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, în 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 Frayer,-
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;» 1 The choicest Warriors of the North! But none for beauty and for worth Like those eight Sons-embosoming Determined thoughts-who, in a ring 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. -With feet that firmly pressed the ground They stood, and girt their Father round; Such was his choice,-no Steed will he Henceforth bestride;-triumphantly He stood 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 higher 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.

1 From the old Ballad.

Who sees him?-many see, and One With unparticipated gaze;

Who 'mong these 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 on a stormy night.
And now, upon a chosen plot
Of rising ground, yon heathy spot!
He takes this day 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,
Stretched out upon the ground he lies;
As if it were his only task

Like Herdsman in the sun to bask,
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 was opprest with fear;
Far, though he bore a valiant name,
His heart was of a timid frame,
And bold if both had been, yet they

He conquered! (9)—Saw we not the Plain, (And flying shall behold again)

Where faith was proved?-while to battle moved
The Standard on the Sacred Wain

On which the grey-haired Barons stood,
And the Infant Heir of Mowbray's blood,
Beneath the saintly Ensigns three,
Stood confident of victory!

Shall Percy blush, then, for his Name?
Must Westmorland be asked with shame
Whose were the numbers, where the loss,
In that other day of Neville's Cross? (10)
When, as the Vision gave command,
The Prior of Durham with holy hand
Saint Cuthbert's Relic did uprear
Upon the point of a lofty spear,
And God descended in his power,

While the Monks prayed in Maiden's Bower.
Less would not at our need be due
To us, who war against the Untrue;-
The delegates of Heaven we rise,
Convoked the impious to chastise;
We, we the sanctities of old

Would re-establish and uphold.»—

-The Chiefs were by his zeal confounded,

But word was given-and the trumpet sounded; Back through the melancholy Host

Went Norton, and resumed his post.

Alas! thought he, and have I borne
This Banner, raised so joyfully,
This hope of all posterity,

Thus to become at once the scorn

Of babbling winds as they go by,

A spot of shame to the sun's bright eye,

To the frail clouds a mockery!

- Even these poor eight of mine would stem;>>

Half to himself, and half to them

He spake, would stem, or quell a force
Ten times their number, man and horse;
This by their own unaided might,
Without their Father in their sight,
Without the Cause for which they fight;
A Cause, which on a needful day
Would breed us thousands brave as they.»>
-So speaking, he his reverend head
Raised towards that Imagery once more:
But the familiar prospect shed
Despondency unfelt before :
A shock of intimations vain,
Dismay, and superstitious pain,

Fell on him, with the sudden thought
Of her by whom the work was wrought
Oh wherefore was her countenance bright
With love divine and gentle light?
She did in passiveness obey,
But her Faith leaned another way.
Ill tears she wept,-I saw them fall,
I overheard her as she spake
Sad words to that mute Animal,

The White Doe, in the hawthorn brake;
She steeped, but not for Jesu's sake,
This Cross in tears:-by her, and One
Unworthier far, we are undone-
Her Brother was it who assailed
Her tender spirit and prevailed.

Her other Parent, too, whose head
In the cold grave hath long been laid,
From reason's earliest dawn beguiled
The docile, unsuspecting Child:
Far back-far back my mind must go
To reach the well-spring of this woe!-
While thus he brooded, music sweet
Was played to cheer them in retreat;
But Norton lingered in the rear :
Thought followed thought—and ere the last
Of that unhappy train was past,
Before him Francis did appear.

«Now when 't is not your aim to oppose,»>
Said he, «< in open field your Foes;
Now that from this decisive day
Your multitude must melt away,
An unarmed Man may come unblamed:-
To ask a grace, that was not claimed
Long as your hopes were high, he now
May hither bring a fearless brow;
When his discountenance can do
No injury-may come to you.
Though in your cause no part I bear,
Your indignation I can share;

Am grieved this backward march to see,
How careless and disorderly!

