Then, with mild Una in her sober chear, All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake. Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest trees Heaven -to whom A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given. This tragic Story cheared us; for it speaks 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, Yet in this moral Strain a power may live, As it hath yielded to thy tender heart. RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND, April 20, 1815. THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE. CANTO FIRST. FROM Bolton's old monastic tower The bells ring loud with gladsome power; Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf, Path, or no path, what care they? way, What would they there?- Full fifty years That ancient voice which wont to call A rural Chapel, neatly drest, In covert like a little nest; And thither young and old repair, This Sabbath-day, for praise and prayer. Fast the church-yard fills; anon Look again, and they all are gone; The cluster round the porch, and the folk And faith and hope are in their prime, A moment ends the fervent din, The only voice which you can hear Is the river murmuring near. When soft! - the dusky trees between, And down the path through the open green, Where is no living thing to be seen; And through yon gateway, where is found, Beneath the arch with ivy bound, Free entrance to the church-yard ground; And right across the verdant sod Towards the very house of God; -Comes gliding in with lovely gleam, Comes gliding in serene and slow, Soft and silent as a dream, A solitary Doe! White she is as lily of June, And beauteous as the silver moon |