The Romance of the Charley Family - Appendix I

Appendix I

The Chorley Family

These lines were extracted from a book entitled “Fishers Drawing-room Scrap Book” in the possession of Miss Dobbs of Glenariff Lodge, Co. Antrim. The Pretender’s friends were defeated at Preston. Richard Chorley of Chorley was taken prisoner and put to death in 1716.

1

So the banquet is over but one only one

Remains when the mirth of the revel is done.

His forehead is dark as he paces the hall,

He is bound by an oath that he cannot recall.

2

The youngest, though chief of his house and his line

He has pledged the Stuarts health in his own Spanish wine.

The sword on the wall must start forth from its sheath.

For Richard of Chorley is bound to the death.

3

He is brave as the bravest that ever wore brand,

Yet downcast his eye and reluctant his hand.

He lingers enthralled by that tenderest tie,

For whose sake the bold are unwilling to die.

4

A step in the distance, a shade in the gloom,

And a lady thrice lovely has entered the room.

He can see her lip quiver, can hear her heart beat,

She kneels on the floor, and she sinks at his feet

5

He dares not look on her, he turns from her now,

For the moonlight falls clear on her beautiful brow,

One word from those lips, one glance from those eyes,

‘Tis for life or death – if he leaves her, she dies.

6

‘Tis for love or for honour, a woman for love

Will yield every hope upon earth or above.

But a soldier has honour – Life’s first and last chord

Hey may die for his love, but he lives for his word.

 7

He belts on his sword, and he springs on his steed,

And the spur is dyed red as he urges its speed;

The road flies before him, he passes the wind

But he leaves not the thoughts that oppress him behind.

8

Alas for White Rose, its hour is gone by,

Its soil is unfriendly, inclement its sky,

The day of its pride, and its beauty is o’er,

The White Rose of England will blossom no more.

9

Alas for its victims! The green fields are spread

The green fields of England with dying and dead,

But deeper the wail where the prison walls stand

Where the captives are gathered with gyves on each hand.

10

The daybreak is bright, as with joy overspread,

The face of the east wears a glorious red,

The dews on the hawthorn the early white flowers,

Smile out a sweet welcome to morning’s glad hours.

11

But dark looms the gibbet on high in the air

While the shudd’ring gaze turns from the sight that is there,

It is honour – degraded – a mock for the crowd

Can this be the doom of the young and the proud?

12

‘Tis over – the rebels are left on the tree!

One sits ‘neath their shadow, her head on her knee,

A cloak o’er the face of the mourner is spread,

They raise it to look – and they look on the dead.

13

Young Richard of Chorley, she follows thee on

But thy life was her own, and with thine it is gone,

Both true to their faith, both so fair and so young.

Woe, Woe for the fate which on this world is flung.

Now for their sake, when summer’s sweet children unclose

Give a moment’s sad thought to the fatal White Rose.