Dedication In Trellised Shed With Clustering Roses Gay, And, Mary! Oft Beside Our Blazing Fire, When Yeas Of Wedded Life Were As A Day Whose Current Answers To The Heart'S Desire, Did We Together Read In Spenser'S Lay How Una, Sad Of Soul In Sad Attire, The Gentle Una, Of Celestial Birth, To Seek Her Knight Went Wandering O'Er The Earth. Ah, Then, Beloved! Pleasing Was The Smart, And The Tear Precious In Compassion Shed For Her, Who, Pierced By Sorrow'S Thrilling Dart, Did Meekly Bear The Pang Unmerited; Meek As That Emblem Of Her Lowly Heart The Milk-White Lamb Which In A Line She Led, And Faithful, Loyal In Her Innocence, Like The Brave Lion Slain In Her Defence. Notes Could We Hear As Of A Faery Shell Attuned To Words With Sacred Wisdom Fraught; Free Fancy Prized Each Specious Miracle, And All Its Finer Inspiration Caught; Till In The Bosom Of Our Rustic Cell, We By A Lamentable Change Were Taught That "Bliss With Mortal Man May Not Abide:" How Nearly Joy And Sorrow Are Allied! For Us The Stream Of Fiction Ceased To Flow, For Us The Voice Of Melody Was Mute. But, As Soft Gales Dissolve The Dreary Snow, And Give The Timid Herbage Leave To Shoot, Heaven'S Breathing Influence Failed Not To Bestow A Timely Promise Of Unlooked-For Fruit, Fair Fruit Of Pleasure And Serene Content From Blossoms Wild Of Fancies Innocent. It Soothed Us It Beguiled Us Then, To Hear Once More Of Troubles Wrought By Magic Spell; And Griefs Whose Aery Motion Comes Not Near The Pangs That Tempt The Spirit To Rebel: Then, With Mild Una In Her Sober Cheer, High Over Hill And Low Adown The Dell Again We Wandered, Willing To Partake All That She Suffered For Her Dear Lord'S Sake. Then, Too, This Song 'Of Mine' Once More Could Please, Where Anguish, Strange As Dreams Of Restless Sleep, Is Tempered And Allayed By Sympathies Aloft Ascending, And Descending Deep, Even To The Inferior Kinds; Whom Forest-Trees Protect From Beating Sunbeams, And The Sweep Of The Sharp Winds; Fair Creatures! To Whom Heaven A Calm And Sinless Life, With Love, Hath Given. This Tragic Story Cheered Us; For It Speaks Of Female Patience Winning Firm Repose; And, Of The Recompense That Conscience Seeks, A Bright, Encouraging, Example Shows; Needful When O'Er Wide Realms The Tempest Breaks, Needful Amid Life'S Ordinary Woes; Hence, Not For Them Unfitted Who Would Bless A Happy Hour With Holier Happiness. He Serves The Muses Erringly And Ill, Whose Aim Is Pleasure Light And Fugitive: Oh, That My Mind Were Equal To Fulfil The Comprehensive Mandate Which They Give Vain Aspiration Of An Earnest Will! Yet In This Moral Strain A Power May Live, Beloved Wife! Such Solace To Impart As It Hath Yielded To Thy Tender Heart. Rydal Mount, Westmoreland, April , . _____________ "Action Is Transitory A Step, A Blow, The Motion Of A Muscle This Way Or That 'Tis Done; And In The After-Vacancy We Wonder At Ourselves Like Men Betrayed: Suffering Is Permanent, Obscure And Dark, And Has The Nature Of Infinity. Yet Through That Darkness (Infinite Though It Seem And Irremoveable) Gracious Openings Lie, By Which The Soul With Patient Steps Of Thought Now Toiling, Waked Now On Wings Of Prayer May Pass In Hope, And, Though From Mortal Bonds Yet Undelivered, Rise With Sure Ascent Even To The Fountain-Head Of Peace Divine." _____________ "They That Deny A God, Destroy Man'S Nobility: For Certainly Man Is Of Kinn To The Beast By His Body; And If He Be Not Of Kinn To God By His Spirit, He Is A Base, Ignoble Creature. It Destroys Likewise Magnanimity, And The Raising Of Humane Nature: For Take An Example Of A Dogg, And Mark What A Generosity And Courage He Will Put On, When He Finds Himself Maintained By A Man, Who To Him Is Instead Of A God, Or Melior Natura. Which Courage Is Manifestly Such, As That Creature Without That Confidence Of A Better Nature Than His Own Could Never Attain. So Man, When He Resteth And Assureth Himself Upon Divine Protection And Favour, Gathereth A Force And Faith Which Human Nature In Itself Could Not Obtain." Lord Bacon. Canto First From Bolton'S Old Monastic Tower The Bells Ring Loud