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Not long the Avenger was withstood,Earth help'd him with the cry of blood:St. George was for us, and the mightOf blessed Angels crown'd the right.Loud voice the Land hath utter'd forth,We loudest in the faithful North:Our Fields rejoice, our Mountains ring,Our Streams proclaim a welcoming;Our Strong-abodes and Castles seeThe glory of their loyalty.How glad is Skipton at this hourThough she is but a lonely Tower!Silent, deserted of her best,Without an Inmate or a Guest,Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page, or Groom;We have them at the Feast of Brough'm.How glad Pendragon though the sleepOf years be on her!—She shall reap
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