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And Officers appeared in state

fated banner in his hand, is overTo lead the Prisoners to their fate.

taken, on his way to Bolton Abbey, They rose, oh! wherefore should I fear

by a party of horse under Sir George
To tell, or, Lady, you to hear ?

Bowes, and after many insults, is slain
They rose-embraces none were given

and left on the ground, where, after
They stood like trees when earth and heaven
Are calm ; they knew each other's worth,

two days and nights, the body is

found, and buried by some peasants
And reverently the Band went forth.
They met, when they had reached the door, in the church-yard of the Priory.
The Banner which a Soldier bore,

Apart, some little space, was made
One marshalled thus with base intent

The grave where Francis must be laid.
That he in scorn might go before,

In no confusion or neglect
And, holding up this monument,

This did they, but in pure respect
Conduct them to their punishment;

That he was born of gentle Blood;
So cruel Sussex, unrestrained

And that there was no neighbourhood
By human feeling, had ordained :

Of kindred for him in that ground:
The unhappy Banner Francis saw,

So to the Church-yard they are bound,
And, with a look of calm command

Bearing the Body on a bier
Inspiring universal awe,

In decency and humble chear ;
He took it from the Soldier's hand ; And psalms are sung with holy sound.
And all the people that were round

But Emily hath raised her head,
Confirmed the deed in peace profound. And is again disquieted ;
-High transport did the Father shed She must behold so many gone,
Upon his Son--and they were led,

Where is the solitary One ?
Led on, and yielded up their breath, And forth from Rylstone-hall stepp'd she
Together died, a happy death!

To seek her Brother forth she went,
But Francis, soon as he had braved

And tremblingly her course she bent
This insult, and the Banner saved,

Tow'rds Bolton's ruined Priory.
That moment, from among the tide

She comes, and in the Vale hath heard
Of the spectators occupied

The Funeral dirge ;- she sees the Knot
In admiration or dismay,

Of people, sees them in one spot
Bore unobserved his Charge away." And darting like a wounded Bird
The sixth canto thus opens :

She reached the grave, and with her breast

Upon the ground received the rest,
Why comes not Francis ?--Joyful chear

The consummation, the whole ruth
In that parental gratulation,

And sorrow of this final truth !
And glow of righteous indignation,
Went with him from the doleful City :-

After this catastrophe years are sup-
He fled-yet in his flight could hear posed to elapse,--and the last and most
The death-sound of the Minster-bell; beautiful Canto thus opens.
That sullen stroke pronounced farewell

Thou Spirit, whose angelic hand
To Marmaduke, cut off from pity !

Was to the Harp a strong command,
To Ambrose that! and then a knell

Called the submissive strings to wake
For him, the sweet half-opened Flower !

In glory for this Maiden's sake,
For all all dying in one hour !
-Whycomes not Francis? Thoughts of love Say, Spirit! whither hath she fled

To hide her poor afflicted head?
Should bear him to his Sister dear
With motion fleet as winged Dove ;

What mighty forest in its gloom

Enfolds her ?is a rifted tomb
Yea, like a heavenly Messenger,

Within the wilderness her seat?
An Angel-guest, should he appear.

Some island which the wild waves beat,
Why comes he not ?--for westward fast

Is that the Sufferer's last retreat ?
Along the plain of York he past;
The Banner-staff was in his hand,

Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds
The Imagery concealed from sight,

Its perilous front in mists and clouds ?
And cross the expanse, in open flight,

High-climbing rock-deep sunless dale-
Reckless of what impels or leads,

Seadesert

what do these avail ?
Unchecked he hurries on ; nor heeds

Oh take her anguish and her fears
The sorrow of the Villages ;

Into a calm recess of years !
From the triumphant cruelties

'Tis done ;- despoil and desolation
Of vengeful military force,

O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown ;
And punishment without remorse,

The walks and pools neglect hath sown
Unchecked he journeys under law

With weeds, the bowers are overthrown,
Of inward occupation strong ;

Or have given way to slow mutation,
And the first object which he saw,

While, in their ancient habitation
With conscious sight, as he swept along,

The Norton name hath been unknown;
It was the Banner in his hand !

The lordly Mansion of its pride
He felt, and made a sudden stand.

Is stripped ; the ravage hath spread wide
After the execution of his father Through park and field, a perishing

That mocks the gladness of the Spring!
and brethren, Francis, with the ille And with this silent gloom agreeing

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How pleased, when down the Straggler sank

There is a joyless human Being,

And now her sainted Mistress dear ? Of aspect such as if the waste

And will not Emily receive Were under her dominion placed :

This lovely Chronicler of things Upon a primrose bank, her throne

Long past, delights and sorrowings ? Of quietness, she sits alone ;

Lone sufferer! will not she believe There seated, may this Maid be seen, The promise in that speaking face, Among the ruins of a wood,

And take this gift of Heaven with grace ? Erewhile a covert bright and green,

That day, the first of a re-union And where full many a brave Tree stood, Which was to teen with high communion, That used to spread its boughs, and ring That day of balmy April weather With the sweet Bird's carolling.

They tarried in the wood together. Behold her, like a Virgin Queen,

And when, ere fall of evening.dew, Neglecting in imperial state

She from this sylvan haunt withdrew, These outward images of fate,

The White Doe tracked with faithful pace And carrying inward a serene

The Lady to her Dwelling-place ; And perfect sway, through many a thought That nook where, on paternal ground, Of chance and change, that hath been brought A habitation she had found, To the subjection of a holy,

The Master of whose humble board Though stern and rigorous, melancholy ! Once owned her Father for his Lord ; Long years of wandering have fled A Hut, by tufted Trees defended,

Where Rylstone Brook with Wharf is blended. o'er the head of the orphan lady, and

When Emily by morning light she has ventured to return at last to Went forth, the Doe was there in sight. the place“ where the home of her fore- She shrunk :-with one frail shock of pain, fathers stood.”

Received and followed by a prayer, And so beneath a mouldered tree,

Did she behold-saw once again ; A self-surviving leafless Oak,

Shun will she not, she feels, will bear ;By unregarded age from stroke

But wheresoever she looked round Of ravage saved-sate Emily.

All now was trouble-haunted ground. There did she rest, with head reclined,

So doth the Sufferer deem it good Herself most like a stately Flower,

Even once again this neighbourhood į (Such have I seen) whom chance of birth

To leave..Ŭnwooed, yet unforbidden, Hath separated from its kind,

The White Doe followed up the Vale, To live and die in a shady bower,

Up to another Cottage-hidden Single on the gladsome earth.

In the deep fork of Amerdale ; When, with a noise like distant thunder, And there may Emily restore A troop of Deer came sweeping by ;

Herself, in spots unseen before. And, suddenly, behold a wonder!

Why tell of mossy rock, or tree, For, of that band of rushing Deer,

By lurking Dernbrook's pathless side, A single One in mid career

Haunts of a strengthening amity Hath stopped, and fixed its large full eye That calmed her, cheared, and fortified ? Upon the Lady Emily,

For she had ventured now to read A Doe most beautiful, clear-white, of time, and place, and thought, and deed, A radiant Creature, silver-bright !

Endless history that lies Thus checked, a little while it stayed ;

In her silent Follower's eyes ? A little thoughtful pause it made ; Who with a power like human Reason And then advanced with stealth-like pace,

Discerns the favourable season, Drew softly near her—and more near,

Skilled to approach or to retire,Stopped once again ;-but, as no trace

From looks conceiving her desire, Was found of any thing to fear,

From looks, deportment, voice or mien, Even to her feet the Creature came,

That vary to the heart within. And laid its head upon her knee,

If she too passionately writhed And looked into the Lady's face

Her arms, or over-deeply breathed, A look of pure benignity,

Walked quick or slowly, every mood And fond unclouded memory.

In its degree was understood; It is, thought Emily, the same,

Then well may their accord be true, The very Doe of other years !

And kindly intercourse ensue. The pleading look the Lady viewed, -Oh! surely 'twas a gentle rouzing, And, by her gushing thoughts subdued, When she by sudden glimpse espied She melted into tears

The White Doe on the mountain browzing, A flood of tears, that flowed apace

Or in the meadow wandered wide ! Upon the happy Creature's face.

