His greatest joy was when surrounded by his nephews and
nieces--yea, great-nephews and great-nieces, after the happy
marriage of Edward of Aescendune to Lady Agatha of Wilmcote.
Etienne and Edith lived blessed in each other's love to the end.
The Norman estates fell to Hugh, the English ones to Edward, who
not unworthily represented both English and Norman lines--"a knight
without fear and without reproach."
The last years of our hero, Wilfred, were years of tranquil
happiness and serene joy, such as Milton wrote of in later ages, in
those lines of wondrous beauty:
"Let my due feet never fail
To walk the cloisters hallowed pale,
With storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religions light,
And let the pealing organ blow
To the foil-voiced choir below,
Bring all heaven before mine eyes,
Dissolve me into ecstasies."
In the ruins of the abbey of St. Wilfred the spectator may notice a
cross-legged knight, whose feet rest upon a vanquished lion. His
whole attitude is expressive of intense action; the muscles seem
strained in the effort to draw his sword and demolish a Turk, while
the face expresses all that is noble in manly courage.
Hard by lies a prior in his vestments, his hands meekly clasped.
The colour has not yet quite faded, which embellished the statue;
but the remarkable thing is the face.
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