William Wordsworth

The White Doe Of Rylstone 5

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 Tower withdrew, and there Would mirth run round, with generous fare; And the stern old Lord of Rylstone-hall Was happiest, 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. Beside the lonely watch-tower stood That grey-haired Man of gentle blood, Who with her Father had grown old 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 The end of that dire 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 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; 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-- 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 Deep feeling, that found utterance loud, 'Lo, Francis comes,' there were who cried, 'A Prisoner once, but now set free! 'Tis well, for he the worst defied Through force of natural piety; 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 Their purpose--then did he 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, making bold, Entrance I gained to that stronghold. 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! Thoughts press, and time is hurrying on'-- 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 see New life in Bolton Priory; The voice restored, the eye of Truth 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, Fit offering of glad victory! A shadow of such thought remains To cheer this sad and pensive time; A solemn fancy yet sustains 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. The Banner strive thou to regain; And, if the endeavour prove 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 noble Brood, 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: 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!'-- The pledge obtained, the solemn word 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? 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, 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, 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, He took it from the soldier's hand; And all the people that stood 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 That insult, and the Banner saved, Athwart the unresisting tide Of the spectators occupied In admiration or dismay, Bore instantly 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. "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; 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.

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