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 spreads wide;
Some fled-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 around
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 as 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 heat of the 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;
'Tis well that she hath heard the tale,—
Received the bitterness of woe:

Dead are they, they were doomed to die;
The sons and father are all dead,

All dead save one; and Emily

No more shall seek this watch-tower high,
To look far forth with anxious eye,-
She is relieved from hope and dread,
Though suffering in extremity.

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'erburdened by her sorrow's weight;
To him who this dire news had told,
And now beside the mourner stood;
(That grey-haired 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 turned;-" 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 witnessed 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 wooed,
'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 reverend 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 gained to that stronghold.

"Your father gave me cordial greeting; But to his purposes, that burned Within him, instantly returnedHe 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 renewed

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 rolled 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-opened that inspired my youth;
Had seen her in her pomp arrayed;
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 displayed; '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 offered up this beauteous brood, 'This fair unrivalled brotherhood, ' And turned away from thee, my son! And left-but be the rest unsaid, 'The name untouched, 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 answered fervently, If God so will, the same shall be.""

"Immediately, this solemn word
Thus scarcely given, a noise was heard,
And officers appeared 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 givenThey 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 reached the door,
The banner which a soldier bore,

One marshalled thus with base intent
That he in scorn might go before,
And, holding up this monument,
Conduct them to their punishment;
So cruel Sussex, unrestrained
By human feeling, had ordained:
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
Confirmed 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 passed 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.

CANTO SIXTH.

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;
That sudden stroke pronounced farewell
To Marmaduke, cut off from pity!
To Ambrose that! and then a knell
For him, the sweet half-opened flower!

For all-all dying in one hour!

-Why comes not Francis? Thoughts of love Should bear him to his sister dear

With motion fleet as winged dove;

Yea, like a heavenly messenger,
An angel-guest, should he appear.

Why comes he not ?-for westward fast
Along the plain of York he past;