OK, I admit it, this poem is nothing more than a shameless clone of Sir Walter Scott’s much loved Lochinvar, which begins as follows:

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best…

So how do I justify such blatant plagiarism? Well, for a start, it’s not exactly plagiarism, which is implying original authorship without adequate acknowledgement – this is the acknowledgement! But my main justification is that I am trying to do for the West Riding of Yorkshire what Scott did for Scotland – but I’m not much of a poet, so I’m recruiting his help. I don’t suppose the end result will mean much to anybody, but me, and a few people who are interested in the history of Yorkshire. That said, in the context of whole poem about Eubulo, it works well, as it helps to bring the character to life far better than my unaided verse could ever do.

OH! young Eubulo is come from Knockyn,
To serve as the squire of Earl De Warenne;
But save his good broadsword he weapons had none.
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone.
So faithful to friend but so feared by his foe,
There ne’er was a squire like the young Eubulo.

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Don river where ford there was none,
But ere he alighted at Pontefract gate,
Fair Alice was ready to come with him straight:
For life with Lancaster was nothing but woe,
And long had she dreamed of the brave Eubulo.

The bride kissed the goblet; the squire took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup,
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her hand ere her mother could say no,—
‘Now let us elope!’ said young Eubulo.

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
‘She is won! I have triumphed, but it’s time to go;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,’ quoth young Eubulo.

There was mounting among the armed knights of Lancaster;
To Ackworth and Barnsdale they rode ever faster;
There was racing and chasing along Ermine Street,
But Eubulo’s horse was too strong and too fleet .
So daring in love and so dauntless to foe,
Have you e’er heard of gallant like young Eubulo?