But Emily hath raised her head,

And is again disquieted;

Where is the solitary One?

And forth from Rylstone-hall stepped she, -
To seek her Brother forth she went

And tremblingly her course she bent
Tow'rds Bolton's ruined Priory.

She comes, and in the Vale hath heard
The Funeral dirge;- she sees the Knot
Of people, sees them in one spot —
And darting like a wounded Bird

She reached the grave, and with her breast

Upon the ground received the rest,
The consummation, the whole ruth
And sorrow of this final truth!

CANTO SEVENTH.

THOU Spirit, whose angelic hand
Was to the Harp a strong command,
Called the submissive strings to wake
In glory for this Maiden's sake,
Say, Spirit! whither hath she fled
To hide her poor afflicted head?
What mighty forest in its gloom

Enfolds her?. - is a rifted tomb

Within the wilderness her seat?
Some island which the wild waves beat,
Is that the Sufferer's last retreat?

Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds
Its perilous front in mists and clouds?
High-climbing rock-low sunless dale-

Sea desart-what do these avail?

Oh take her anguish and her fears
Into a deep recess of years!

'Tis done; despoil and desolation

O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown;
The walks and pools neglect hath sown
With weeds, the bowers are overthrown,
Or have given way to slow mutation,
While, in their ancient habitation

The Norton name hath been unknown:
The lordly Mansion of its pride

Is stripped; the ravage hath spread wide
Through park and field, a perishing
That mocks the gladness of the Spring!
And with this silent gloom agreeing
There is a joyless human Being,
Of aspect such as if the waste
Were under her dominion placed:
Upon a primrose bank, her throne
Of quietness, she sits alone;

There seated, may this Maid be seen,
Among the ruins of a wood,

Erewhile a covert bright and green,

And where full many a brave Tree stood; That used to spread its boughs, and ring With the sweet Bird's carolling.

Behold her, like a Virgin Queen,
Neglecting in imperial state
These outward images of fate,

And carrying inward a serene

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!
The like authority, with grace

Of awfulness, is in her face,

There hath she fixed it; yet it seems

To o'ershadow by no native right

That face, which cannot lose the gleams,
Lose utterly the tender gleams

Of gentleness and meek delight
And loving-kindness ever bright:

Such is her sovereign mien; - her dress

(A vest, with woollen cincture tied,
A hood of mountain-wool undyed)

Is homely, -fashioned to express
A wandering Pilgrim's humbleness.

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 has 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

There did she rest, with head reclined,

Herself most like a stately Flower,