They tarried in the wood together;
And when, ere fall of evening dew,
She from this sylvan haunt withdrew,
The White Doe tracked with faithful pace
The Lady to her dwelling-place;

That nook where, on paternal ground,

A habitation she had found,

The Master of whose humble board

Once owned her father for his Lord;

A hut, by tufted trees defended,

Where Rylstone Brook with Wharf is blended.

When Emily by morning light

Went forth, the Doe was there in sight.
She shrunk with one frail shock of pain,
Received and followed by a prayer,
Did she behold-saw once again;
Shun will she not, she feels, will bear;
But wheresoever she looked round
All now was trouble-haunted ground.
So doth the Sufferer deem it good
Even once again this neighbourhood
To leave. Unwooed, yet unforbidden,
The White Doe followed up the vale,
Up to another cottage-hidden
In the deep fork of Amerdale:
And there may Emily restore
Herself, in spots unseen before.
Why tell of mossy rock, or tree,
By lurking Dernbrook's pathless side,

Haunts of a strengthening amity

That calmed her, cheered, and fortified?

For she hath ventured now to read

Of time, and place, and thought, and deed,

Endless history that lies

In her silent Follower's eyes!

Who with a power like human reason,

Discerns the favourable season,

Skilled to approach, or to retire—
From looks conceiving her desire,
From look, deportment, voice, or mien,
That vary to the heart within.
If she too passionately writhed
Her arms, or over deeply breathed,
Walked quick or slowly, every mood
In its degree was understood;
Then well may their accord be true,
And kindly intercourse ensue.
Oh surely 'twas a gentle rousing
When she by sudden glimpse espied
The White Doe on the mountain browsing,

Or in the meadow wandered wide!

How pleased, when down the Straggler sank Beside her, on some sunny bank!

How soothed, when in thick bower enclosed,

They, like a nested pair, reposed!

Fair vision! when it crossed the Maid

Within some rocky cavern laid,

The dark cave's portal gliding by,
White as the whitest cloud on high,
Floating through the azure sky.
What now is left for pain or fear?
That Presence, dearer and more dear,
Did now a very gladness yield

At morning to the dewy field,

While they side by side were straying,
And the shepherd's pipe was playing;
And with a deeper peace endued
The hour of moonlight solitude.

With her Companion, in such frame Of mind, to Rylstone back she came ; And, wandering through the wasted groves, Received the memory of old loves,

Undisturbed and undistrest,

Into a soul which now was blest
With a soft spring day of holy,
Mild, delicious, melancholy;
Not sunless gloom, or unenlightened,
But by tender fancies brightened.

When the bells of Rylstone played Their Sabbath music-"God us ayde!" That was the sound they seemed to speak; Inscriptive legend which I ween

May on those holy bells be seen,

That legend and her Grandsire's name :

And oftentimes the Lady meek

Had in her childhood read the same,

Words which she slighted at that day;
But now, when such sad change was wrought,
And of that lonely name she thought,

The bells of Rylstone seemed to say,

While she sat listening in the shade,
With vocal music, "God us ande!"
And all the hills were glad to hear
Their part in this effectual prayer.

TO THE DAISY.

WITH little here to do or see

Of things that in the great world be,

Sweet Daisy oft I talk to thee,

For thou art worthy:

Thou unassuming Common-place
Of Nature with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,
Which Love makes for thee!

Oft do I sit by thee at ease,

And weave a web of similes,

Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising:

And many a fond and idle name

I give to thee, for praise or blame,
As is the humour of the game,
While I am gazing.

A nun demure of lowly port:
Or sprightly maiden of Love's court,
In thy simplicity the sport

Of all temptations;

A queen in crown of rubies drest;

A starveling in a scanty vest;
Are all, as seem to suit thee best,
Thy appellations.

A little Cyclops with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy-
That thought comes next-and instantly
The freak is over.

The shape will vanish, and behold
A silver shield with boss of gold,
That spreads itself, some fairy bold
In fight to cover !

I see thee glittering from afar-
And then thou art a pretty star;
Not quite so fair as many are

In heaven above thee!

Yet like a star, with glittering crest,
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;
May peace come never to his nest,
Who shall reprove thee!

Sweet Flower! for by that name at last,
When all thy reveries are past,

I call thee, and to that cleave fast.
Sweet silent creature!

That breath'st with me in sun and air,
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair

My heart with gladness, and a share
Of thy meek nature!

THE SEVEN SISTERS; OR, THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.

SEVEN daughters had Lord Archibald,

All children of one mother;

I could not say in one short day
What love they bore each other.
A garland, of seven lilies wrought!
Seven Sisters that together dwell;
But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
Their Father, took of them no thought,

He loved the wars so well.

Sing mournfully, oh! mournfully,

The solitude of Binnorie!

Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,

And from the shores of Erin,

Across the wave, a Rover brave

To Binnorie is steering: