Page:The white doe of Rylstone - or, The fate of the Nortons. A poem (IA whitedoeofrylsto00wordrich).pdf/75

 Back through the melancholy Host Went Norton, and resumed his post. Alas! thought he, and have I borne This Banner raised so joyfully, This hope of all posterity, Thus to become at once the scorn Of babbling winds as they go by, A spot of shame to the sun’s bright eye, To the frail clouds a mockery! —“Even these poor eight of mine would stem,” Half to himself, and half to them He spake, “would stem, or quell a force Ten times their number, man and horse; This by their own unaided might, Without their Father in their sight, Without the Cause for which they fight; A Cause, which on a needful day Would breed us thousands brave as they.”