Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Faintly, too faint almost for sight; and some
Above the darkened hills stood boldly forth
In twinkling lustre, ere the boat attained
Her mooring-place; where, to the sheltering tree,
Our youthful voyagers bound fast her prow,

With prompt yet careful hands. This done, we paced
The dewy fields; but ere the Vicar's door
Was reached, the Solitary checked his steps;
Then, intermingling thanks, on each bestowed
A farewell salutation, and the like
Receiving, took the slender path that leads
To the one cottage in the lonely dell,
His chosen residence. But, ere he turned
Aside, a welcome promise had been given
That he would share the pleasures and pursuits
Of yet another summer's day, consumed

In wandering with us through the valleys fair,
And o'er the mountain wastes, "Another sun,"
Said he, "shall shine upon us cre we part,
Another sun, and peradventure more;

If time, with free consent, be yours to give,
And season favours."

To enfeebled power,

From this communion with uninjured minds,
What renovation had been brought; and what
Degree of healing to a wounded spirit,
Dejected, and habitually disposed

To seek, in degradation of the kind,
Excuse and solace for her own defects;

;

How far those erring notions were reformed;
And whether aught, of tendency as good
And pure, from further intercourse ensued
This (if delightful hopes, as heretofore,
Inspire the serious song, and gentle hearts
Cherish, and lofty minds approve the past)
My future labours may not leave untold.

THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE;

OR,

THE FATE OF THE NORTONS.

"Weak is the will of man, his judgment blind;
Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays;
Heavy is woe; and joy, for human kind,
A mournful thing,-so transient is the blaze !”—
Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days
Who wants the glorious faculty, assigned
To elevate the more than reasoning mind,
And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays.
Imagination is that sacred power,
Imagination lofty and refined:

"Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower
Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind
Wreathes that endure affliction's heaviest shower,
And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

IN trellised shed with clustering roses gay,
And, MARY! oft beside our blazing fire,
When years of wedded life were as a day
Whose current answers to the heart's desire,
Did we together read in Spenser's lay

How Una, sad of soul-in sad attire,

The gentle Una, born of heavenly birth,

To seek her knight went wandering o'er the earth.

Ah, then, beloved! pleasing was the smart,
And the tear precious, in compassion shed

For her, who, pierced by sorrow's thrilling dart,

Did meekly bear the pang unmerited;

Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart

The milk-white lamb which in a line she led,

And faithful, loyal in her innocence,

Like the brave lion slain in her defence.

Notes could we hear as of a fairy shell

Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught;
Free fancy prized each specious miracle,

And all its finer inspiration caught;

Till, in the bosom of our rustic cell,

We by a lamentable change were taught

That bliss with mortal man may not abide:"

How nearly joy and sorrow are allied!

For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow,

For us the voice of melody was mute.

-But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow
And give the timid herbage leave to shoot,

Heaven's breathing influence failed not to bestow

A timely promise of unlooked for fruit,

Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content
From blossoms wild of fancies innocent.

It soothed us-it beguiled us-then, to hear
Once more of troubles wrought by inagic spell;
And griefs whose aery motion comes not near
The pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel;
Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer,
High over hill and low adown the dell
Again we wandered, willing to partake
All that she suffered for her dear lord's sake.

Then, too, this song cf mine once more could please,
Where anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep,
Is tempered and allayed by sympathies

Aloft ascending, and descending deep,

Even to the inferior kinds; whom forest trees
Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep

Of the sharp winds;-fair creatures!-to whom Heaven
A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given.

This tragic story cheered us; for it speaks
Of female patience winning firm repose;
And of the recompense which conscience seeks,
A bright, encouraging example shows;

Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks,
Needful amid life's ordinary woes;-

Hence, not for them unfitted who would bless
A happy hour with holier happiness.

He serves the Muses erringly and ill,

Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive;
Oh, that my mind were equal to fulfil

The comprehensive mandate which they give-
Vain aspiration of an earnest will !

Yet in this moral strain a power may live,
Beloved Wife! such solace to impart

As it hath yielded to thy tender heart.

RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND,

April 20, 1815,

THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE.

CANTO FIRST.

FROM Bolton's old monastic tower
The bells ring loud with gladsome power;
The sun is bright; the fields are gay
With people in their best array

Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf,
Along the banks of the crystal Wharf,
Through the vale retired and lowly,
Trooping to that summons holy.
And, up among the moorlands, see
What sprinklings of blithe company-
Of lasses and of shepherd grooms,

That down the steep hills force their way,
Like cattle through the budded brooms;
Path, or no path, what care they!
And thus in joyous mood they hie
To Bolton's mouldering Priory.

What would they there? Full fifty years
That sumptuous pile, with all its peers,
Too harshly hath been doomed to taste
The bitterness of wrong and waste:
Its courts are ravaged; but the tower
Is standing, with a voice of power,
That ancient voice which wont to call
To mass or some high festival.
And in the shattered fabric's heart
Remaineth one protected part;
A rural chapel, neatly dressed,
In covert like a little nest;
And thither young and old repair,

This Sabbath-day, for praise and prayer.

Fast the church-yard fills; anon

Look again, and they all are gone:

The cluster round the porch, and the folk

Who sate in the shade of the Prior's Oak!
And scarcely have they disappeared
Ere the prelusive hymn is heard:

With one consent the people rejoice,
Filling the church with a lofty voice!
They sing a service which they feel:
For 'tis the sunrise now of zeal,
And faith and hope are in their prime,
In great Eliza's golden time.

A moment ends the fervent din,
And all is hushed, without and within;
For, though the priest more tranquilly
Recites the holy liturgy,

The only voice which you can hear
Is the river murmuring near.

When soft! the dusky trees between,
And down the path through the open green,
Where is no living thing to be seen,
And through yon gateway, where is found,
Beneath the arch with ivy bound,
Free entrance to the church-yard ground,
And right across the verdant sod
Towards the very house of God,
Comes gliding in with lovely gleam,
Comes gliding in serene and slow,
Soft and silent as a dream,

A solitary Doe !

White she is as lily of June,

And beauteous as the silver moon

When out of sight the clouds are driven,
And she is left alone in heaven;
Or like a ship some gentle day
In sunshine sailing far away,
A glittering ship, that hath the plain
Of ocean for her own domain.

Lie silent in your graves, ye dead!
Lie quiet in your church-yard bed!
Ye living tend your holy cares,
Ye multitude pursue your prayers,
And blame not me if my heart and sight
Are occupied with one delight!
'Tis a work for Sabbath hours
If I with this bright creature go:
Whether she be of forest bowers,
From the bowers of earth below;
Or a spirit, for one day given,
A gift of grace from purest heaven.

What harmonious pensive changes
Wait upon her as she ranges
Round and through this pile of state,
Overthrown and desolate!
Now a step or two her way
Is through space of open day,
Where the enamoured sunny light
Brightens her that was so bright;

« AnteriorContinuar »