在那令人窒息的大厅里，吟游诗人高高地歌唱着，爱蒙的低语与歌声混在一起。我这样翻译古代的诗句，一种长久沉默的节日曲调:“从一座城到另一座城，从一座塔到另一座塔，红玫瑰是一种令人愉快的花。三十年的冬天过去了，红玫瑰终于复活了;她抬起头，等待无尽的春天，等待永恒的花朵;两朵玫瑰，红的和白的都盛开;在爱和姐妹般的喜悦中，两朵曾经争吵的玫瑰融合在一起，所有的旧烦恼现在都结束了。——快乐!祝双方都快乐!但最重要的是她是兰开斯特的花朵!看她今天对着这一大群人，这一排明亮的队伍微笑!她从大厅的每一个角落向所有的人致以亲切的问候;但主要是从甲板上，我们的合法的主，一个克利福，他自己的恢复!“他们带着旗帜、长矛和盾牌来了; And it was proved in Bosworth-field. Not long the Avenger was withstood-- Earth helped him with the cry of blood: St. George was for us, and the might Of blessed Angels crowned the right. Loud voice the Land has uttered forth, We loudest in the faithful north: Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring, Our streams proclaim a welcoming; Our strong-abodes and castles see The glory of their loyalty. "How glad is Skipton at this hour-- Though lonely, a deserted Tower; Knight, squire, and yeoman, page and groom, We have them at the feast of Brough'm. How glad Pendragon--though the sleep Of years be on her!--She shall reap A taste of this great pleasure, viewing As in a dream her own renewing. Rejoiced is Brough, right glad, I deem, Beside her little humble stream; And she that keepeth watch and ward Her statelier Eden's course to guard; They both are happy at this hour, Though each is but a lonely Tower:-- But here is perfect joy and pride For one fair House by Emont's side, This day, distinguished without peer, To see her Master and to cheer-- Him, and his Lady-mother dear! "Oh! it was a time forlorn When the fatherless was born-- Give her wings that she may fly, Or she sees her infant die! Swords that are with slaughter wild Hunt the Mother and the Child. Who will take them from the light? --Yonder is a man in sight-- Yonder is a house--but where? No, they must not enter there. To the caves, and to the brooks, To the clouds of heaven she looks; She is speechless, but her eyes Pray in ghostly agonies. Blissful Mary, Mother mild, Maid and Mother undefiled, Save a Mother and her Child! "Now who is he that bounds with joy On Carrock's side, a Shepherd-boy? No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass Light as the wind along the grass. Can this be He who hither came In secret, like a smothered flame? O'er whom such thankful tears were shed For shelter, and a poor man's bread! God loves the Child; and God hath willed That those dear words should be fulfilled, The Lady's words, when forced away The last she to her Babe did say: "My own, my own, thy fellow-guest I may not be; but rest thee, rest, For lowly shepherd's life is best!" "Alas! when evil men are strong No life is good, no pleasure long. The Boy must part from Mosedale's groves, And leave Blencathara's rugged coves, And quit the flowers that summer brings To Glenderamakin's lofty springs; Must vanish, and his careless cheer Be turned to heaviness and fear. --Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise! Hear it, good man, old in days! Thou tree of covert and of rest For this young Bird that is distrest; Among thy branches safe he lay, And he was free to sport and play, When falcons were abroad for prey. "A recreant harp, that sings of fear And heaviness in Clifford's ear! I said, when evil men are strong, No life is good, no pleasure long, A weak and cowardly untruth! Our Clifford was a happy Youth, And thankful through a weary time, That brought him up to manhood's prime. --Again he wanders forth at will, And tends a flock from hill to hill: His garb is humble; ne'er was seen Such garb with such a noble mien; Among the shepherd-grooms no mate Hath he, a Child of strength and state! Yet lacks not friends for simple glee, Nor yet for higher sympathy. To his side the fallow-deer Came and rested without fear; The eagle, lord of land and sea, Stooped down to pay him fealty; And both the undying fish that swim Through Bowscale-tarn did wait on him; The pair were servants of his eye In their immortality; And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright, Moved to and fro, for his delight