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Hath yet this faithful partner left;
Bless, tender hearts, their mutual lot, And bless for both this savage spot! Which Emily doth sacred hold For reasons dear and manifoldHere 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 spotless thrall, A lovely youngling white as foam, That it was brought to Rylstone Hall; Her youngest brother led it home, The youngest, then a lusty boy, Brought home the prize—and with what joy!
But most to Bolton's sacred pile, On favouring 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 and long She sate in meditation strong:
And, when she from the abyss returned
either 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 That 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 frame, 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 heart, and pleasure dead, Dead-but to live again on earth, A second and yet nobler birth; Dire overthrow, and yet how high The re-ascent in sanctity! From fair to fairer; day by day A more divine and loftier way! Even such this blessed pilgrim trod, By sorrow lifted towards her God; Uplifted to the purest sky Of undisturbed mortality. Her own thoughts loved she; and could bend
A dear look to her lowly friend,
Most glorious sunset! and a ray Survives--the twilight of this day; In that fair creature whom the fields Support, and whom the forest shields; Who, having filled a holy place, Partakes, in her degree, heaven's grace; And bears a memory and a mind Raised far above the law of kind; Haunting the spots with lonely cheer Which her dear mistress once held dear : Loves most what Emily loved mostThe inclosure of this churchyard ground; Here wanders like a gliding ghost, 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
And now I have a little boat,
Away we go, my boat and I-