A hut, by tufted trees defended, Where Rylstone brook with Wharf is blended.

150

When Emily by morning light Went forth, the Doe stood there in sight. She shrunk:- with one frail shock of pain Received and followed by a prayer, She saw the Creature once again; Shun will she not, she feels, will bear;But, wheresoever she looked round, All now was trouble-haunted ground; And therefore now she deems it good Once more this restless neighbourhood To leave. Unwooed, yet unforbidden, The White Doe followed up the vale, Up to another cottage, hidden In the deep fork of Amerdale; And there may Emily restore Herself, in spots unseen before.

- Why tell of mossy rock, or tree, By lurking Dernbrook's pathless side, Haunts of a strengthening amity That calmed her, cheered, and fortified? For she hath ventured now to read

160

Endless history that lies

In her silent Follower's eyes;

Who with a power like human reason
Discerns the favourable season,

Skilled to approach or to retire,
From looks conceiving her desire;
From look, deportment, voice, or mien,
That vary to the heart within.
If she too passionately wreathed
Her arms, or over-deeply breathed,
Walked quick or slowly, every mood
In its degree was understood;
Then well may their accord be true,
And kindliest intercourse ensue.

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180

-Oh! surely 't was a gentle rousing When she by sudden glimpse espied The White Doe on the mountain browsing, Or in the meadow wandered wide! How pleased, when down the Straggler sank Beside her, on some sunny bank! How soothed, when in thick bower enclosed, They, like a nested pair, reposed! Fair Vision! when it crossed the Maid Within some rocky cavern laid, The dark cave's portal gliding by, White as whitest cloud on high Floating through the azure sky.

- What now is left for pain or fear? That Presence, dearer and more dear,

190

And of that lonely name she thoughtThe bells of Rylstone seemed to say, While she sate listening in the shade, With vocal music, "God us apde;" And all the hills were glad to bear Their part in this effectual prayer.

220

Nor lacked she Reason's firmest power; But with the White Doe at her side Up would she climb to Norton Tower, And thence look round her far and wide, 230 Her fate there measuring;-all is stilled, The weak One hath subdued her heart; Behold the prophecy fulfilled, Fulfilled, and she sustains her part! But here her Brother's words have failed; Here hath a milder doom prevailed; That she, of him and all bereft, Hath yet this faithful Partner left; This one Associate, that disproves His words, remains for her, and loves. If tears are shed, they do not fall For loss of him - for one, or all; Yet, sometimes, sometimes doth she weep Moved gently in her soul's soft sleep; A few tears down her cheek descend For this her last and living Friend.

Bless, tender Hearts, their mutual lot, And bless for both this savage spot;

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250

Which Emily doth sacred hold
For reasons dear and manifold -
Here hath she, here before her sight,
Close to the summit of this height,
The grassy rock-encircled Pound
In which the Creature first was found.
So beautiful the timid Thrall
(A spotless Youngling white as foam)
Her youngest Brother brought it home;
The youngest, then a lusty boy,
Bore it, or led, to Rylstone-hall
With heart brimful of pride and joy!
But most to Bolton's sacred Pile,
On favouring nights, she loved to go;
There ranged through cloister, court, and
aisle,

Attended by the soft-paced Doe;
Nor feared she in the still moonshine
To look upon Saint Mary's shrine;
Nor on the lonely turf that showed
Where Francis slept in his last abode.
For that she came; there oft she sate
Forlorn, but not disconsolate:

And, when she from the abyss returned
Of thought, she neither shrunk
mourned;

260

270

nor

Beamed from that gracious countenance;
Communication, like the ray
Of a new morning, to the nature
And prospects of the inferior Creature!
A mortal Song we sing, by dower
Encouraged of celestial power;
Power which the viewless Spirit shed
By whom we were first visited;

