Among the ruins of a wood, Erewhile a covert bright and green, 40 And perfect sway, through many a thought Of chance and change, that hath been brought To the subjection of a holy, Though stern and rigorous, melancholy ! There hath she fixed it; yet it seems And she hath wandered, long and far, Beneath the light of sun and star; Hath roamed in trouble and in grief, Driven forward like a withered leaf, Yea like a ship at random blown To distant places and unknown. But now she dares to seek a haven Among her native wilds of Craven; Hath seen again her Father's roof, And put her fortitude to proof; The mighty sorrow hath been borne, And she is thoroughly forlorn: Her soul doth in itself stand fast, Sustained by memory of the past And strength of Reason; held above The infirmities of mortal love; Undaunted, lofty, calm, and stable, And awfully impenetrable. And so - beneath a mouldered tree, A self-surviving leafless oak By unregarded age from stroke Of ravage saved sate Emily. There did she rest, with head reclined, (Such have I seen) whom chance of birth 50 60 70 80 So to her feet the Creature came, A flood of tears, that flowed apace, 110 120 Oh, moment ever blest! O Pair Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's chosen care, This was for you a precious greeting; And may it prove a fruitful meeting! Joined are they, and the sylvan Doe Can she depart? can she forego The Lady, once her playful peer, And now her sainted Mistress dear? And will not Emily receive This lovely chronicler of things Long past, delights and sorrowings? Lone Sufferer! will not she believe The promise in that speaking face; And welcome, as a gift of grace, The saddest thought the Creature brings? 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, 130 The White Doe tracked with faithful pace The Master of whose humble board 140 A hut, by tufted trees defended, Where Rylstone brook with Wharf is blended. 150 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 160 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 Skilled to approach or to retire, 170 180 -Oh! surely 't was 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, 190 And of that lonely name she thoughtThe bells of Rylstone seemed to say, While she sate listening in the shade, With vocal music, "God us apde; "" And all the hills were glad to bear Their part in this effectual prayer. 220 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, 230 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; 240 Which Emily doth sacred hold 250 In which the Creature first was found. Attended by the soft-paced Doe; Nor feared she in the still moonshine And, when she from the abyss returned mourned; 260 270 nor Beamed from that gracious countenance; 280 Whose voice we heard, whose hand and wings 310 A dear look to her lowly Friend; Rose to the God from whom it came ! 320 331 Loves most what Emily loved most And every sabbath here is found; Comes with the people when the bells way Lies open on the sabbath-day; 340 Here walks amid the mournful waste 350 Calm spectacle, by earth and sky Looks down upon her with a smile, THE FORCE OF PRAYER OR, THE FOUNDING OF BOLTON PRIORY A TRADITION 1807. 1815 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 ?” With these dark words begins my Tale; And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring When Prayer is of no avail? "What is good for a bootless bene ? ” The Falconer to the Lady said; And she made answer "ENDLESS SORROW!" For she knew that her Son was dead. She knew it by the Falconer's words, NOT 'mid the world's vain objects that enslave The free-born Soul that World whose vaunted skill In selfish interest perverts the will, Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave Not there; but in dark wood and rocky cave, And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill With omnipresent murmur as they rave Down their steep beds, that never shall be still: Here, mighty Nature! in this school sublime I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering For her consult the auguries of time, COMPOSED AT THE SAME TIME AND ON THE SAME OCCASION 1808. 1815 I DROPPED my pen; and listened to the Wind That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost A midnight harmony; and wholly lost To the general sense of men by chains confined Of business, care, or pleasure; or resigned To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassioned strain, Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain, Like acceptation from the World will find. Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink A dirge devoutly breathed o'er sorrows past; And to the attendant promise will give heed The prophecy, like that of this wild blast, Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink, Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed. |