The Romance of the Charley Family - Appendix II

Appendix II (From “Verses and Notes” by John Wilson)

 Richard Chorley’s Farewell

The autumn winds are sighing, the clouds hang like a pall,

As Richard Chorley rides away from his ancestral hall,

With Charles, his son, and Chorley lads – a goodly company, -

All pledged to fight for James’ right, our England’s king to be.

Right noble look the sire and son, but grief is in their eyes,

For they are leaving here behind all they on earth most prize;

The wife – the mother – so beloved – in yonder doorway stands,

Her face with sorrow is as pale as her own milk-white hands.

And now the gallant horsemen in saddle turn once more

To gaze their last upon the face still seen within that door;

A last fond salutation, and, as they speed away,

She calls to mind with tearful pride her lord’s last words to-day;

“Farewell, farewell, mine own dear wife, farewell mine ancient hall,

My rightful king demands my aid, and I obey his call;

With Standish* and with Anderton* I don the White Cockade;

Our cause is just, and Heaven, we trust, our enterprise will aid.

“Our fathers fought for hapless Charles, and suffered much for him,

But nought the rebel-victors did their loyalty could dim;

And we will be as faithful to Charles’ grandson dear

The fair White Rose of England, St. George’s Chevalier.

“Shall royal James in exile dwell, whilst George doth wear his crown

The crown that, ever in the past, from sire to son came down?

What sorry Englishmen are these – how they the name disgrace,

Who set aside their native for one of foreign race.

“But, oh! It cuts me to the heart to leave thee here to-day,

Deprived of him – thine only son – our house’s single stay;

But well thou knowest, sweetheart mine, the song I sang of yore;

“I could not love thee, dear, so much; loved I not honour more.”

“And if it be that we must fall – as better men have done -

And thou shouldst be bereft alike of husband and of son,

O wife of mine, do not repine at thine unhappy fate,

But pray for us, and patiently reunion await.

“What sayest thou? – that if I die, my death will be thine own?

I was a fool to speak of death to thee, so morbid grown.

We shall not die – our Charles and I – when James hath won the day,

We’ll meet again at Chorley Hall, our troubles gone for aye.

“Farewell, farewell, dear Catherine! O chase away those tears,

And smile as thou were want to in bygone happy years,

My fathers bore above their helms the Silver Saker’s Head.

This White Cockade thine hand hath made shall adorn my brows instead.”

The summer is shining on what was once a park

On fish-pond strewn with lilies – each like a fairy bargue;

On farmhouse, barn, and stable, and grey old terrace wall,

But now its rays no longer fall on ancient Chorley Hall!

Before the Norman William gave to Roger of Poictou

The lands which ‘twixt the Mersey and the Ribble meet our view,

The Chorley lived at Chorley Hall – of  Saxon speech and race, -

With eyes the colour of the flowers that on their shield we trace.

Alas! That here no longer dwells that ancient family!

That trees now grow where once arose their mansion fair to see!

The massive stone there lying, once grace its outer wall,

But vanished every vestige else of bygone Chorley Hall.

The gallant few who strove to win for James his father’s crown,

By Forster’s foolish slothfulness were trapped in Preston town,

With Mackintosh for leader, or Derwentwater’s Earl,

They would have won renown at least, in battle’s fiery whirl.

Alas! for Richard Chorley and his sore-stricken wife,

For when she saw him meet his doom the sight destroyed her life,

And Liverpool’s dark prison walls heard Charles’ dying prayer,

Ah me! that in a felon’s cell should perish Chorley’s heir.

Though Richard on the scaffold died, and Charles in loathsome jail,

Speak ye of them with reverence – let none against them rail.

They ventured all and died for him they deem their lawful king,

And ever to their memory a subtle charm doth cling.

And they are not forgotten by the town whose name they bore,

Their ancient coat is figured high above the Town Hall door.

The Council Chamber it adorns; and in the town’s own arms

The Chorley charge – the corn-flower – displays its simple charms.

*Ralph Standish of Standish; Sir Francis Anderton, Baronet of Lostock Hall