Young Romilly through Barden woods. Is ranging high and low; And holds a Greyhound in a leash, To let slip upon buck or doe. The Pair have reached that fearful chasm, How tempting to bestride! For lordly Wharf is there pent in With rocks on either side. This Striding-place is called THe Strid, A name which it took of yore: A thousand years hath it borne that name, And shall a thousand more. And hither is young Romilly come, And what may now forbid That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, Shall bound across THE STRID? 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 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 Now there is stillness in the Vale, 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 Her hope was a farther-looking hope, He was a Tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, " Let there be 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 That shall lack a timely end, If but to God we turn, and ask Of Him to be our Friend! XXVIII. A FACT, AND AN IMAGINATION; OR, 'CANUTE AND ALFRED. THE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair, "O ye Approaching waters of the deep, that share With this green isle my fortunes, come not where Is to its motion less than wanton air. Then Canute, rising from the invaded Throne, 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 (truth more worthy to be known) 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: |