(As records mouldering in the dell Of nightshade* haply yet may tell) Thee kindred aspirations moved To build, within a vale beloved, For him upon whose high behests All peace depends, all safety rests. Well may the villagers rejoice! Shall tottering age, bent earthward, hear May season apathy with scorn, Alas! that such perverted zeal Should spread on Britain's favoured ground? That public order, private weal, Should e'er have felt or feared a wound Who tempt their reason to deny Even strangers, slackening here their pace, Who reach this dire extremity! Shall hail this work of pious care, Not yet the corner stone is laid Lives there a man whose sole delights A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, * Bekangs Ghyll-or the Vale of Nightshade -in which stands St. Mary's Abbey, in Low Furness. spring upon the day of the saint to whom the church | And their meaning is, Whence can comfort was dedicated. These observances of our ancestors, and the causes of them, are the subject of the following stanzas. When prayer is of no avail ? What is good for a bootless bene ?" WHEN in the antique age of bow and spear" Through unremitting vigils of the night, He rose, and straight as by divine command, They who had waited for that sign to trace hand, OR, THE FOUNDING OF BOLTON PRIORY. (A TRADITION.) "What is good for a bootless bene ?” With these dark words begins my tale; She knew it by the falconer's words, Young Romilly through Barden woods The pair have reached that fearful chasm, For lordly Wharf is there pent in, This striding-place is called The Strid, And hither is young Romilly come, He sprang in glee,-for what cared he And checked him in his leap. The boy is in the arms of Wharf, Now there is stillness in the vale, If for a lover the lady wept, * See "The White Doe of Rylstone," page 232. Old Wharf might heal her sorrow, She weeps not for the wedding-day He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, The stately priory was reared; And the lady prayed in heaviness Oh! there is never sorrow of heart | 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 : "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 nazy streams that backward 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, A FACT, AND AN IMAGINATION; Until they reach the bounds by Heaven as OR, CANUTE AND ALFred. THE Danish conqueror, on his royal chair, Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty, To aid a covert purpose, cried-"Oh, ye Approaching waters of the deep, that share With this green isle my fortunes, come not where Your master's throne is set!"-Absurd decree! A mandate uttered to the foaming sea Whose everlasting law, sea, earth, and heaven obey.' This just reproof the prosperous Dane For some whose rugged northern mouths would strain At oriental flattery; signed." "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 favourite silver diadem, Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight. The cheerful dawn, brightening for me the east; For me, thy natural leader, once again ΤΟ Thy nymph-like step swift-bounding o'er the lawn, Along, the loose rocks, or the slippery verge Of foaming torrent.-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 plungedread 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, Though waves in every breeze its higharched roof, And storms the pillars rock. But we such schools Of reverential awe will chiefly seek In the still summer noon, while beams of light, Reposing here, and in the aisles beyond serve, To Christ, the Sun of Righteousness, espoused. Now also shall the page of classic lore, To these glad eyes from bondage freed, again Lie open; and the book of Holy Writ, Again unfolded, passage clear shall yield To heights more glorious still, and into shades |