But now the inly-working North

Was ripe to send its thousands forth,

A potent vassalage, to fight
In Percy's and in Neville's right,
Two Earls fast leagued in discontent,

Who gave their wishes open vent;
And boldly urged a general plea,
The rites of ancient piety
To be triumphantly restored,

By the stern justice of the sword!

And that same Banner, on whose breast
The blameless Lady had exprest
Memorials chosen to give life
And sunshine to a dangerous strife;
That Banner, waiting for the Call,
Stood quietly in Rylstone-hall.

It came; and Francis Norton said,
"O Father! rise not in this fray-
The hairs are white upon your head;
Dear Father, hear me when I say
It is for you too late a day!

Bethink you of your own good name :
A just and gracious Queen have we,
A pure religion, and the claim
Of peace on our humanity.—

'Tis meet that I endure your scorn;
I am your son, your eldest born;
But not for lordship or for land,
My Father, do I clasp your knees;
The Banner touch not, stay your hand,
This multitude of men disband,
And live at home in blameless ease;
For these my brethren's sake, for me;
And, most of all, for Emily!"

Tumultuous noises filled the hall;
And scarcely could the Father hear
That name-pronounced with a dying fall—
The name of his only Daughter dear,
As on the banner which stood near

He glanced a look of holy pride,
And his moist eyes were glorified;
Then did he seize the staff, and say:

"Thou, Richard, bear'st thy father's name,
Keep thou this ensign till the day
When I of thee require the same:
Thy place be on my better hand;—
And seven as true as thou, I see,
Will cleave to this good cause and me."
He spake, and eight brave sons straightway
All followed him, a gallant band!

Thus, with his sons, when forth he came The sight was hailed with loud acclaim

And din of arms and minstrelsy,

From all his warlike tenantry,

All horsed and harnessed with him to ride,A voice to which the hills replied!

But Francis, in the vacant hall, Stood silent under dreary weight,— A phantasm, in which roof and wall Shook, tottered, swam before his sight; A phantasm like a dream of night! Thus overwhelmed, and desolate, He found his way to a postern-gate; And, when he waked, his languid eye Was on the calm and silent sky; With air about him breathing sweet, And earth's green grass beneath his feet; Nor did he fail ere long to hear

A sound of military cheer,

Faint-but it reached that sheltered spot; He heard, and it disturbed him not.

There stood he, leaning on a lance
Which he had grasped unknowingly,
Had blindly grasped in that strong trance,
That dimness of heart-agony ;

There stood he, cleansed from the despair
And sorrow of his fruitless prayer.
The past he calmly hath reviewed:
But where will be the fortitude

Of this brave man, when he shall see
That Form beneath the spreading tree,
And know that it is Emily?

He saw her where in open view
She sate beneath the spreading yew-
Her head upon her lap, concealing
In solitude her bitter feeling:
"Might ever son command a sire,
The act were justified to-day."
This to himself and to the Maid,

Whom now he had approached, he said—
“Gone are they,—they have their desire ;
And I with thee one hour will stay,
To give thee comfort if I may."

She heard, but looked not up, nor spake ; And sorrow moved him to partake Her silence; then his thoughts turned round, And fervent words a passage found.

"Gone are they, bravely, though misled; With a dear Father at their head! The Sons obey a natural lord; The Father had given solemn word

To noble Percy; and a force
Still stronger, bends him to his course.
This said, our tears to-day may fall
As at an innocent funeral.
In deep and awful channel runs
This sympathy of Sire and Sons;
Untried our Brothers have been loved
With heart by simple nature moved;
And now their faithfulness is proved:
For faithful we must call them, bearing
That soul of conscientious daring.
-There were they all in circle-there
Stood Richard, Ambrose, Christopher,
John with a sword that will not fail,
And Marmaduke in fearless mail,
And those bright Twins were side by side;
And there, by fresh hopes beautified,
Stood He, whose arm yet lacks the power
Of man, our youngest, fairest flower!
I, by the right of eldest born,
And in a second father's place,
Presumed to grapple with their scorn,
And meet their pity face to face;
Yea, trusting in God's holy aid,
I to my Father knelt and prayed;
And one, the pensive Marmaduke,
Methought, was yielding inwardly,
And would have laid his purpose by,
But for a glance of his Father's eye,
Which I myself could scarcely brook.

Then be we, each and all, forgiven! Thou, chiefly thou, my Sister dear, Whose pangs are registered in heavenThe stifled sigh, the hidden tear, And smiles, that dared to take their place, Meek filial smiles, upon thy face, As that unhallowed Banner grew Beneath a loving old Man's view. Thy part is done-thy painful part; Be thou then satisfied in heart! A further, though far easier, task Than thine hath been, my duties ask; With theirs my efforts cannot blend, I cannot for such cause contend; 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⚫."—

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

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
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 truthBe 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 armed 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 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, 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 * ;'

*From the old ballad.

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,
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's cheek grew pale with fear ;
For, with a high and valiant name,
He bore a heart of timid frame;
And bold if both had been, yet they
'Against so many may not stay *.'
Back therefore will they hie to seize
A strong Hold on the banks of Tees;
There wait a favourable hour,
Until Lord Dacre with his power
From Naworth come; and Howard's aid
Be with them openly displayed.

While through the Host, from man to man,
A rumour of this purpose ran,
The Standard trusting 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 oft has strength, the strength of heaven,

To few triumphantly been given !

Still do our very children boast

Of mitred Thurston-what a Host

He conquered!-Saw we not the Plain

(And flying shall behold again)

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

That bore it, compassed round by a bold
Fraternity of Barons old;

*Fron the old Ballad.

And with those grey-haired champions stood,
Under the saintly ensigns three,

The infant Heir of Mowbray's blood-
All confident of victory!--

Shall Percy blush, then, for his name?
Must Westmoreland be asked with shame
Whose were the numbers, where the loss,
In that other day of Neville's Cross?
When the Prior of Durham with holy hand
Raised, as the Vision gave command,
Saint Cuthbert's Relic-far and near
Kenned on the point of a lofty spear;
While the Monks prayed in Maiden's Bower
To God descending in his power.
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:

Be warned "-His zeal the Chiefs 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 with joyful pride,
This hope of all posterity,

By those dread symbols sanctified;
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 light clouds a mockery!

-"Even these poor eight of mine would stemHalf 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 would not, could not, disobey,
But her Faith leaned another way.
Ill tears she wept; I saw them fall,