"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.