She is relieved from hope and dread,
Though suffering in extremity.
For she had hoped-had hoped and fear'd-
Such rights did feeble nature claim;
And oft her steps had hither steer'd,
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 cheer'd.
She turn'd to him, who, with his eye,
Was watching her while on the height
She sate, or wander'd restlessly,
O'erburden'd 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 this 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 came: What, 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. "Lo Francis comes!" the people cried, "A prisoner once, but now set free! 'Tis 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 laid -
Oh hear me, hear me, gentle maid!
For I am come with power to bless,
To scatter gleams through your distress
Of a redeeming happiness.
Me did a reverent pity move
And privilege of ancient love,
But most, compassion for your fate,
Lady! for your forlorn estate;
Me did these move, and I made bold,
And entrance gain'd to that stronghold.
'Your father gave me cordial greeting;
But to his purposes, that burn'd
Within him, instantly return'd –
He was commanding and entreating,
And said, "We need not stop, my son !
But I will end what is begun ;
'Tis matter which I do not fear
To intrust 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;
Had seen 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 th' 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,
And turn'd away from thee, my son !
And left-but be the rest unsaid,
The name untouch'd, the tear unshed, -
My wish is known and I have done :
Now promise, grant this one request·
This dying prayer-and be thou blest!"
'Then Francis answer'd fervently, "If God so will, the same shall be.”
'Immediately this solemn word
Thus scarcely given, a noise was heard,
And officers appear'd 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 given —
They 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 reach'd the door,
The banner-which a soldier bore -
One marshall'd thus with base intent
That he in scorn might go before,
And, holding up this monument,
Conduct them to their punishment;
So cruel Sussex, unrestrain'd
By human feeling, had ordain'd.
The unhappy banner Francis saw,
And, with a look of calm command
Inspiring universal awe,
He took it from the soldier's hand;
And all the people that were round
Confirm'd the deed in peace profound.
- High transport did the father shed
Upon his son and they were led,
Led on, and yielded up their breath,
Together died a happy death !
But Francis, soon as he had braved
This insult, and the banner saved,
That moment, from among the tide
Of the spectators, occupied
In admiration or dismay,
Bore unobserved his charge away.'
These things, which thus had in the sight And hearing pass'd of him who stood With Emily, on the watch-tower height, In Rylstone's woeful neighbourhood, He told; and oftentimes with voice Of power to encourage or rejoice; For deepest sorrows that aspire, Go high, no transport ever higher. 'Yet, yet in this affliction,' said The old man to the silent maid, 'Yet lady! Heaven is good the night Shows yet a star which is most bright; Your brother lives - - he lives is come, Perhaps, already to his home; Then let us leave this dreary place.' She yielded, and with gentle pace, Though without one uplifted look, To Rylstone Hall her way she took.
WHY comes not Francis? Joyful cheer
In that parental gratulation,
And glow of righteous indignation,
Went with him from the doleful city.
He fled yet in his flight could hear
The death-sound of the minster bell;
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