His thrift thy uselessness will never scorn;
An _Heir-loom_ in his cottage wilt thou be:-- 30
High will he hang thee up, and will adorn
His rustic chimney with the last of Thee!
_SONG_, AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE,
Upon the RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, the SHEPHERD,
to the Estates and Honours of his Ancestors.
High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate.
And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.--
The words of ancient time I thus translate,
A festal Strain that hath been silent long.
From Town to Town, from Tower to Tower,
The Red Rose is a gladsome Flower.
Her thirty years of Winter past;
The Red Rose is revived at last;
She lifts her head for endless spring,
For everlasting blossoming! 10
Both Roses flourish, Red and White.
In love and sisterly delight
The two that were at strife are blended,
And all old sorrows now are ended.--
Joy! joy to both! but most to her
Who is the Flower of Lancaster!
Behold her how She smiles to day
On this great throng, this bright array!
Fair greeting doth she send to all
From every corner of the Hall; 20
But, chiefly, from above the Board
Where sits in state our rightful Lord,
A Clifford to his own restored.
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