Part 11

"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 335 Too free to one bright moment's hope?[98] Suffice it that the Son, who strove With fruitless effort to allay That passion, prudently gave way;[99] Nor did he turn aside to prove 340 His Brothers' wisdom or their love-- But calmly from the spot withdrew; His best endeavours[100] to renew, Should e'er a kindlier time ensue.

CANTO FOURTH

'Tis night: in silence looking down, The Moon, from cloudless ether, sees[101] A Camp, and a beleaguered Town, And Castle like a stately crown On the steep rocks of winding Tees;-- 5 And southward far, with moor between, Hill-top, and flood, and forest green,[102] The bright Moon sees that valley small Where Rylstone's old sequestered Hall A venerable image yields 10 Of quiet to the neighbouring fields; While from one pillared chimney breathes The smoke, and mounts in silver wreaths.[103] --The courts are hushed;--for timely sleep The grey-hounds to their kennel creep; 15 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; 20 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 25 Hath[104] any sway? or pain, or fear? A soft and lulling sound is heard Of streams inaudible by day;[JJ] The garden pool's dark surface, stirred By the night insects in their play, 30 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-- 35 The same who quietly was feeding On the green herb, and nothing heeding, When Francis, uttering to the Maid[105] His last words in the yew-tree shade, Involved whate'er by love was brought 40 Out of his heart, or crossed his thought, Or chance presented to his eye, In one sad sweep of destiny--[106] The same fair Creature, who hath found Her way into forbidden ground; 45 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 50 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 55 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, 60 Through park, or chase, or savage wood.

But see the consecrated Maid Emerging from a cedar shade[107] To open moonshine, where the Doe Beneath the cypress-spire is laid; 65 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 70 By the shepherd, is passed by With an inattentive eye. Nor more regard doth She bestow Upon the uncomplaining Doe[108] Now couched at ease, though oft this day 75 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; 80 Attempts which still the heart-sick Maid Rejected, or with slight repaid.[109]

Yet Emily is soothed;--the breeze Came fraught with kindly sympathies. As she approached yon rustic Shed[110] 85 Hung with late-flowering woodbine, spread Along the walls and overhead, The fragrance of the breathing flowers Revived[111] a memory of those hours When here, in this remote alcove, 90 (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. 95 Yes, she is soothed: an Image faint, And yet not faint--a presence bright Returns to her--that blessèd Saint[112] Who with mild looks and language mild Instructed here her darling Child, 100 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 105 Of that beguiling influence; "But oh! thou Angel from above, Mute Spirit[113] of maternal love, That stood'st before my eyes, more clear Than ghosts are fabled to appear 110 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;-- 115 'If hope be a rejected stay, Do thou, my Christian Son, beware Of that most lamentable snare, The self-reliance of despair!'"[114]

Then from within the embowered retreat 120 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, 125 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 130 The headstrong current of their fate: _Her duty is to stand and wait_;[115][KK] In resignation to abide The shock, AND FINALLY SECURE O'ER PAIN AND GRIEF A TRIUMPH PURE.[115] 135 --She feels it, and her pangs are checked.[116] 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;[117] 140 "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: 145 You with my Father have grown old In friendship--strive--for his sake go-- Turn from us all the coming woe:[118] This would I beg; but on my mind A passive stillness is enjoined. 150 On you, if room for mortal aid Be left, is no restriction laid;[119] You not forbidden to recline With hope upon the Will divine."

"Hope," said the old Man, "must abide 155 With all of us, whate'er betide.[120] In Craven's Wilds is many a den, To shelter persecuted men:[LL] Far under ground is many a cave, Where they might lie as in the grave, 160 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, 165 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 170 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[121] to save. 175 With hopes in tenderness concealed, Unarmed he followed to the field; Him will I seek: the insurgent Powers Are now besieging Barnard's Towers,--[MM] "Grant that the Moon which shines this night 180 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.-- 185 The Moon may shine, but cannot be Their guide in flight--already she[122] Hath witnessed their captivity. She saw the desperate assault Upon that hostile castle made;-- 190 But dark and dismal is the vault Where Norton and his sons are laid! Disastrous issue!--he had said "This night yon faithless[123] Towers must yield, Or we for ever quit the field. 195 --Neville is utterly dismayed, For promise fails of Howard's aid; And Dacre to our call replies That _he_[124] is unprepared to rise. My heart is sick;--this weary pause 200 Must needs be fatal to our cause.[125] 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 205 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[126] 210 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;-- 215 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!-- 220 Confusion through the Camp spread[127] 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. 225

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 5 Stands single--Norton Tower its name--[NN] 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. 10

The summit of this bold ascent-- 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."