To life-long singleness; but happier far Was to your souls, and, to the thoughts of others, A thousand times more beautiful appeared Your dual loneliness. The sacred tie Is broken; yet why grieve? for Time but holds To the blest world where parting is unknown. THE RAINBOW. MY heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So be it when I shall grow old, The Child is father of the Man; Bound each to each by natural piety. 1835. 1804. ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY. THE post-boy drove with fierce career, For threatening clouds the moon had drowned; When, as we hurried on, my ear As if the wind blew many ways I heard the sound,-and more and more; It seemed to follow with the chaise, And still I heard it as before. At length I to the boy called out; The boy then smacked his whip, and fast Forthwith alighting on the ground, "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan?" And there a little Girl I found Sitting behind the chaise, alone. "My cloak!" no other word she spake, But loud and bitterly she wept, As if her innocent heart would break; And down from off her seat she leapt. "What ails you, child?"-she sobbed, "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scare-crow dangled. There, twisted between nave and spoke "And whither are you going, child, Insensible to all relief Sat the poor girl, and forth did send "My child, in Durham do you dwell?" And I to Durham, Sir, belong." The chaise drove on; our journey's end Up to the tavern-door we post; "And let it be of duffel grey, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" 1801. 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, And, MARY! oft beside our blazing fire, Whose current answers to the heart's desire, 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, Did meekly bear the pang unmerited; Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart The milk-white Lamb which in a line she led,- And faithful, loyal in her innocence, 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, And all its finer inspiration caught; Till in the bosom of our rustic Cell, We by a lamentable change were taught That "bliss with mortal Man may not abide :" How nearly joy and sorrow are allied For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow, For us the voice of melody was mute. -But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow, And give the timid herbage leave to shoot, Heaven's breathing influence failed not to bestow A timely promise of unlooked-for fruit, Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content It soothed us-it beguiled as-then, to hear The pangs that tempt the Spirit to rebel: High over hill and low adown the dell Again we wandered, willing to partake 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 Of female patience winning firm repose; And, of the recompense that conscience seeks, A bright, encouraging example shows; Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks Needful amid life's ordinary woes; Hence, not for them unfitted who would bless A happy hour with holier happiness. He serves the Muses erringly and ill, Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive: O, that my mind were equal to fulfil The comprehensive mandate which they give- Yet in this moral Strain a power may live, Beloved Wife! such solace to impart As it hath yielded to thy tender heart. RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND, April 20, 1815. "Action is transitory-a step, a blow, 4 The motion of a muscle,-this way or that 'T is done; and in the after-vacancy Yet through that darkness (infinite though it seem By which the soul-with patient steps of thought |