The downward pathway taking, That leads her to the torrent's side

And to a holly bower;

By whom on this still night descried?
By whom in that lone place espied?
By thee, Sir Eglamore!

XII.

A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight,
His coming step has thwarted,

Beneath the boughs that heard their vows,
Within whose shade they parted.
Hush, hush, the busy Sleeper see!
Perplexed her fingers seem,
As if they from the holly tree
Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly

Flung from her to the stream.

XIII.

What means the Spectre? Why intent
To violate the Tree,

Thought Eglamore, by which I swore
Unfading constancy?

Here am I, and to-morrow's sun,
To her I left, shall prove

That bliss is ne'er so surely won

As when a circuit has been run
Of valor, truth, and love.

XIV.

So from the spot whereon he stood,

He moved with stealthy pace;

And, drawing nigh, with his living eye,
He recognized the face;

And whispers caught, and speeches small,
Some to the green-leaved tree,

Some muttered to the torrent fall,

"Roar on, and bring him with thy call;

I heard, and so may he!"

XV.

Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew

If Emma's Ghost it were,

Or boding Shade, or if the Maid
Her very self stood there.

He touched, what followed who shall tell?
The soft touch snapped the thread

Of slumber-shrieking, back she fell,
And the Stream whirled her down the dell
Along its foaming bed.

XVI.

In plunged the Knight! - when on firm ground

The rescued Maiden lay,

Her eyes grew bright with blissful light,

Confusion passed away;

She heard, ere to the throne of grace

Her faithful Spirit flew,

His voice; beheld his speaking face,

And, dying, from his own embrace,
She felt that he was true.

XVII.

So was he reconciled to life:

Brief words may speak the rest;

Within the dell he built a cell,
And there was Sorrow's guest;
In hermits' weeds repose he found,
From vain temptations free;
Beside the torrent dwelling-bound
By one deep heart-controlling sound,
And awed to piety.

XVIII.

Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course,
Nor fear memorial lays,

Where clouds that spread in solemn shade,
Are edged with golden rays!

Dear art thou to the light of Heaven,

Though minister of sorrow;

Sweet is thy voice at pensive Even;
And thou, in Lovers' hearts forgiven,
Shall take thy place with Yarrow !

THE PET LAMB.

A PASTORAL.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty Creature,

drink!"

And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

A snow-white mountain Lamb, with a Maiden at its

side.

No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden
kneel,

While to that mountain Lamb she gave its evening meal.

The Lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper

took,

Seemed to feast with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure shook.

"Drink, pretty Creature, drink!" she said in such a

tone

That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a Child of beauty rare!

I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty Can the Maiden turned away: But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Towards the Lamb she looked; and from that shady place

I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers

bring,

Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little Maid might

"What ails thee, Young One?-what? Why pull so at thy cord?

Is it not well with thee?-well both for bed and

board?

Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little Young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

"What is it thou wou ast seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art: This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have

no peers;

And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

"If the Sun be shining hot; do but stretch thy woollen chain,

This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain storms! the like thou needest

not fear

The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

"Rest, little Young One, rest! thou hast forgot the

day

When my Father found thee first in places far away: Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned

by none,

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam ?

A faithful Nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee

yean

Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.