THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE: OR, THE FATE OF THE NORTONS. "Weak is the will of man, his judgment blind; A mournful thing,-so transient is the blaze!"- "Tis hers to pluck the anıaranthine flower IN trellis'd shed with clustering roses gay, How Una, sad of soul-in sad attire, The gentle Una, born of heavenly 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 emblein 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 fairy 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 fail'd not to bestow A timely promise of unlook'd-for fruit, Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content It soothed us-it beguiled us-then, to hear All that she suffer'd for her dear lord's sake. Then, too, this song of mine once more could please, Even to the inferior kinds; whom forest trees Of the sharp winds;-fair creatures !-to whom Heaven This tragic story cheer'd us; for it speaks Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks, 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, As it hath yielded to thy tender heart. THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE. CANTO FIRST. FROM Bolton's old monastic tower Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf, What would they there? Full fifty years This sabbath day, for praise and prayer. Fast the churchyard fills; anon The cluster round the porch, and the folk They sing a service which they feel: A moment ends the fervent din, The only voice which you can hear When soft! the dusky trees between, And down the path through the open green, And through yon gateway, where is found, A solitary Doe! White she is as lily of June, And beauteous as the silver moon When out of sight the clouds are driven, And she is left alone in heaven; Or like a ship some gentle day A glittering ship, that hath the plain Lie silent in your graves, ye dead! What harmonious pensive changes Now a step or two her way |