Though bleak and bare, and seldom free[128]
As Pendle-hill or Pennygent
From wind, or frost, or vapours wet--
Had often heard the sound of glee 15
When there the youthful Nortons met,
To practice games and archery:
How proud and happy they! the crowd
Of Lookers-on how pleased and proud!
And from the scorching noon-tide sun,[129] 20
From showers, or when the prize was won,
They to the Tower withdrew, and there[130]
Would mirth run round, with generous fare;
And the stern old Lord of Rylstone-hall,
Was happiest, proudest,[131] of them all! 25
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:
[132]For she _had_[133] hoped, had hoped and feared, 30
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, 35
Yea by her brother's very name,
Had, in her solitude, been cheered.
Beside the lonely watch-tower stood[134]
That grey-haired Man of gentle blood,
Who with her Father had grown old 40
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 45
The end of that dire Tragedy,[135]
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; 50
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; 55
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-- 60
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;
Nor wanted 'mid the pressing crowd 65
Deep feeling, that found utterance loud,[136]
'Lo, Francis comes,' there were who cried,[137]
'A Prisoner once, but now set free!
'Tis well, for he the worst defied
Through force of[138] natural piety; 70
He rose not in this quarrel, he,
For concord's sake and England's good,
Suit to his Brothers often made
With tears, and of his Father prayed--
And when he had in vain withstood 75
Their purpose--then did he divide,[139]
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, 80
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,
By scattering gleams,[140] through your distress, 85
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.[141] 90
"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! 95
Thoughts press, and time is hurrying on'--[142]
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, 100
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, 105
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 110
Re-opened that inspired my youth;
To see[143] her in her pomp arrayed--
This Banner (for such vow I made)
Should on the consecrated breast
Of that same Temple have found rest: 115
I would myself have hung it high,
Fit[144] offering of glad victory!
"'A shadow of such thought remains
To cheer this sad and pensive time;
A solemn fancy yet sustains 120
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. 125
The Banner strive thou to regain;
And, if the endeavour prove not[145] vain,
Bear it--to whom if not to thee
Shall I this lonely thought consign?--
Bear it to Bolton Priory, 130
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; 135
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 noble[146] Brood, 140
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: 145
Now promise, grant this one request,
This dying prayer, and be thou blest!'
"Then Francis answered--'Trust thy Son,
For, with God's will, it shall be done!'--[147]
"The pledge obtained, the solemn word[148] 150
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? 155
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 reached the door, 160
One with profane and harsh intent
Placed there--that he might go before
And, with that rueful Banner borne
Aloft in sign of taunting scorn,[149]
Conduct them to their punishment: 165
So cruel Sussex, unrestrained
By human feeling, had ordained.
The unhappy Banner Francis saw,
And, with a look of calm command
Inspiring universal awe, 170
He took it from the soldier's hand;
And all the people that stood round[150]
Confirmed the deed in peace profound.
--High transport did the Father shed
Upon his Son--and they were led, 175
Led on, and yielded up their breath;
Together died, a happy death!--
But Francis, soon as he had braved
That insult, and the Banner saved,
Athwart the unresisting tide[151] 180
Of the spectators occupied
In admiration or dismay,
Bore instantly[152] his Charge away."
These things, which thus had in the sight
And hearing passed of Him who stood 185
With Emily, on the Watch-tower height,
In Rylstone's woeful neighbourhood,
He told; and oftentimes with voice
Of power to comfort[153] or rejoice;
For deepest sorrows that aspire, 190
Go high, no transport ever higher.
"Yes--God is rich in mercy," said
The old Man to the silent Maid,
"Yet, Lady! shines, through this black night,
One star of aspect heavenly bright;[154] 195
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, 200
To Rylstone-hall her way she took.
CANTO SIXTH
Why comes not Francis?--From the doleful City
He fled,--and, in his flight, could hear
The death-sounds of the Minster-bell:[155]
That sullen stroke pronounced farewell
To Marmaduke, cut off from pity! 5
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 10
With the fleet motion of a dove;[156]
Yea, like a heavenly messenger
Of speediest wing, should he appear.[157]
Why comes he not?--for westward fast
Along the plain of York he past; 15
Reckless of what impels or leads,
Unchecked he hurries on;--nor heeds
The sorrow, through the Villages,
Spread by triumphant cruelties[158]
Of vengeful military force, 20
And punishment without remorse.
He marked not, heard not, as he fled;
All but the suffering heart was dead
For him abandoned to blank awe,
To vacancy, and horror strong:[159] 25
And the first object which he saw,
With conscious sight, as he swept along--
It was the Banner in his hand!
