Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1888-08-31
EDWY OF TYNEDALE.


this tale. 1t is a romance, and a
romance is the disembodied spirit of
a story, only sufficiently nnaterialized
to render it perceptible to mortal
senses. Suffice it to know that it be
longs to a country where castles were
a part of the vitality Of the land, not
picturesque cenotaphs of a dead past;
and to those Olden days when men
not having yet learned to delegate
the keeping of their consciences to a
national code Of laws, came nearer to
the principles that underiie those
laws.
1t was a time and country Of arms.
Valor was the saint by whom all
swore, and no death was feared save
a death on the straw. And with va
Tor ruled song. When the clash of
swords was for moment stilled
minnesingers and MINISTRIES sang of
the sweetness of love. Are not the
tenderest blossoms of the year those
that are fostered by the snowdrift?
The Tower of Tynedale had had its
baptisms Of blood and cOnsecratiOns
Of song more frequently, it may well
be, than any other castle within the
same horizon bounds, for it stood on
disputed ground. 1t was q defiance
in stone flung down by an early
Tynedale, and many d time had the
BranksOme men dashed themselves
against it in vain assault. Once, in
deed, the portraits had traitOrOusly
yielded, and the banner of the hated
house of the assailants had tainted
the scattered Tynesdale from the
battlements Of its own tower. That
dishOnOr had been wiped out in the
desperate courage of the recapture,
but its memory reused to new life
the old family feud, which had it's
birth in the buried past.
1t was the thought of that unfOr-
gotten shame that made more lofty
the bearing Of the lord of Tynedale
as he entered the demesne to which
a long absence had made him well
nigh a stranger. The gay laughter
of his retainers, who found it Joy
enough to feel the shadow of Tyne
dale oaks once more above them,
seemed to his ear but to mufie the
angry mutter Of defeated men. Age
itself was forgotten, as the very
thought Of the men OfBranksOme sent
the hand of the old lord to the hilt of
his sword. His steed, responding to
his unconscious touch, bounded for
ward, and carried him in advance Of
his train to the opening in the forest
that commanded q distant view of
the tower.
And there the sunbeams that flashed
from spear head and sparkled from
the ieWeled dresses of lady fair gal
liant knight and waiting esquire sank
into shadows amid the folds of the
BranksOme banner, which Drank
some hands had flung once more
from the battlements of Tynedale
tower. Dark and sullen hung the
silken folds, heavy with shame. And
dark grew the brow Of the lord of
Tynedale-dark even as the shadows
of the forest, when that message met
his eye. The sun sank down and the
night came swiftly to cover alike the
hated banner and the little band rest
ing under the edge Ofthe wooded hill.
An Indifferent forester, to whom it
mattered little whether the flag of
the tower were gules or argent, told
the brief tale of the days fOray. An
attack, a surprise, a weak defense, a
| few hours of desperate hand to hand
fighting within the old walls, and
then the sunset with its revelation;
/ that was all.
The party camped hastily.
eve are helpless" said the old
/ lord, bitterly; ''Within those walls a
handful may laugh at a host; with
out, a handful like this would be but
a dash Of summer raindrOps on the
stones. False stones, they protect
friend and foe alike"
Then spoke Edwy, the heir Of Tyne
dale
''My lord and father, an it please
/ you, will enter the tower. My harp
/ will be my passport, for a minstrel
hath free warrant to hall and bower.
/ Once in, it viii go hard but I find
means to open the gates to our men
+ ere the morning"
The old lords eye flashed. He felt
the fever of youth thrOb in his veins
/ for a moment; then it passed, but he
/ beheld his own spirit kindling keen
and high In the dauntless youth who
faced him.
GO, my child, The honor of Tyne
/ dale is in your hands"
/ So it shortly came to pass that a
= gay young minstrel boldly demanded
admittance for his harp and himself
at the gate where Edwy Of Tynedale
might not pass for his life. A rude
welcome greeted him from the hall.
ENTER, thou minstrel lad. Such a
day as this hath merited a night of
song. What ballads hast thou that
are neW?''