APPENDIX.

HISTORY OF ENGLAND,

ILLUSTRATED FROM HER POETS.

THE BRITONS BEFORE AND UNDER THE
ROMANS.

BOLD were those Britons, who, the careless sons
Of Nature, roam'd the forest-bounds, at once
Their verdant city, high-embowering fane,
And the gay circle of their woodland wars:
For by the Druid taught, that death but shifts
The vital scene, they that prime fear despised;
And, prone to rush on steel, disdain'd to spare
An ill-saved life that must again return.

Witness, Rome,

Who saw'st thy Cæsar, from the naked land,
Whose only forts were British hearts, repell'd,
To seek Pharsalian wreaths. Witness, the toil,
The blood of ages, bootless to secure,

Beneath an empire's yoke, a stubborn isle,
Disputed hard, and never quite subdued.

The North remain'd untouch'd, where those who scorn'd
To stoop, retired; and to their keen effort

Yielding at last, recoil'd the Roman power.
In vain, unable to sustain the shock,

From sea to sea desponding legions raised ·
The wall immense; and yet, on Summer's eve,

While sport his lambkins round, the shepherd's gaze,
Continual o'er it burst the northern storm 2,

As often, check'd, receded; threatening hoarse
A swift return. But the devouring flood
No more endured control, when, to support
The last remains of empire, was recall'd
The weary Ron.an, and the Briton lay
Unnerved, exhausted, spiritless, and sunk.
Great proof! how men enfeeble into slaves.

1 The Druids, Bards, and other authorities of the Celtic nations taught that death in war was succeeded by life in another body.

2 The Caledonians, afterwards called Picts, and the Scots, pouring from the north like a storm on the southern part of the island, despite of the Roman fortifications.

The sword behind him flash'd; before him roar'd,
Deaf to his woes, the deep. Forlorn, around
He roll'd his eye, not sparkling ardent flame,
As when Caractacus to battle led

Silurian swains, and Boadicea taught
Her raging troops the miseries of slaves.

Thomson's Liberty.

BRITAIN FROM THE SAXON INVASION TO THE
BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

THEN, (sad relief!) from the bleak coast that hears
The German ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong,
And yellow-hair'd, the blue-eyed Saxon came.
He came implored, but came with other aim
Than to protect. For conquest and defence
Suffices the same arm. With the fierce race
Pour'd, in a fresh invigorating stream,
Blood, where unquell'd a mighty spirit glow'd.
Rash war, and perilous battle their delight;
And immature, and red with glorious wounds,
Unpeaceful death their choice; deriving thence
A right to feast, and drain immortal bowls
In Odin's Hall 3; whose blazing roof resounds
The genial uproar of those shades, who fall
In desperate fight, or by some brave attempt;
And though more polish'd times the martial creed
Disown, yet still the fearless habit lives.
Nor were the surly gifts of war their all.
Wisdom was likewise theirs, indulgent laws,
The calm gradations of art-nursing peace,
And matchless orders, the deep basis still
On which ascends my British reign. Untamed
To the refining subtleties of slaves,

They brought an happy government along,
Form'd by that freedom, which, with secret voice,
Impartial Nature teaches all her sons,

And which of old through the whole Scythian mass
I strong inspired. Monarchical their state,
But prudently confined, and mingled wise
Of each harmonious power: only, too much
Imperious war into their rule infused,

Prevail'd their general-king, and chieftain-thanes.

3 The Saxons, a Gothic tribe, believed that men killed in war were carried to Odin's Hall, there to banquet for ever.

The poet supposes the Genius of Liberty to be relating the progress of liberty in Britain,

In many a field, by civil fury stain'd,
Bled the discordant heptarchy; and long
(Educing good from ill) the battle groan'd;
Ere, blood-cemented, Anglo-Saxons saw
Egbert and Peace on one united throne.

No sooner dawn'd the fair disclosing calm
Of brighter days, when, lo! the North anew,
With stormy nations black, on England pour'd
Woes the severest e'er a people felt.