He felt--and made a sudden stand.
He looked about like one betrayed: 30
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, 35
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, 40
The unoffending Emily,
Again this piteous object see?
Such conflict long did he maintain,
Nor liberty nor rest could gain:[160]
His own life into danger brought 45
By this sad burden--even that thought,
Exciting self-suspicion strong,
Swayed the brave man to his wrong.[161]
And how--unless it were the sense
Of all-disposing Providence, 50
Its will unquestionably shown--
How has the Banner clung so fast
To a palsied, and unconscious hand;
Clung to the hand to which it passed
Without impediment? And why 55
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 60
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 65
To Emily in the yew-tree shade:
He sighed, submitting will and power
To the stern embrace of that grasping hour.[162]
"No choice is left, the deed is mine--
Dead are they, dead!--and I will go, 70
And, for their sakes, come weal or woe,
Will lay the Relic on the shrine."
So forward with a steady will
He went, and traversed plain and hill;
And up the vale of Wharf his way 75
Pursued;--and, at the dawn of day,
Attained a summit whence his eyes[163]
Could see the Tower of Bolton rise.
There Francis for a moment's space
Made halt--but hark! a noise behind 80
Of horsemen at an eager pace!
He heard, and with misgiving mind.
--'Tis Sir George Bowes who leads the Band:
They come, by cruel Sussex sent;
Who, when the Nortons from the hand 85
Of death had drunk their punishment,
Bethought him, angry and ashamed,
How Francis, with the Banner claimed
As his own charge, had disappeared,[164]
By all the standers-by revered. 90
His whole bold carriage (which had quelled
Thus far the Opposer, and repelled
All censure, enterprise so bright
That even bad men had vainly striven
Against that overcoming light) 95
Was then reviewed, and prompt word given,
That to what place soever fled
He should be seized, alive or dead.
The troop of horse have gained the height
Where Francis stood in open sight. 100
They hem him round--"Behold the proof,"
They cried, "the Ensign in his hand![165]
_He_ did not arm, he walked aloof!
For why?--to save his Father's land;--
Worst Traitor of them all is he, 105
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,[166] 110
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[167] like a place of vantage showed; 115
And there stood bravely, though forlorn.
In self-defence with warlike brow[168]
He stood,--nor weaponless was now;
He from a Soldier's hand had snatched
A spear,--and, so protected, watched 120
The Assailants, turning round and round;
But from behind with treacherous wound
A Spearman brought him to the ground.
The guardian lance, as Francis fell,
Dropped from him; but his other hand 125
The Banner clenched; till, from out the Band,
One, the most eager for the prize,
Rushed in; and--while, O grief to tell!
A glimmering sense still left, with eyes
Unclosed the noble Francis lay-- 130
Seized it, as hunters seize their prey;
But not before the warm life-blood
Had tinged more deeply, as it flowed,
The wounds the broidered Banner showed,
Thy fatal work, O Maiden, innocent as good![169] 135
Proudly the Horsemen bore away
The Standard; and where Francis lay[170]
There was he left alone, unwept,
And for two days unnoticed slept.
For at that time bewildering fear 140
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, 145
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 150
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 155
And no one hinder their intent,[171]
Then, they, for Christian pity's sake,
In holy ground a grave would make;
And straightway[172] buried he should be
In the Church-yard of the Priory. 160
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
That he was born of gentle blood; 165
And that there was no neighbourhood
Of kindred for him in that ground:
So to the Church-yard they are bound,
Bearing the body on a bier;
And psalms they sing--a holy sound 170
That hill and vale with sadness hear.[173]
But Emily hath raised her head,
And is again disquieted;
She must behold!--so many gone,
Where is the solitary One? 175
And forth from Rylstone-hall stepped she,
To seek her Brother forth she went,
And tremblingly her course she bent
Toward[174] Bolton's ruined Priory.
She comes, and in the vale hath heard 180
The funeral dirge;--she sees the knot
Of people, sees them in one spot--
And darting like a wounded bird
She reached the grave, and with her breast
Upon the ground received the rest,-- 185
The consummation, the whole ruth
And sorrow of this final truth!
CANTO SEVENTH
"Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick--in modes
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of."[OO]
Thou Spirit, whose angelic hand
Was to the harp a strong command,
Called the submissive strings to wake
In glory for this Maiden's sake,
Say, Spirit! whither hath she fled 5
To hide her poor afflicted head?
