and this is the only spirit in which a critic can write of his contemporaries without frequent dogmatism, presumption, and injustice. We shall now direct the attention of our readers to the "White Doe of Rylstone," a poem which exhibits in perfection many of Wordsworth's peculiar beauties, and, it may be, some of his peculiar defects. It is in itself a whole; and on that account we prefer beginning with it, in place of the Lyrical Ballads," or the subsequent "Poems" of the author, which contain specimens of so many different styles; and still more, in place of the "Excursion," which, though a great work in itself, is but a portion of a still greater one, and will afford subject-matter for more than one long article. This Poem is prefaced by some stanzas addressed to the wife of the Poet, in which a touching allusion is made to severe domestic afflictions, (the death, we believe, of two children "whom all that looked on loved,") that direfully interrupted, for a while, the flow of imagination in his soul, but the softened memory of which blended at last, not undelightfully, with the mournful and tragic character of this "tale of tears." No verses in the language are more simply yet profoundly affecting; and we are sure that they will dispose every feeling mind to come to the perusal of the Poem itself with the most kindly and sympathetic emotions. In trellis'd shed with clustering roses gay, Ah, then, Beloved! pleasing was the smart, Did meekly bear the pang unmerited; Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught; That "bliss with mortal Man may not abide." But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow And give the timid herbage leave to shoot, Heaven's breathing influence failed not to bestow A timely promise of unlooked-for fruit, It soothed us-it beguiled us then, to hear Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Where, anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep, Is tempered and allayed by sympathies Aloft ascending, and descending deep, Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest trees Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep of the sharp winds;-fair Creatures !—to A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given. whom Heaven This tragic Story cheared us; for it speaks Needful amid life's ordinary woes ;— Vain aspiration of an earnest will! The Poem is founded on a wild and beautiful tradition, that in former times a White Doe, coming over the hills from what once were the demesnes of Rylstone Hall, in Yorkshire, visited, every Sabbath morning, during the time of divine service, the burial-ground and the ruined part of Bolton Abbey. The Poet undertakes to give a poetical character to this solitary and mysterious creature, and to holy place a tale of human passions. connect with its Sabbath visit to the The first canto begins with an animated and picturesque description of the assemblage of people to divine sérvice în a rural chapel built within All is silent but the voice of the priest reciting the holy liturgy, and of the river murmuring by, -When soft!-the dusky trees between, White she is as lily of June, And beauteous as the silver moon This radiant creature glides silently to and fro over the sculptured tombstones of warriors, and through the ivied arches of the ruin, the desolation of which is painted by a few mournful touches, and then, Beside the ridge of a grassy grave Sinks, when the summer breeze hath died, The spot where she has made her Sabbath couch is thus more particularly described. It was a solitary mound; Which two spears' length of level ground When the congregation come into Her Son in Wharf's abysses drowned, A softened remembrance of sorrow and pain, An Oxford scholar, who has returned Wild notes she in his hearing sang, And hence, when he, with spear and shield, The Poet thus prepares our minds, by these beautiful little fancies and imaginings, and by the soft and solemn colouring which he has thrown over the scene haunted by the lovely visitant, for his own story, which we feel is to be a melancholy one, suiting the utter solitude of the pile. And see-they vanish, one by one, In Canto II. the Poet at once returns to the source of his tale and tradition. Norton of Rylstone Hall has engaged with Neville and Percy in their rebellion against Queen Elizabeth, on the plea of wishing to restore the ancient religion; and his only daughter, Emily, who had been instructed by her deceased mother in the reformed faith, has been compelled by him to work a banner, on which is embroidered The sacred Cross; and figured there Full soon to be uplifted high, All the sons of Norton join him in his rebellion, except the eldest, Francis, who foresees its calamitous end, and ineffectually tries to dissuade his father from the rash enterprise. He is dismissed with scorn and wrath from his father's presence; and seeking his beloved sister, who had gone to vent her sorrow in the groves round the Hall, he endeavours to prepare her soul for the death of her father and all her brothers, and for the utter overthrow of their ancient and illustrious house. Nothing can exceed, in simple and solemn earnestness, the whole of this mournful prophecy. For example, "O Sister, I could prophesy! The time is come that rings the knell And even this Creature!" which words saying A few steps distant, feeding, straying; The canto ends with some fervent entreaties and prayers that she will cherish no earthly hope, but look to Heaven alone for support, in the orphan and brotherless state in which she will soon be placed. "But thou, my Sister, doomed to be The last leaf which by Heaven's decree Must hang upon a blasted tree; If not in vain we have breathed the breath If hand in hand we have been led, Together we have learned to prize He ended, or she heard no more; The