And to his grave will go with scars,
Relics of long and distant wars, -
That Old Man, studious to expound
The spectacle, is mounting high
To days of dim antiquity;
When Lady Aäliza mourned
Her Son, and felt in her despair
The pang of unavailing prayer;

Her Son in Wharf's abysses drowned,
The noble Boy of Egremound.

From which affliction, — when the grace

Of God had in her heart found place, -
A pious structure, fair to see,

Rose up, this stately Priory!

The Lady's work; - but now laid low;

To the grief of her soul, that doth come and go, In the beautiful form of this innocent Doe: Which, though seemingly doomed in its breast to

sustain

A softened remembrance of sorrow and pain,
Is spotless, and holy, and gentle, and bright;
And glides o'er the earth like an angel of light.

Pass, pass who will, yon chantry door;
And through the chink in the fractured floor
Look down, and see a griesly sight;

A vault where the bodies are buried upright!
There, face by face, and hand by hand,
The Claphams and Mauleverers stand;
And, in his place, among son and sire,

Is John de Clapham, that fierce Esquire,
A valiant man, and a name of dread

In the ruthless wars of the White and Red;
Who dragged Earl Pembroke from Banbury church
And smote off his head on the stones of the porch!
Look down among them, if you dare;

Oft does the White Doe loiter there,
Prying into the darksome rent;
Nor can it be with good intent :
So thinks that Dame of haughty air,
Who hath a Page her Book to hold,
And wears a frontlet edged with gold.
Harsh thoughts with her high mood agree,
Who counts among her ancestry

Earl Pembroke, slain so impiously!

That slender Youth, a scholar pale,
From Oxford come to his native vale,
He also hath his own conceit :

It is, thinks he, the gracious Fairy,
Who loved the Shepherd-lord to meet
In his wanderings solitary :

Wild notes she in his hearing sang,

A of Nature's hidden powers; song

That whistled like the wind, and rang

Among the rocks and holly bowers.

"T was said that she all shapes could wear;

And oftentimes before him stood,

Amid the trees of some thick wood,

In semblance of a lady fair;

Ah, pensive Scholar, think not so,
But look again at the radiant Doe !
What quiet watch she seems to keep,
Alone, beside that grassy heap!
Why mention other thoughts unmeet
For vision so composed and sweet?
While stand the people in a ring,
Gazing, doubting, questioning;
Yea, many overcome, in spite
Of recollections clear and bright;
Which yet do unto some impart
An undisturbed repose of heart.
And all the assembly own a law
Of orderly respect and awe;

But see,

they vanish one by one, And, last, the Doe herself is gone.

Harp! we have been full long beguiled By vague thoughts, lured by fancies wild; To which, with no reluctant strings, Thou hast attuned thy murmurings; And now before this Pile we stand In solitude, and utter peace:

But, Harp! thy murmurs may not cease, A Spirit, with his angelic wings,

In soft and breeze-like visitings,

Has touched thee, and a Spirit's hand;

To chant, in strains of heavenly glory,

A tale of tears, a mortal story!

CANTO SECOND.

THE Harp in lowliness obeyed;
And first we sung of the greenwood shade
And a solitary Maid;

Beginning, where the song must end,
With her, and with her sylvan Friend;
The Friend, who stood before her sight,
Her only unextinguished light;
Her last companion in a dearth

Of love, upon a hopeless earth.

For she it was, this Maid, who wrought Meekly, with foreboding thought,

In vermeil colors and in gold,

An unblest work; which, standing by,
Her Father did with joy behold,
Exulting in its imagery;

A Banner, fashioned to fulfil

Too perfectly his headstrong will:

For on this Banner had her hand
Embroidered (such her Sire's command)
The sacred Cross; and figured there
The five dear wounds our Lord did bear;
Full soon to be uplifted high,
And float in rueful company!

It was the time when England's Queen Twelve years had reigned, a Sovereign dread;