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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 ayde!”
And all the hills were glad to bear
Their part in this effectual
prayer.

Nor lacked she Reason's firmest power;
But with the White Doe at her side,
Up would she climb to Norton Tower,

And thence look round her far and wide,
Her fate there measuring; all is stilled,
The weak one hath subdued her heart;
Behold the prophecy fulfilled,
Fulfilled, and she sustains her part!
But here her Brother's words have failed;
Here hath a milder doom prevailed;
That she, of him and all bereft,
Hath yet this faithful Partner left;
This one Associate, that disproves
His words, remains for her, and loves.
If tears are shed, they do not fall
For loss of him, for one, or all;
Yet, sometimes, sometimes doth she weep,
Moved gently in her soul's soft sleep;
A few tears down her cheek descend
For this her last and living Friend.

-

Bless, tender Hearts, their mutual lot,
And bless for both this savage spot,
Which Emily doth sacred hold
For reasons dear and manifold;
Here hath she, here before her sight,
Close to the summit of this height,
The grassy, rock-encircled Pound
In which the Creature first was found.
So beautiful the timid Thrall
(A spotless Youngling white as foam)
Her youngest Brother brought it home;
The youngest, then a lusty boy,

Bore it, or led, to Rylstone hall

With heart brimful of pride and joy!

But most to Bolton's sacred Pile, On favoring nights, she loved to go; There ranged through cloister, court, and aisle, Attended by the soft-paced Doe;

Nor feared she in the still moonshine

To look upon Saint Mary's shrine;
Nor on the lonely turf that showed
Where Francis slept in his last abode.
For that she came; there oft she sat
Forlorn, but not disconsolate :

And when she from the abyss returned

Of thought, she neither shrunk nor mourned;

Was happy that she lived to greet

Her mute Companion, as it lay

In love and pity at her feet;

How happy in its turn to meet

The recognition! the mild glance

Beamed from that gracious countenance;
Communication, like the ray

Of a new morning, to the nature

And prospects of the inferior Creature!

A mortal Song we sing, by dower
Encouraged of celestial power;
Power which the viewless Spirit shed

By whom we were first visited;

Whose voice we heard, whose hand and wings

Swept like a breeze the conscious strings,

When, left in solitude, erewhile

We stood before this ruined Pile,

And, quitting unsubstantial dreams,

Sang in this Presence kindred themes;

Distress and desolation spread

Through human hearts, and pleasure dead,

Dead, but to live again on earth,

A second and yet nobler birth;
Dire overthrow, and yet how high
The reascent in sanctity!
From fair to fairer; day by day
A more divine and loftier way!
Even such this blessèd Pilgrim trod,
By sorrow lifted towards her God;
Uplifted to the purest sky

Of undisturbed mortality.

Her own thoughts loved she; and could bend

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And every Sabbath here is found;

Comes with the people when the bells
Are heard among the moorland dells,
Finds entrance through yon arch, where way
Lies open on the Sabbath-day;

Here walks amid the mournful waste

Of prostrate altars, shrines defaced,

And floors encumbered with rich show
Of fret-work imagery laid low;
Paces softly, or makes halt,

By fractured cell, or tomb, or vault;
By plate of monumental brass
Dim-gleaming among weeds and grass,
And sculptured Forms of Warriors brave:
But chiefly by that single grave,
That one sequestered hillock green,
The pensive visitant is seen.
There doth the gentle Creature lie
With those adversities unmoved;
Calm spectacle, by earth and sky
In their benignity approved!
And aye, methinks, this hoary Pile,
Subdued by outrage and decay,
Looks down upon her with a smile,
A gracious smile, that seems to say,-
“Thou, thou art not a Child of Time,
But Daughter of the Eternal Prime!"

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