820 Ye brood of conscience, Spectres! that frequent Before the world had passed her time of youth Fit retribution, by the moral code Though to give timely warning and deter THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE; OR, THE FATE OF THE NORTONS. ADVERTISEMENT. DURING the Summer of 1807, I visited, for the first time, the beautiful country that surrounds Bolton Priory, in Yorkshire; and the Poem of the WHITE DOE, founded upon a tradition connected with that place, was composed at the close of the same year. DEDICATION. IN trellised shed with clustering roses gay, How Una, sad of soul, — in sad attire, The gentle Una, of celestial 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, Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart, The milk-white Lamb which in a line she led,- Like the brave Lion slain in her defence. Notes could we hear as of a faery shell Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught; Free Fancy prized each specious miracle, Till, in the bosom of our rustic Cell, We by a lamentable change were taught That "bliss with mortal Man may not abide": For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow, — But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow It soothed us, it beguiled us, then, to hear All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake. Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Aloft ascending, and descending deep, Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest-trees Of the sharp winds; -fair Creatures! -to whom Heaven This tragic Story cheered us; for it speaks And, of the recompense that conscience seeks, Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks, Hence, not for them unfitted who would bless A happy hour with holier happiness. He serves the Muses erringly and ill, The comprehensive mandate which they give, - Yet in this moral Strain a power may live, As it hath yielded to thy tender heart. "Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done; and in the after-vacancy We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed: Yet through that darkness (infinite though it seem By which the soul-with patient steps of thought Even to the fountain-head of peace divine." |