That day, the first of a re-union Which was to teem with high communion, That day of balmy April weather, They tarried in the wood together. And when, ere fall of evening dew, She from her sylvan haunt withdrew, The White Doe tracked with faithful pace The Lady to her dwelling-place;
That nook where, on paternal ground,
A habitation she had found,
The Master of whose humble board
Once owned her Father for his Lord;
A hut, by tufted trees defended,
Where Rylstone brook with Wharf is blended.
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
Of time, and place, and thought, and deed— 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.
-Oh! surely 'twas 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, While they, side by side, were straying, And the shepherd's pipe was playing, Did now a very gladness yield At morning to the dewy field, And with a deeper peace endued The hour of moonlight solitude.
With her Companion, in such frame Of mind, to Rylstone back she came ; And, ranging through the wasted groves, Received the memory of old loves, Undisturbed and undistrest,
Into a soul which now was blest With a soft spring-day of holy, Mild, and grateful, melancholy: Not sunless gloom or unenlightened, But by tender fancies brightened.
When the bells of Rylstone played Their sabbath music—“ God us ayde!' That was the sound they seemed to speak; Inscriptive legend which I ween
May on those holy bells be seen,
That legend and her Grandsire's name;
And oftentimes the Lady meek
Had in her childhood read the same; Words which she slighted at that day; But now, when such sad change was wrought, And of that lonely name she thought, The bells of Rylstone seemed to say, While she sate listening in the shade, With vocal music,' God us ayde;' And all the hills were glad to bear Their part in this effectual prayer.
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, 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; Which Emily doth sacred hold For reasons dear and manifoldHere 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 nor mourned;
Was happy that she lived to greet
Her mute Companion as it lay
In love and pity at her feet;
How happy in its turn to meet The recognition! the mild glance 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 ;
Whose voice we heard, whose hand and wings Swept like a breeze the conscious strings, When, left in solitude, erewhile
We stood before this ruined Pile,
And, quitting unsubstantial dreams, Sang in this Presence kindred themes; Distress and desolation spread
Through human hearts, and pleasure dead,— Dead-but to live again on earth,
A second and yet nobler birth; Dire overthrow, and yet how high The re-ascent in sanctity! From fair to fairer ; day by day A more divine and loftier way! Even such this blessed Pilgrim trod, By sorrow lifted towards her God; Uplifted to the purest sky
Of undisturbed mortality.
Her own thoughts loved she; and could bend
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 dayIn 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: Loves most what Emily loved most--The enclosure of this church-yard ground; Here wanders like a gliding ghost, And every sabbath here is found; Comes with the people when the bells Are heard among the moorland dells,
FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY INTO BRITAIN, TO THE CONSUMMATION OF THE PAPAL DOMINION.
A verse may catch a wandering Soul, that flies Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise Convert delight into a Sacrifice.'
I, WHO accompanied with faithful pace Cerulean Duddon from his cloud-fed spring, And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing Of mountain-quiet and boon nature's grace; I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace Of Liberty, and smote the plausive string Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing, Won for herself a lasting resting-place; Now seek upon the heights of Time the source Of a HOLY RIVER, on whose banks are found Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have crowned Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force; And, for delight of him who tracks its course, Immortal amaranth and palms abound.
If there be prophets on whose spirits rest Past things, revealed like future, they can tell What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed With its first bounty. Wandering through the west, Did holy Paul a while in Britain dwell, And call the Fountain forth by miracle, And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest? Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarred? Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard The precious Current they had taught to flow?
TREPIDATION OF THE DRUIDS.
SCREAMS round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew* -white
As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning, Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight, Portending ruin to each baleful rite,
That, in the lapse of ages, hath crept o'er Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore. Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines blight His transports? wither his heroic strains? But all shall be fulfilled;-the Julian spear A way first opened; and, with Roman chains, The tidings come of Jesus crucified; They come they spread-the weak, the suffering, Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.
DRUIDICAL EXCOMMUNICATION.
MERCY and Love have met thee on thy road, Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire And food cut off by sacerdotal ire, From every sympathy that Man bestowed! Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God, Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire, These jealous Ministers of law aspire, As to the one sole fount whence wisdom flowed, Justice, and order. Tremblingly escaped, As if with prescience of the coming storm, That intimation when the stars were shaped; And still, 'mid yon thick woods, the primal truth Glimmers through many a superstitious form That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.
