Analysis of The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Sixth
William Wordsworth 1770 (Wordsworth House) – 1850 (Cumberland)
WHY comes not Francis?--From the doleful City
He fled,--and, in his flight, could hear
The death-sounds 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 the fleet motion of a dove;
Yea, like a heavenly messenger
Of speediest wing, should he appear.
Why comes he not?--for westward fast
Along the plain of York he past;
Reckless of what impels or leads,
Unchecked he hurries on;--nor heeds
The sorrow, through the Villages,
Spread by triumphant cruelties
Of vengeful military force,
And punishment without remorse.
He marked not, heard not, as he fled
All but the suffering heart was dead
For him abandoned to blank awe,
To vacancy, and horror 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.
He looked about like one betrayed:
What hath he done? what promise made?
Oh weak, weak moment! to what end
Can such a vain oblation tend,
And he the Bearer?--Can he go
Carrying this instrument of woe,
And find, find anywhere, a right
To excuse him in his Country's sight?
No; will not all men deem the change
A downward course, perverse and strange?
Here is it;--but how? when? must she,
The unoffending Emily,
Again this piteous object see?
Such conflict long did he maintain,
Nor liberty nor rest could gain:
His own life into danger brought
By this sad burden--even that thought,
Exciting self-suspicion strong
Swayed the brave man to his wrong.
And how--unless it were the sense
Of all-disposing Providence,
Its will unquestionably shown--
How has the Banner clung so fast
To a palsied, and unconscious hand;
Clung to the hand to which it passed
Without impediment? And why,
But that Heaven's purpose might be known,
Doth now no hindrance meet his eye,
No intervention, to withstand
Fulfilment of a Father's prayer
Breathed to a Son forgiven, and blest
When all resentments were at rest,
And life in death laid the heart bare?--
Then, like a spectre sweeping by,
Rushed through his mind the prophecy
Of utter desolation made
To Emily in the yew-tree shade:
He sighed, submitting will and power
To the stern embrace of that grasping hour.
'No choice is left, the deed is mine--
Dead are they, dead!--and I will go,
And, for their sakes, come weal or woe,
Will lay the Relic on the shrine.'
So forward with a steady will
He went, and traversed plain and hill;
And up the vale of Wharf his way
Pursued;--and, at the dawn of day,
Attained a summit whence his eyes
Could see the Tower of Bolton rise.
There Francis for a moment's space
Made halt--but hark! a noise behind
Of horsemen at an eager pace!
He heard, and with misgiving mind.
--'Tis Sir George Bowes who leads the Band:
They come, by cruel Sussex sent;
Who, when the Nortons from the hand
Of death had drunk their punishment,
Bethought him, angry and ashamed,
How Francis, with the Banner claimed
As his own charge, had disappeared,
By all the standers-by revered.
His whole bold carriage (which had quelled
Thus far the Opposer, and repelled
All censure, enterprise so bright
That even bad men had vainly striven
Against that overcoming light)
Was then reviewed, and prompt word given,
That to what place soever fled
He should be seized, alive or dead.
The troop of horse have gained the height
Where Francis stood in open sight.
They hem him round--'Behold the proof,'
They cried, 'the Ensign in his hand!
'He' did not arm, he walked aloof!
For why?--to save his Father's land;--
Worst Traitor of them all is he,
A Traitor dark and cowardly!'
'I am no Traitor,' Francis said,
'Though this unhappy freight I bear;
And must not part with. But beware;--
Err not by hasty zeal misled,
Nor do a suffering Spirit wrong,
Whose self-reproaches are too strong!'
At this he from the beaten road
Retreated towards a brake of thorn,
That like a place of vantage showed;
And there stood bravely, though forlorn.
In self-defence with warlike brow
He stood,--nor weaponless was now;
He from a Soldier's hand had snatched
A spear,--and, so protected, watched
The Assailants, turning round and round;
But from behind with treacherous wound
A Spearman brought him to the ground.
The guardian lance, as Fra
Scheme | Text too long |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11110101010 11001111 01110101 1101011 11011110 1110101 110111010 111100110 11110111 11111101 10110101 110100100 1111101 11111101 01011111 1011111 01110111 01010100 1101010 1101001 01000101 11111111 110100111 11010111 11000101 00110111 110111101 11010011 11010101 11011101 11111101 11110111 110111 01010111 100110011 0111001 101101101 11111101 01010101 11111111 01100 0111101 11011101 11001111 11101101 111101011 01010101 1011111 01011001 11010100 11010001 11010111 1010101 11011111 01010001 111010111 11110111 1010101 110101 110101001 11010011 01011011 11010101 11110100 1100101 110000111 110101010 10101111010 11110111 11110111 01111111 11010101 11010101 11010101 01011111 01010111 01010111 110101101 11010101 11110101 11011101 11010101 11111101 11110101 1101101 11111100 1110001 11010101 1111101 1101101 11110111 1101001 1101011 1101111010 0111001 110101110 111111 11110111 01111101 11010101 1111101 11010011 11111101 11111101 11011111 01010100 11110101 11010111 01111101 11110101 110100101 111111 11110101 010010111 11011101 01110101 0101111 111111 11010111 01010101 001010101 110111001 01011101 0100111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,262 |
Words | 777 |
Sentences | 42 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 124 |
Lines Amount | 124 |
Letters per line (avg) | 27 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 3,397 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 758 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:54 min read
- 92 Views
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"The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Sixth" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 6 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/42408/the-white-doe-of-rylstone%2C-or%2C-the-fate-of-the-nortons-----canto-sixth>.
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