When there the youthful Nortons met, But now, his Child, with anguish pale, For she had hoped, had hoped and feared, Beside the lonely watch-tower 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 height the Maid had sought, And, gently as he could, had told The end of that dire 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 cameWhat, Lady, if their feet were tied ; They might deserve a good Man's blame; But marks of infamy and shameThese were their triumph, these their pride; Nor wanted 'mid the pressing crowd Deep feeling, that found utterance loud, Then peace to cruelty and scorn, And so in Prison were they laid→ Oh hear me, hear me, gentle Maid, For I am come with power to bless, By scattering gleams, through your distress, Of a redeeming happiness. Me did a reverent pity move And privilege of ancient love; And, in your service, making bold, Entrance I gained to that strong-hold. Your Father gave me cordial greeting; But to his purposes, that burned Within him, instantly returned: He was commanding and entreating, And said- We need not stop, my Son! Thoughts press, and time is hurrying on '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 : I would myself have hung it high, Fit 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, And lay it on Saint Mary's shrine ; But for lost Faith and Christ's dear name, Then Francis answered- Trust thy Son, For, with God's will, it shall be done!' The pledge obtained, the solemn word They rose embraces none were given— So cruel Sussex, unrestrained He took it from the soldier's hand; Of the spectators occupied Bore instantly his Charge away." These things, which thus had in the sight "Yet, Lady! shines, through this black night, Then let us leave this dreary place." CANTO SIXTH. WHY comes not Francis?-From the doleful City -Why comes not Francis? Thoughts of love Why comes he not?-for westward fast And punishment without remorse. He marked not, heard not, as he fled; He looked about like one betrayed: What hath he done? what promise made? Oh weak, weak moment ! to what end Can such a vain oblation tend, And he the Bearer?-Can he go Carrying this instrument of woe, And find, find any where, a right To excuse him in his Country's sight? No; will not all men deem the change A downward course, perverse and strange? Here is it ;-but how? when? must she, The unoffending Emily, Again this piteous object see? Such conflict long did he maintain, Nor liberty nor rest could gain : His own life into danger brought By this sad burden-even that thought, Exciting self-suspicion strong Swayed the brave man to his wrong. And how-unless it were the sense Of all-disposing Providence, Its will unquestionably shownHow has the Banner clung so fast To a palsied, and unconscious hand; Clung to the hand to which it passed Without impediment? And why But that Heaven's purpose might be known Doth now no hindrance meet his eye, No intervention, to withstand Fulfilment of a Father's prayer Breathed to a Son forgiven, and blest When all resentments were at rest, And life in death laid the heart bare?— Then, like a spectre sweeping by, Rushed through his mind the prophecy Of utter desolation made To Emily in the yew-tree shade: So forward with a steady will His whole bold carriage (which had quelled All censure, enterprise so bright Was then reviewed, and prompt word given, He should be seized, alive or dead. The troop of horse have gained the height Where Francis stood in open sight. They hem him round-"Behold the proof," They cried, "the Ensign in his hand! He did not arm, he walked aloof! For why?-to save his Father's land;Worst Traitor of them all is he, A Traitor dark and cowardly!" "I am no Traitor," Francis said, "Though this unhappy freight I bear; And must not part with. But beware ;---Err not, by hasty zeal misled, Nor do a suffering Spirit wrong, Whose self-reproaches are too strong!" At this he from the beaten road Retreated towards a brake of thorn, That like a place of vantage showed; And there stood bravely, though forlorn. In self-defence with warlike brow Proudly the Horsemen bore away The Standard; and where Francis lay There was he left alone, unwept, And for two days unnoticed slept. For at that time bewildering fear Possessed the country, far and near; But, on the third day, passing by One of the Norton Tenantry Espied the uncovered Corse; the Man Shrunk as he recognised the face, And to the nearest homesteads ran And called the people to the place. -How desolate is Rylstone-hall! This was the instant thought of all; And if the lonely Lady there Should be; to her they cannot bear This weight of anguish and despair. So, when upon sad thoughts had prest Thoughts sadder still, they deemed it best That, if the Priest should yield assent And no one hinder their intent, Then, they, for Christian pity's sake, In holy ground a grave would make; And straightway buried he should be In the Church-yard of the Priory. Apart, some little space, was made The grave where Francis must be laid. In no confusion or neglect This did they, but in pure respect Bearing the body on a bier; And psalms they sing-a holy sound That hill and vale with sadness hear. But Emily hath raised her head, She must behold!-so many gone, And forth from Rylstone-hall stepped she,- She comes, and in the vale hath heard CANTO SEVENTH. Powers there are That touch each other to the quick-in modes THOU Spirit, whose angelic hand Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds "Tis done ;-despoil and desolation O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown ; Pools, terraces, and walks are sown With weeds; the bowers are overthrown, Or have given way to slow mutation, While, in their ancient habitation The Norton name hath been unknown. The lordly Mansion of its pride M Is stripped; the ravage hath spread wide Erewhile a covert bright and green, And where full many a brave tree stood, And perfect sway, through many a thought Of chance and change, that hath been brought Though stern and rigorous, melancholy! Of awfulness, is in her face,— There hath she fixed it; yet it seems That face, which cannot lose the gleams, And she hath wandered, long and far, Beneath the light of sun and star; Hath roamed in trouble and in grief, Driven forward like a withered leaf, Yea like a ship at random blown To distant places and unknown. But now she dares to seek a haven Among her native wilds of Craven ; Hath seen again her Father's roof, And put her fortitude to proof; The mighty sorrow hath been borne, And she is thoroughly forlorn: Her soul doth in itself stand fast, Sustained by memory of the past And strength of Reason; held above The infirmities of mortal love; Undaunted, lofty, calm, and stable, And awfully impenetrable. And so-beneath a mouldered tree, A self-surviving leafless oak By unregarded age from stroke Of ravage saved-sate Emily. There did she rest, with head reclined, When, with a noise like distant thunder, A troop of deer came sweeping by; And, suddenly, behold a wonder! For One, among those rushing deer, A single One, in mid career Hath stopped, and fixed her large full eye Upon the Lady Emily; A Doe most beautiful, clear-white, A radiant creature, silver-bright! Thus checked, a little while it stayed; A little thoughtful pause it made; A flood of tears, that flowed apace, Oh, moment ever blest! O Pair Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's chosen care, This was for you a precious greeting; And may it prove a fruitful meeting! Joined are they, and the sylvan Doe Can she depart? can she forego The Lady, once her playful peer, And now her sainted Mistress dear? And will not Emily receive This lovely chronicler of things Long past, delights and sorrowings? Lone Sufferer! will not she believe The promise in that speaking face; And welcome, as a gift of grace, The saddest thought the Creature brings? |