Oh, moment ever blest! O Pair ! Beside her, on some sunny bank ! Beloved of heaven, heaven's choicest care ! How soothed, when in thick

bower enclosed, This was for you a precious greeting, They like a nested Pair reposed ! For both a bounteous, fruitful meeting. Fair Vision ! when it crossed the Maid Joined are they, and the Sylvan Doe Within some rocky cavern laid, Can she depart ? can she forego

The dark cave's portal gliding by: The Lady, once her playful Peer,

White as the whitest cloud on high,

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Floating through the azure sky.

But most to Bolton's sacred Pile, -What now is left for pain or fear ? On favouring nights, she loved to go : ings That Presence, dearer and more dear, There ranged through cloister, court,and aisle, owings? Did now a very gladness yield

Attended by the soft-paced Doe; believe At morning to the dewy field,

Nor did she fear in the still moonshine g face

While they side by side were straying, To look upon Saint Mary's shrine ; 1 with grace And the Shepherd's pipe was playing; Nor on the lonely turf that showed And with a deeper peace endued

Where Francis slept in his last abode. b comun The hour of moonlight solitude.

For that she came ; there oft and long ather

With her companion, in such frame She sate in meditation strong :
zether
.

Of mind, to Rylstone back she came, And, when she from the abyss returned
And, wandering through the wasted groves, Of thought, she neither shrunknor mourned;
Received the memory of old Loves, Was happy that she lived to greet
Undisturbed and undistrest,

Her mute Companion as it lay
lace;
Into a soul which now was blest

In love and pity at her feet ;
11 ground
With a soft spring-day of holy,

How happy in her turn to meet
Mild, delicious melancholy :

That recognition I the mild glance
Not sunless gloom or unenlightened, Beamed from that gracious countenance ;
But by tender fancies brightened.

Communication, like the ray
When the Bells of Rylstone played
ded,

Of a new morning, to the nature
Their Sabbath music God us ayde !And prospects of the inferior Creature !
That was the sound they seemed to speak; A mortal Song we frame, by dower
Inscriptive legend, which I ween

Encouraged of celestial power ;
May on those holy Bells be seen,

Power which the viewless Spirit shed
That legend and her Grandsire's name ; By whom we were first visited ;
And oftentimes the Lady meek

Whose voice we heard, whose hand and wings
Had in her Childhood read the same, Swept like a breeze the conscious strings,
Words which she slighted at that day ; When, left in solitude, erewhile
But now, when such sad change was wrought, We stood before this ruined Pile,
And of that lonely name she

thought, And, quitting unsubstantial dreams,
The Bells of Rylstone seemed to say, Sang in this Presence kindred themes ;
While she sate listening in the shade, Distress and desolation spread
With vocal music, “ God us ayde !Through human hearts, and pleasure dead,
And all the Hills were glad to bear

Dead but to live again on Earth,
Their part in this effectual prayer.

A second and yet nobler birth ;
Nor lacked she Reason's firmest power ;

Dire overthrow, and yet how high
But with the White Doe at her side

The re-ascent in sanctity!
Up doth she climb to Norton Tower, From fair to fairer ; day by day
And thence looks round her far and wide. A more divine and loftier way!
Her fate there measures, all is stilled, Even such this blessed Pilgrim trod,
The feeble hath subdued her heart;

By sorrow lifted tow'rds her God;
Behold the prophecy fulfilled,

Uplifted to the purest sky
Fulfilled, and she sustains her part ! of undisturbed mortality.
But here her Brother's words have failed, Her own thoughts loved she; and could bend
Here hath a milder doom prevailed ; A dear look to her lowly Friend,
That she, of him and all bereft,

There stopped ;-her thirst was satisfied
Hath yet this faithful Partner left,-- With what this innocent spring supplied
This single Creature that disproves

Her sanction in wardly she bore,
His words, remains for her, and loves. And stood apart from human cares :
If tears are shed, they do not fall

But to the world returned no more,
For loss of him, for one or all ;

Although with no unwilling mind
Yet, sometimes, sometimes doth she weep Help did she give at need, and joined
Moved gently in her soul's soft sleep;

The Wharfdale Peasants in their prayers.
A few tears down her cheek descend

At length, thus faintly, faintly tied
For this her last and living Friend.

To earth, she was set free, and died.
Bless, tender Hearts, their mutual lot, Thy soul, exalted Emily,
And bless for both this savage spot!

Maid of the blasted Family,
Which Emily doth sacred hold

Rose to the God from whom it came ! For reasons dear and manifold

In Rylstone Church her mortal frame Here hath she, here before her sight, Was buried by her Mother's side. Close to the summit of this height,

Most glorious sunset !- and a ray The grassy rock-encircled Pound

Survives the twilight of this day : In which the Creature first was found. In that fair Creature whom the fields So beautiful the spotless Thrall,

Support, and whom the forest shields ; (A lovely Younkling white as foam,) Who, having filled a holy place, That it was brought to Rylstone-hall ; Partakes in her degree Heaven's grace; Her youngest Brother led it home,

And bears a memory and a mind The youngest, then a lusty Boy,

Raised far above the law of kind; Brought home the prize and with what joy! Haunting the spots with lonely chear

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Which her dear Mistress once held dear : carry with them no charm-no autho-
Loves most what Emily loved most rity. Many persons, in some things
The enclosure of this Church-yard ground; not only able but enlightened, would
Here wanders like a gliding Ghost, look with untouched souls on the pic-
And every Sabbath here is found ;
Comes with the People when the Bells

tures of Raphael,--and turn, undeAre heard among the moorland dells,

lighted, from the countenance and the Finds entrance through yon arch, where way eyes of beings more lovely than huLies open on the Sabbath-day ;

man life, to the rapturous contemHere walks amid the mournful waste plation of mere earthly beauty. If we Of prostrate altars, shrines defaced, do not greatly err, the Poem we have And floors encumbered with rich show now been analyzing possesses much of Of fret-work imagery laid low;

the former character, and will afford Paces softly, or makes halt,

great delight on every perusal,-

,new By fractured cell, or tomb, or vault,

and gentle beauties stealing and breathBy plate of monumental brass Dim-gleaming among weeds and grass,

ing from it like fragrance from peren

nial flowers.
And sculptured Forms of Warriors brave ;
But chiefly by that single grave,

Indeed, the tradition on which the Po-
That one sequestered hillock green, em is founded must, to an unimagina-
The pensive Visitant is seen.

tive mind, appear childish and insigniThere doth the gentle Creature lie

ficant; but to purer spirits, beautifully With those adversities unmoved ;

adapted to the purposes of Poetry. Calm Spectacle, by earth and sky

The creature, with whose image so In their benignity approved !

many mournful and sublime associaAnd aye, methinks, this hoary Pile, Subdued by outrage and decay,

tions are connected, is by nature one of Looks down upon her with a smile,

the loveliest

wildest-of the lower A gracious smile, that seems to say,

orders of creation. All our ordinary s6 Thou, thou art not a Child of Time, associations with it are poetical. It is But Daughter of the Eternal Prime!” not the first time that a great Poet has

It will be soon seen, by those who made this fair animal the friend of huhave not read this Poem, that in it Mr man innocence. During the happy Wordsworth has aimed at awakening days of the Lady Emily, we can figure the feelings and affections through the to ourselves nothing more beautiful medium of the imagination. There than her and her mute favourite glidare many readers of Poetry who impe- ing together through the woods and riously demand strong passion and vio- groves of Rylstone-hall; and when utlent excitement, and who can perceive ter desolation comes over that Paradise, little merit in any composition which and the orphan is left alone on the does not administer to that kind of en- hopeless earth, a more awful bond of joyment. Such persons will probably connexion is then felt to subsist beconsider this Poem feeble and uninter- tween the forlorn lady and the innoesting, as they will do numerous pro cent companion of her days of blessedductions that have, nevertheless, estab

We willingly attribute somelished themselves in the literature of thing like human reason and human our country. But it is owing to a de- love to that fair creature of the woods, fect of imagination that the beauty, and feel the deep pathos implied in apparent and delightful to others, such communion between a human shines not upon them. All those ma soul in its sorrow with an inferior nagical touches, by which a true Poet a

ture, that seems elevated by its being wakens endless trains of thought in an made the object of tender affection to imaginative mind, are not felt at all by a being above itself. A ring, persons of such character. It is won of hair, a picture, a written word of derful what influence a delicate tune, love, would be cherished with holy or shade, or tone, may have over the passion, by a solitary heart that mournpoetical visions of a poetical reader. ed over their former possessor. To the În poetry, as in painting, gentle linea- Lady Emily nothing

remained of all ments, and sober colouring, and chas- she had loved on earth -nothing but tened composition, often affect and de- the play-mate of herself and youthful light the mind of capable judges more brothers,--the object which the dead than even the most empassioned efforts had loved in their happiness,--and of the art. But, to the vulgar,—and which, with a holy instinct, forsook even to minds of more power than de- the wild life to which it had returned, licacy or refinement, such delineations when the melancholy face of its pro

