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 fail'd him here,—
'My all save one, a daughter dear!
Whom I have left, the mildest birth,
The meekest child on this bless'd 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.'

The Norton fix'd, 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, or 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 unfurl'd

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 list'ners 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 preferr'd,
Is offer'd 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 rear'd on high
In all its dread emblazonry,
With tumult and indignant rout

A voice of uttermost joy broke out :

The transport was roll'd down the river of Were, And_Durham, the time honour'd Durham, did hear,

And the towers of Saint Cuthbert were stirr'd 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
Conceal'd among the forkèd 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,
Came foot and horseman of each degree,
Unbound by pledge of fealty;
Appear'd with free and open hate
Of novelties in church and state;
Knight, burgher, yeoman, and esquire,
And the 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 St. 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 muster'd their host at Wetherby,

Full sixteen thousand fair to see ;'
The choicest warriors of the North:
But none for undisputed worth

Like those eight sons; who, in a ring,
Each with a lance, erect and tall,
A falchion, and a buckler small,
Stood by their sire on Clifford Moor,
In youthful beauty flourishing

To guard the standard which he bore.
With feet that firmly press'd the ground
They stood, and girt their father round;
Such was his choice,- no steed will he
Henceforth bestride; triumphantly
He stood upon the verdant 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 undepress'd in size,
Unbent, which rather seem'd to rise,
In open victory o'er the weight
Of seventy years, to higher height ;
Magnific limbs of wither'd state,
A face to fear and venerate,
Eyes dark and strong-
Rich locks of silver hair thick spread,
Which a brown morion half conceal'd,
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.

and on his head

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 watch'd 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 unmail'd, unweapon'd hand.
Bold is his aspect; but his eye
Is pregnant with anxiety,

While, like a tutelary power,

He there stands fix'd, from hour to hour.
Yet sometimes, in more humble guise,
Stretch'd 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 waken'd by the sight

That he thence may learn, ere fall of night,
Which way the tide is doom'd 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 oppress'd with fear;
For, though he bore a valiant name,
His heart was of a timid frame.

And bold if both had been, yet they

Against so many may not stay ;’

And therefore will retreat to seize

A stronghold on the banks of Tees;
There wait a favourable hour,

Until Lord Dacre with his power

From Naworth comes; and Howard's aid

Be with them- openly display'd.

While through the host, from man to man,
A rumour of this purpose ran,
The standard giving 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 often hath the strength of Heaven