Bright is the creature-as in dreams
The boy had seen her-yea more bright-
But is she truly what she seems ?
He asks with insecure delight,
Asks of himself-and doubts-and still
The doubt returns against his will:
Though he, and all the standers by,
Could tell a tragic history
Of facts divulged, wherein appear
Substantial motive, reason clear,
Why thus the milk-white doe is found
Couchant beside that lonely mound;
And why she duly loves to pace
The circuit of this hallowed place.
Nor to the child's inquiring mind
Is such perplexity confined:
For, spite of sober truth, that sees
A world of fixed remembrances
Which to this mystery belong,
If, undeceived, my skill can trace
The characters of every face,
There lack not strange delusion here,
Conjecture vague, and idle fear,
And superstitious fancies strong,
Which do the gentle creature wrong.
That bearded, staff-supported sire
(Who in his youth had often fed
Full cheerily on convent bread,
And heard old tales by the convent fire,
And lately hath brought home the scars
Gathered in long and distant wars),
That old man-studious to expound
The spectacle-hath mounted high
To days of dim antiquity;
When Lady Aäliza mourned
Her son, and felt in her despair,
The pang of unavailing prayer;
Her son in Wharf's abysses drowned,
The noble boy of Egremound.
From which affliction, when God's grace
At length had in her heart found place,
A pious structure, fair to see,
Rose up-this stately priory!
The lady's work-but now laid low;
To the grief of her soul that doth come and go,
In the beautiful form of this innocent doe;
Which, though seemingly doomed in its breast to sus
A softened remembrance of sorrow and pain,
Is spotless, and holy, and gentle, and bright,
And glides o'er the earth like an angel of light.
Pass, pass who will, yon chantry door,
And, through the chink in the fractured floor
Look down, and see a grisly sight;
A vault where the bodies are buried upright!
There, face by face, and hand by hand,
The Claphams and Mauleverers stand;
And, in his place, among son and sire,
Is John de Clapham, that fierce esquire,
A valiant man, and a name of dread,
In the ruthless wars of the White and Red;
Who dragged Earl Pembroke from Banbury Church,
And smote off his head on the stones of the porch!
Look down among them, if you dare;
Oft does the white doe loiter there,
Prying into the darksome rent;
Nor can it be with good intent;
So thinks that dame of haughty air,
Who hath a page her book to hold,
And wears a frontlet edged with gold.
Well may her thoughts be harsh; for she
Numbers among her ancestry
Earl Pembroke, slain so impiously!
That slender youth, a scholar pale,
From Oxford come to his native vale,
He also hath his own conceit :
It is, thinks he, the gracious fairy
Who loved the shepherd lord to meet
In his wanderings solitary;
Wild notes she in his hearing sang,
A song of Nature's hidden powers,
That whistled like the wind, and rang
Among the rocks and holly bowers.
'Twas said that she all shapes could wear,
And oftentimes before him stood,
Amid the trees of some thick wood,
In semblance of a lady fair,
And taught him signs, and showed him sights,
In Craven's dens, on Cumbria's heights;
When under cloud of fear he lay,
A shepherd clad in homely grey,
Nor left him at his later day.
And hence, when he, with spear and shield,
Rode, full of years, to Flodden field,
His eye could see the hidden spring,
And how the current was to flow;
The fatal end of Scotland's king,
And all that hopeless overthrow.
But not in wars did he delight,
This Clifford wished for worthier might;
Nor in broad pomp, or courtly state;
Him his own thoughts did elevate,
Most happy in the shy recess
Of Barden's humble quietness.
And choice of studious friends had he
Of Bolton's dear fraternity,
Who, standing on this old church tower,
In many a calm propitious hour,
Perused, with him, the starry sky;
Or in their cells with him did pry
For other lore, through strong desire
Searching the earth with chemic fire;
But they and their good works are fled,
And all is now disquietude,
And peace is none, for living or dead!
Ah, pensive scholar! think not so,
But look again at the radiant doe!
What quiet watch she seems to keep,
Alone, beside that grassy heap!
Why mention other thoughts unmeet
For vision so composed and sweet?
While stand the people in a ring,
Gazing, doubting, questioning;
Yea, many overcome, in spite
Of recollections clear and bright,
Which yet do unto some impart
An undisturbed repose of heart.
