Page:The white doe of Rylstone - or, The fate of the Nortons. A poem (IA whitedoeofrylsto00wordrich).pdf/46

 The hairs are white upon your head; Dear Father, hear me when I say It is for you too late a day! Bethink you of your own good name; A just and gracious queen have we, A pure religion, and the claim Of peace on our humanity. ’Tis meet that I endure your scorn,— I am your son, your eldest born; But not for lordship or for land, My Father, do I clasp your knees— The Banner touch not, stay your hand,— This multitude of men disband, And live at home in blissful case; For these my brethren’s sake, for me; And, most of all, for Emily!”

Loud noise was in the crowded hall, And scarcely could the Father hear