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Updated: June 2, 2025
What strange tidings are these from Lincolnshire?" "The house of your purveyor, Sir Robert de Burgh, is burned, his lands wasted. The rebels are headed by lords and knights. Robin of Redesdale, who, methinks, bears a charmed life, has even ventured to rouse the disaffected in my brother's very shire of Warwick."
"My boy; my princely boy, my Edward!" exclaimed Margaret, bursting into tears, all the warrior-queen merged in the remembrance of the fond mother. "Ah, faithful friend! he is so gallant and so beautiful! Oh, he shall reward thee well hereafter!" "May he live to crush these barons, and raise this people!" said the demagogue of Redesdale. "But now, save thyself!"
As we have already seen, the men of Tynedale and Redesdale bore a reputation for lawlessness in the time of the Border "Moss-trooping" days, and until nearly the end of the eighteenth century the tradesmen and guilds of Newcastle would take no apprentice who hailed from either of these dales.
Such a man has been the true head and front of this commotion." "Speak you of Robin of Redesdale, now dead?" asked one of the captains. He was defeated off York, and retired for some days into the woods; but it is he who has enticed the sons of Latimer and Fitzhugh into the revolt, and resigned his own command to the martial cunning of Sir John Coniers. This Robin of Redesdale is no common man.
What strange tidings are these from Lincolnshire?" "The house of your purveyor, Sir Robert de Burgh, is burned, his lands wasted. The rebels are headed by lords and knights. Robin of Redesdale, who, methinks, bears a charmed life, has even ventured to rouse the disaffected in my brother's very shire of Warwick."
"Meanwhile," said Robin of Redesdale, "the commons were oppressed, the people discontented, the Woodvilles plundering, and the king wasting our substance on concubines and minions. We have had cause eno' for our rising!" The earl listened to each speaker in stern silence.
"Thinkest thou that the spirit of a queen lies in me so low and crushed, that I, the descendant of Charlemagne, could forgive the wrongs endured from Warwick and his father? But thou, though wise and loyal, art of the Commons; thou knowest not how they feel through whose veins rolls the blood of kings!" A dark and cold shade fell over the bold face of Robin of Redesdale at these words.
Fox, though it was said to include "all the talents," had been full of nothing but disappointment to his Irish supporters. The Duke of Bedford was, indeed, a great improvement on Lord Hardwicke, and Mr. Ponsonby on Lord Redesdale, as Chancellor, and the liberation of the political prisoners confined since 1803 did honour to the new administration.
Saints defend her! She is here, disguised, in London!" "Margaret! our hero-queen! the manlike woman!" exclaimed Allerton, clasping his hands. "Then be sure that " He stopped, and abruptly taking Adam's arm, drew him aside, while Henry continued to read "Master Warner, we may trust thee, thou art one of us; thou art sent here, I know; by Robin of Redesdale, we may trust thee?"
Hemans left Redesdale to return to Dublin, so as to be near her physician. She could only leave her bed to be laid upon a couch. The sufferings were great, but there was no complaint. She would never allow those around her to speak of her state as one calling for pity. She seemed to live partly on earth, partly in heaven.
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