I scorn your Chieftains, Men who lead,
And yet want courage at their need;
Then look at them with open eyes!
Deserve they further sacrifice?
My Father! I would help to find
A place of shelter, till the rage
Of cruel men do like the wind
Exhaust itself and sink to rest;
Be Brother now to Brother joined!
Admit me in the equipage

Of your misfortunes, that at least,
Whatever fate remains behind,
I may bear witness in my breast
To your nobility of mind!»

«Thou enemy, my bane and blight! Oh! bold to fight the Coward's fight Against all good»-but why declare, At length, the issue of this prayer? Or how, from his depression raised, The Father on his Son had gazed; Suffice it that the Son gave way, Nor strove that passion to allay, Nor did he turn aside to prove His Brothers' wisdom or their loveBut calmly from the spot withdrew; The like endeavours to renew, Should e'er a kindlier time ensue.

CANTO IV.

FROM cloudless ether looking down, The Moon, this tranquil evening, sees A Camp, and a beleaguered Town, And Castle like a stately crown

On the steep rocks of winding Tees;-
And southward far, with moors between,
Hill-tops, and floods, and forests green,
The bright Moon sees that valley small
Where Rylstone's old sequestered Hall
A venerable image yields

Of quiet to the neighbouring fields;
While from one pillared chimney breathes
The smoke, and mounts in silver wreaths.
-The courts are hushed;-for timely sleep
The Grey-hounds to their kennel creep;
The Peacock in the broad ash-tree
Aloft is roosted for the night,

He who in proud prosperity

Of colours manifold and bright
Walked round, affronting the daylight;
And higher still above the bower
Where he is perched, from yon lone Tower
The Hall-clock in the clear moonshine
With glittering finger points at nine.
-Ah! who could think that sadness here
Hath any sway? or pain, or fear?
A soft and lulling sound is heard
Of streams inaudible by day;
The garden pool's dark surface, stirred
By the night insects in their play,
Breaks into dimples small and bright;
A thousand, thousand rings of light,
That shape themselves and disappear
Almost as soon as seen:-and, lo!
Not distant far, the milk-white Doe:
The same fair Creature who was nigh
Feeding in tranquillity,

When Francis uttered to the Maid

His last words in the yew-tree shade;-
The same fair Creature, who hath found

Her way

into forbidden ground;

Where now, within this spacious plot
For pleasure made, a goodly spot,

With lawns and beds of flowers, and shades
Of trellis-work in long arcades,
And cirque and crescent framed by wall
Of close-clipt foliage green and tall,
Converging walks, and fountains gay,
And terraces in trim array,-
Beneath yon cypress spiring high,
With pine and cedar spreading wide
Their darksome boughs on either side,
In open moonlight doth she lie;
Happy as others of her kind,
That, far from human neighbourhood,
Range unrestricted as the wind,

Through park, or chase, or savage wood.

But where at this still hour is she, The consecrated Emily? Even while I speak, behold the Maid Emerging from the cedar shade To open moonshine, where the Doe Beneath the cypress-spire is laid; Like a patch of April snow, Upon a bed of herbage green, Lingering in a woody glade, Or behind a rocky screen; Lonely relic! which, if seen

By the Shepherd, is passed by
With an inattentive eye.

-Nor more regard doth she bestow
Upon the uncomplaining Doe!

Yet the meek Creature was not free,
Erewhile, from some perplexity:
For thrice hath she approached, this day,
The thought-bewildered Emily;
Endeavouring, in her gentle way,
Some smile or look of love to gain,-
Encouragement to sport or play;
Attempts which by the unhappy Maid
Have all been slighted or gainsaid.
Yet is she soothed: the viewless breeze
Comes fraught with kindlier sympathies:
Ere she hath reached yon rustic Shed
Hung with late-flowering woodbine, spread
Along the walls and overhead;

The fragrance of the breathing flowers
Revives a memory of those hours
When here, in this remote Alcove,
(While from the pendant woodbine came
Like odours, sweet as if the same)

A fondly-anxious Mother strove
To teach her salutary fears

And mysteries above her years.

