He sprang in glee,

for what cared he

That the river was strong, and the rocks wend

steep?

But the greyhound in the leash hung back,
And checked 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,
And long, unspeaking sorrow:
Wharf shall be to pitying hearts
A name more sad than Yarrow.

If for a lover the Lady wept,
A solace she might borrow

From death, and from the passion of death:.

Old Wharf might heal her sorrow.

She weeps not for the wedding-day
Which was to be to-morrow :

Her hope was a further-looking hope,
And hers is a mother's sorrow.

He was a tree that stood alone,
And proudly did its branches wave;
And the root of this delightful tree
Was in her husband's grave!

Long, long in darkness did she sit,
And her first words were, "Let there be
In Bolton, on the field of Wharf,
A stately Priory!"

The stately Priory was reared;
And Wharf, as he moved along,
To matins joined a mournful voice,
Nor failed at even-song.

And the Lady prayed in heaviness
That looked not for relief!
But slowly did her succor come,
And a patience to her grief.

O, there is never sorrow of heart
That shall lack a timely end,
If but to God we turn, and ask
Of Him to be our friend!

1808.

XXIII.

A FACT, AND AN IMAGINATION;

CR, CANUTE AND ALFRED, ON THE SEA-SHORE

THE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair,
Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty,
To aid a covert purpose, cried: "O ye

Approaching Waters of the deep, that share
With this green isle my fortunes, come not where
Your Master's throne is set."-Deaf was the Sea;
Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree
Less than they heed a breath of wanton air.
Then Canute, rising from the invaded throne,
Said to his servile Courtiers: "Poor the reach,
The undisguised extent, of mortal sway!
He only is a King, and he alone

Deserves the name, (this truth the billows preach,) Whose everlasting laws, sea, earth, and heaven obey."

This just reproof the prosperous Dane Drew from the influx of the main,

For some whose rugged northern mouths would

strain

At Oriental flattery;

And Canute (fact more worthy to be known)
From that time forth did for his brows disown
The ostentatious symbol of a crown;
Esteeming earthly royalty
Contemptible as vain.

Now hear what one of elder days, Rich theme of England's fondest praise, Her darling Alfred, might have spoken; To cheer the remnant of his host

When he was driven from coast to coast,

Distressed and harassed, but with mind unbroken:

"My faithful followers, lo! the tide is spent That rose, and steadily advanced to fill The shores and channels, working Nature's will Among the mazy streams that backward went, And in the sluggish pools where ships are pent: And now, his task performed, the flood stands still At the green base of many an inland hill, In placid beauty and sublime content! Such the repose that sage and hero find; Such measured rest the sedulous and good Of humbler name; whose souls do, like the flood Of Ocean, press right on; or gently wind, Neither to be diverted nor withstood,

Until they reach the bounds by Heaven assigned."

1816.

XXIV.

"A LITTLE onward lend thy guiding hand To these dark steps, a little further on!”

- What trick of memory to my voice hath brought This mournful iteration? For though Time,

The Conqueror, crowns the Conquered, on this brow

Planting his favorite silver diadem,

Nor he, nor minister of his, intent

To run before him, hath enrolled me yet, Though not unmenaced, among those who lean

Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight.
-O my own Dora, my beloved child!

Should that day comè -but hark! the birds salute
The cheerful dawn, brightening for me the east;
For me, thy natural leader, once again
Impatient to conduct thee, not as erst
A tottering infant, with compliant stoop
From flower to flower supported; but to curb
Thy nymph-like step swift-bounding o er the lawn,
Along the loose rocks, or the slippery verge
Of foaming torrents. From thy orisons
Come forth; and, while the morning air is yet
Transparent as the soul of innocent youth,
Let me, thy happy guide, now point thy way,
And now precede thee, winding to and fro,
Till we by perseverance gain the top

Of some smooth ridge, whose brink precipitous
Kindles intense desire for powers withheld
From this corporeal frame; whereon who stands
Is seized with strong incitement to push forth
His arms, as swimmers use, and plunge dread
thought!

For pastime plunge into the "abrupt abyss," Where ravens spread their plumy vans, at ease!

And yet more gladly thee would I conduct Through woods and spacious forests,—to behold There, how the Original of human art, Heaven-prompted Nature, measures and erects Her temples, fearless for the stately work,