What mighty forest in its gloom
Enfolds her?--is a rifted tomb
Within the wilderness her seat?
Some island which the wild waves beat-- 10
Is that the Sufferer's last retreat?
Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds
Its perilous front in mists and clouds?
High-climbing rock, low[175] sunless dale,
Sea, desert, what do these avail? 15
Oh take her anguish and her fears
Into a deep[176] recess of years!
'Tis done;--despoil and desolation
O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown;[PP]
Pools, terraces, and walks are sown[177] 20
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 25
Is stripped; the ravage hath spread wide
Through park and field, a perishing
That mocks the gladness of the Spring!
And, with this silent gloom agreeing,
Appears[178] a joyless human Being, 30
Of aspect such as if the waste
Were under her dominion placed.
Upon a primrose bank, her throne
Of quietness, she sits alone;
[179]Among the ruins of a wood, 35
Erewhile a covert bright and green,
And where full many a brave tree stood,
That used to spread its boughs, and ring
With the sweet bird's carolling.
Behold her, like a virgin Queen, 40
Neglecting in imperial state
These outward images of fate,
And carrying inward a serene
And perfect sway, through many a thought
Of chance and change, that hath been brought 45
To the subjection of a holy,
Though stern and rigorous, melancholy!
The like authority, with grace
Of awfulness, is in her face,--
There hath she fixed it; yet it seems 50
To o'ershadow by no native right
That face, which cannot lose the gleams,
Lose utterly the tender gleams,
Of gentleness and meek delight,
And loving-kindness ever bright: 55
Such is her sovereign mien:--her dress
(A vest with woollen cincture tied,
A hood of mountain-wool undyed)
Is homely,--fashioned to express
A wandering Pilgrim's humbleness. 60
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 65
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; 70
The mighty sorrow hath[180] 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 75
The infirmities of mortal love;
Undaunted, lofty, calm, and stable,
And awfully impenetrable.
And so--beneath a mouldered tree,
A self-surviving leafless oak 80
By unregarded age from stroke
Of ravage saved--sate Emily.
There did she rest, with head reclined,
Herself most like a stately flower,
(Such have I seen) whom chance of birth 85
Hath separated from its kind,
To live and die in a shady bower,
Single on the gladsome earth.
When, with a noise like distant thunder,
A troop of deer came sweeping by; 90
And, suddenly, behold a wonder!
For One, among those rushing deer,[181]
A single One, in mid career
Hath stopped, and fixed her[182] large full eye
Upon the Lady Emily; 95
A Doe most beautiful, clear-white,
A radiant creature, silver-bright!
Thus checked, a little while it stayed;
A little thoughtful pause it made;
And then advanced with stealth-like pace, 100
Drew softly near her, and more near--
Looked round--but saw no cause for fear;
So to her feet the Creature came,[183]
And laid its head upon her knee,
And looked into the Lady's face, 105
A look of pure benignity,
And fond unclouded memory.
It is, thought Emily, the same,
The very Doe of other years!--
The pleading look the Lady viewed, 110
And, by her gushing thoughts subdued,
She melted into tears--
A flood of tears, that flowed apace,
Upon the happy Creature's face.
Oh, moment ever blest! O Pair 115
Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's chosen[184] care,
This was for you a precious greeting;
And may it prove a fruitful meeting![185]
Joined are they, and the sylvan Doe
Can she depart? can she forego 120
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? 125
Lone Sufferer! will not she believe
The promise in that speaking face;
And welcome, as a gift of grace,[186]
The saddest thought the Creature brings?[187]
That day, the first of a re-union 130
Which was to teem with high communion,
That day of balmy April weather,
They tarried in the wood together.
And when, ere fall of evening dew,
She from her[188] sylvan haunt withdrew, 135
The White Doe tracked with faithful pace
The Lady to her dwelling-place;
That nook where, on paternal ground,
A habitation she had found,
The Master of whose humble board 140
Once owned her Father for his Lord;
A hut, by tufted trees defended,
Where Rylstone brook with Wharf is blended.[QQ]
When Emily by morning light
Went forth, the Doe stood there[189] in sight. 145
She shrunk:--with one frail shock of pain
Received and followed by a prayer,
She saw the Creature once again;[190]
Shun will she not, she feels, will bear;--
But, wheresoever she looked round, 150
All now was trouble-haunted ground;
And therefore now she deems it good
Once more this restless neighbourhood[191]
To leave. Unwooed, yet unforbidden,
The White Doe followed up the vale, 155
Up to another cottage, hidden
In the deep fork of Amerdale;[RR]
And there may Emily restore
Herself, in spots unseen before.
