-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 solemn glee-
A spirit-soothing company,

That learned of him submissive ways,
And comforted his private days.

-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 solemn glee-
A spirit-soothing company,

That learned of him submissive ways,
And comforted his private days.

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.
He knew the rocks that angels haunt,
Upon the mountains visitant,

He hath kenned them taking wing;
And into caves where faeries sing
He hath entered, and been told
By voices how men lived of old.
Among the heavens his eye can see
The face of thing that is to be;
And, if that men report him right,
He can whisper words of might.
-Now another day is come,
Fitter hope and nobler doom;
He hath thrown aside his crook,
And hath buried deep his book;
Armour rusting in his halls
On the blood of Clifford calls: