Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated)

by Ann Radcliffe

  And banners bright and pennons fair

  Bicker upon the fretful air.

  Now, down St. Stephen’s woody steep,

  The warlike bands due order keep,

  Winding in glimpses to his eye

  Who watched from under hood, on high,

  And sadly lost all doubt, in fear;

  While now the larum-bell he rung,

  And now o’er battlement he hung,

  Viewing the lengthened train draw near;

  “Ten thousand, — less there could not be;

  Ten thousand of the enemy

  And thousands yet he might not see!

  II.

  His glad companion smiling heard

  The panic marvels of his word;

  But all in vain he promised good,

  Though, as they flashed from Julian’s wood,

  The knight well knew those armed bands,

  And brandished high his gauntlet-hands,

  And shouted welcomes on the gale,

  Live — live King Henry — Henry hail!”

  And waved his banner on the wall,

  Urging the loud, rejoicing call,

  “Live — live King Henry — Henry hail!”

  Till his parched lips and utterance fail.

  IN.

  And then was heard the various pace

  Of young and old, in toilsome race

  Up galleried wall and winding flight,

  Aiming to reach this topmost height.

  But soon th’ embattled roofs below

  Proclaim, that few may gain this brow;

  For, resting there in sable row,

  Many a brother breathless stood

  With pointing hand and falling hood,

  Gazing upon the vision dread

  Of warlike force, that hither sped.

  IV.

  Now, loud King Henry’s clarions sound,

  The many-trampling hoofs rebound,

  As, issuing from St. Stephen’s shade

  Upon the near and sunny glade,

  Blazoned shields and helmets gleam,

  While light the red-rose banners stream;

  And knights on barbed coursers bear

  Their monarch’s standard through the air.

  And gentle Henry might you know,

  Though harnessed close from top to toe.

  Before him, herald-trumpets sound,

  Proud chiefs and nobles press the ground;

  And, where his ordered thousands throng,

  Winding the woods and vale along,

  Each bannered knight, as he drew nigh,

  Was seen to lead his vassal-band,

  With statelier march and aspect high,

  Expressive of supreme command,

  Though courting kindly gesture from his Sovereign

  hand.

  V.

  Loud and more loud the trumpets call,

  As they draw nigh St. Alban’s wall;

  And other trumpets answer clear,

  And “Live King Henry!” rends the air

  From every guarded barrier.

  Straight, at the sound, in street below,

  The thronging shield and helmet go,

  While busy knights their men array,

  To line their Monarch’s onward way,

  The vanguard, that, on yesternight,

  Watched here, upon St. Alban’s height.

  Above, each roof and lattice showed

  A fearful and a curious crowd,

  Though forced within their homes to stay,

  Hoping for glorious wonders, on that day.

  VI.

  And now adown the street appear,

  With better banners, high on air,

  The Martyr’s sons in wondering fear,

  With chaunted anthems, grave and sweet,

  Pacing their Sovereign lord to meet.

  The Abbot is not now arrayed,

  As he was wont, to meet his lord;

  His brow no jewelled pomp displayed,

  Nor from his shoulders now floats broad

  The scarlet cope, nor robe of gold,

  Nor the rich velvet’s shadowy fold.

  But he, enwrapt in woeful weed,

  Suiting his habit to the time,

  In sorrowing penance seems to plead

  Forgiveness for some hidden crime,

  That threatened to draw judgment down

  Even on St. Alban’s shrine and town.

  But pages hold his mourning train,

  As when arrayed in robe more vain,

  And all his officers of state

  In order due around him wait;

  While, marching on the crowded way,

  His Abbey-knights their band display.

  VII.

  Far down the steep of Holywell,

  The chaunted anthem rose and fell;

  Soon as was heard the solemn song,

  And seen the dark advancing throng;

  That busy street, then closely pressed,

  With bow and pike and demi-lance,

  Where charger reared, where waved high crest,

  Was hushed, at once, as if in trance;

  The crowd fell back, in order grave,

  Ere Abbot’s guard the signal gave,

  And, as the Abbey-Choir went by,

  In reverend row you there might see

  Each warrior on his bended knee.,

  With upward and beseeching eye.

  And thus, through files of lance and spear,

  The pious fathers, without fear,

  On to the southern barrier move

  Safe in due reverence and love.

  VIII.

  And now within the barrier wall

  St. Alban’s sons await their King.

  And hark! what nearer clarions ring!

  What shouts around each turret call

  “King Henry live! — King Henry live!

  Every Saint a blessing give;

  King Henry live! — King Henry live!

  Abbot and Prior blessings give.”

  Then burst the loud, acclaiming voice

  From battlements and towers aloof,

  From cottage-thatch and lordly roof,

  Of all, who in due rule rejoice.

  IX.

  Then, first from forth the barrier-arch

  Deep and dark, in solemn march,

  The Herald-trumpets come;

  Their blazoned coats and pageantry

  And banners beam upon the eye,

  Like sudden blaze of witchery

  From depth of midnight gloom.

  Behind, a pale and gleaming band,

  As if by glance of moonlight shown,

  Stalked, in silence, hand by hand,

  With threatening crest and visor’s frown;

  The stately forms of men unknown,

  In cold dead steel anatomized,

  As in Death’s very image ‘guised.

  X.

  Following this heavy march were seen,

  On the armed charger’s stately sheen,

  Many a Baron’s youthful son,

  By lofty SOMERSET led on.

  With stately step his courser trod;

  His casque the British lion strode;

  The triple plume was nodding by;

  Through the barred visor might you spy

  The warrior’s dark and fiery eye,

  Though not the mien his visage bore.

  Proud was his air, his stature high.

  Above his ringed mail he wore

  Coat-armour, blazoned bright with sign

  Of princely birth and Henry’s line,

  And ‘broidered with devices fair;

  Portcullis-bars in gold were t ere.

  Two Squires, beside his stirrups, bear

  His shield and axe and new-shod spear.

  There marched in stately grace before,

  With trumpets that high summons gave,

  His Poursuivant, Portcullis grave,

  And Henchmen next, some demi-score.
<
br />   Fearless, he sought the battle-hour;

  Here he beheld not castle-tower,

  And well he knew the prophecy,

  That under castle he must die.

  XI.

  Behind, as far as eye might go,

  Paced barbed steeds and banners slow,

  Till Henry’s standard stooped below

  The barrier-arch, and borne along

  By royal Banner Knights a throng;

  So heavy was the ample fold,

  That hardly could the knights unfold

  The crimson silk and blazoned gold.

  Again came Heralds, four abreast,

  With blazoned arms and yellow vest,

  Sounding their silver trumpets sweet,

  While silver drums before them beat.

  Followed a gorgeous stately train,

  Who scarcely might their coursers rein,

  Esquires and Yeomen, two and two,

  Accoutred at all points, most true;

  Knights of the Body, brave and gay,

  Who ushered Henry on his way,

  While ‘compassing, on all sides, came

  Chiefs and Nobles, high in fame.

  XII.

  Thronged lofty spears and shields around,

  Where the King’s charger trod the ground,

  And, deep behind the barrier-arch,

  Plume behind plume, in solemn march,

  And eyes that seemed to frown with fate,

  Upon their monarch’s progress wait.

  “Then gentle Henry might you know,

  Though harnessed close from head to toe

  For, though arrayed for warrior-deed,

  He sat not cheerly on his steed;

  Though England’s lion on his brow

  Claimed homage of a Nation’s bow.

  XIII.

  Soon as St. Alban’s sons he spied

  He drew his rein, and “ Halt!” was cried;

  And when the reverend father kneeled,

  He pressed his iron beaver down,

  And would not let his visor frown,

  But all his countenance revealed,

  And stretched his gracious hand to raise

  The aged man with gentle praise.

  And when the blessed anthems pealed,

  He would himself have stept to ground,

  And with the Abbot, side by side,

  Have yielded up all kingly pride,

  To pace the Martyr’s tomb around.

  But fiery Tudor near him rode.

  And instant close beside him strode,

  And whisper’d somewhat to his ear;

  Which Henry, faltering, seem’d to hear,

  And slow and silently obey.

  Yet, though his stately seat he kept,

  He bade the father lead the way;

  And patient, as they stept, he stept,

  Listening to their slow chaunted lay,

  With due respect and bended head,

  While toward the Abbey-gate they led.

  XIV.

  On as that martial pageant drew,

  The Knight on watch would point to view,

  Each banner and each chief he knew.

  “There rides the high Northumberland,

  Leading his hardy northern band,

  The son of Hotspur, whose bold hand

  So oft the prize of victory won.

  There pass the Cliffords, sire and son;

  And more of truly noble fire

  Ne’er glowed than in the hoary sire!.

  There Stafford goes; there Buckingham;

  And fiery Tudor, still the same.

  Sir John de Grooby you may see,

  With new-worn honours vain and brave;

  Just knighted by King Henry he,

  O may he ‘scape an early grave!

  Whate’er his fate, he cares not now;

  The plume exults upon his brow.”

  XV.

  Now Clement flies right speedily,

  And, mounting on a turret-way,

  Through narrow loop begins to spy,

  The varying struggle of that day;

  For, figured underneath his eye,

  While fearless he of spear and dart,

  Lay street and road, as on a chart.

  Close looked this Saxon turret down

  Upon the four ways of the town,

  And on Queen Ellen’s shrine and green,

  (The garden-plat alone “between)

  And, broad and straight, the way then spread

  To old St. Peter’s towered head;

  Closing the far perspective there,

  His battlements were drawn on air.

  XVI.

  Below, the roads, and streets, and green,

  So crowded were with shield and pike,

  That scarcely was there room between

  For lance to poise, or sword to strike;

  But the chief turmoil of the scene

  Was on St. Peter’s spacious way,

  Where, in the centre of the green,

  King Henry and his knights were seen,

  Around his banner floating gay.

  ‘Twas planted for the battle-hour,

  With the full pomp of warlike power;

  ‘Mid clarion’s and trumpet’s sound,

  And shouts, that rent the air far round,

  Making old Alban’s shrines to shake,

  And tremble deep her crystal lake.

  On Peter’s street that standard stood,

  Summoning hill and vale and wood.

  While the King’s orders went, to keep

  The wards and barriers of the place

  With strong watch; for, near Alban’s steep,

  York now advanced, in quickened pace. —

  XVII.

  Advanced so fast, that, when the King

  One moment at the shrine would spend,

  His chiefs arranged themselves in ring

  Around, and urged him to suspend

  His pious purpose, till that day

  Were ended, and that battle-fray.

  Meek Henry yielded with a sigh,

  And something like a frown

  Came darkening o’er his tearful eye;

  But soon, with patient look on high,

  It died in smile of piety,

  Such as blest saint might own.

  Then, turned he to the humble door

  Of Edmund Westby, th’ Hundredor;

  There his headquarters were prepared

  By those, who with him more than shared

  His power; there he resolved to wait

  Whate’er might be the battle’s fate,

  Or welcome peace, or lengthened hate.

  XVIII.

  In terror from the turret-arch,

  Was now seen Richard’s rapid march,

  And signal given and ‘larum call,

  Rang round about the Abbey wall.

  Now all are up on gallery-tower,

  To scan the enemy’s dread power

  O’er the wide fields advancing round

  From meadow-slopes, where woods had been,

  But now no sign of oak is seen;

  Archers and pikemen step the ground;

  And down the glade, that spreads below,

  Arrayed in many a gleaming row,

  They stand beneath St. Alban’s brow.

  But chiefly on the eastern side

  Key’s Field displayed their bannered pride.

  There most St. Alban’s feared their blow;

  St. Alban’s — ill prepared for war,

  Though thronged with arms and warriors bold

  For no broad bulwark seen afar,

  Nor stretching rampart, proudly told

  Defiance and a mighty hold;

  But simple wall and barrier-gate

  Warded for old St. Alban’s fate.

  XIX.

  Wide o’er the northern fields afar

  Still marched Duke Richard’s lines of war.

  Whose white-rose banners, gathe
ring nigh,

  Gave silent signal to the eye

  Of more than he had dared to claim —

  Richard of York’s yet secret aim.

  White blossoms in each cap were seen,

  For unblown rose, the sweet may-thorn,

  From banks of freshly-blushing green

  By gauntlet-fingers rudely torn,

  And placed on high, a smiling crest,

  O’er brows by iron vizor pressed;

  Device, at once, for the PALE ROSE,

  And FOR the name that gave HIM sway,

  Who gaily on his warrior-brows

  Bore the bright bloom PLANT-A-GENET.

  XX.

  The warders scanned the outspread force

  From tower and turret still in vain;

  Richard of York, in double course,

  To shrouding woods extends his train:

  And who may guess what numbers there

  In silence wait and watchful care,

  Ready the battle to sustain?

  To inexperienced eyes, and fear,

  His hundreds, thousands thus appear,

  Now lost and seen in grove and field;

  While Henry’s thousands cooped in street,

  Seem but to threaten self-defeat,

  Incapable their strength to wield.

  XXI.

  Morning on day had far advanced,

  And not a spear in onset glanced;

  But lingering messages were sent

  To Lancaster by York, the while,

  Who, trusting less in arms than guile,

  By aid of gold was still intent

  Some captains of his foe to gain;

  His numbers might, he judged, be vain,

  Though the great Warwick ruled their course

  To grapple Henry’s loyal force.

  XXII.

  Unawed by sense of treachery,

  Richard now dared, irreverently,

  To call on Alban, as his saint.

  To hear him vouch his true intent —

  “In verie knowledge of his trothe

  To witness to his loyal oath,

  To honour Henry as his king,

  Should he to instant justice bring

  Those false suggesters of his will,

  Who wrought his kingdom only ill.”

  Yet Henry’s oath he would not take,

  That speedy justice should awake;

  But, on the moment, made his claim

  That every noble he might name

  Should to his camp in fetters come,

  And there receive their final doom: