Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine

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,
And, Mary! oft beside our blazing fire,
When years of wedded life were as a day
Whose current answers to the heart's desire,
Did we together read in Spenser's Lay
How Una, sad of soul-in sad attire,
The gentle Una, born of heavenly birth,
To seek her Knight went wandering o'er the
earth.

Ah, then, Beloved! pleasing was the smart,
And the tear precious in compassion shed
For Her, who, pierc'd by sorrow's thrilling
dart,

Did meekly bear the pang unmerited;
Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart,
The milk-white Lamb which in a line she led,
And faithful, loyal in her innocence,
Like the brave Lion slain in her defence.
Notes could we hear as of a faery shell

Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught;
Free Fancy prized each specious miracle,
And all its finer inspiration caught;
"Till, in the bosom of our rustic Cell,
We by a lamentable change were taught

That "bliss with mortal Man may not abide."
How nearly joy and sorrow are allied!
For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow,
For us the voice of melody was mute.

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,
From blossoms wild of fancies innocent.
Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content

It soothed us-it beguiled us then, to hear
Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell;
And griefs whose aery motion comes not near
Then, with mild Una in her sober chear,
The pangs that tempt the Spirit to rebel;
High over hill and low adown the dell
Again we wandered, willing to partake
All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake.

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
Of female patience winning firm repose;
And of the recompense which conscience seeks
A bright, encouraging example shows;
Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest
breaks,

Needful amid life's ordinary woes ;—
Hence, not for them unfitted who would bless
A happy hour with holier happiness.
He serves the Muses erringly and ill,
Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive:
O, that my mind were equal to fulfil
The comprehensive mandate which they
give-

Vain aspiration of an earnest will!
Yet in this moral Strain a power may live,
Beloved Wife! such solace to impart
As it hath yielded to thy tender heart.

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
the heart of the solemn ruins,
When faith and hope were in their prime,
In great Eliza's golden time.

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,
And down the path through the open green,
Where is no living thing to be seen;
And through yon gateway, where is found,
Beneath the arch with ivy bound,
Free entrance to the church-yard ground;
And right across the verdant sod
Towards the very house of God;
-Comes gliding in with lovely gleam,
Comes gliding in serene and slow,
Soft and silent as a dream,
A solitary Doe!

White she is as lily of June,

And beauteous as the silver moon
When out of sight the clouds are driven,
And she is left alone in heaven;
Or like a ship some gentle day
In sunshine sailing far away,
A glittering ship, that hath the plain
Of ocean for her own domain.

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
In quietness she lays her down;
Gently as a weary wave

Sinks, when the summer breeze hath died,
Against an anchored vessel's side;
Even so, without distress, doth she
Lie down in peace, and lovingly.

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
Did from all other graves divide:
As if in some respect of pride;
Or melancholy's sickly mood,
Still shy of human neighbourhood;
Or guilt, that humbly would express
A penitential loneliness.

When the congregation come into
the church-yard at the close of the
service, the White Doe is seen still
lying undisturbed and fearless beside
the little hallowed mound, and the
conjectures of various speakers are
given respecting the beautiful noon-
day apparition. Among others,
An Old Man-studious to expound
The spectacle-hath mounted 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 Egremnound.
From which affliction, when God's grace
At length 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.

An Oxford scholar, who has returned
to his native vale, supposes, still more
fancifully, that it is the shape assumed
by the guardian Spirit of that Lord
Clifford called the Shepherd Lord.
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 song of Nature's hidden powers;
That whistled like the wind, and rang
Among the rocks and holly bowers.
'Twas 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,
And taught him signs, and shewed him sights,
In Craven's dens, on Cumbria's heights;
When under cloud of fear he lay,
A shepherd clad in homely gray,
Nor left him at his later day.

And hence, when he, with spear and shield,
Rode full of years to Flodden field,
His eye could see the hidden spring,
And how the current was to flow;
The fatal end of Scotland's King,
And all that hopeless overthrow.

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,
And last, the Doe herself is gone.

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
The five dear wounds our Lord did bear;

Full soon to be uplifted high,
And float in rueful company!

