I would myself have hung it high, Fit offering of glad victory! A shadow of such thought remains To cheer this sad and pensive time; A solemn fancy yet sustains One feeble Being-bids me climb Even to the last one effort more To attest my Faith, if not restore. Hear then,' said he, while I impart, And lay it on Saint Mary's shrine ; But for lost Faith and Christ's dear name, Then Francis answered- Trust thy Son, For, with God's will, it shall be done!' The pledge obtained, the solemn word Thus scarcely given, a noise was heard, And Officers appeared in state To lead the prisoners to their fate. They rose, oh! wherefore should I fear To tell, or, Lady, you to hear? They rose-embraces none were givenThey stood like trees when earth and heaven Are calm; they knew each other's worth, And reverently the Band went forth. They met, when they had reached the door, One with profane and harsh intent Placed there that he might go before And, with that rueful Banner borne Aloft in sign of taunting scorn, Conduct them to their punishment : So cruel Sussex, unrestrained He took it from the soldier's hand; But Francis, soon as he had braved These things, which thus had in the sight "Yet, Lady! shines, through this black night, Then let us leave this dreary place." CANTO SIXTH. WHY comes not Francis?-From the doleful City To Ambrose that! and then a knell -Why comes not Francis? Thoughts of love Why comes he not?-for westward fast And punishment without remorse. With conscious sight, as he swept along- He felt and made a sudden stand. He looked about like one betrayed: What hath he done? what promise made? Oh weak, weak moment! to what end Can such a vain oblation tend, And he the Bearer?-Can he go Carrying this instrument of woe, And find, find any where, a right To excuse him in his Country's sight? No; will not all men deem the change A downward course, perverse and strange? Here is it ;-but how? when? must she, The unoffending Emily, Again this piteous object see? Such conflict long did he maintain, Nor liberty nor rest could gain : His own life into danger brought By this sad burden-even that thought, Exciting self-suspicion strong Swayed the brave man to his wrong. And how-unless it were the sense Of all-disposing Providence, Its will unquestionably shownHow has the Banner clung so fast To a palsied, and unconscious hand; Clung to the hand to which it passed Without impediment? And why But that Heaven's purpose might be known Doth now no hindrance meet his eye, No intervention, to withstand Fulfilment of a Father's prayer Breathed to a Son forgiven, and blest When all resentments were at rest, And life in death laid the heart bare?Then, like a spectre sweeping by, Rushed through his mind the prophecy Of utter desolation made To Emily in the yew-tree shade: He sighed, submitting will and power So forward with a steady will His whole bold carriage (which had quelled All censure, enterprise so bright Was then reviewed, and prompt word given, He should be seized, alive or dead. The troop of horse have gained the height Where Francis stood in open sight. They hem him round-"Behold the proof," They cried, "the Ensign in his hand! He did not arm, he walked aloof! For why?-to save his Father's land;— Worst Traitor of them all is he, A Traitor dark and cowardly!" "I am no Traitor," Francis said, "Though this unhappy freight I bear; And must not part with. But beware ;Err not, by hasty zeal misled, Nor do a suffering Spirit wrong, Whose self-reproaches are too strong!" At this he from the beaten road Retreated towards a brake of thorn, That like a place of vantage showed; And there stood bravely, though forlorn. In self-defence with warlike brow He stood, nor weaponless was now; The Banner clenched; till, from out the Band, Proudly the Horsemen bore away The Standard; and where Francis lay There was he left alone, unwept, And for two days unnoticed slept. For at that time bewildering fear Possessed the country, far and near; But, on the third day, passing by One of the Norton Tenantry Espied the uncovered Corse; the Man Shrunk as he recognised the face, And to the nearest homesteads ran And called the people to the place. -How desolate is Rylstone-hall ! This was the instant thought of all; And if the lonely Lady there Should be; to her they cannot bear This weight of anguish and despair. So, when upon sad thoughts had prest Thoughts sadder still, they deemed it best That, if the Priest should yield assent And no one hinder their intent, Then, they, for Christian pity's sake, In holy ground a grave would make; And straightway buried he should be In the Church-yard of the Priory. Apart, some little space, was made The grave where Francis must be laid. In no confusion or neglect This did they, but in pure respect Bearing the body on a bier; And psalms they sing-a holy sound That hill and vale with sadness hear. But Emily hath raised her head, She must behold!