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, 66 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, With tumult and indignant rout

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 thee 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,

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,
Unber, which rather seemed to rise,
In open victory o'er the weight
Of seventy years, to higher 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? - many see, and One
With unparticipated gaze;

Who 'mong these 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 on a stormy night.
And now, upon a chosen plot
Of rising ground, yon heathy spot!
He takes, this day, 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,
Stretched out upon the ground he lies;
As if it were his only task

Like Herdsman in the sun to bask,
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 was opprest with fear;
For, though he bore a valiant name,
His heart was of a timid frame,
And bold if both had been, yet they
"Against so many may not stay."*
And therefore will retreat to seize
A strong hold on the banks of Tees;
There wait a favourable hour,
Until Lord Dacre with his power
From Naworth comes; and Howard's aid
Be with them, openly displayed.

- How often hath the strength of heaven To few triumphantly been given!

Still do our very children boast

Of mitred Thurston, what a Host

He conquered!f-Saw we not the Plain,

(And flying shall behold again)

Where faith was proved? - while to battle moved
The Standard on the Sacred Wain
On which the gray-haired Barons stood,
And the infant Heir of Mowbray's blood,
Beneath the saintly ensigns three,
Stood 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, as the Vision gave command,
The Prior of Durham with holy hand
Saint Cuthbert's Relic did uprear
Upon the point of a lofty spear,

From the old Ballad.

T See the Historians for the account of this memorable battle usually denominated the Battle of the Standard.

See Note 17.

-The Chiefs were by his zeal 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 so joyfully,
This hope of all posterity,

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 frail clouds a mockery!

"Even these poor eight of mine would stem;" Half 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 did in passiveness obey,

But her Faith leaned another way.
Il tears she wept, I saw them fall,

--

I overheard her as she spake
Sad words to that mute Animal,
The White Doe, in the hawthorn brake;
She steeped, but not for Jesu's sake,
This cross in tears: by her, and One
Unworthier far, we are undone -
Her Brother was it who assailed
Her tender spirit and prevailed.
Her other Parent, too, whose head
In the cold grave hath long been laid,
From reason's earliest dawn beguiled
The docile, unsuspecting Child:
Far back far back my mind must go
To reach the well-spring of this woe!
While thus he brooded, music sweet
Was played to cheer them in retreat;
But Norton lingered in the rear:
2S

Thought followed thought—and ere the last
Of that unhappy train was past,
Before him Francis did appear.

"Now when 't is not your aim to oppose,"

Said he, "in open field your Foes;
Now that from this decisive day
Your multitude must melt away,

An unarmed Man may come unblamed:

To ask a grace, that was not claimed
Long as your hopes were high, he now
May hither bring a fearless brow:
When his discountenance can do

No injury-may come to you.

Though in your cause no part I bear,
Your indignation I can share;

Am grieved this backward march to see,
How careless and disorderly!

I scorn your Chieftains, men who lead,
And yet want courage at their need;
Then look at them with open eyes!
Deserve they further sacrifice?
My Father! I would help to find
A place of shelter, till the rago
Of cruel men do like the wind
Exhaust itself and sink to rest:
Be Brother now to Brother joined !
Admit me in the equipage
Of your misfortunes, that at least,
Whatever fate remains behind,

I may bear witness in my breast
To your nobility of mind ""

Of quiet to the neighbouring fields;
While from one pillared chimney breathes
The smoke, and mounts in silver wreaths.
-The courts are hushed; - for timely sleep
The Grey-hounds to their kennel creep;
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;
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
Hath any sway? or pain, or fear?
A soft and lulling sound is heard
Of streams inaudible by day;

The garden pool's dark surface, stirred
By the night insects in their play,
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:
The same fair Creature who was nigh
Feeding in tranquillity,

When Francis uttered to the Maid

His last words in the yew-tree shade; -
The same fair Creature, who hath found
Her way into forbidden ground;
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
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,
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,

Through park, or chase, or savage wood.

But where at this still hour is she,
The consecrated Emily?

Even while I speak, behold the Maid
Emerging from the cedar shade
To open moonshine, where the Doe
Beneath the cypress-spire is laid;
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
By the Shepherd, is passed by
With an inattentive eye.

-Nor more regard doth she bestow Upon the uncomplaining Doe!

Yet the meek Creature was not free,
Erewhile, from some perplexity:
For thrice hath she approached, this day
The thought-bewildered Emily;
Endeavouring, in her gentle way,
Some sinile or look of love to gain,-
Encouragement to sport or play;
Attempts which by the unhappy Maid
Have all been slighted or gainsaid.
Yet is she soothed: the viewless breeze
Comes fraught with kindlier sympathies:
Ere she had reached yon rustic Shed
Hung with late-flowering woodbine, spread
Along the walls and overhead;

The fragrance of the breathing flowers
Revives a memory of those hours
When here, in this remote Alcove,
(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.

-Yes, she is soothed: -an image faintAnd yet not faint - a presence bright Returns to her; 't is that blest Saint Who with mild looks and language mild Instructed here her darling Child,

While yet a prattler on the knee,

To worship in simplicity

The invisible God, and take for guide

The faith reformed and purified.

Herself will follow to the war,

And clasp her father's knees; - ah, no!
She meets the insuperable bar,

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

The headstrong current of their fate:
Her duty is to stand and wait;
In resignation to abide

The shock, AND FINALLY SECURE
O'ER PAIN AND GRIEF A TRIUMPH PURE.
-She knows, she feels it, and is cheered;
At least her present pangs are checked.
But now an ancient Man appeared,
Approaching her with grave respect.

Down the smooth walk which then she trod

He paced along the silent sod,

And greeting her thus gently spake, "An old Man's privilege I take;

Dark is the time - a woeful day!

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.
Their flight the fair Moon may not see;
For, from mid-heaven, already she
Hath witnessed their captivity.
She saw the desperate assault
Upon that hostile castle made;
But dark and dismal is the Vault
Where Norton and his sons are laid!
Disastrous issue! he had said,

"This night yon haughty Towers must yield,
Or we for ever quit the field.
-Neville is utterly dismayed,
For promise fails of Howard's aid;
And Dacre to our call replies
That he is unprepared to rise.
My heart is sick; this weary pause
Must needs be fatal to the cause.