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

Stands single (Norton Tower its name);*
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.

The summit of this bold ascent,

Though bleak and bare, and seldom free
As Pendle-hill or Pennygent
From wind, or frost, or vapours wet,
Had often heard the sound of glee
When there the youthful Nortons met,
To practise games and archery:
How proud and happy they! the crowd
Of Lookers-on how pleased and proud!
And from the scorching noon-tide sun,
From showers, or when the prize was won,
They to the Watch-tower did repair,
Commodious Pleasure-house! and there
Would mirth run round, with generous fare;
And the stern old Lord of Rylstone-hall,
He was the proudest of them all!

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:

For she had hoped, had hoped and feared,
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,
Yea, by her brother's very name,
Had, in her solitude, been cheered.

*It is so called to this day, and is thus described by Dr. Whitaker:—“ Rylstone Fell yet exhibits a monument of the old warfare between the Nortons and Cliffords. On a point of very high ground, commanding an immense prospect, and protected by two deep ravines, are the remains of a square tower, expressly said by Dodsworth to have been built by Richard Norton. The walls are of strong grout-work, about four feet thick. It seems to have been three stories high. Breaches have been industriously made in all the sides, almost to the ground, to render it untenable.

"But Norton Tower was probably a sort of pleasure-house in suminer, as there are, adjoining to it, several large mounds, two of them are pretty entire,) of which no other account

can be given than that they were butts for large companies of

archers.

"The place is savagely wild, and admirably adapted to the uses of a watch-tower."

She turned to him, who with his eye
Was watching her while on the height
She sate, or wandered restlessly,
O'erburthened by her sorrow's weight;
To him who this dire news had told
And now beside the Mourner stood;
(That gray-haired Man of gentle blood,
Who with her Father had grown old
In friendship, rival IIunters they,
And fellow Warriors in their day)
To Rylstone he the tidings brought;
Then on this place the Maid had sought:
And told, as gently as could be,
The end of that sad 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 had 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 shame, These were their triumph, these their pride Nor wanted 'mid the pressing crowd Deep feeling, that found utterance loud, Lo, Francis coines,' there were who cried, 'A Prisoner once, but now set free! 'Tis well, for he the worst defied

For sake of natural Piety;

He rose not in this quarrel, he
His Father and his Brothers wooed,
Both for their own and Country's good,
To rest in peace - he did divide
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,
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, through your distress,

Of a redeeming happiness.
Me did a reverent pity move
And privilege of ancient love;

And, in your service, I made bold —
And entrance 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!

But I will end what is begun;
"Tis matter which I do not fear
To entrust to any living ear.'

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:
The darksome Altars would have blazed
Like stars when clouds are rolled away;
Salvation to all eyes that gazed,
Once more the Rood had been upraised
To spread its arms, and stand for aye.
Then, then, had I survived to sce
New life in Bolton Priory;
The voice restored, the eye of Trut!
Re-opened that inspired my youth;
To see her in her pomp arrayed;
This Banner (for such vow I made)
Should on the consecrated breast

Of that same Temple have found rest:
I would myself have hung it high,
Glad offering of glad victory!

"Hear then," said he, while I impart,
My Son, the last wish of my heart.
-The Banner strive thou to regain;
And, if the endeavour be not vain,
Bear it to whom if not to thee
Shall I this lonely thought consign?
Bear it to Bolton Priory,

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;
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 beauteous Brood

This feir unrivalled Brotherhood,

To lead the Prisoners to their fate.
They rose, oh! wherefore should I fear
To tell, or, Lady, you to hear?
They rose
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,
The Banner, which a Soldier bore,
One marshalled thus with base intent
That he in scorn might go before,
And, holding up this monument,
Conduct them to their punishment;
So cruel Sussex, unrestrained
By human feeling, had ordained.
The unhappy Banner Francis saw,
And, with a look of calm command
Inspiring universal awe

embraces none were given

He took it from the Soldier's hand;
And all the people that were round
Confirmed the deed in peace profound.
-High transport did the Father shed
Upon his Son-and they were led,
Led on, and yielded up their breath,
Together died, a happy death!
But Francis, soon as he had braved
This insult, and the Banner saved,
That moment, from among the tide
Of the spectators occupied
In admiration or dismay,

Bore unobserved his Charge away."

These things, which thus had in the sight
And hearing passed of him who stood
With Emily, on the Watch-tower height,
In Rylstone's woeful neighbourhood,
He told; and oftentimes with voice
Of power to comfort or rejoice;
For deepest sorrows that aspire,
Go high, no transport ever higher.
"Yet, yet in this affliction," said
The old Man to the silent Maid,

"Yet, Lady! heaven is good - the night
Shows yet a Star which is most bright;
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, To Rylstone-hall her way she took.

