Thomas Percy,
Hermit of Warkworth
(1846)
“ The cliff, the vault, but chief the tomb, Attract the wond’ring pair: Eager they ask what hapless dame Lies sculptur’d here so fair. The hermit sigh’d, the hermit wept, For sorrow scarce could speak; At length he wip’d the trickling tears ’That all bedew’d his cheek: Alas! my children, human life Is but a vale of woe; And very mournful is the tale, Which ye so fain would know. THE HERMIT’S TALE. Young lord, thy grandsire had a friend In days of youthful fame; Yon distant hills were his domains: Sir Bertram was his name. ”
