"Rights have you, and may well be bold: 145 You with my Father have grown old In friendship--strive--for his sake go-- Turn from us all the coming woe:[118] This would I beg; but on my mind A passive stillness is enjoined. 150 On you, if room for mortal aid Be left, is no restriction laid;[119] You not forbidden to recline With hope upon the Will divine." "Hope," said the old Man, "must abide 155 With all of us, whate'er betide.[120] In Craven's Wilds is many a den, To shelter persecuted men:[LL] Far under ground is many a cave, Where they might lie as in the grave, 160 Until this storm hath ceased to rave: Or let them cross the River Tweed, And be at once from peril freed!" "Ah tempt me not!" she faintly sighed; "I will not counsel nor exhort, 165 With my condition satisfied; But you, at least, may make report Of what befals;--be this your task-- This may be done;--'tis all I ask!" She spake--and from the Lady's sight 170 The Sire, unconscious of his age, Departed promptly as a Page Bound on some errand of delight. --The noble Francis--wise as brave, Thought he, may want not skill[121] to save. 175 With hopes in tenderness concealed, Unarmed he followed to the field; Him will I seek: the insurgent Powers Are now besieging Barnard's Towers,--[MM] "Grant that the Moon which shines this night 180 May guide them in a prudent flight!"