The Danish raven 5, lured by annual prey,
Hung o'er the land incessant. Fleet on fleet
Of barbarous pirates unremitting tore
The miserable coast. Before them stalk'd,
Far-seen, the demon of devouring flame ;
Rapine, and murder, all with blood besmear'd,
Without or ear, or eye, or feeling heart;
While close behind them march'd the sallow power
Of desolating famine, who delights

In grass-grown cities, and in desert fields;
And purple-spotted pestilence, by whom

Ev'n friendship scared, in sickening horrour sinks
Each social sense and tenderness of life.
Fixing at last, the sanguinary race

Spread, from the Humber's loud-resounding shore,
To where the Thames devolves his gentle maze,
And with superior arm the Saxon awed.
But superstition first, and monkish dreams,
And monk-directed cloister-seeking kings,
Had ate away his vigour, ate away

His edge of courage, and depress'd the soul
Of conquering freedom, which he once respired.
Thus cruel ages pass'd; and rare appear'd
White-mantled Peace, exulting o'er the vale,
As when with Alfred, from the wilds she came
To policed cities and protected plains.
Thus by degrees the Saxon empire sunk,
Then set entire in Hastings' bloody field.

Thomson's Liberty.

THE NORMAN CONQUEST.

THE Woman-hearted Confessor prepares
The evanescence of the Saxon line.

Hark! 'tis the tolling Curfew!-the stars shine
But of the lights that cherish household cares

;

The ancient Danish standard was a figure of a raven.

And festive gladness, burns not one that dares
To twinkle after that dull stroke of thine,
Emblem and instrument, from Thames to Tyne,
Of force that daunts, and cunning that ensnares !
Yet as the terrors of the lordly bell,

That quench, from hut to palace, lamps and fires,
Touch not the tapers of the sacred quires;
Even so a thraldom, studious to expel
Old laws, and ancient customs to derange,
To Creed or Ritual brings no fatal change.

Wordsworth.

EDWARD THE FIRST'S GRIEF FOR QUEEN
ELEANOR.

THE English powers were in array,
The borders of the kingdom won,
When settling o'er the conqueror's way
The shadow of dark death came on,
It did not thin his banner'd host,-
It took the one he loved the most.
A moment's space he turn'd aside
From his fix'd spirit's steady aim;
And slowly follow'd her who died,

Till to grey Westminster they came;
And wheresoe'er they set her down
He fondly rear'd a cross of stone.
They rested nigh Northampton's bowers,
They rested nigh old Waltham's shade,
And when they drew to London's towers
One more sad halting place they made :-
Who knows not where King Charles's horse
Hath look'd so long o'er Charing Cross ?
They laid her in the minster shade

Who should attend his march no more;
And when the burial rites were paid,
The hour of saddening honours o'er,
King Edward from the shrine set forth
And join'd his army in the north.
Chronicled in a stirring page,

Ruler of spirits stern and rude,-
Blest by a father's shielded age!
Branded by death of Wallace good
But little time could grief and he
In outward show keep company.

Yet went no lone thoughts wandering back
Away from shrine and monument,
To early memory's distant track,

When in that shadowing eastern tent,
The gentle girl of haughty Spain
Could make the Assassin's dagger vain ?
No dream of that Sicilian shore

Crossing the blue sea citron-isled,
Where he had stood with Eleanor

To watch beside their dying child;
Or from Caernarvon's tower'd heights
Shown their young lord to Cambria's knights?
The peasant passes by the way

And looks up to yon graven crest;
The pedlar-woman worn and grey
Sits down upon its step to rest;
But never thinks 'twas rear'd up for
The love of good Queen Eleanor.
For earthly loves do all pass by

And little trace of sorrow leave;
The country lad goes whistling nigh

Where heavy hearts once stopp'd to grieve.
And who, but for the bedesman's lore,
Now knows the name of Eleanor?
Yet it is written,-sure and deep,-
In one Book undiscern'd of men ;
And guarded well, its leaves shall keep
Their trust, until the hour, when
The wakening trumpet's solemn breath
Shall steal upon the ear of death.

Anonymous.

STREAM OF BRITISH HISTORY FROM EDWARD I.

TO ELIZABETH.

I.

"RUIN seize thee, ruthless king!

Confusion on thy banners wait!

Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,

They mock the air with idle state.

Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,

Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail

6 The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets, or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that sat close to the body, and adapted itself to every motion.