Upon the happy creature's face.

O moment ever blest! O pair

Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's choicest caroi

This was for you a precious greeting,

For both a bounteous, fruitful meeting.

Join'd are they, and the sylvan doe-
Can she depart-can she forego
The lady, once her playful peer,
And now her sainted mistress dear:

486

WORDSWORTH'S POEMS.

Long past, delights and sorrowings?
Lone sufferer! will not she believe
The promise in that speaking face,
And take this gift of Heaven with grace?

That day, the first of a reunion
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 this sylvan haunt withdrew,
The white doe track'd with faithful pace
The lady to her dwelling-place;
That nook where, on paternal ground,
A habitation she had found,

The master of whose humble board
Once own'd her father for his lord;
A hut, by tufted trees defended,

Where Rylstone Brook with Wharf is blended.

When Emily by morning light
Went forth, the doe was there in sight.
She shrunk with one frail shock of pain,
Received and follow'd by a prayer,
Did she behold-saw once again;
Shun will she not, she feels, will bear;
But wheresoever she look'd round
All now was trouble-haunted ground.
So doth the sufferer deem it good
Even once again this neighbourhood
To leave. Unwoo'd, yet unforbidden,
The white doe follow'd 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 calm'd her, cheer'd, and fortified?
For she hath ventured now to read

Of time, and place, and thought, and deed,
Endless history that lics

In her silent follower's eyes!

Who with a power like human reason,

Discerns the favourable season,

Skill'd to approach or to retire,

From looks conceiving her desire,

From look, deportment, voice, or mien,
That vary to the heart within.
If she too passionately writhed
Her arms, or over deeply breathe,
Walk'd quick or slowly, every mood
In its degree was understood;

And kindly intercourse ensue.
Oh! surely 'twas a gentle rousing
When she by sudden glimpse espied
The white doe on the mountain browsing,
Or in the meadow wander'd wide!

How pleased, when down the straggler sank
Beside her, on some sunny bank!

How soothed, when in thick bower inclosed,
They like a nested pair reposed!
Fair vision! when it cross'd the maid
Within some rocky cavern laid,
The dark cave's portal gliding by,
White as the whitest cloud on high,
Floating through the azure sky.
What now is left for pain or fear?
That presence, dearer and more dear,
Did now a very gladness yield
At morning to the dewy field,
While they side by side were straying,
And the shepherd's pipe was playing;
And with a deeper peace endued
The hour of moonlight solitude.

With her companion, in such frame
Of mind, to Rylstone back she came;
And, wandering through the wasted groves,
Received the memory of old loves,
Undisturb'd and undistress'd,

Into a soul which now was blest
With a soft spring day of holy,
Mild, delicious melancholy:
Not sunless gloom, or unenlighten'd,
But by tender fancies brighten'd.

When the bells of Rylstone play'd
Their sabbath music-" God us ayde!"
That was the sound they seem'd to speak
Inscriptive legend, which I ween
May on those holy bells be seen,
That legend and her grandsire's name:
And oftentimes the lady meek

Had in her childhood read the same,
Words which she slighted at that day!

But now, when such sad change was wrought,
And of that lonely name she thought,
The bells of Rylstone seem'd to say,
While she sat listening in the shade,
With vocal music, "God us ayde!
And all the hills were glad to bear
Their part in this effectual prayer.

Nor lack'd she reason's firmest power;
But with the white doe at her side
Up doth she climb to Norton Tower,
And thence looks round her far and wide.

Her fate there measures,-all is still'd,-
The feeble hath subdued her heart;
Behold the prophecy fulfill'd,

Fulfill'd, and she sustains her part!
But here her brother's words have fail'd,-
Here hath a milder doom prevail'd;
That she, of him and all bereft,
Hath yet this faithful partner left,--
This single creature 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 weop
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 mutua! lot,
And bless for both this savage spot!
Which Emily doth sacred hold,
For reasons dear and manifold;-
Here hath she, here before her sight,
Close to the summit of this height,
The grassy rock-encircled pound
In which the creature first was found.
So beautiful the spotless thrall
(A lovely youngling white as foam),
That it was brought to Rylstone Hall;
Her youngest brother led it home,

The youngest, then a lusty boy,

Brought home the prize-and with what joy!

But most to Bolton's sacred pile, On favouring nights she loved to go:

There ranged through cloister, court, and aisle
Attended by the soft-paced doe;

Nor did she fear in the still moonshine
To look upon Saint Mary's shrine;
Nor on the lonely turf that show'd
Where Francis slept in his last abode.
For that she came; there oft and long
She sat in meditation strong:

And, when she from the abyss return'd

Of thought, she neither shrunk nor mourn'd;

Was happy that she lived to greet

Her mute companion as it lay

In love and pity at her feet;

How happy in her turn to meet

That recognition! the mild glance

Beam'd from that gracious countenance;

Communication, like the ray

Of a new morning, to the nature
And prospects of the inferior creature!

A mortal song we frame, by dower