And in this way she fares, till at last
Beside the ridge of a grassy grave

In quietness she lays her down;
Gently as a weary wave

Sinks, when the summer breeze hath died,

Against an anchored vessel's side!

Even so, without distress, doth she

Lie down in peace, and lovingly.

The day is placid in its going,
To a lingering motion bound,
Like the river in its flowing:
Can there be a softer sound?
So the balmy minutes pass,
While this radiant Creature lies
Couched upon the dewy grass,
Pensively with downcast eyes.
When now again the people rear
A voice of praise with awful cheer!

It is the last, the parting song;

And from the temple forth they throng— And quickly spread themselves abroadWhile each pursues his several road.

But some-a variegated band

Of middle-aged, and old, and young,
And little children by the hand
Upon their leading mothers hung,—
Turn, with obeisance gladly paid,
Towards the spot, where full in view

The lovely Doe of whitest hue

Her Sabbath couch has made.

It was a solitary mound,

Which two spears' length of level ground

Did from all other graves divide :

As if in some respect of pride

Or melancholy's sickly mood,
Still shy of human neighbourhood;
Or guilt, that humbly would express
A penitential loneliness.

66

'Look, there she is, my child! draw near; She fears not-wherefore should we fear? She means no harm ;"--but still the boy, To whom the words were softly said, Hung back, and smiled, and blushed for joy, A shame-faced blush of glowing red! Again the mother whispered low,

Now you have seen the famous Doe;
From Rylstone she hath found her way
Over the hills this Sabbath day;
Her work, whate'er it be, is done,
And she will depart when we are gone;
Thus doth she keep from year to year,
Her Sabbath morning, foul or fair."

THE OLD HALL.

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 greyhounds 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 daylight;

And higher still, above the bower
Where he is perched, from yon lone tower
The Hall-clock in the clear moonshine

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 which 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.

THE RETURN OF EMILY.

BENEATH a mouldered tree,

A self-surviving leafless oak,

By unregarded age from stroke

Of ravage saved-sat Emily.

There did she rest, with head reclined,

Herself most like a stately flower

(Such have I seen) whom chance of birth

Hath separated from its kind,

To live and die in a shady bower,

Single on the gladsome earth.

When, with a noise like distant thunder,

A troop of deer came sweeping by,

And, suddenly, behold a wonder!

For, of that band of rushing deer,

A single one in mid career

Hath stopped, and fixed its large full eye
Upon the Lady Emily;

A Doe most beautiful, clear white,

A radiant Creature, silver bright!

Thus checked, a little while it stayed; A little thoughtful pause it made! And then advanced with stealth-like pace, Drew softly near her-and more near— Stopped once again: but as no trace Was found of anything to fear, Even to her feet the Creature came,

And laid its head upon her knee,

And looked into the Lady's face,

A look of pure benignity,

And fond unclouded memory.

"It is," thought Emily, "the same,

The very Doe of other years!"

The pleading look the Lady viewed,

And, by her gushing thoughts subdued,
She melted into tears-

A flood of tears, that flowed apace
Upon the happy Creature's face.

O moment ever blest! O Pair Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's choicest care! This was for you a precious greeting, For both a bounteous, fruitful meeting. Joined are they, and the sylvan Doe

Can she depart-can she forego

The Lady, once her playful peer,

And now her sainted Mistress dear?

And will not Emily receive

This lovely chronicler of things

Long past, delights and sorrowings?

Lone Sufferer! will not she believe

The promise in that speaking face,
And take this gift of Heaven with grace?

That day, the first of a reunion

Which was to teem with high communion, That day of balmy April weather,