As more exposed to suffering and distress; 'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, A. constant influence, a peculiar grace ; But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Is happy as a Lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired; Come when it will, is equal to the need: -He who, though thus endued as with a sense More brave for this, that he hath much to love :- Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth 1806. 237 XXII. THE FORCE OF PRAYER *; OR, THE FOUNDING OF BOLTON PRIORY. A TRADITION. 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 ?" * See the White Doe of Rylstone. spring 66 What is good for a bootless bene? The Falconer to the Lady said; And she made answer ENDLESS SORROW!" She knew it by the Falconer's words, -Young Romilly through Barden woods 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. This striding-place is called THE STRID, A name which it took of yore: A thousand years hath it borne that name, And hither is young Romilly come, And what may now forbid That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, Shall bound across THE STRID? He sprang in glee, for what cared he That the river was strong, and the rocks were steep?→ But the greyhound in the leash hung back, And checked him in his leap. The Boy is in the arms of Wharf, And strangled by a merciless force; For never more was young Romilly seen Now there is stillness in the vale, if for a lover the Lady wept, A solace she might borrow From death, and from the passion of death;- She weeps not for the wedding-day He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, "Let there be In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, A stately Priory!" The stately Priory was reared; |