third canto is wholly occupied with a detail of the rising in the North, and the disarray of the rash levy on the approach of the royal army under Dudley. Old Norton now feels that ruin is at hand. Back through the melancholy Host Thus to become at once the scorn -So speaking, he upraised his head I overheard her as she spake Sad words to that mute Animal, The White Doe, in the hawthorn brake; In this melancholy mood, Francis, who unarmed had followed the multitude, implores his infatuated father to abandon the hopeless enterprise, but is repulsed with anger and disdain, and retires, to wait a kindlier time to renew his supplications. This canto, consisting principally of action, is rather heavy and languid, and reminds the reader, somewhat painfully, of the light and bounding manner of Scott in such narrations, to which it forms a very unfavourable contrast. The fourth canto opens moonlight view of Rylstone Hall, and brings us into the presence of the sainted Emily, already felt to be an orphan, and attended in her solitude by that beautiful mute creature, now her constant companion. The whole of this description is so exquisite, that we shall quote it entire. with a fine From cloudless ether looking down, Of quiet to the neighbouring fields; Where he is perched, from yon lone Tower When Francis uttered to the Maid And cirque and crescent framed by wall Even while I speak, behold the Maid Emerging from the cedar shade -Nor more regard doth she bestow Yet the meek Creature was not free, Into the Sufferer's bosom stealing ;- -Yes, she is soothed :-an Image faint- The invisible God, and take for guide 'Tis gone the Vision, and the sense That stood'st before my eyes, more clear 3 B Descend on Francis :-through the air In this state of inind she beholds an old gray-haired man approaching her, and in the agony of her distress conjures him to seek the insurgent powers now besieging Barnard Castle, and to bring her some tidings of those for whose sake she is so disconsolate. In the fifth canto, Emily has seated herself, in her sorrow, beneath the shadow of a tower on Rylstone Fell, awaiting there the return of the aged messenger. This tower, now sad and silent, Had often heard the sound of glee At last the old man comes, and informs her of the end of the sad tragedy, the execution of her father and all his eight sons. Francis alone survives. "Your noble Brother hath been spared, To take his life they have not dared. On him and on his high endeavour The light of praise shall shine for ever! Nor did he (such Heaven's will) in vain His solitary course maintain; Not vainly struggled in the might Of duty seeing with clear sight; He was their comfort to the last, Their joy till every pang was past. "I witnessed when to York they cameWhat, Lady, if their feet were tied ! They might deserve a good Man's blame; But, marks of infamy and shame, These were their triumph, these their pride. "Lo, Francis comes," the people cried, "A Prisoner once, but now set free! ""Tis well, for he the worst defied "For sake of natural Piety; "He rose not in this quarrel, he "His Father and his Brothers wooed, "Both for their own and Country's good, "To rest in peace-he did divide, "He parted from them; but at their side "Now walks in unanimity"Then peace to cruelty and scorn, "While to the prison they are borne, "Peace, peace to all indignity!" "And so in Prison were they laid— Me did a reverend pity move And privilege of ancient love, But most, compassion for your fate, Lady for your forlorn estate, Me did these move, and I made bold, And entrance gained to that strong-hold. "Your Father gave me cordial greeting; But to his purposes, that burned Within him, instantly returnedHe was commanding and entreating, And said, We need not stop, my Son! "But I will end what is begun; ""Tis matter which I do not fear "To intrust to any living ear." And so to Francis he renewed His words, more calmly thus pursued. Might this our enterprise have sped, Change wide and deep the Land had seen, "A renovation from the dead, 66 "A spring-tide of immortal green : "The darksome Altars would have blazed "Like stars when clouds are rolled away; "Salvation to all eyes that gazed, "Once more the Rood had been upraised "To spread its arms, and stand for aye. "Then, then, had I survived to see "New life in Bolton Priory; "The voice restored, the eye of truth "Re-opened that inspired my youth; "Had seen her in her pomp arrayed; "This Banner (for such vow I made) "Should on the consecrated breast "Of that same Temple have found rest: "I would myself have hung it high, "Glad offering of glad victory! 66 "A shadow of such thought remains "To chear this sad and pensive time; "A solemn fancy yet sustains "One feeble Being-bids me climb "Even to the last one effort more "To attest my Faith, if not restore. "Hear then," said he," while I impart, My Son, the last wish of my heart. "The Banner strive thou to regain; "And, if the endeavour be not vain, "Bear it-to whom if not to thee "Shall I this lonely thought consign ?"Bear it to Bolton Priory, "And lay it on Saint Mary's shrine,— "To wither in the sun and breeze "'Mid those decaying Sanctities. "There let at least the gift be laid, "The testimony there displayed; "Bold proof that with no selfish aim, "But for lost Faith and Christ's dear name, "I helmeted a brow, though white, "And took a place in all men's sight; "Yea offered up this beauteous Brood, "This fair unrivalled Brotherhood, "And turned away from thee, my Son! "And left-but be the rest unsaid, "The name untouched, the tear unshed,"My wish is known and I have done : "Now promise, grant this one request, "This dying prayer, and be thou blest!" "Then Francis answered fervently, "If God so will, the same shall be.' Immediately, this solemn word Thus scarcely given, a noise was heard, 66 |