LAMENT! for Diocletian's fiery sword Works busy as the lightning; but instinct With malice ne'er to deadliest weapon linked, Which God's ethereal store-houses afford: Against the Followers of the incarnate Lord It rages; some are smitten in the field [shield Some pierced to the heart through the ineffectual Of sacred home;-with pomp are others gored And dreadful respite. Thus was Alban tried, England's first Martyr, whom no threats could shake; Self-offered victim, for his friend he died, And for the faith; nor shall his name forsake That Hill, whose flowery platform seems to rise By Nature decked for holiest sacrifice.
As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim Their nests, or chant a gratulating hymn To the blue ether and bespangled plain; Even so, in many a re-constructed fane, Have the survivors of this Storm renewed Their holy rites with vocal gratitude: And solemn ceremonials they ordain To celebrate their great deliverance; Most feelingly instructed 'mid their fear- That persecution, blind with rage extreme, [nance, May not the less, through Heaven's mild counte- Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer; For all things are less dreadful than they see seem.
DARKNESS surrounds us; seeking, we are lost On Snowdon's wilds, amid Brigantian coves, Or where the solitary shepherd roves
■ Along the plain of Sarum, by the ghost = Of Time and shadows of Tradition, crost; 5 And where the boatman of the Western Isles Slackens his course-to mark those holy piles Which yet survive on bleak Iona's coast. Nor these, nor monuments of eldest name, Nor Taliesin's unforgotten lays,
Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame, To an unquestionable Source have led ; Enough-if eyes, that sought the fountain-head In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.
This water-fowl was, among the Druids, an emblem of those traditions connected with the deluge that made an
TEMPTATIONS FROM ROMAN REFINEMENTS.
WATCH, and be firm! for, soul-subduing vice, Heart-killing luxury, on your steps await. Fair houses, baths, and banquets delicate, And temples flashing, bright as polar ice,
Their radiance through the woods-may yet suffice To sap your hardy virtue, and abate
Your love of Him upon whose forehead sate The crown of thorns; whose life-blood flowed, the price
Of your redemption. Shun the insidious arts That Rome provides, less dreading from her frown Than from her wily praise, her peaceful gown, Language, and letters;—these, though fondly viewed As humanising graces, are but parts And instruments of deadliest servitude!
important part of their mysteries. The Cormorant was a bird of bad omen. * See Note.
THAT heresies should strike (if truth be scanned Presumptuously) their roots both wide and deep, Is natural as dreams to feverish sleep. Lo! Discord at the altar dares to stand Uplifting toward high Heaven her fiery brand, A cherished Priestess of the new-baptized! But chastisement shall follow peace despised. The Pictish cloud darkens the enervate land By Rome abandoned; vain are suppliant cries, And prayers that would undo her forced farewell; For she returns not.-Awed by her own knell, She casts the Britons upon strange Allies,
Soon to become more dreaded enemies Than heartless misery called them to repel.
STRUGGLE OF THE BRITONS AGAINST THE BARBARIANS.
RISE!--they have risen: of brave Aneurin ask How they have scourged old foes, perfidious friends: The Spirit of Caractacus descends Upon the Patriots, animates their task ;— Amazement runs before the towering casque Of Arthur, bearing through the stormy field The virgin sculptured on his Christian shield:- Stretched in the sunny light of victory bask The Host that followed Urien as he strode O'er heaps of slain;-from Cambrian wood and Druids descend, auxiliars of the Cross; [moss Bards, nursed on blue Plinlimmon's still abode, Rush on the fight, to harps preferring swords, And everlasting deeds to burning words!
A BRIGHT-HAIRED company of youthful slaves, Beautiful strangers, stand within the pale Of a sad market, ranged for public sale, Where Tiber's stream the immortal City laves : ANGLI by name; and not an ANGEL waves His wing who could seem lovelier to man's eye Than they appear to holy Gregory;
Who, having learnt that name, salvation craves For Them, and for their Land. The earnest Sire, His questions urging, feels, in slender ties Of chiming sound, commanding sympathies ; DE-IRIANS he would save them from God's IRE; Subjects of Saxon ELLA-they shall sing Glad HALLE-lujahs to the eternal King!
NOR wants the cause the panic-striking aid Of hallelujahs* tost from hill to hill— For instant victory. But Heaven's high will Permits a second and a darker shade Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed, The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains : O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like fountains;
Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid By men yet scarcely conscious of a care For other monuments than those of Earth; Who, as the fields and woods have given them birth, Will build their savage fortunes only there ; Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.
FOR ever hallowed be this morning fair,
Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye tread, And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead Of martial banner, in procession bear; The Cross preceding Him who floats in air, The pictured Saviour!-By Augustin led, They come and onward travel without dread, Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer-- Sung for themselves, and those whom they would free!
Rich conquest waits them :-the tempestuous sea Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high And heeded not the voice of clashing swords, These good men humble by a few bare words, And calm with fear of God's divinity.
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