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!

CANTO SECOND.

THE Harp in lowliness obeyed;

And first we sang of the green-wood 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 this Maid, who wrought Meekly, with foreboding thought,

In vermeil colours and in gold

An unblest 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 triumphantly restored,

By the dread justice of the sword!

And that same Banner, on whose breast

The blameless Lady had exprest

Memorials chosen to give life

And sunshine to a dangerous strife;

That Banner, waiting for the call,

Stood quietly in Rylstone Hall.

"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 blameless 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 moist 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;