280

Whose voice we heard, whose hand and wings

31C

A dear look to her lowly Friend;
There stopped; her thirst was satisfied
With what this innocent spring supplied:
Her sanction inwardly she bore,
And stood apart from human cares:
But to the world returned no more,
Although with no unwilling mind
Help did she give at need, and joined
The Wharfdale peasants in their prayers.
At length, thus faintly, faintly tied
To earth, she was set free, and died.
Thy soul, exalted Emily,
Maid of the blasted family,
Rose to the God from whom it came !
In Rylstone Church her mortal frame
Was buried by her Mother's side.
Most glorious sunset! and a ray
Survives the twilight of this day -
In that fair Creature whom the fields
Support, and whom the forest shields;
Who, having filled a holy place,
Partakes, in her degree, Heaven's grace;
And bears a memory and a mind
Raised far above the law of kind;
Haunting the spots with lonely cheer
Which her dear Mistress once held dear:

32C

Lies open on the sabbath-day;

340

Here walks amid the mournful waste
Of prostrate altars, shrines defaced,
And floors encumbered with rich show
Of fret-work imagery laid low;
Paces softly, or makes halt,
By fractured cell, or tomb, or vault;
By plate of monumental brass
Dim-gleaming among weeds and grass,
And sculptured Forms of Warriors brave:
But chiefly by that single grave,
That one sequestered hillock
The pensive visitant is seen.
There doth the gentle Creature lie
With those adversities unmoved:

green,

350

An Appendage to the "White Doe." My friend, Mr. Rogers, has also written on the subject. The story is preserved in Dr. Whitaker's History of Craven -a topographical writer of first-rate merit in all that concerns the past; but such was his aversion from the modern spirit, as shown in the spread of manufactories in those districts of which he treats, that his readers are left entirely ignorant both of the progress of these arts and their real bearing upon the comfort, virtues, and happiness of the inhabitants. While wandering on foot through the fertile valleys and over the moorlands of the Apennine that divides Yorkshire from Lancashire, I used to be delighted with observing the number of substantial cottages that had sprung up on every side, each having its little plot of fertile ground won from the surrounding waste. A bright and warm fire, if needed, was always to be found in these dwellings. The father was at his loom; the children looked healthy and happy. Is it not to be feared that the increase of mechanic power has done away with many of these blessings, and substituted many evils? Alas! if these evils grow, how are they to be checked, and where is the remedy to be found? Political economy will not supply it; that is certain, we must look to something deeper, purer, and higher.

"What is good for a bootless bene ?” With these dark words begins my Tale; And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring

When Prayer is of no avail ?

"What is good for a bootless bene ? " The Falconer to the Lady said;

And she made answer "ENDLESS SORROW!" For she knew that her Son was dead.

She knew it by the Falconer's words,
And from the look of the Falconer's eye; 10

And from the love which was in her soul For her youthful Romilly.

-Young Romilly through Barden woods Is ranging high and low;

And holds a greyhound in a leash,
To let slip upon buck or doe.

The pair have reached that fearful chasm,
How tempting to bestride!
For lordly Wharf is there pent in
With rocks on either side.

20

NOT 'mid the world's vain objects that enslave

The free-born Soul that World whose vaunted skill

In selfish interest perverts the will, Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave

Not there; but in dark wood and rocky cave, And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill With omnipresent murmur as they rave Down their steep beds, that never shall be still:

Here, mighty Nature! in this school sublime

I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering
Spain;

For her consult the auguries of time,
And through the human heart explore my

Now do those sternly-featured hills
Look gently on this grave;
And quiet now are the depths of air,
As a sea without a wave.

20

Or mortal parents is the Hero born
By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led?
Or is it Tell's great Spirit, from the dead
Returned to animate an age forlorn?
He comes like Phœbus through the gates
of morn

When dreary darkness is discomfited,
Yet mark his modest state! upon his head,
That simple crest, a heron's plume, is worn.
O Liberty! they stagger at the shock
From van to rear and with one mind
would flee,

But half their host is buried: - rock on rock
Descends: - beneath this godlike Warrior,

"ALAS! WHAT BOOTS THE LONG
LABORIOUS QUEST"
1809. 1815

ALAS! what boots the long laborious quest
Of moral prudence, sought through good
and ill;
Or pains abstruse to elevate the will,
And lead us on to that transcendent rest
Where every passion shall the sway attest
Of Reason, seated on her sovereign hill;
What is it but a vain and curious skill,
If sapient Germany must lie deprest,
Beneath the brutal sword?—Her haughty
Schools