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| HAIL! centre-county of our land, and known | |
| For matchless worth and valor all thine own,— | |
| Warwick! renowned for him who best could write, | |
| Shakespeare the Bard, and him so fierce in fight, | |
| Guy, thy brave Earl, who made whole armies fly, | 5 |
| And giants fall,—who has not heard of Guy? | |
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| Him sent his Lady, matchless in her charms, | |
| To gain immortal glory by his arms, | |
| Felice the fair, who, as her bard maintained, | |
| The prize of beauty over Venus gained; | 10 |
| For she, the goddess, had some trivial blot | |
| That marred some beauty, which our nymph had not: | |
| But this apart,—for in a favorite theme | |
| Poets and lovers are allowed to dream,— | |
| Still we believe the lady and her knight | 15 |
| Were matchless both,—he in the glorious fight, | |
| She in the bower by day, and festive hall by night. | |
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| Urged by his love, the adventurous Guy proceeds, | |
| And Europe wonders at his warlike deeds; | |
| Whatever prince his potent arm sustains, | 20 |
| However weak, the certain conquest gains; | |
| On every side the routed legions fly, | |
| Numbers are nothing in the sight of Guy: | |
| To him the injured make their sufferings known, | |
| And he relieved all sorrows but his own; | 25 |
| Ladies who owed their freedom to his might | |
| Were grieved to find his heart another’s right. | |
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| The brood of giants, famous in those times, | |
| Fell by his arm, and perished for their crimes. | |
| Colbrand the strong, who by the Dane was brought, | 30 |
| When he the crown of good Athelstan sought, | |
| Fell by the prowess of our champion brave, | |
| And his huge body found an English grave. | |
| |
| But what to Guy were men or great or small, | |
| Or one or many?—he despatched them all; | 35 |
| A huge dun cow, the dread of all around, | |
| A master-spirit in our hero found: | |
| ’T was desolation all about her den,— | |
| Her sport was murder, and her meals were men. | |
| At Dunmore Heath the monster he assailed, | 40 |
| And o’er the fiercest of his foes prevailed. | |
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| Nor feared he lions, more than lions fear | |
| Poor trembling shepherds, or the sheep they shear; | |
| A fiery dragon, whether green or red | |
| The story tells not, by his valor bled: | 45 |
| What more I know not, but by these ’t is plain | |
| That Guy of Warwick never fought in vain. | |
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| When much of life in martial deeds was spent, | |
| His sovereign lady found her heart relent, | |
| And gave her hand. Then all was joy around, | 50 |
| And valiant Guy with love and glory crowned; | |
| Then Warwick Castle wide its gate displayed, | |
| And peace and pleasure this their dwelling made. | |
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| Alas! not long,—a hero knows not rest; | |
| A new sensation filled his anxious breast. | 55 |
| His fancy brought before his eyes a train | |
| Of pensive shades, the ghosts of mortals slain; | |
| His dreams presented what his sword had done; | |
| He saw the blood from wounded soldiers run, | |
| And dying men, with every ghastly wound, | 60 |
| Breathed forth their souls upon the sanguine ground. | |
| |
| Alarmed at this, he dared no longer stay, | |
| But left his bride, and as a pilgrim gray, | |
| With staff and beads, went forth to weep and fast and pray. | |
| In vain his Felice sighed,—nay, smiled in vain; | 65 |
| With all he loved he dare not long remain, | |
| But roved he knew not where, nor said, “I come again.” | |
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| The widowed countess passed her years in grief, | |
| But sought in alms and holy deeds relief; | |
| And many a pilgrim asked, with many a sigh, | 70 |
| To give her tidings of the wandering Guy. | |
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| Perverse and cruel! could it conscience ease, | |
| A wife so lovely and so fond to tease? | |
| Or could he not with her a saint become, | |
| And, like a quiet man, repent at home? | 75 |
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| How different those who now this seat possess! | |
| No idle dreams disturb their happiness: | |
| The lord who now presides o’er Warwick’s towers | |
| To nobler purpose dedicates his powers; | |
| No deeds of horror fill his soul with fear, | 80 |
| Nor conscience drives him from a home so dear: | |
| The lovely Felice of the present day | |
| Dreads not her lord should from her presence stray; | |
| He feels the charm that binds him to a seat | |
| Where love and honor, joy and duty meet. | 85 |
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| But forty days could Guy his fair afford; | |
| Not forty years would weary Warwick’s lord: | |
| He better knows how charms like hers control | |
| All vagrant thoughts, and fill with her the soul; | |
| He better knows that not on mortal strife | 90 |
| Or deeds of blood depend the bliss of life, | |
| But on the ties that first the heart enchain, | |
| And every grace that bids the charm remain: | |
| Time will, we know, to beauty work despite, | |
| And youthful bloom will take with him its flight; | 95 |
| But love shall still subsist, and, undecayed, | |
| Feel not one change of all that time has made. | |
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