Doth now no hindrance meet his eye,
No intervention, to withstand
Fulfilment of a Father's prayer

Breathed to a Son forgiven, and blest
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

To Emily in the yew-tree shade:
He sighed, submitting will and power
To the stern embrace of that grasping hour.1
"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 hill:
And up the vale of Wharf his way
Pursued ;—and, at the dawn of day,

1

1836.

Providence,

Its will intelligibly shewn,
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.

1815.

Attained a summit whence his eyes 1
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, with the Banner claimed
As his own charge, had disappeared,2
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 height
Where Francis stood in open sight.

They hem him round-" Behold the proof,"
They cried, "the Ensign in his hand !3

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;
And must not part with. But beware;-

Err not, by hasty zeal misled,

Nor do a suffering Spirit wrong,1
Whose self-reproaches are too strong!"
At this he from the beaten road
Retreated towards a brake of thorn,
That like a place of vantage showed;
And there stood bravely, though forlorn.
In self-defence with warlike brow 3
He stood, nor weaponless was now;
He from a Soldier's hand had snatched
A spear, and, so protected, watched
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
The Banner clenched; till, from out the Band,
One, the most eager for the prize,

Rushed in; and-while, O grief to tell!
A glimering sense still left, with eyes

Unclosed the noble Francis lay—
Seized it, as hunters seize their prey;1
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! 2

Proudly the Horsemen bore away

The Standard; and where Francis lay
There was he left alone, unwept,
And for two days unnoticed slept.
For at that time bewildering fear
Possessed the country, far and near;
But, on the third day, passing by,
One of the Norton Tenantry

Espied the uncovered Corse; the Man

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 zeal 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:

There did he lie of breath forsaken;

The Banner from his grasp was taken,

And borne exultingly away;

And the body was left on the ground where it lay. 1815.

But not before the warm life-blood

Had tinged with searching overflow,

More deeply tinged the embroidered show

Of His whose side was pierced upon the Rood.

1836.

Shrunk as he recognised the face,
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
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
And no one hinder their intent,1
Then, they, for Christian pity's sake,
In holy ground a grave would make
And straightway buried he should be
In the Church-yard of the Priory.

Two days, as many nights, he slept
Alone, unnoticed, and unwept;
For at that time distress and fear
Possessed the Country far and near;

The third day, One, who chanced to pass,
Beheld him stretched upon the grass.
A gentle Forester was he,

And of the Norton Tenantry;

And he had heard that by a train

Of Horsemen Francis had been slain.
Much was he troubled-for the Man
Hath recognised his pallid face;
And to the nearest Huts he ran,
And called the People to the place.
-How desolate is Rylstone-hall!
Such was the instant thought of all;

And if the lonely Lady there
Should be, this sight she cannot bear !
Such thought the Forester expressed,
And all were swayed, and deemed it best,
That, if the Priest should yield assent
And join himself to their intent,

1815.