-so many gone, And forth from Rylstone-hall stepped she,- She comes, and in the vale hath heard CANTO SEVENTH. Powers there are That touch each other to the quick-in modes Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive, No soul to dream of.' THOU Spirit, whose angelic hand Is that the Sufferer's last retreat? Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds "Tis done ;-despoil and desolation O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown ; Pools, terraces, and walks are sown With weeds; the bowers are overthrown, Or have given way to slow mutation, While, in their ancient habitation The Norton name hath been unknown. The lordly Mansion of its pride Is stripped; the ravage hath spread wide Erewhile a covert bright and green, And where full many a brave tree stood, And carrying inward a serene And perfect sway, through many a thought Of chance and change, that hath been brought Though stern and rigorous, melancholy ! Of awfulness, is in her face,- Such is her sovereign mien :-her dress And she hath wandered, long and far, Beneath the light of sun and star; Hath roamed in trouble and in grief, Driven forward like a withered leaf, Yea like a ship at random blown To distant places and unknown. But now she dares to seek a haven Among her native wilds of Craven ; Hath seen again her Father's roof, And put her fortitude to proof; The mighty sorrow hath been borne, And she is thoroughly forlorn: Her soul doth in itself stand fast, Sustained by memory of the past And strength of Reason; held above The infirmities of mortal love; Undaunted, lofty, calm, and stable, And awfully impenetrable. And so-beneath a mouldered tree, A self-surviving leafless oak By unregarded age from stroke Of ravage saved-sate Emily. There did she rest, with head reclined, Herself most like a stately flower, (Such have I seen) whom chance of birth When, with a noise like distant thunder, A troop of deer came sweeping by; And, suddenly, behold a wonder! For One, among those rushing deer, A single One, in mid career Hath stopped, and fixed her large full eye Upon the Lady Emily; A Doe most beautiful, clear-white, A radiant creature, silver-bright! Thus checked, a little while it stayed; A flood of tears, that flowed apace, Oh, moment ever blest! O Pair Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's chosen care, This was for you a precious greeting; And may it prove a fruitful meeting! Joined are they, and the sylvan Doe Can she depart? can she forego The Lady, once her playful peer, And now her sainted Mistress dear? And will not Emily receive This lovely chronicler of things Long past, delights and sorrowings? Lone Sufferer! will not she believe The promise in that speaking face; And welcome, as a gift of grace, The saddest thought the Creature brings? That day, the first of a re-union The Lady to her dwelling-place; That nook where, on paternal ground, A habitation she had found, The Master of whose humble board Once owned her Father for his Lord; A hut, by tufted trees defended, Where Rylstone brook with Wharf is blended. When Emily by morning light Went forth, the Doe stood there in sight. That calmed her, cheered, and fortified? Of time, and place, and thought, and deed— In her silent Follower's eyes; Who with a power like human reason Discerns the favourable season, Skilled to approach or to retire,- From look, deportment, voice, or mien, Or in the meadow wandered wide! How soothed, when in thick bower enclosed, Fair Vision! when it crossed the Maid With her Companion, in such frame Of mind, to Rylstone back she came ; And, ranging through the wasted groves, Received the memory of old loves, Undisturbed and undistrest, Into a soul which now was blest When the bells of Rylstone played May on those holy bells be seen, That legend and her Grandsire's name; And oftentimes the Lady meek Had in her childhood read the same; Nor lacked she Reason's firmest power; But with the White Doe at her side Up would she climb to Norton Tower, And thence look round her far and wide, Her fate there measuring;-all is stilled,— The weak One hath subdued her heart; Behold the prophecy fulfilled, |