Suffice it that the Son, who strove
With fruitless effort to allay
That passion, prudently gave way;
Nor did he turn aside to prove
His Brothers' wisdom or their love,
But calmly from the spot withdrew;
His best endeavors to renew,
Should e'er a kindlier time ensue.

CANTO FOURTH.

'Tis night in silence looking down,
The Moon from cloudless ether sees
A Camp, and a beleaguered Town,
And Castle like a stately crown
On the steep rocks of winding Tees;
And southward far, with moor between,
Hill-top, and flood, and forest green,
The bright Moon sees that valley small
Where Rylstone's old sequestered Hall
A venerable image yields

Of quiet to the neighboring fields;

While from one pillared chimney breathes

The smoke, and mounts in silver wreaths.

The courts are hushed; - for timely sleep

The greyhounds to their kennel creep;

The peacock in the broad ash-tree

Aloft is roosted for the night,

For pleasure made, a goodly spot,

With lawns and beds of flowers, and shades
Of trellis-work in long arcades,

And cirque and crescent framed by wall
Of close-clipt foliage green and tall,
Converging walks, and fountains gay,
And terraces in trim array,

Beneath yon cypress spiring high,

With pine and cedar spreading wide
Their darksome boughs on either side,

In

open moonlight doth she lie;

Happy as others of her kind,

That, far from human neighborhood,

Range unrestricted as the wind,

Through park, or chase, or savage wood.

But see the consecrated Maid
Emerging from a cedar shade
To open moonshine, where the Doe
Beneath the cypress-spire is laid;
Like a patch of April snow,
Upon a bed of herbage green,
Lingering in a woody glade
Or behind a rocky screen,
Lonely relic! which, if seen
By the shepherd, is passed by
With an inattentive eye.

Nor more regard doth she bestow

Upon the uncomplaining Doe,

Now couched at ease, though oft this day

Not unperplexed nor free from pain,
When she had tried, and tried in vain,
Approaching in her gentle way,
To win some look of love, or gain
Encouragement to sport or play;
Attempts which the heart-sick Maid
Rejected, or with slight repaid.

Yet Emily is soothed; the breeze Came fraught with kindly sympathies. As she approached yon rustic shed Hung with late-flowering woodbine, spread Along the walls and overhead,

The fragrance of the breathing flowers

Revived a memory of those hours

When here, in this remote alcove,

(While from the pendent woodbine came
Like odors, sweet as if the same,)
A fondly anxious Mother strove
To teach her salutary fears
And mysteries above her years.
Yes, she is soothed: an Image faint,
And yet not faint, a presence bright
Returns to her, - that blessèd Saint
Who with mild looks and language mild
Instructed here her darling Child,
While yet a prattler on the knee,
To worship in simplicity

The invisible God, and take for guide

The faith reformed and purified.

"T is flown, the Vision, and the sense Of that beguiling influence;

"But O thou Angel from above!
Mute Spirit of maternal love,

That stood'st before my eyes, more clear
Than ghosts are fabled to appear
Sent upon embassies of fear;

As thou thy presence hast to me
Vouchsafed, in radiant ministry
Descend on Francis; nor forbear
To greet him with a voice, and say:
'If hope be a rejected stay,

Do thou, my Christian Son, beware

Of that most lamentable snare,

The self-reliance of despair!""

Then from within the embowered retreat Where she had found a grateful seat Perturbed she issues. She will go! Herself will follow to the war,

And clasp her Father's knees; - ah, no!

She meets an insuperable bar,

The injunction by her Brother laid;

His parting charge, but ill obeyed,

That interdicted all debate,

All prayer

for this cause or for that;

All efforts that would turn aside

The headstrong current of their fate:

Her duty is to stand and wait;

In resignation to abide