--Why tell of mossy rock, or tree, 160
By lurking Dernbrook's pathless side,[SS]
Haunts of a strengthening amity
That calmed her, cheered, and fortified?
For she hath ventured now to read
Of time, and place, and thought, and deed-- 165
Endless history that lies
In her silent Follower's eyes;
Who with a power like human reason
Discerns the favourable season,
Skilled to approach or to retire,-- 170
From looks conceiving her desire;
From look, deportment, voice, or mien,
That vary to the heart within.
If she too passionately wreathed[192]
Her arms, or over-deeply breathed, 175
Walked quick or slowly, every mood
In its degree was understood;
Then well may their accord be true,
And kindliest[193] intercourse ensue.
--Oh! surely 'twas a gentle rousing 180
When she by sudden glimpse espied
The White Doe on the mountain browsing,
Or in the meadow wandered wide!
How pleased, when down the Straggler sank
Beside her, on some sunny bank! 185
How soothed, when in thick bower enclosed,
They, like a nested pair, reposed!
Fair Vision! when it crossed the Maid
Within some rocky cavern laid,
The dark cave's portal gliding by, 190
White as whitest[194] cloud on high
Floating through the[195] azure sky.
--What now is left for pain or fear?
That Presence, dearer and more dear,
While they, side by side, were straying, 195
And the shepherd's pipe was playing,
Did now a very gladness yield
At morning to the dewy field,[196]
And with a deeper peace endued
The hour of moonlight solitude. 200
With her Companion, in such frame
Of mind, to Rylstone back she came;
And, ranging[197] through the wasted groves,
Received the memory of old loves,
Undisturbed and undistrest, 205
Into a soul which now was blest
With a soft spring-day of holy,
Mild, and grateful, melancholy:[198]
Not sunless gloom or unenlightened,
But by tender fancies brightened. 210
When the bells of Rylstone played
Their sabbath music--"=God us ayde!="[TT]
That was the sound they seemed to speak;
Inscriptive legend which I ween
May on those holy bells be seen, 215
That legend and her Grandsire's name;
And oftentimes the Lady meek
Had in her childhood read the same;
Words which she slighted at that day;
But now, when such sad change was wrought, 220
And of that lonely name she thought,
The bells of Rylstone seemed to say,
While she sate listening in the shade,
With vocal music, "=God us ayde;="
And all the hills were glad to bear 225
Their part in this effectual prayer.
Nor lacked she Reason's firmest power;
But with the White Doe at her side
Up would she climb to Norton Tower,
And thence look round her far and wide, 230
Her fate there measuring;--all is stilled,--
The weak One hath subdued her heart;[199]
Behold the prophecy fulfilled,
Fulfilled, and she sustains her part!
But here her Brother's words have failed; 235
Here hath a milder doom prevailed;
That she, of him and all bereft,
Hath yet this faithful Partner left;
This one Associate[200] that disproves
His words, remains for her, and loves. 240
If tears are shed, they do not fall
For loss of him--for one, or all;
Yet, sometimes, sometimes doth she weep
Moved gently in her soul's soft sleep;
A few tears down her cheek descend 245
For this her last and living Friend.
Bless, tender Hearts, their mutual lot,
And bless for both this savage spot;
Which Emily doth sacred hold
For reasons dear and manifold-- 250
Here hath she, here before her sight,
Close to the summit of this height,
The grassy rock-encircled Pound[UU]
In which the Creature first was found.
So beautiful the timid Thrall 255
(A spotless Youngling white as foam)
Her youngest Brother brought it home;
The youngest, then a lusty boy,
Bore it, or led, to Rylstone-hall
With heart brimful of pride and joy![201] 260
But most to Bolton's sacred Pile,
On favouring nights, she loved to go;
There ranged through cloister, court, and aisle,
Attended by the soft-paced Doe;
Nor feared she in the still moonshine[202] 265
To look upon Saint Mary's shrine;[VV]
Nor on the lonely turf that showed
Where Francis slept in his last abode.
For that she came; there oft she sate
Forlorn, but not disconsolate:[203] 270
And, when she from the abyss returned
Of thought, she neither shrunk nor mourned;
Was happy that she lived to greet
Her mute Companion as it lay
In love and pity at her feet; 275
How happy in its[204] turn to meet
The[205] recognition! the mild glance
Beamed from that gracious countenance;
Communication, like the ray
Of a new morning, to the nature 280
And prospects of the inferior Creature!