With Gladsome Power; The Sun Shines Bright; The Fields Are Gay With People In Their Best Array Of Stole And Doublet, Hood And Scarf, Along The Banks Of Crystal Wharf, Through The Vale Retired And Lowly, Trooping To That Summons Holy. And, Up Among The Moorlands, See What Sprinklings Of Blithe Company! Of Lasses And Of Shepherd Grooms, That Down The Steep Hills Force Their Way, Like Cattle Through The Budded Brooms; Path, Or No Path, What Care They? And Thus In Joyous Mood They Hie To Bolton'S Mouldering Priory. What Would They There? Full Fifty Years That Sumptuous Pile, With All Its Peers, Too Harshly Hath Been Doomed To Taste The Bitterness Of Wrong And Waste: Its Courts Are Ravaged; But The Tower Is Standing With A Voice Of Power, That Ancient Voice Which Wont To Call To Mass Or Some High Festival; And In The Shattered Fabric'S Heart Remaineth One Protected Part; A Chapel, Like A Wild-Bird'S Nest, Closely Embowered And Trimly Drest; And Thither Young And Old Repair, This Sabbath-Day, For Praise And Prayer. Fast The Churchyard Fills; Anon Look Again, And They All Are Gone; The Cluster Round The Porch, And The Folk Who Sate In The Shade Of The Prior'S Oak! And Scarcely Have They Disappeared Ere The Prelusive Hymn Is Heard: With One Consent The People Rejoice, Filling The Church With A Lofty Voice! They Sing A Service Which They Feel: For 'Tis The Sunrise Now Of Zeal; Of A Pure Faith The Vernal Prime In Great Eliza'S Golden Time. A Moment Ends The Fervent Din, And All Is Hushed, Without And Within; For Though The Priest, More Tranquilly, Recites The Holy Liturgy, The Only Voice Which You Can Hear Is The River Murmuring Near. When Soft! The Dusky Trees Between, And Down The Path Through The Open Green, Where Is No Living Thing To Be Seen; And Through Yon Gateway, Where Is Found, Beneath The Arch With Ivy Bound, Free Entrance To The Churchyard Ground Comes Gliding In With Lovely Gleam, Comes Gliding In Serene And Slow, Soft And Silent As A Dream, A Solitary Doe! White She Is As Lily Of June, And Beauteous As The Silver Moon When Out Of Sight The Clouds Are Driven And She Is Left Alone In Heaven; Or Like A Ship Some Gentle Day In Sunshine Sailing Far Away, A Glittering Ship, That Hath The Plain Of Ocean For Her Own Domain. Lie Silent In Your Graves, Ye Dead! Lie Quiet In Your Churchyard Bed! Ye Living, Tend Your Holy Cares; Ye Multitude, Pursue Your Prayers; And Blame Not Me If My Heart And Sight Are Occupied With One Delight! 'Tis A Work For Sabbath Hours If I With This Bright Creature Go: Whether She Be Of Forest Bowers, From The Bowers Of Earth Below; Or A Spirit For One Day Given, A Pledge Of Grace From Purest Heaven. What Harmonious Pensive Changes Wait Upon Her As She Ranges Round And Through This Pile Of State Overthrown And Desolate! Now A Step Or Two Her Way Leads Through Space Of Open Day, Where The Enamoured Sunny Light Brightens Her That Was So Bright; Now Doth A Delicate Shadow Fall, Falls Upon Her Like A Breath, From Some Lofty Arch Or Wall, As She Passes Underneath: Now Some Gloomy Nook Partakes Of The Glory That She Makes, High-Ribbed Vault Of Stone, Or Cell, With Perfect Cunning Framed As Well Of Stone, And Ivy, And The Spread Of The Elder'S Bushy Head; Some Jealous And Forbidding Cell, That Doth The Living Stars Repel, And Where No Flower Hath Leave To Dwell. The Presence Of This Wandering Doe Fills Many A Damp Obscure Recess With Lustre Of A Saintly Show; And, Reappearing, She No Less Sheds On The Flowers That Round Her Blow A More Than Sunny Liveliness. But Say, Among These Holy Places, Which Thus Assiduously She Paces, Comes She With A Votary'S Task, Rite To Perform, Or Boon To Ask? Fair Pilgrim! Harbours She A Sense Of Sorrow, Or Of Reverence? Can She Be Grieved For Quire Or Shrine, Crushed As If By Wrath Divine? For What Survives Of House Where God Was Worshipped, Or Where Man Abode; For Old Magnificence Undone; Or For The Gentler Work Begun By Nature, Softening And Concealing, And Busy With A Hand Of Healing? Mourns She For Lordly Chamber'S Hearth That To The Sapling Ash Gives Birth; For Dormitory'S