-Yes, she is soothed :-an Image faint-
And yet not faint-a presence bright
Returns to her;-t is that blest Saint

Who with mild looks and language mild
Instructed here her darling Child,
While yet a prattler on the knee,

To worship in simplicity

The invisible God, and take for guide

The faith reformed and purified.

'Tis flown-the vision, and the sense

Of that beguiling influence!

<< But oh! thou Angel from above, Thou Spirit of maternal love,

That stood'st before my eyes, more clear
Than Ghosts are fabled to appear

Sent upon embassies of fear;
As thou thy presence hast to me
Vouchsafed, in radiant ministry
Descend on Francis:-through the air
Of this sad earth to him repair,
Speak to him with a voice, and say,
«That he must cast despair away!»

Then from within the embowered retreat Where she had found a grateful seat Perturbed she issues.-She will go; Herself will follow to the war,

And clasp her Father's knees;-ah, no!

She meets the insuperable bar,
The injunction by her Brother laid;
His parting charge-but ill obeyed!
That interdicted all debate,

All prayer for this cause or for that;
All efforts that would turn aside
The headstrong current of their fate:
Her duty is to stand and wait;
In resignation to abide

The shock, AND FINALLY SECURE
O'ER PAIN AND GRIEF A TRIUMPH PURE.

-She knows, she feels it, and is cheered;
At least her present pangs are checked.
-But now an ancient Man appeared,
Approaching her with grave respect.

Down the smooth walk which then she trod

He paced along the silent sod,
And greeting her thus gently spake,
«An old Man's privilege I take;
Dark is the time-a woeful day!
Dear daughter of affliction, say
How can I serve you? point the way.»

«Rights have you, and may well be bold: You with my Father have grown old

In friendship;-go-from him-from me-
Strive to avert this misery.

This would I beg; but on my mind
A passive stillness is enjoined.

If prudence offer help or aid,

On you is no restriction laid;
You not forbidden to recline

With hope upon the Will divine.»

Where Nerton and his Sons are laid!

Disastrous issue! He had said

«This night yon haughty Towers must yield,
Or we for ever quit the field.
-Neville is utterly dismayed,
For promise fails of Howard's aid;
And Dacre to our call replies
That he is unprepared to rise.
My heart is sick;-this weary pause
Must needs be fatal to the cause.
The breach is open-on the Wall,

This night, the Banner shall be planted!

-T was done:-his Sons were with him-all-
They belt him round with hearts undaunted;
And others follow;-Sire and Son

Leap down into the court-« 'Tis won»>—
They shout aloud—but Heaven decreed
Another close

To that brave deed

Which struck with terror friends and foes!
The friend shrinks back-the foe recoils
From Norton and his filial band;
But they, now caught within the toils,
Against a thousand cannot stand;-
The foe from numbers courage drew,
And overpowered that gallant few.
"A rescue for the Standard!» cried
The Father from within the walls;
But, see, the sacred Standard falls!-
Confusion through the Camp spread wide:
Some fled-and some their fears detained:
But ere the Moon bad sunk to rest
In her pale chambers of the West,
Of that rash levy nought remained.

CANTO V.

HIGH on a point of rugged ground,
Among the wastes of Rylstone Fell,
Above the loftiest ridge or mound
Where Foresters or Shepherds dwell,
An Edifice of warlike frame (11)
Stands single (Norton Tower its name);
It fronts all quarters, and looks round
O'er path and road, and plain and dell,
Dark moor, and gleam of pool and stream,
Upon a prospect without bound.

The summit of this bold ascent,
Though bleak and bare, and seldom free
As Pendle-hill or Pennygent

From wind, or frost, or vapours wet,
Had often heard the sound of glee
When there the youthful Nortons met,
To practise games and archery:
How proud and happy they! the crowd
Of Lookers-on how pleased and proud!
And from the scorching noon-tide sun,
From showers, or when the prize was won,
They to the Watch-tower did repair,
Commodious Pleasure-house! and there
Would mirth run round, with generous fare;

And the stern old Lord of Rylstone-hall, He was the proudest of them all!

