Better fate have Prince and Swallow -- Little Music, she stops short. A loving creature she and brave! And fondly strives her struggling friend to save. From the brink her paws she stretches, Very hands as you would say ! And afflicting moans she fetches, For herself she hath no fears, Him alone she sees and hears, Makes efforts and complainings; nor gives o'er Until her fellow sank, and reappeared no more. TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG. LIE here, without a record of thy worth, Or want of love, that here no stone we raise : Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear I grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past; It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed : But for some precious boon vouchsafed to thee, THE FORCE OF PRAYER; OR, THE FOUND ING OF BOLTON PRIORY. A TRADITION. "What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, "Whence can comfort spring, "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, -Young Romilly through Barden Woods And holds a greyhound in a leash, To let slip upon buck or doe. And the pair have reached that fearful chasm, 231 For lordly Wharf is there pent in This striding-place is called "The Strid," 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, 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, |