Length Laid Bare Where The Wild Rose Blossoms Fair; Or Altar, Whence The Cross Was Rent, Now Rich With Mossy Ornament? She Sees A Warrior Carved In Stone, Among The Thick Weeds, Stretched Alone; A Warrior, With His Shield Of Pride Cleaving Humbly To His Side, And Hands In Resignation Prest, Palm To Palm, On His Tranquil Breast; As Little She Regards The Sight As A Common Creature Might: If She Be Doomed To Inward Care, Or Service, It Must Lie Elsewhere. But Hers Are Eyes Serenely Bright, And On She Moves With Pace How Light! Nor Spares To Stoop Her Head, And Taste The Dewy Turf With Flowers Bestrown; And Thus She Fares, Until At Last Beside The Ridge Of A Grassy Grave In Quietness She Lays Her Down; Gentle As A Weary Wave Sinks, When The Summer Breeze Hath Died, Against An Anchored Vessel'S Side; Even So, Without Distress, Doth She Lie Down In Peace, And Lovingly. The Day Is Placid In Its Going, To A Lingering Motion Bound, Like The Crystal Stream Now Flowing With Its Softest Summer Sound: So The Balmy Minutes Pass, While This Radiant Creature Lies Couched Upon The Dewy Grass, Pensively With Downcast Eyes. But Now Again The People Raise With Awful Cheer A Voice Of Praise; It Is The Last, The Parting Song; And From The Temple Forth They Throng, And Quickly Spread Themselves Abroad, While Each Pursues His Several Road. But Some A Variegated Band Of Middle-Aged, And Old, And Young, And Little Children By The Hand Upon Their Leading Mothers Hung With Mute Obeisance Gladly Paid Turn Towards The Spot, Where, Full In View, The White Doe, To Her Service True, Her Sabbath Couch Has Made. It Was A Solitary Mound; Which Two Spears' Length Of Level Ground Did From All Other Graves Divide: As If In Some Respect Of Pride; Or Melancholy'S Sickly Mood, Still Shy Of Human Neighbourhood; Or Guilt, That Humbly Would Express A Penitential Loneliness. "Look, There She Is, My Child! Draw Near; She Fears Not, Wherefore Should We Fear? She Means No Harm;" But Still The Boy, To Whom The Words Were Softly Said, Hung Back, And Smiled, And Blushed For Joy, A Shame-Faced Blush Of Glowing Red! Again The Mother Whispered Low, "Now You Have Seen The Famous Doe; From Rylstone She Hath Found Her Way Over The Hills This Sabbath Day Her Work, Whate'Er It Be, Is Done, And She Will Depart When We Are Gone; Thus Doth She Keep, From Year To Year, Her Sabbath Morning, Foul Or Fair." Bright Was The Creature, As In Dreams The Boy Had Seen Her, Yea, More Bright; But Is She Truly What She Seems? He Asks With Insecure Delight, Asks Of Himself, And Doubts, And Still The Doubt Returns Against His Will: Though He, And All The Standers-By, Could Tell A Tragic History Of Facts Divulged, Wherein Appear Substantial Motive, Reason Clear, Why Thus The Milk-White Doe Is Found Couchant Beside That Lonely Mound; And Why She Duly Loves To Pace The Circuit Of This Hallowed Place. Nor To The Child'S Inquiring Mind Is Such Perplexity Confined: For, Spite Of Sober Truth That Sees A World Of Fixed Remembrances Which To This Mystery Belong, If, Undeceived, My Skill Can Trace The Characters Of Every Face, There Lack Not Strange Delusion Here, Conjecture Vague, And Idle Fear, And Superstitious Fancies Strong, Which Do The Gentle Creature Wrong. That Bearded, Staff-Supported Sire Who In His Boyhood Often Fed Full Cheerily On Convent-Bread And Heard Old Tales By The Convent-Fire, And To His Grave Will Go With Scars, Relics Of Long And Distant Wars That Old Man, Studious To Expound The Spectacle, Is Mounting High To Days Of Dim Antiquity; When Lady Aaliza Mourned Her Son, And Felt In Her Despair The Pang Of Unavailing Prayer; Her Son In Wharf'S Abysses Drowned, The Noble Boy Of Egremound. From Which Affliction When The Grace Of God Had In Her Heart Found Place A Pious Structure, Fair To See Rose Up, This Stately Priory! The Lady'S Work; But Now Laid Low; To The Grief Of Her Soul That Doth Come And Go, In The Beautiful Form Of This Innocent Doe: Which, Though Seemingly Doomed In Its Breast To Sustain A Softened Remembrance Of Sorrow And Pain, Is Spotless, And Holy, And Gentle, And Bright; And