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,
The Banner which a Soldier bore,
One marshalled thus with base intent
That he in scorn might go before,
And, holding up this monument,
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 were 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
This insult, and the Banner saved,
That moment, from among the tide
Of the spectators occupied
In admiration or dismay,
Bore unobserved his Charge away."

The sixth canto thus opens:
Why comes not Francis ?-Joyful chear
In that parental gratulation,
And glow of righteous indignation,
Went with him from the doleful City :-
He fled yet in his flight could hear
The death-sound 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 motion fleet as winged Dove;
Yea, like a heavenly Messenger,
An Angel-guest, should he appear.
Why comes he not ?-for westward fast
Along the plain of York he past;
The Banner-staff was in his hand,
The Imagery concealed from sight,
And cross the expanse, in open flight,
Reckless of what impels or leads,
Unchecked he hurries on; nor heeds
The sorrow of the Villages;
From the triumphant cruelties
Of vengeful military force,
And punishment without remorse,
Unchecked he journeys-under law
Of inward occupation 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.

After the execution of his father and brethren, Francis, with the ill

fated banner in his hand, is over-
taken, on his way to Bolton Abbey,
by a party of horse under Sir George
Bowes, and after many insults, is slain
and left on the ground, where, after
two days and nights, the body is
found, and buried by some peasants
in the church-yard of the Priory.
Apart, some little space, was made
The grave where Francis must be laid.
In no confusion or neglect

This did they, but in pure respect
That he was born of gentle Blood;
And that there was no neighbourhood
Of kindred for him in that ground:
So to the Church-yard they are bound,
Bearing the Body on a bier

In decency and humble chear;
And psalms are sung with holy sound.
But Emily hath raised her head,
And is again disquieted;

She must behold !-so many gone,
Where is the solitary One?

And forth from Rylstone-hall stepp'd she,-
To seek her Brother forth she went,
And tremblingly her course she bent
Tow'rds Bolton's ruined Priory.
She comes, and in the Vale hath heard
The Funeral dirge;-she sees the Knot
Of people, sees them in one spot→→→
And darting like a wounded Bird
She reached the grave, and with her breast
Upon the ground received the rest,-
The consummation, the whole ruth
And sorrow of this final truth!

After this catastrophe years are sup-
posed to elapse, and the last and most
beautiful Canto thus opens.
Thou Spirit, whose angelic hand
Was to the Harp a strong command,
Called the submissive strings to wake
In glory for this Maiden's sake,
To hide her poor afflicted head?
Say, Spirit! whither hath she fled
What mighty forest in its gloom
Enfolds her?-is a rifted tomb
Within the wilderness her seat?
Some island which the wild waves beat,
Is that the Sufferer's last retreat?
Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds
Its perilous front in mists and clouds ?
High-climbing rock-deep sunless dale-
Sea desert-what do these avail ?
Oh take her anguish and her fears
Into a calm recess of years!

'Tis done ;-despoil and desolation
O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown ;
The walks and pools neglect hath sown
With weeds, the bowers are overthrown,
Or have given way to slow mutation,
While, in their ancient habitation
The Norton name hath been unknown;

The lordly Mansion of its pride
Is stripped; the ravage hath spread wide
That mocks the gladness of the Spring!
Through park and field, a perishing
And with this silent gloom agreeing

There is a joyless human Being,
Of aspect such as if the waste
Were under her dominion placed:
Upon a primrose bank, her throne
Of quietness, she sits alone;
There seated, may this Maid be seen,
Among the ruins of a wood,
Erewhile a covert bright and green,
And where full many a brave Tree stood,
That used to spread its boughs, and ring
With the sweet Bird's carolling.
Behold her, like a Virgin Queen,
Neglecting in imperial state
These outward images of fate,
And carrying inward a serene

And perfect sway, through many a thought
Of chance and change, that hath been brought
To the subjection of a holy,

Though stern and rigorous, melancholy ! Long years of wandering have fled o'er the head of the orphan lady, and she has ventured to return at last to the place" where the home of her forefathers stood."

