, all foaming and hot,
And I hear thy horns sound and the knell of thy shot:
The seal of stern judgment is fixed on thy fate
When the life-blood of Selby is spilt at thy gate.

Oh! Selby, brave Selby, no more thy sword 's braving
The foes of thy prince, when thy pennon is waving;
The Gordon shall guide and shall rule in the land;
The Boyd yet shall battle with buckler and brand;
The Maxwells shall live, though diminished their shine,
And the Scotts in bard's song shall be all but divine;
Even Forster of Derwent shall breathe for a time,
Ere his name it has sunk to a sound and a rhyme;
But the horn of the Selbys has blown its last blast,
And the star of their names from the firmament cast.


"I dropped the bridle from my hand, and all the green expanse of dale and hill grew dim before me. The voice of the old man had for some time ceased before I had courage to look about; and I immediately recognized in the person of the minstrel an old and faithful soldier of my father's,