Glides O'Er The Earth Like An Angel Of Light. Pass, Pass Who Will, Yon Chantry Door; And, Through The Chink In The Fractured Floor Look Down, And See A Griesly Sight; A Vault Where The Bodies Are Buried Upright! There, Face By Face, And Hand By Hand, The Claphams And Mauleverers Stand; And, In His Place, Among Son And Sire, Is John De Clapham, That Fierce Esquire, A Valiant Man, And A Name Of Dread In The Ruthless Wars Of The White And Red; Who Dragged Earl Pembroke From Banbury Church And Smote Off His Head On The Stones Of The Porch! Look Down Among Them, If You Dare; Oft Does The White Doe Loiter There, Prying Into The Darksome Rent; Nor Can It Be With Good Intent: So Thinks That Dame Of Haughty Air, Who Hath A Page Her Book To Hold, And Wears A Frontlet Edged With Gold. Harsh Thoughts With Her High Mood Agree Who Counts Among Her Ancestry Earl Pembroke, Slain So Impiously! That Slender Youth, A Scholar Pale, From Oxford Come To His Native Vale, He Also Hath His Own Conceit: It Is, Thinks He, The Gracious Fairy, Who Loved The Shepherd-Lord To Meet In His Wanderings Solitary: Wild Notes She In His Hearing Sang, A Song Of Nature'S Hidden Powers; That Whistled Like The Wind, And Rang Among The Rocks And Holly Bowers. 'Twas Said That She All Shapes Could Wear; And Oftentimes Before Him Stood, Amid The Trees Of Some Thick Wood, In Semblance Of A Lady Fair; And Taught Him Signs, And Showed Him Sights, In Craven'S Dens, On Cumbrian Heights; When Under Cloud Of Fear He Lay, A Shepherd Clad In Homely Grey; Nor Left Him At His Later Day. And Hence, When He, With Spear And Shield, Rode Full Of Years To Flodden-Field, His Eye Could See The Hidden Spring, And How The Current Was To Flow; The Fatal End Of Scotland'S King, And All That Hopeless Overthrow. But Not In Wars Did He Delight, 'This' Clifford Wished For Worthier Might; Nor In Broad Pomp, Or Courtly State; Him His Own Thoughts Did Elevate, Most Happy In The Shy Recess Of Barden'S Lowly Quietness. And Choice Of Studious Friends Had He Of Bolton'S Dear Fraternity; Who, Standing On This Old Church Tower, In Many A Calm Propitious Hour, Perused, With Him, The Starry Sky; Or, In Their Cells, With Him Did Pry For Other Lore, By Keen Desire Urged To Close Toil With Chemic Fire; In Quest Belike Of Transmutations Rich As The Mine'S Most Bright Creations. But They And Their Good Works Are Fled, And All Is Now Disquieted And Peace Is None, For Living Or Dead! Ah, Pensive Scholar, Think Not So, But Look Again At The Radiant Doe! What Quiet Watch She Seems To Keep, Alone, Beside That Grassy Heap! Why Mention Other Thoughts Unmeet For Vision So Composed And Sweet? While Stand The People In A Ring, Gazing, Doubting, Questioning; Yea, Many Overcome In Spite Of Recollections Clear And Bright; Which Yet Do Unto Some Impart An Undisturbed Repose Of Heart. And All The Assembly Own A Law Of Orderly Respect And Awe; But See They Vanish One By One, And Last, The Doe Herself Is Gone. Harp! We Have Been Full Long Beguiled By Vague Thoughts, Lured By Fancies Wild; To Which, With No Reluctant Strings, Thou Hast Attuned Thy Murmurings; And Now Before This Pile We Stand In Solitude, And Utter Peace: But, Harp! Thy Murmurs May Not Cease A Spirit, With His Angelic Wings, In Soft And Breeze-Like Visitings, Has Touched Thee And A Spirit'S Hand: A Voice Is With Us A Command To Chant, In Strains Of Heavenly Glory, A Tale Of Tears, A Mortal Story! Canto Second The Harp In Lowliness Obeyed; And First We Sang Of The Greenwood Shade And A Solitary Maid; Beginning, Where The Song Must End, With Her, And With Her Sylvan Friend; The Friend Who Stood Before Her Sight, Her Only Unextinguished Light; Her Last Companion In A Dearth Of Love, Upon A Hopeless Earth. For She It Was This Maid, Who Wrought Meekly, With Foreboding Thought, In Vermeil Colours And In Gold An Unblest Work; Which, Standing By, Her Father Did With Joy Behold, Exulting In Its Imagery; A Banner, Fashioned To Fulfil Too Perfectly His Headstrong Will: For On This Banner Had Her Hand Embroidered (Such Her Sire'S Command) The Sacred Cross; And