-Young Romilly through Barden Woods And holds a greyhound in a leash, To let slip upon buck or doe. And the pair have reach'd that fearful chasm, For lordly Wharf is there pent in This striding-place is call'd "the Strid," A thousand years hath it borne that name, And hither is young Romilly come, That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, He sprang in glee,-for what cared he That the river was strong, and the rocks were steep! - But the greyhound in the leash hung back, And check'd him in his leap. The boy is in the arms of Wharf, And strangled by a merciless force; For never more was young Romilly seen Till he rose a lifeless corse. Now there is stillness in the vale, If for a lover the lady wept, From death, and from the passion of death; She weeps not for the wedding-day Which was to be to-morrow: Her hope was a farther-looking hope, He was a tree that stood alone, Was in her husband's grave! Long, long in darkness did she sit, In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, A stately priory!" The stately priory was rear'd, And the lady pray'd in heaviness But slowly did her succour come, Oh there is never sorrow of heart FIDELITY. A BARKING Sound the shepherd hears, He halts and searches with his eyes And now at distance can discern The dog is not of mountain breed ; Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear; What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps till June December's snow; A silent tarn* below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Thither the rainbow comes-the cloud- Not free from boding thoughts, a while "Tarn" is a small mere or lake, mostly high up in the mountains. Nor far had gone before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks He instantly recall'd the name, And who he was, and whence he came; On which the traveller pass'd this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The dog, which still was hovering nigh, This dog had been through three months' space Yes, proof was plain that since the day On which the traveller thus had died The dog had watch'd about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourish'd here through such long time And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate. ODE TO DUTY. STERN daughter of the voice of God! When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not: May joy be theirs while life shall last! And thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast! Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. And blest are they who in the main This faith, even now, do entertain: Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet find that other strength, according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried; The task imposed, from day to day; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, I feel the weight of chance desires: My hopes no more must change their name, Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear As is the smile upon thy face; Flowers laugh before thee on their beds; And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful power! I call thee: myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And, in the light of truth, thy bondman let me live! Miscellaneous Sonnets. PREFATORY SONNET. NUNS fret not at their convent's narrow room; UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE. PRAISED be the art whose subtle power could stay Soul-soothing art! which morning, noontide, even, THE fairest, brightest hues of ether fade; Nor the green islands, nor the shining seas; See the "Vision of Mirza" in the Spectator. |