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

See the Old Ballad,-"The Rising of the North."

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 armèd 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 armèd 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 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,

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,

*From the old ballad.

Yon multitude must melt away;)
If now I ask a grace not claimed
While ground was left for hope; unblamed
Be an endeavour that can do

No injury to them or you.

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 remain 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 a prayer
Which love had prompted, yielding scope
Too free to one bright moment's hope?
Suffice it that the Son, who strove
With fruitless effort to allay
That passion, prudently gave way;
Nor did he turn aside to prove

His Brothers' wisdom or their love-
But calmly from the spot withdrew;
His best endeavours to renew,
Should e'er a kindlier time ensue.

CANTO FOURTH

'Tis night in silence looking down,
The Moon, from cloudless ether, sees
A Camp, and a beleaguered Town,
And Castle like a stately crown
On the steep rocks of winding Tees;-
And southward far, with moor between,
Hill-top, and flood, and forest 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 who quietly was feeding
On the green herb, and nothing heeding,
When Francis, uttering to the Maid

His last words in the yew-tree shade,
Involved whate'er by love was brought
Out of his heart, or crossed his thought,
Or chance presented to his eye,

In one sad sweep of destiny-
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 see the consecrated Maid
Emerging from a 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

Now couched at ease, though oft this day
Not unperplexed nor free from pain,
When she had tried, and tried in vain,
Approaching in her gentle way,
To win some look of love, or gain
Encouragement to sport or play;
Attempts which still the heart-sick Maid
Rejected, or with slight repaid.

Yet Emily is soothed:-the breeze
Came fraught with kindly sympathies.
As she approached yon rustic Shed

Hung with late-flowering woodbine, spread
Along the walls and overhead,

The fragrance of the breathing flowers
Revived a memory of those hours

When here, in this remote alcove,

(While from the pendent 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-that blessed 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,
Mute 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; nor forbear

To greet him with a voice, and say ;-
'If hope be a rejected stay,

Do thou, my christian Son, beware
Of that most lamentable snare,
The self-reliance of despair!""

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 feels it, and her pangs are checked.
But now, as silently she paced

The turf, and thought by thought was chased,

Came One who, with sedate respect,
Approached, and, greeting her, thus 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-strive-for his sake go-
Turn from us all the coming woe:
This would I beg; but on my mind
A passive stillness is enjoined.
On you, if room for mortal aid
Be left, is no restriction laid;
You not forbidden to recline
With hope upon the Will divine."

"Hope," said the old Man, "must abide With all of us, whate'er betide. In Craven's Wilds is many a den, To shelter persecuted men : Far under ground is many a cave, Where they might lie as in the grave, Until this storm hath ceased to rave: Or let them cross the River Tweed, And be at once from peril freed!"

"Ah tempt me not!" she faintly sighed; "I will not counsel nor exhort, With my condition satisfied;

But you, at least, may make report
Of what befals;-be this your task-
This may be done ;-'tis all I ask!"

She spake-and from the Lady's sight
The Sire, unconscious of his age,
Departed promptly as a Page
Bound on some errand of delight.
-The noble Francis-wise as brave,
Thought he, may want not skill to save.
With hopes in tenderness concealed,

Unarmed he followed to the field;
Him will I seek: the insurgent Powers
Are now besieging Barnard's Towers,-
"Grant that the moon which shines this might
May guide them in a prudent flight!"

But quick the turns of chance and change,
And knowledge has a narrow range;
Whence idle fears, and needless pain,
And wishes blind, and efforts vain.-
The Moon may shine, but cannot be
Their guide in flight-already she
Hath witnessed their captivity.
She saw the desperate assault
Upon that hostile castle made;-
But dark and dismal is the vault
Where Norton and his sons are laid!
Disastrous issue !-he had said

"This night yon faithless 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 our cause.
The breach is open-on the wall,

This night, the Banner shall be planted!"
-'Twas 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
That with their joyful shout should close
The triumph of a desperate 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 Red; and some their fears detained:
But ere the Moon had sunk to rest
In her pale chambers of the west,
Of that rash levy nought remained.

CANTO FIFTH.

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
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 ascentThough 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