Figured There The Five Dear Wounds Our Lord Did Bear; Full Soon To Be Uplifted High, And Float In Rueful Company! It Was The Time When England'S Queen Twelve Years Had Reigned, A Sovereign Dread; Nor Yet The Restless Crown Had Been Disturbed Upon Her Virgin Head; But Now The Inly-Working North Was Ripe To Send Its Thousands Forth, A Potent Vassalage, To Fight In Percy'S And In Neville'S Right, Two Earls Fast Leagued In Discontent, Who Gave Their Wishes Open Vent; And Boldly Urged A General Plea, The Rites Of Ancient Piety To Be Triumphantly Restored, By The Stern Justice Of The Sword! And That Same Banner, On Whose Breast The Blameless Lady Had Exprest Memorials Chosen To Give Life And Sunshine To A Dangerous Strife; That Banner, Waiting For The Call, Stood Quietly In Rylstone-Hall. It Came; And Francis Norton Said, "O Father! Rise Not In This Fray The Hairs Are White Upon Your Head; Dear Father, Hear Me When I Say It Is For You Too Late A Day! Bethink You Of Your Own Good Name: A Just And Gracious Queen Have We, A Pure Religion, And The Claim Of Peace On Our Humanity. 'Tis Meet That I Endure Your Scorn; I Am Your Son, Your Eldest Born; But Not For Lordship Or For Land, My Father, Do I Clasp Your Knees; The Banner Touch Not, Stay Your Hand, This Multitude Of Men Disband, And Live At Home In Blameless Ease; For These My Brethren'S Sake, For Me; And, Most Of All, For Emily!" Tumultuous Noises Filled The Hall; And Scarcely Could The Father Hear That Name Pronounced With A Dying Fall The Name Of His Only Daughter Dear, As On The Banner Which Stood Near He Glanced A Look Of Holy Pride, And His Moist Eyes Were Glorified; Then Did He Seize The Staff, And Say: "Thou, Richard, Bear'St Thy Father'S Name, Keep Thou This Ensign Till The Day When I Of Thee Require The Same: Thy Place Be On My Better Hand; And Seven As True As Thou, I See, Will Cleave To This Good Cause And Me." He Spake, And Eight Brave Sons Straightway All Followed Him, A Gallant Band! Thus, With His Sons, When Forth He Came The Sight Was Hailed With Loud Acclaim And Din Of Arms And Minstrelsy, From All His Warlike Tenantry, All Horsed And Harnessed With Him To Ride, A Voice To Which The Hills Replied! But Francis, In The Vacant Hall, Stood Silent Under Dreary Weight, A Phantasm, In Which Roof And Wall Shook, Tottered, Swam Before His Sight; A Phantasm Like A Dream Of Night! Thus Overwhelmed, And Desolate, He Found His Way To A Postern-Gate; And, When He Waked, His Languid Eye Was On The Calm And Silent Sky; With Air About Him Breathing Sweet, And Earth'S Green Grass Beneath His Feet; Nor Did He Fail Ere Long To Hear A Sound Of Military Cheer, Faint But It Reached That Sheltered Spot; He Heard, And It Disturbed Him Not. There Stood He, Leaning On A Lance Which He Had Grasped Unknowingly, Had Blindly Grasped In That Strong Trance, That Dimness Of Heart-Agony; There Stood He, Cleansed From The Despair And Sorrow Of His Fruitless Prayer. The Past He Calmly Hath Reviewed: But Where Will Be The Fortitude Of This Brave Man, When He Shall See That Form Beneath The Spreading Tree, And Know That It Is Emily? He Saw Her Where In Open View She Sate Beneath The Spreading Yew Her Head Upon Her Lap, Concealing In Solitude Her Bitter Feeling: "Might Ever Son 'Command' A Sire, The Act Were Justified To-Day." This To Himself And To The Maid, Whom Now He Had Approached, He Said "Gone Are They, They Have Their Desire; And I With Thee One Hour Will Stay, To Give Thee Comfort If I May." She Heard, But Looked Not Up, Nor Spake; And Sorrow Moved Him To Partake Her Silence; Then His Thoughts Turned Round, And Fervent Words A Passage Found. "Gone Are They, Bravely, Though Misled; With A Dear Father At Their Head! The Sons Obey A Natural Lord; The Father Had Given Solemn Word To Noble Percy; And A Force Still Stronger, Bends Him To His Course. This Said, Our Tears To-Day May Fall As At An Innocent Funeral. In Deep And Awful Channel Runs This Sympathy Of Sire And Sons; Untried Our Brothers Have Been Loved With Heart By Simple Nature Moved; And Now Their Faithfulness Is Proved: For Faithful We