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
Reopened 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 endeavor prove not vain,
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 arose in state
To lead the prisoners to their fate.
They rose, -O 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 woful neighborhood,
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.
WHY comes not Francis? - From the doleful City
He fled, — and, in his flight, could hear
The death-sounds 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 the fleet motion of a dove;
Yea, like a heavenly messenger
Of speediest wing should he appear.
Why comes he not? - for westward fast
Along the plain of York he past;
Reckless of what impels or leads,
Unchecked he hurries on;-nor heeds
The sorrow, through the Villages,
Spread by triumphant cruelties
Of vengeful military force,
And punishment without remorse.
He marked not, heard not, as he fled;
All but the suffering heart was dead
For him abandoned to blank awe,
vacancy, and horror strong:
And the first object which he saw,
With conscious sight, as he swept along, -
It was the Banner in his hand!
He felt, and made a sudden stand.
He looked about like one betrayed: What hath he done? what promise made? O weak, weak moment, to what end Can such a vain oblation tend, And he the Bearer? Can he go, Carrying this instrument of woe, And find, find anywhere, a right To excuse him in his Country's sight? No; will not all men deem the change A downward course, perverse and strange? Here is it; but how? when? must she,
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