Or how, from his depression raised, The Father on his Son had gazed;

Suffice it that the Son gave way,

Nor strove that passion to allay,
Nor did he turn aside to prove

His Brothers' wisdom or their love-
But calmly from the spot withdrew ;
The like endeavours to renew,

Should e'er a kindlier time ensue.

CANTO FOURTH.

FROM cloudless ether looking down,
The Moon, this tranquil evening, sees
A Camp, and a beleaguered Town,
And Castle like a stately crown

On the steep rocks of winding Tees;
And, southward far, with moors between,
Hill-tops, and floods, and forests green,
The bright Moon sees that valley small
Where Rylstone's old sequestered Hall
A venerable image yields

Of quiet to the neighbouring fields;
While from one pillared chimney breathes
The silver smoke, and mounts in wreaths.

The courts are hushed; for timely sleep

The Grey-hounds to their kennel creep;

The Peacock in the broad ash-tree

Aloft is roosted for the night,

He who in proud prosperity

Of colours manifold and bright

Walked round, affronting the day-light;

And higher still, above the bower

Where he is perched, from yon lone Tower The Hall-clock in the clear moon-shine

With glittering finger points at nine.

- Ah! who could think that sadness here Had any sway? or pain, or fear?

A soft and lulling sound is heard
Of streams inaudible by day;

The garden pool's dark surface, stirred
By the night insects in their play,
Breaks into dimples small and bright;
A thousand, thousand rings of light
That shape themselves and disappear
Almost as soon as seen: and, lo!

--

Not distant far, the milk-white Doe :
The same fair Creature who was nigh
Feeding in tranquillity,

When Francis uttered to the Maid
His last words in the yew-tree shade;
The same fair Creature, who hath found
Her way into forbidden ground;

Where now, within this spacious plot

For pleasure made, a goodly spot,

With lawns, and beds of flowers, and shades

Of trellis-work in long arcades,

And cirque and crescent framed by wall

Of close-clipt foliage green and tall,
Converging walks, and fountains gay,
And terraces in trim array,

Beneath yon cypress spiring high,
With pine and cedar spreading wide
Their darksome boughs on either side,
In open moonlight doth she lie;
Happy as others of her kind,

That, far from human neighbourhood,

Range, unrestricted as the wind,

Through park, or chase, or savage wood.

But where at this still hour is she,

The consecrated Emily?

Even while I speak, behold the Maid
Emerging from the cedar shade

To open moonshine, where the Doe
Beneath the cypress-spire is laid;
Like a patch of April snow,

Upon a bed of herbage green,
Lingering in a woody glade,
Or behind a rocky screen;
Lonely relic! which, if seen
By the Shepherd, is passed by
With an inattentive eye.

Nor more regard doth she bestow Upon the uncomplaining Doe!

Yet the meek Creature was not free,
Erewhile, from some perplexity:
For thrice hath she approached, this day,
The thought-bewildered Emily;
Endeavouring, in her gentle way,
Some smile or look of love to gain,
Encouragement to sport or play;
Attempts which by the unhappy Maid
Have all been slighted or gainsaid.

- O welcome to the viewless breeze!
'Tis fraught with acceptable feeling,
And instantaneous sympathies
Into the Sufferer's bosom stealing;