Must Call Them, Bearing That Soul Of Conscientious Daring. There Were They All In Circle There Stood Richard, Ambrose, Christopher, John With A Sword That Will Not Fail, And Marmaduke In Fearless Mail, And Those Bright Twins Were Side By Side; And There, By Fresh Hopes Beautified, Stood He, Whose Arm Yet Lacks The Power Of Man, Our Youngest, Fairest Flower! I, By The Right Of Eldest Born, And In A Second Father'S Place, Presumed To Grapple With Their Scorn, And Meet Their Pity Face To Face; Yea, Trusting In God'S Holy Aid, I To My Father Knelt And Prayed; And One, The Pensive Marmaduke, Methought, Was Yielding Inwardly, And Would Have Laid His Purpose By, But For A Glance Of His Father'S Eye, Which I Myself Could Scarcely Brook. Then Be We, Each And All, Forgiven! Thou, Chiefly Thou, My Sister Dear, Whose Pangs Are Registered In Heaven The Stifled Sigh, The Hidden Tear, And Smiles, That Dared To Take Their Place, Meek Filial Smiles, Upon Thy Face, As That Unhallowed Banner Grew Beneath A Loving Old Man'S View. Thy Part Is Done Thy Painful Part; Be Thou Then Satisfied In Heart! A Further, Though Far Easier, Task Than Thine Hath Been, My Duties Ask; With Theirs My Efforts Cannot Blend, I Cannot For Such Cause Contend; Their Aims I Utterly Forswear; But I In Body Will Be There. Unarmed And Naked Will I Go, Be At Their Side, Come Weal Or Woe: On Kind Occasions I May Wait, See, Hear, Obstruct, Or Mitigate. Bare Breast I Take And An Empty Hand." Therewith He Threw Away The Lance, Which He Had Grasped In That Strong Trance, Spurned It, Like Something That Would Stand Between Him And The Pure Intent Of Love On Which His Soul Was Bent. "For Thee, For Thee, Is Left The Sense Of Trial Past Without Offence To God Or Man; Such Innocence, Such Consolation, And The Excess Of An Unmerited Distress; In That Thy Very Strength Must Lie. O Sister, I Could Prophesy! The Time Is Come That Rings The Knell Of All We Loved, And Loved So Well: Hope Nothing, If I Thus May Speak To Thee, A Woman, And Thence Weak: Hope Nothing, I Repeat; For We Are Doomed To Perish Utterly: 'Tis Meet That Thou With Me Divide The Thought While I Am By Thy Side, Acknowledging A Grace In This, A Comfort In The Dark Abyss. But Look Not For Me When I Am Gone, And Be No Farther Wrought Upon: Farewell All Wishes, All Debate, All Prayers For This Cause, Or For That! Weep, If That Aid Thee; But Depend Upon No Help Of Outward Friend; Espouse Thy Doom At Once, And Cleave To Fortitude Without Reprieve. For We Must Fall, Both We And Ours This Mansion And These Pleasant Bowers, Walks, Pools, And Arbours, Homestead, Hall Our Fate Is Theirs, Will Reach Them All; The Young Horse Must Forsake His Manger, And Learn To Glory In A Stranger; The Hawk Forget His Perch; The Hound Be Parted From His Ancient Ground: The Blast Will Sweep Us All Away One Desolation, One Decay! And Even This Creature!" Which Words Saying, He Pointed To A Lovely Doe, A Few Steps Distant, Feeding, Straying; Fair Creature, And More White Than Snow! "Even She Will To Her Peaceful Woods Return, And To Her Murmuring Floods, And Be In Heart And Soul The Same She Was Before She Hither Came; Ere She Had Learned To Love Us All, Herself Beloved In Rylstone-Hall. But Thou, My Sister, Doomed To Be The Last Leaf On A Blasted Tree; If Not In Vain We Breathed The Breath Together Of A Purer Faith; If Hand In Hand We Have Been Led, And Thou, (O Happy Thought This Day:) Not Seldom Foremost In The Way; If On One Thought Our Minds Have Fed, And We Have In One Meaning Read; If, When At Home Our Private Weal Hath Suffered From The Shock Of Zeal, Together We Have Learned To Prize Forbearance And Self-Sacrifice; If We Like Combatants Have Fared, And For This Issue Been Prepared; If Thou Art Beautiful, And Youth And Thought Endue Thee With All Truth Be Strong; Be Worthy Of The Grace Of God, And Fill Thy Destined Place: A Soul, By Force Of Sorrows High, Uplifted To The Purest Sky Of Undisturbed Humanity!" He Ended, Or She Heard No More; He Led Her From The Yew-Tree Shade, And At The Mansion'S Silent Door, He Kissed The Consecrated