And all the assembly own a law
Of orderly respect and awe;
But see! they vanish, one by one;
And last, the doe herself is gone.
Harp! we have been full long beguiled
By busy dreams and fancies wild,
To which, with no reluctant strings,
Thou hast attuned thy murmurings;
And now before this pile we stand
In solitude and utter peace:
But, harp! thy murmurs may not cease,—
Thou hast breeze-like visitings;
For a spirit with angel wings
Hath touched thee, and a spirit's hand:
A voice is with us-a command
To chant, in strains of heavenly glory,
A tale of tears, a mortal story!
THE harp in lowliness obeyed;
And first we sang of the greenwood shade,
And a solitary maid;
Beginning, where the song must end,
With her, and with her sylvan friend;
The friend who stood before her sight.
Her only unextinguished light,-
Her last companion, in a dearth
Of love, upon a hopeless earth.
For she it was, 'twas she who wrought
Meekly, with foreboding thought,
In vermeil colours and in gold,
An unblessed work, which, standing by,
Her father did with joy behold,
Exulting in the imagery;
A banner-one that did fulfil
Too perfectly his headstrong will:
For on this banner had her hand
Embroidered (such was the command)
The sacred cross, and figured there
The five dear wounds our Lord did bear;
Full soon to be uplifted high,
And float in rueful company!
It was the time when England's queen
Twelve years had reigned, a sovereign dread;
Nor yet the restless crown had been
Disturbed upon her virgin head;
But now the inly-working north
Was ripe to send its thousands forth,
A potent vassalage, to fight
In Percy's and in Neville's right,
Two earls fast leagued in discontent,
Who gave their wishes open vent,
And boldly urged a general plea,-
The rites of ancient piety
To be by force of arms renewed;
Glad prospect for the multitude!
And that same banner, on whose_breast
The blameless lady had expressed
Memorials chosen to give life
And sunshine to a dangerous strife;
This banner, waiting for the call,
Stood quietly in Rylstone Hall.
It came and Francis Norton said,
"O father! rise not in this fray,-
The hairs are white upon your head:
Dear father! hear me when I say
It is for you too late a day.
Bethink you of your own good name;
A just and gracious queen have we,
A pure religion, and the claim
Of peace on our humanity.
'Tis meet that I endure your scorn,
I am your son, your eldest born;
But not for lordship or for land,
My father, do I clasp your knees;
The banner touch not, stay your hand,—
This multitude of men disband,
And live at home in blissful ease;
For these my brethren's sake-for me-
And, most of all, for Emily!"
Loud noise was in the crowded hall,
And scarcely could the father hear
That name, which had a dying fall,
The name of his only daughter dear;
And on the banner which stood near
He glanced a look of holy pride,
And his wet eyes were glorified;
Then seized the staff, and thus did say:
"Thou, Richard, bear'st thy father's name,
Keep thou this ensign till the day
When I of thee require the same;
Thy place be on my better hand;
And seven as true as thou, I see,
Will cleave to this good cause and me."
He spake, and eight brave sons straightway
All followed him, a gallant band!
Forth when sire and sons appeared,
A gratulating shout was reared,
With din of arms and minstrelsy,
From all his warlike tenantry,
All horsed and harnessed with him to ride;
A shout to which the hills replied !
But Francis, in the vacant hall, Stood silent-under dreary weight,A phantasm, in which roof and wall Shook, tottered, swam before his sight, A phantasm like a dream of night. Thus overwhelmed, and desolate, He found his way to a postern-gate; And, when he waked at length, his eye Was on the calm and silent sky, With air about him breathing sweet, And earth's green grass beneath his feet; Nor did he fail ere long to hear
A sound of military cheer,
Faint, but it reached that sheltered spot; He heard, and it disturbed him not.
There stood he, leaning on a lance Which he had grasped unknowingly,Had blindly grasped, in that strong trance, That dimness of heart agony ;
There stood he, cleansed from the despair And sorrow of his fruitless prayer.
The past he calmly hath reviewed;
But where will be the fortitude
Of this brave man, when he shall see
That form beneath the spreading tree,
And know that it is Emily?
Oh! hide them from each other, -hide,
Kind Heaven, this pair severely tried!
He saw her, where in open view
She sate, beneath the spreading yew,
|