She weeps not for the wedding-day Her hope was a further-looking hope, He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit. In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, The stately priory was reared, To matins joined a mournful voice, And the lady prayed in heaviness But slowly did her succour come, Oh! there is never sorrow of heart If but to God we turn and ask 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 lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish In symphony austere ; Thither the rainbow comes-the cloud— Not free from boding thoughts, a while Nor far had gone before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came ; Remembered, too, the very day On which the traveller passed 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 A dweller in that savage place. Yes, proof was plain that since the day When this ill-fated traveller died, The dog had watched about the spot, How nourished here through such long time 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, Upon the genial sense of youth : Glad hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not; Long may the kindly impulse last! But 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 they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek they firm support, according to their need. |