Maid; And Down The Valley Then Pursued, Alone, The Armed Multitude. Canto Third Now Joy For You Who From The Towers Of Brancepeth Look In Doubt And Fear, Telling Melancholy Hours! Proclaim It, Let Your Masters Hear That Norton With His Band Is Near! The Watchmen From Their Station High Pronounced The Word, And The Earls Descry, Well-Pleased, The Armed Company Marching Down The Banks Of Were. Said Fearless Norton To The Pair Gone Forth To Greet Him On The Plain "This Meeting, Noble Lords! Looks Fair, I Bring With Me A Goodly Train; Their Hearts Are With You: Hill And Dale Have Helped Us: Ure We Crossed, And Swale, And Horse And Harness Followed See The Best Part Of Their Yeomanry! Stand Forth, My Sons! These Eight Are Mine, Whom To This Service I Commend; Which Way Soe'Er Our Fate Incline, These Will Be Faithful To The End; They Are My All" Voice Failed Him Here "My All Save One, A Daughter Dear! Whom I Have Left, Love'S Mildest Birth, The Meekest Child On This Blessed Earth. I Had But These Are By My Side, These Eight, And This Is A Day Of Pride! The Time Is Ripe. With Festive Din Lo! How The People Are Flocking In, Like Hungry Fowl To The Feeder'S Hand When Snow Lies Heavy Upon The Land." He Spake Bare Truth; For Far And Near From Every Side Came Noisy Swarms Of Peasants In Their Homely Gear; And, Mixed With These, To Brancepeth Came Grave Gentry Of Estate And Name, And Captains Known For Worth In Arms And Prayed The Earls In Self-Defence To Rise, And Prove Their Innocence. "Rise, Noble Earls, Put Forth Your Might For Holy Church, And The People'S Right!" The Norton Fixed, At This Demand, His Eye Upon Northumberland, And Said; "The Minds Of Men Will Own No Loyal Rest While England'S Crown Remains Without An Heir, The Bait Of Strife And Factions Desperate; Who, Paying Deadly Hate In Kind Through All Things Else, In This Can Find A Mutual Hope, A Common Mind; And Plot, And Pant To Overwhelm All Ancient Honour In The Realm. Brave Earls! To Whose Heroic Veins Our Noblest Blood Is Given In Trust, To You A Suffering State Complains, And Ye Must Raise Her From The Dust. With Wishes Of Still Bolder Scope On You We Look, With Dearest Hope; Even For Our Altars For The Prize, In Heaven, Of Life That Never Dies; For The Old And Holy Church We Mourn, And Must In Joy To Her Return. Behold!" And From His Son Whose Stand Was On His Right, From That Guardian Hand He Took The Banner, And Unfurled The Precious Folds "Behold," Said He, "The Ransom Of A Sinful World; Let This Your Preservation Be; The Wounds Of Hands And Feet And Side, And The Sacred Cross On Which Jesus Died. This Bring I From An Ancient Hearth, These Records Wrought In Pledge Of Love By Hands Of No Ignoble Birth, A Maid O'Er Whom The Blessed Dove Vouchsafed In Gentleness To Brood While She The Holy Work Pursued." "Uplift The Standard!" Was The Cry From All The Listeners That Stood Round, "Plant It, By This We Live Or Die." The Norton Ceased Not For That Sound, But Said; "The Prayer Which Ye Have Heard, Much-Injured Earls! By These Preferred, Is Offered To The Saints, The Sigh Of Tens Of Thousands, Secretly." "Uplift It!" Cried Once More The Band, And Then A Thoughtful Pause Ensued: "Uplift It!" Said Northumberland Whereat, From All The Multitude Who Saw The Banner Reared On High In All Its Dread Emblazonry, A Voice Of Uttermost Joy Brake Out: The Transport Was Rolled Down The River Of Were, And Durham, The Time-Honoured Durham, Did Hear, And The Towers Of Saint Cuthbert Were Stirred By The Shout! Now Was The North In Arms: They Shine In Warlike Trim From Tweed To Tyne, At Percy'S Voice: And Neville Sees His Followers Gathering In From Tees, From Were, And All The Little Rills Concealed Among The Forked Hills Seven Hundred Knights, Retainers All Of Neville, At Their Master'S Call Had Sate Together In Raby Hall! Such Strength That Earldom Held Of Yore; Nor Wanted At This Time Rich Store Of Well-Appointed Chivalry. Not Loth The Sleepy Lance To Wield, And Greet The Old Paternal Shield, They Heard The Summons; And, Furthermore, Horsemen And Foot Of Each Degree, Unbound By Pledge