Part 12 (1/2)

Here we conclude this desultory outline of the history of Bonville, and as our feet make homeward, many thoughts haunt us over the marvels--for they are nothing less--that fill its phases of human relation. In the middle of its recital, which concluded with the untimely death of Lord Bonville, we said it was a relief to turn aside from the atrocities mingled with the strife of the Roses. In its continuation, for a while, under the more settled rule of Tudor, there were comparatively fewer horrors to chronicle, but the union of the royal houses, emblemed by the rival flowers, was cemented with blood, its ghastly trail followed into the spirit of the new dynasty, and gathering strength as the three generations of Grey pa.s.sed, culminated at length in a tragedy for size and importance unsurpa.s.sed in the annals of our national history. Its last representative, although a subject only, had wedded the grand-daughter of one, and cousin of another of the reigning Kings, and who had herself also been a Queen in her own right. Here the topmost pinnacle of alliance with the highest worldly station had been reached, but only to experience the fate of that often-witnessed terrific downfall, which follows the promptings engendered by the unsatisfied ambition of attaining to such dangerous alt.i.tude. Within three short years, three headless dukes--of foremost station in their native land, and allied to each other by ties of relations.h.i.+p--pa.s.sed from the scaffold on Tower Hill to obscure and unmarked graves in the little Chapel of that fortress; and with them went also, after experiencing the same terrible ordeal, following her youthful husband, a young and guileless victim, almost the sole representative of the new stock, into which the last tender branch of the extinct house of Bonville had been engraffed.

Enough, sayest thou, friend of mine, of this harrowing relation;--quite so,--our story is ended. Life was indeed intended for happier results than these, and how much better the simple delights, enjoyments and pleasures of unenvied station, that in their possession are ever

”Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne;”

and unsmote by the glamour of the basilisk Ambition, whose fascination lives on the ever unsatisfied desire for fame or station, until often, when too late and past recall, the illusion vanishes as the victim disappears over the verge of the unseen, treacherous precipice of irretrievable ruin.

The shadows grow deeper between the hedgerows as we saunter homeward, a dewy mist is settling down the valley, and a cheery glint salutes us here and there from the cottage windows as we pa.s.s along. Listen! What melody do we hear, with greeting so soft and soothing? Aye, artless as it is, that, which in this world, for sweetness knows no rival, even

A MOTHER'S SONG.

'Tis eve, and dusky twilight falls; Here is a home that men call poor, A glimmer lights its humble walls, A strain comes through its half-closed door; Sweet as from Sappho's soul might spring, Song, none but mother's voice may sing.

Look through the cas.e.m.e.nt dim and old, A shadow fronts the ingle's glow, Whose arms a tiny form enfold, Sits gently rocking to and fro; With cadence measured to its swing, Comes song that mothers only sing.

Her tears fall on the baby's brow, Too full her heart with very joy, Hark! with her voice is blending now, The sleepy murmurs of her boy; Faint--fainter--hushed and slumbering, By song but mother's lips may sing.

Why bends, O friend, thy brow with thought, At glimpse of Paradise so fair?

Doth memory fill thy heart unsought With echo, whose 'divine despair'

Brings sadness past imagining?

Song that thy mother used to sing!

O soft sweet voice, O simple strain, Where love ne'er bids the measure cease, Until the charm of its refrain, Lulls the complaining soul to peace; Come back again on angel wing, O song my mother used to sing!

It may not be, earth hath one heaven, Our childhood's days, a mother's care, When life is o'er, will other given Restore to us these joys so rare?

Yes, and its pure delight shall bring, The songs our mothers used to sing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MONUMENT TO HENRY STAFFORD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, K G. BRITFORD CHURCH, NEAR SALISBURY.]

UNDER THE HOOF OF THE WHITE BOAR.

The fair, busy, if not large city of New Sarum or Salisbury, has since its foundation, occupied an important place in our national history, resulting from the heritage of its natural position, which may be described as forming the Gate or Key to the peninsula of the West.

Besides this, it is the inheritor of, and is a.s.sociated with, some of the oldest traditions of the land before the pen of history has left record, the venerable fame of previous ages having descended and added distinguished interest to its surroundings, while the marvellous circle of Stonehenge finds its place close by, as also its own antient progenitor, the equally remarkable hill-fortressed city of Old Sarum,--circ.u.mstances that attest the importance in which the locality was regarded, wherein its city of to-day is situate.

Succeeding events have also added their witness to this distinction.

The foundation and building of its beautiful and unique Cathedral, begun, completed, and finished in one harmonious design, without let or hindrance, and the afterward crowning it with the magnificent spire, the finest in the kingdom, and with very doubtful rivalry elsewhere,--its notable succession of bishops,--and the number of distinguished personages, who through the following centuries down to these present days, have held high rule as statesmen and administrators in our land, who have sought the privilege of having its name as an affix to their t.i.tles of honour, Longspee, Montacute, Nevill, and Cecil,--have interwoven and sustained the claim of its reputation into almost every period of our national annals.

Yet, notwithstanding the importance of its position, it is singular, no very important or striking incident connected with the national government, such as has made famous many other localities, has occurred within, or immediately near it. The reasons for this may not be far to seek. The sea coasts on either side of it offered facilities for martial transit or commercial enterprise, which Salisbury could not possess, and so the tide of action, as a rule, pa.s.sed at a distance, but its great advantages as a central position for the purposes of _rendez-vous_, warlike or otherwise, have always been used and made available.

Lying on the high road between London and the Land's End, it has naturally received many royal visits, from that of the young king Henry III., at the consecration of the cathedral in 1225, downward, at divers times and on various errands, civil, military, or with darker and sanguinary intent to take vengeance on their enemies; and it is the result of one of these vindictive errands that brought a king to Salisbury, and the circ.u.mstances preceding and following it, that form the basis of our homely narrative.

Of the very antient and ill.u.s.trious family of Stafford, whose origin is contemporary with the Conqueror, for the purposes of our little history the first we need mention is Thomas Stafford, fourth Baron and third Earl of that name, who lived in the reign of Richard II. He allied himself with a lady of direct royal descent, Anne Plantagenet, eldest daughter of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester, sixth son of king Edward III., by his wife Eleanor, eldest daughter and coheir of Humphrey de Bohun, the last Earl of Hereford, Ess.e.x, and Northampton, who died in 1372.

Mary, the other daughter and coheir of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Ess.e.x, &c., as aforesaid, was married to Henry Plantagenet, Earl of Derby, eldest son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, fourth son of king Edward III., who was successively created Earl and Duke of Hereford, and ultimately ascended the throne as Henry IV., surnamed 'of Bolingbroke.'