But now, his Child, with anguish pale,
Upon the height walks to and fro;
"T is well that she hath heard the tale,
Received the bitterness of woe:

For she had hoped, had hoped and feared,
Such rights did feeble nature claim;
And oft her steps, had hither steered,
Though not unconscious of self-blame;
For she her brother's charge revered,
His farewell words; and by the same,
Yea by her brother's very name,
Had, in her solitude, been cheered.

She turned to him, who with his eye Was watching her while on the height She sate, or wandered restlessly,

O'erburthened by her sorrow's weight;
To him who this dire news had told,
And now beside the Mourner stood
(That grey-hair'd Man of gentle blood,
Who with her Father had grown old
In friendship, rival Hunters they,
And fellow-Warriors in their day);
To Rylstone he the tidings brought;
Then on this place the maid had sought;
And told, as gently as could be,
The end of that sad Tragedy,
Which it had been his lot to see.

To him the Lady turn'd; « You said That Francis lives, he is not dead?»

«Your noble Brother hath been spared, To take his life they have not dared. On him and on his high endeavour The light of praise shall shine for ever! Nor did he (such Heaven's will) in vain His solitary course maintain; Not vainly struggled in the might Of duty, seeing with clear sight; He was their comfort to the last, Their joy till every pang was past.

« I witness'd when to York they cameWhat, Lady, if their feet were tied! They might deserve a good man's blame; But, marks of infamy and shame, These were their triumph, these their pride. Nor wanted 'mid the pressing crowd Deep feeling, that found utterance loud, Lo, Francis comes, there were who cried, 'A Prisoner once, but now set free! 'T is well, for he the worst defied

For sake of natural Piety;

He rose not in this quarrel, he

His Father and his Brothers woo'd,
Both for their own and Country's good,
To rest in peace-he did divide,

He parted from them; but at their side
Now walks in unanimity——

Then peace to cruelty and scorn,
While to the prison they are borne,
Peace, peace to all indignity!

«And so in prison were they laidOh hear me, hear me, gentle Maid, For I am come with power to bless, By scattering gleams, through your distress, Of a redeeming happiness.

Me did a reverent pity move

And privilege of ancient love;
And, in your service, I made bold,-
And entrance gain'd to that strong-hold.

«Your Father gave me cordial greeting; But to his purposes, that burn'd Within him, instantly return'dHe was commanding and entreating, And said, 'We need not stop, my Son! But I will end what is begun; "T is matter which I do not fear To entrust to any living ear. And so to Francis he renew'd His words more calmly thus pursued.

«Might this our enterprise have sped, Change wide and deep the Land had seen, A renovation from the dead,

A spring-tide of immortal green :
The darksome Altars would have blazed
Like stars when clouds are roll'd away;
Salvation to all eyes that gazed,

Once more the Rood had been upraised
To spread its arms, and stand for aye.
Then, then, had I survived to see
New life in Bolton Priory;
The voice restored, the eye of truth
Re-open'd that inspired my youth;
To see her in her pomp array'd;
This Banner (for such vow I made)
Should on the consecrated breast
Of that same Temple, have found rest:
I would myself have hung it high,
Glad 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,
My Son, the last wish of my heart.
-The Banner strive thou to regain;
And, if the endeavour be not vain,
Bear it-to whom if not to thee
Shall I this lonely thought consign?—
Bear it to Bolton Priory,

And lay it on Saint Mary's shrine,—
To wither in the sun and breeze
'Mid those decaying Sanctities.
There let at least the gift be laid,
The testimony there display'd;
Bold proof that with no selfish aim,
But for lost Faith and Christ's dear name,

I helmeted a brow though white,

And took a place in all men's sight;
Yea offer'd up this beauteous Brood,
This fair unrivall'd Brotherhood,