And so beneath a mouldered tree,
A self-surviving leafless Oak,
By unregarded age from stroke
Of ravage saved sate Emily.
There did she rest, with head reclined,
Herself most like a stately Flower,
(Such have I seen) whom chance of birth
Hath separated from its kind,
To live and die in a shady bower,
Single on the gladsome earth.

When, with a noise like distant thunder,
A troop of Deer came sweeping by;
And, suddenly, behold a wonder!
For, of that band of rushing Deer,
A single One in mid career
Hath stopped, and fixed its large full eye
Upon the Lady Emily,

A Doe most beautiful, clear-white,
A radiant Creature, silver-bright!

Thus checked, a little while it stayed;
A little thoughtful pause it made;
And then advanced with stealth-like pace,
Drew softly near her-and more near,
Stopped once again ;-but, as no trace
Was found of any thing to fear,
Even to her feet the Creature came,
And laid its head upon her knee,
And looked into the Lady's face
A look of pure benignity,
And fond unclouded memory.
It is, thought Emily, the same,
The very Doe of other years!
The pleading look the Lady viewed,
And, by her gushing thoughts subdued,
She melted into tears-

A flood of tears, that flowed apace
Upon the happy Creature's face.

Oh, moment ever blest! O Pair!
Beloved of heaven, heaven's choicest care!
This was for you a precious greeting,-
For both a bounteous, fruitful meeting.
Joined are they, and the Sylvan Doe
Can she depart? can she forego
The Lady, once her playful Peer,

And now her sainted Mistress dear?
And will not Emily receive
This lovely Chronicler of things
Long past, delights and sorrowings?
Lone sufferer! will not she believe
The promise in that speaking face,
And take this gift of Heaven with grace?
That day, the first of a re-union
Which was to teem with high communion,
That day of balmy April weather
They tarried in the wood together.
And when, ere fall of evening-dew,
She from this sylvan haunt withdrew,
The White Doe tracked with faithful pace
The Lady to her Dwelling-place;
That nook where, on paternal ground,
A habitation she had found,

The Master of whose humble board
Once owned her Father for his Lord;
A Hut, by tufted Trees defended,
Where Rylstone Brook with Wharf is blended.
When Emily by morning light
Went forth, the Doe was there in sight.
She shrunk :-with one frail shock of pain,
Received and followed by a prayer,
Did she behold-saw once again;
Shun will she not, she feels, will bear ;-
But wheresoever she looked round
All now was trouble-haunted ground.
So doth the Sufferer deem it good
Even once again this neighbourhood
To leave. Unwooed, yet unforbidden,
The White Doe followed up the Vale,
Up to another Cottage-hidden
In the deep fork of Amerdale;
And there may Emily restore
Herself, in spots unseen before.
Why tell of mossy rock, or tree,
By lurking Dernbrook's pathless side,
Haunts of a strengthening amity
That calmed her, cheared, and fortified?
For she had ventured now to read

Of time, and place, and thought, and deed,
Endless history that lies

In her silent Follower's eyes?
Who with a power like human Reason
Discerns the favourable season,
Skilled to approach or to retire,-
From looks conceiving her desire,
From looks, deportment, voice or mien,
That vary to the heart within.
If she too passionately writhed
Her arms, or over-deeply breathed,
Walked quick or slowly, every mood
In its degree was understood;
Then well may their accord be true,
And kindly intercourse ensue.
-Oh! surely 'twas a gentle rouzing,
When she by sudden glimpse espied
The White Doe on the mountain browzing,
Or in the meadow wandered wide!

How pleased, when down the Straggler sank
Beside her, on some sunny bank!

How soothed, when in thick bower enclosed,
They like a nested Pair reposed!
Fair Vision! when it crossed the Maid
Within some rocky cavern laid,
The dark cave's portal gliding by,
White as the whitest cloud on high,

Floating through the azure sky.

What now is left for pain or fear?
That Presence, dearer and more dear,
Did now a very gladness yield
At morning to the dewy field,
While they side by side were straying,
And the Shepherd's pipe was playing;
And with a deeper peace endued
The hour of moonlight solitude.

With her companion, in such frame
Of mind, to Rylstone back she came,-
And, wandering through the wasted groves,
Received the memory of old Loves,
Undisturbed and undistrest,

Into a soul which now was blest
With a soft spring-day of holy,
Mild, delicious melancholy :
Not sunless gloom or unenlightened,
But by tender fancies brightened.

When the Bells of Rylstone played
Their Sabbath music-" God us ayde!"
That was the sound they seemed to speak;
Inscriptive legend, which I ween
May on those holy Bells be seen,
That legend and her Grandsire's name ;
And oftentimes the Lady meek
Had in her Childhood read the same,
Words which she slighted at that day;
But now, when such sad change was wrought,
And of that lonely name she thought,
The Bells of Rylstone seemed to say,
While she sate listening in the shade,
With vocal music," God us ayde!"
And all the Hills were glad to bear
Their part in this effectual prayer.

Nor lacked she Reason's firmest power;
But with the White Doe at her side
Up doth she climb to Norton Tower,
And thence looks round her far and wide.
Her fate there measures,all is stilled,-
The feeble hath subdued her heart;
Behold the prophecy fulfilled,
Fulfilled, and she sustains her part!
But here her Brother's words have failed,
Here hath a milder doom prevailed;
That she, of him and all bereft,
Hath yet this faithful Partner left,—
This single Creature that disproves
His words, remains for her, and loves.
If tears are shed, they do not fall
For loss of him, for one or all;
Yet, sometimes, sometimes doth she weep
Moved gently in her soul's soft sleep;
A few tears down her cheek descend
For this her last and living Friend.

Bless, tender Hearts, their mutual lot,
And bless for both this savage spot!
Which Emily doth sacred hold
For reasons dear and manifold-
Here hath she, here before her sight,
Close to the summit of this height,
The grassy rock-encircled Pound
In which the Creature first was found.
So beautiful the spotless Thrall,
(A lovely Younkling white as foam,)
That it was brought to Rylstone-hall;
Her youngest Brother led it home,
The youngest, then a lusty Boy,

But most to Bolton's sacred Pile,
On favouring nights, she loved to go:
There ranged through cloister, court, and aisle,
Attended by the soft-paced Doe;
Nor did she fear in the still moonshine
To look upon Saint Mary's shrine;
Nor on the lonely turf that showed
Where Francis slept in his last abode.
For that she came; there oft and long
She sate in meditation strong:
And, when she from the abyss returned
Of thought, she neither shrunk nor mourned;
Was happy that she lived to greet
Her mute Companion as it lay
In love and pity at her feet;
How happy in her turn to meet
That recognition! the mild glance
Beamed from that gracious countenance;
Communication, like the ray

Of a new morning, to the nature
And prospects of the inferior Creature!

A mortal Song we frame, by dower
Encouraged of celestial power;
Power which the viewless Spirit shed
By whom we were first visited;

Whose voice we heard, whose hand and wings
Swept like a breeze the conscious strings,
When, left in solitude, erewhile
We stood before this ruined Pile,
And, quitting unsubstantial dreams,
Sang in this Presence kindred themes;
Distress and desolation spread

Through human hearts, and pleasure dead,
Dead-but to live again on Earth,
A second and yet nobler birth;
Dire overthrow, and yet how high
The re-ascent in sanctity!
From fair to fairer; day by day
A more divine and loftier way!
Even such this blessed Pilgrim trod,
By sorrow lifted tow'rds her God;
Uplifted to the purest sky
Of undisturbed mortality.

Her own thoughts loved she; and could bend
A dear look to her lowly Friend,—
There stopped ;-her thirst was satisfied
With what this innocent spring supplied-
Her sanction inwardly she bore,
And stood apart from human cares :
But to the world returned no more,
Although with no unwilling mind
Help did she give at need, and joined
The Wharfdale Peasants in their prayers.
At length, thus faintly, faintly tied
To earth, she was set free, and died.
Thy soul, exalted Emily,
Maid of the blasted Family,

Rose to the God from whom it came!
-In Rylstone Church her mortal frame
Was buried by her Mother's side.