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Of Emily herself little need be said. dered his spirit, although not his name, 1,-und ta From the first moment she is felt to be well known to the public. The immediate hore lorem u to us like a dream,--all that is real mention it; we are sure it will be perfectly countenas orphaned,--all her former happiness is occasion of its composition was one of such

a nature that it is unnecessary for us to 2 raptuou a with her is sorrow. In one day she understood, and we hope its manly and genrthly beauty becomes utterly desolate. But there erous sentiments may be as agreeable to our

the Poche is no agony, no convulsion, no despair: readers as they have been to ourselves. 6 posetest profound sadness, settled grief, the

EDITOR.] ter, and the everlasting calm of melancholy, and every pertaide the perfect stillness of resignation. Auderet, volvenda dies en attulit ultro.

-Quod optanti Divuin promittere nemo stealing and All her looks, words, movements, are grance inny gentle, feminine, subdued. Through SIR,

out all the Poem an image of an ange- WHATEVER may have been our difion on wità lical being seems to have lived in the ferences of opinion during the progress t, to an ura Poet's soul,--and without effort, he of the struggle in which we have so nildish and gives it to us in angelical beauty.

long been engaged, I believe no man The character and situation of Fran- will now be disposed to deny that the urposes i cis, the eldest brother, are finely conceiv- change which has recently taken place whose e ed, and coloured in the same calm and in the affairs of Europe, and particusubline : serene style of painting. He is felt to larly in those of Great Britain, is at

be a hero, though throughout branded once the most astonishing--the most with the name of coward. It required completely unexpected and the most some courage in a Poet to describe a gratifying to the human mind, that

character so purely passive. There is, ever has occurred in the annals of the t a great we think, a solemnity, and piety, and world.

devotion, in the character that be Only two years ago, our prospects comes truly awful, linked, as they are, were discouraging in the extreme. throughout, with the last extremities That the contest, in which we were of human suffering and calamity. so deeply involved, should be conduct

But we must conclude,--and we do ed to a successful issue, seemed almost so with perfect confidence, that many beyond the bounds of credibility. who never have read this Poem, and Even the splendour of our military not a few who may have read extracts

atchievements, however honourable to from it with foolish and unbecoming our national prowess, was conceived tuli levity, will feel and acknowledge, from but little likely to lead to any solid or

the specimens we have now given, that permanent advantage ; and if the firmthe “ White Doe of Rylstone” is a tale est minded amongst us believed it poswritten with singularly beautiful sim- sible that we might still continue to plicity of language, and with a power struggle, for a few years longer, under and pathos that have not been often ex the pressure and calamities of war, it celled in English Poetry.

was at least almost universally ad[We cannot allow this article to pass tended with the sacrifice of those coma

mitted, that the effort must be atthrough the press without regretting that the author of it has not thought proper to class forts which we had been accustomed Southey along with his three illustrious con to possess, and that our independence temporaries. We have no doubt that he could only be maintained at the exwill yet do ample justice to his incomparable pense of our prosperity and happiness. genius, and show to us that he has now omit To this most distressing picture, our ted that great name, rather from the too ex- political divisions, ever pregnant with clusive spirit of classification, than from any asperity and mischief, materially tendinsensibility (which really in his mind we cannot conceive) to the merits of that truly who, from their superior information,

ed to give colour and effect. By those original Poet.

EDITOR.]

had been supposed capable of deciding upon the fate of empires, we were uniformly addressed in language very dif

ferent from that of consolation. Even Iritten after the Conclusion of the

the humble hope, that, by the immelate War.)

diate interposition of Providence, it [The following letter was, some time ago,

might be possible for us to escape the dressed to a political personage of high dangers of a crisis so replete with tera

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LETTER TO A POLITICIAN.

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