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Because their sires, perchance by some foul play,
Had failed to ransom them in their sore need
As their own hostages, at the just time.
Or think again of some fair lady’s form,
With hands all jewelled, and soft silken tire,
Enclosed in mortar, while the young blood warm,
Wandered within it, and its eyes’ pure fire
Still kept its native lustre unbedimmed.
These things are sad; but here, as though o’er-brimmed,
Just at their verge two nations’ wrath run o’er,
And cruelty ran riot, centring all its strength
Upon this city’s borders, till at length
Change soothed time’s temper, and, from shore to shore,
The twain became one kingdom, never more
To rage together, but henceforth to be
Helpers together in the world’s great fight
For peace, for freedom, and for amity;
And, above all, for progress, and the right
Man claims of man, has in his nature free
To use the privileges and gifts of light.
Such is thy past, O Carlisle, yet things fair,
Brave Seeds, and noble, large enduring life
Have been its firm attendants; wise and well,
Heroic still through all that age long strife,
Thy sires have borne them and this Border air
With all that nature owns of rare most rife,
Has borne upon its currents the sweet swell
Of Piety calm hearted, and of prayer,
And sweet domestic kindness. “Belted Will,”
The best known name of all of Border fame,
Was a most tender lover, where his heart
Had tender dues and duties to fulfil,