And she is thoroughly forlorn :
Her soul doth in itself stand fast,
Sustained by memory of the past
And strength of reason; held above
The infirmities of mortal love;
Undaunted, lofty, calm, and stable,
And awfully impenetrable.

And so, beneath a mouldered tree, A self-surviving leafless oak,

By unregarded age from stroke

Of ravage saved-sate Emily.

There did she rest, with head reclined,
Herself most like a stately flower,

(Such have I seen) whom chance of birth

Hath separated from its kind,

To live and die in a shady bower,
Single on the gladsome earth.

When, with a noise like distant thunder,

A troop of deer came sweeping by:
And, suddenly, behold a wonder!
For, of that band of rushing deer,
A single one in mid career

Hath stopped, and fixed its large full eye
Upon the Lady Emily,

A doe most beautiful, clear white,
A radiant creature, silver-bright!

Thus checked, a little while it stayed; A little thoughtful pause it made; And then advanced with stealth-like pace, Drew softly near her-and more near, Stopped once again ;-but, as no trace Was found of anything to fear,

Even to her feet the creature came,
And laid its head upon her knee,
And looked into the lady's face,
A look of pure benignity,
And fond unclouded memory;
It is, thought Emily, the same,
The very doe of other years!
The pleading look the lady viewed,
And, by her gushing thoughts subdued,
She melted into tears-

A flood of tears, that flowed apace
Upon the happy creature's face.

Oh, moment ever blest! O pair!
Beloved of Heaven, Heaven's choicest care,
This was for you a precious greeting,-
For both a bounteous fruitful meeting.

Joined are they, and the sylvan doe,
Can she depart? can she forego
The lady, once her playful peer,
And now her sainted mistress dear?
And will not Emily receive
This lovely chronicler of things
Long past, delights and sorrowings? ·
Lone sufferer! will not she believe

The promise in that speaking face,
And take this gift of Heaven with grace?

That day, the first of a reunion Which was to teem with high communion, That day of balmy April weather, 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 Wharfe 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 Denbrook'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 wreathed
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 inclosed, 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 whitest cloud on high,
Floating through an 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, Revived the memory of old loves,

Undisturbed and undistressed,

Into a soul which now was blessed
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 apde!'
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 apde;'
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 doth she climb to Norton Tower,
And thence looks round her far and wide;
Her fate there measures-all is stilled,
The feeble 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,