Of Fealty, Appeared, With Free And Open Hate Of Novelties In Church And State; Knight, Burgher, Yeoman, And Esquire; And Romish Priest, In Priest'S Attire. And Thus, In Arms, A Zealous Band Proceeding Under Joint Command, To Durham First Their Course They Bear; And In Saint Cuthbert'S Ancient Seat Sang Mass, And Tore The Book Of Prayer, And Trod The Bible Beneath Their Feet. Thence Marching Southward Smooth And Free "They Mustered Their Host At Wetherby, Full Sixteen Thousand Fair To See," The Choicest Warriors Of The North! But None For Beauty And For Worth Like Those Eight Sons Who, In A Ring, (Ripe Men, Or Blooming In Life'S Spring) Each With A Lance, Erect And Tall, A Falchion, And A Buckler Small, Stood By Their Sire, On Clifford-Moor, To Guard The Standard Which He Bore. On Foot They Girt Their Father Round; And So Will Keep The Appointed Ground Where'Er Their March: No Steed Will He Henceforth Bestride; Triumphantly, He Stands Upon The Grassy Sod, Trusting Himself To The Earth, And God. Rare Sight To Embolden And Inspire! Proud Was The Field Of Sons And Sire; Of Him The Most; And, Sooth To Say, No Shape Of Man In All The Array So Graced The Sunshine Of That Day. The Monumental Pomp Of Age Was With This Goodly Personage; A Stature Undepressed In Size, Unbent, Which Rather Seemed To Rise, In Open Victory O'Er The Weight Of Seventy Years, To Loftier Height; Magnific Limbs Of Withered State; A Face To Fear And Venerate; Eyes Dark And Strong; And On His Head Bright Locks Of Silver Hair, Thick Spread, Which A Brown Morion Half-Concealed, Light As A Hunter'S Of The Field; And Thus, With Girdle Round His Waist, Whereon The Banner-Staff Might Rest At Need, He Stood, Advancing High The Glittering, Floating Pageantry. Who Sees Him? Thousands See, And One With Unparticipated Gaze; Who, 'Mong Those Thousands, Friend Hath None, And Treads In Solitary Ways. He, Following Wheresoe'Er He Might, Hath Watched The Banner From Afar, As Shepherds Watch A Lonely Star, Or Mariners The Distant Light That Guides Them Through A Stormy Night. And Now, Upon A Chosen Plot Of Rising Ground, Yon Heathy Spot! He Takes Alone His Far-Off Stand, With Breast Unmailed, Unweaponed Hand. Bold Is His Aspect; But His Eye Is Pregnant With Anxiety, While, Like A Tutelary Power, He There Stands Fixed From Hour To Hour: Yet Sometimes In More Humble Guise, Upon The Turf-Clad Height He Lies Stretched, Herdsman-Like, As If To Bask In Sunshine Were His Only Task, Or By His Mantle'S Help To Find A Shelter From The Nipping Wind: And Thus, With Short Oblivion Blest, His Weary Spirits Gather Rest. Again He Lifts His Eyes; And Lo! The Pageant Glancing To And Fro; And Hope Is Wakened By The Sight, He Thence May Learn, Ere Fall Of Night, Which Way The Tide Is Doomed To Flow. To London Were The Chieftains Bent; But What Avails The Bold Intent? A Royal Army Is Gone Forth To Quell The Rising Of The North; They March With Dudley At Their Head, And, In Seven Days' Space, Will To York Be Led! Can Such A Mighty Host Be Raised Thus Suddenly, And Brought So Near? The Earls Upon Each Other Gazed, And Neville'S Cheek Grew Pale With Fear; For, With A High And Valiant Name, He Bore A Heart Of Timid Frame; And Bold If Both Had Been, Yet They "Against So Many May Not Stay." Back Therefore Will They Hie To Seize A Strong Hold On The Banks Of Tees There Wait A Favourable Hour, Until Lord Dacre With His Power From Naworth Come; And Howard'S Aid Be With Them Openly Displayed. While Through The Host, From Man To Man, A Rumour Of This Purpose Ran, The Standard Trusting To The Care Of Him Who Heretofore Did Bear That Charge, Impatient Norton Sought The Chieftains To Unfold His Thought, And Thus Abruptly Spake; "We Yield (And Can It Be?) An Unfought Field! How Oft Has Strength, The Strength Of Heaven, To Few Triumphantly Been Given! Still Do Our Very Children Boast Of Mitred Thurston What A Host He Conquered! Saw We Not The Plain (And Flying Shall Behold Again) Where Faith Was Proved? While To Battle Moved The Standard, On The Sacred Wain That Bore It, Compassed Round By A Bold Fraternity Of