CANTO SIXTH.

WHY comes not Francis? - Joyful cheer
In that parental gratulation,

And glow of righteous indignation,
Went with him from the doleful City:
He fled yet in his flight could hear
The death-sound of the Minster-bell;
That sullen stroke pronounced farewell
To Marmaduke, cut off from pity!
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
With motion fleet as winged Dove;
Yea, like a heavenly Messenger,
An Angel-guest, should he appear.
Why comes he not?-for westward fast
Along the plain of York he past;
The Banner-staff was in his hand,
The Imagery concealed from sight,
And cross the expanse, in open flight,
Reckless of what impels or leads,
Unchecked he hurries on;
The sorrow through the Villages,
Spread by triumphant cruelties
Of vengeful military force,
And punishment without remorse.

nor heeds

Such conflict long did he maintain
Within himself, and found no rest;
Calm liberty he could not gain;
And yet the service was unblest.
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 intelligibly shown,

Finds he the banner in his hand,
Without a thought to such intent,
Or conscious effort of his own;
And no obstruction to prevent,
His Father's wish, and last command!
And, thus beset, he heaved a sigh;
Remembering his own prophecy
Of utter desolation, made

To Emily in the yew-tree shade:
He sighed, submitting to the power,
The might of that prophetic hour.
"No choice is left, the deed is mine-
Dead are they, dead! - And I will go.
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 hiil;
And up the vale of Wharf his way
Pursued; and, on the second day,
He reached a summit whence his eyes
Could see the Tower of Bolton rise.
There Francis for a moment's space
Made halt-but hark! a noise behind
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

Of Death had drunk their punishment,
Bethought him, angry and ashamed,
How Francis had the Banner claimed,
And with that charge had disappeared;
By all the standers-by revered.

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)

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 night Where Francis stood in open sight.

They hem him round Behold the proof, Behold 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;
It weakens me, my heart hath bled
Till it is weak- but you, beware,
Nor do a suffering Spirit wrong,
Whose self-reproaches are too strong!"
At this he from the beaten road
Retreated tow'rds a brake of thorn,
Which like a place of 'vantage showed;
And there stood bravely though forlorn.
In self-defence with warlike brow
He stood, nor weaponless was now;
He from a Soldier's hand had snatched
A spear, and with his eyes he watched
Their motions, turning round and round:-
His weaker hand the Banner held;
And straight, by savage zcal impelled,
Forth rushed a Pikeman, as if he,
Not without harsh indignity,.
Would seize the same:-instinctively -
To smite the Offender with his lance
Did Francis from the brake advance;
But, from behind, a treacherous wound
Unfeeling brought him to the ground,
A mortal stroke: oh grief to tell!
Thus, thus, the noble Francis fell:

THOU Spirit, whose angelic hand
Was to the Harp a strong commaud,
Called the submissive strings to wake
In glory for this Maiden's sake,
Say, Spirit! whither hath she fled
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
Is that the Sufferer's last retreat?
Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds
Its perilous front in mists and clouds?
High-climbing rock-low sunless dale-
Sea-desert-what do these avail?
Oh take her anguish and her fears
Into a deep recess of years!

'Tis done; despoil and desolation

O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown *;
The walks and pools neglect hath 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

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
There is a joyless human Being,
Of aspect such as if the waste
Were under her dominion placed:
Upon a primrose bank, her throne
Of quietness, she sits alone;

There seated, may this Maid be seen,
Among the ruins of a wood,
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,
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

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
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:

After the attainder of Richard Norton, his estates were forfeited to the crown, where they remained till the 2d or 3d of James; they were then granted to Francis, Earl of Cumberland." From an accurate survey made at that time, several particulars have been extracted by Dr. W. It appears that the mansion-house was then in decay. Immediately adjoining is a close, called the Vivery, so called, undoubtedly, from the French Vivier, or modern Latin Vivarium; for there are near the house large remains of a pleasure-ground, such as were introduced in the earlier part of Elizabeth's time, with topiary works, fish-ponds, an island, &c. The whole township was ranged by an hundred and thirty red deer, the property of the Lord, which, together with the wood, had, after the attainder of Mr. Norton, been committed to Sir Stephen Tempest. The wood, it seems, had been abandoned to depredations, before which time it appears that the neighbourhood must have exhi bited a forest-like and sylvan scene. In this survey, among the old tenants, is mentioned one Richard Kitchen, butler to Mr. Norton, who rose in rebellion with his master, and was executed

at Ripon.

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 Root,
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.