Most glorious sunset !—and a ray
Survives the twilight of this day:
In that fair Creature whom the fields
Support, and whom the forest shields;
Who, having filled a holy place,
Partakes in her degree Heaven's grace;
And bears a memory and a mind
Raised far above the law of kind;

tector once more shone among the woods.

Of Emily herself little need be said. From the first moment she is felt to be orphaned, all her former happiness is to us like a dream,-all that is real with her is sorrow. In one day she becomes utterly desolate. But there is no agony, no convulsion, no despair: profound sadness, settled grief," the everlasting calm of melancholy, and the perfect stillness of resignation. All her looks, words, movements, are gentle, feminine, subdued. Throughout all the Poem an image of an angelical being seems to have lived in the Poet's soul, and without effort, he gives it to us in angelical beauty.

The character and situation of Francis, the eldest brother, are finely conceived, and coloured in the same calm and serene style of painting. He is felt to be a hero, though throughout branded with the name of coward. It required some courage in a Poet to describe a character so purely passive. There is, we think, a solemnity, and piety, and devotion, in the character that becomes truly awful, linked, as they are, throughout, with the last extremities of human suffering and calamity.

But we must conclude,-and we do so with perfect confidence, that many who never have read this Poem, and not a few who may have read extracts from it with foolish and unbecoming levity, will feel and acknowledge, from the specimens we have now given, that the "White Doe of Rylstone" is a tale written with singularly beautiful simplicity of language, and with a power and pathos that have not been often excelled in English Poetry.

[We cannot allow this article to pass through the press without regretting that the author of it has not thought proper to class Southey along with his three illustrious contemporaries. We have no doubt that he will yet do ample justice to his incomparable genius, and show to us that he has now omitted that great name, rather from the too exclusive spirit of classification, than from any insensibility (which really in his mind we cannot conceive) to the merits of that truly EDITOR.]

original Poet.

LETTER TO A POLITICIAN.

(Written after the Conclusion of the late War.)

[The following letter was, some time ago, addressed to a political personage of high

importance, by a gentleman whose admirable and energetic writings have rendered his spirit, although not his name, The immediate well known to the public. occasion of its composition was one of such a nature that it is unnecessary for us to mention it; we are sure it will be perfectly understood, and we hope its manly and generous sentiments may be as agreeable to our readers as they have been to ourselves.

EDITOR.]

-Quod optanti Divum promittere nemo Auderet, volvenda dies en attulit ultro.

SIR,

WHATEVER may have been our differences of opinion during the progress of the struggle in which we have so long been engaged, I believe no man will now be disposed to deny that the change which has recently taken place in the affairs of Europe, and particularly in those of Great Britain, is at once the most astonishing—the most completely unexpected-and the most gratifying to the human mind, that ever has occurred in the annals of the world.

Only two years ago, our prospects were discouraging in the extreme. That the contest, in which we were so deeply involved, should be conducted to a successful issue, seemed almost beyond the bounds of credibility. Even the splendour of our military atchievements, however honourable to our national prowess, was conceived but little likely to lead to any solid or permanent advantage; and if the firmest minded amongst us believed it possible that we might still continue to struggle, for a few years longer, under the pressure and calamities of war, it was at least almost universally adtended with the sacrifice of those committed, that the effort must be atforts which we had been accustomed to possess, and that our independence could only be maintained at the expense of our prosperity and happiness.

To this most distressing picture, our political divisions, ever pregnant with asperity and mischief, materially tended to give colour and effect. By those who, from their superior information, had been supposed capable of deciding upon the fate of empires, we were uniformly addressed in language very different from that of consolation. Even the humble hope, that, by the immediate interposition of Providence, it might be possible for us to escape the dangers of a crisis so replete with ter