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
Of all we loved, and loved so well;—
Hope nothing, if I thus may speak
To thee a woman, and thence weak;
Hope nothing, I repeat; for we
Are doomed to perish utterly:
'Tis meet that thou with me divide
The thought while I am by thy side,
Acknowledging a grace in this,
A comfort in the dark abyss:
But look not for me when I am gone,
And be no farther wrought upon.
Farewell all wishes, all debate,
All prayers for this cause, or for that!
Weep, if that aid thee; but depend
Upon no help of outward friend;
Espouse thy doom at once, and cleave
To fortitude without reprieve.
For we must fall, both we and ours,-
This Mansion and these pleasant bowers;
Walks, pools, and arbours, homestead, hall,
Our fate is theirs, will reach them all;
The young Horse must forsake his manger,
And learn to glory in a Stranger;
The Hawk forget his perch,-the Hound
Be parted from his ancient ground:
The blast will sweep us all away,
One desolation, one decay!

And even this Creature!" which words saying
He pointed to a lovely Doe,

A few steps distant, feeding, straying;
Fair Creature, and more white than snow!
"Even she will to her peaceful woods
Return, and to her murmuring floods,
And be in heart and soul the same
She was before she hither came,-
Ere she had learned to love us all,
Herself beloved in Rylstone Hall."

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
Together of a purer faith-

If hand in hand we have been led,
And thou, ( happy thought this day!)
Not seldom foremost in the way-
If on one thought our minds have fed,
And we have in one meaning read-
If, when at home our private weal
Hath suffered from the shock of zeal,

Together we have learned to prize
Forbearance, and self-sacrifice
If we like combatants have fared,
And for this issue been prepared-
If thou art beautiful, and youth
And thought endue thee with all truth-
Be strong;-be worthy of the grace
Of God, and fill thy destined place:
Uplifted to the purest sky
A soul, by force of sorrows high,
Of undisturbed humanity!"

He ended, or she heard no more;
He led her from the Yew-tree shade,
And at the Mansion's silent door,
He kissed the consecrated Maid;
And down the Valley he pursued,
Alone, the armed Multitude.

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
Went Norton, and resumed his post.
Alas! thought he, and have I borne
This Banner raised so joyfully,
This hope of all posterity,

Thus to become at once the scorn
Of babbling winds as they go by,
A spot of shame to the sun's bright eye,
To the frail clouds a mockery!

-So speaking, he upraised his head
Towards that Imagery once more;
But the familiar prospect shed
Despondency unfelt before:
A shock of intimations vain,
Blank fear, and superstitious pain,
Fell on him, with the sudden thought
Of her by whom the work was wrought :-
Oh wherefore was her countenance bright
With love divine and gentle light?
She did in passiveness obey,
But her Faith leaned another way.
Ill tears she wept,-I saw them fall,

I overheard her as she spake

Sad words to that mute Animal,

The White Doe, in the hawthorn brake;
She steeped, but not for Jesu's sake,
This Cross in tears :-by her, and One
Unworthier far, we are undone-
Her Brother was it who assailed
Her tender spirit and prevailed.
Her other Parent, too, whose head
In the cold grave hath long been laid,
From reason's earliest dawn beguiled'
The docile, unsuspecting Child:
Far back-far back my mind must go
To reach the well-spring of this woe!→

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,
The Moon, this tranquil evening, sees
A Camp, and a beleaguered Town,
And Castle like a stately crown
On the steep rocks of winding Tees ;-
And, southward far, with moors between,
Hill-tops, and floods, and forests green,
The bright Moon sees that valley small
Where Rylstone's old sequestered Hall
A venerable image yields

Of quiet to the neighbouring fields;
While from one pillared chimney breathes
The silver smoke, and mounts in wreaths.
The courts are hushed;-for timely sleep
The Greyhounds to their kennel creep;
The Peacock in the broad ash-tree
Aloft is roosted for the night,
He who in proud prosperity
Of colours manifold and bright
Walked round, affronting the day-light;
And higher still, above the bower

Where he is perched, from yon lone Tower
The Hall-clock in the clear moonshine
With glittering finger points at nine.
-Ah! who could think that sadness here
Had any sway? or pain, or fear?
A soft and lulling sound is heard
Of streams inaudible by day;
The garden pool's dark surface-stirred
By the night insects in their play-
Breaks into dimples small and bright;
A thousand, thousand rings of light
That shape themselves and disappear
Almost as soon as seen :-and, lo!
Not distant far, the milk-white Doe:
The same fair Creature which was nigh
Feeding in tranquillity,

When Francis uttered to the Maid
His last words in the yew-tree shade;-
The fame fair Creature, who hath found
Her way into forbidden ground;
Where now, within this spacious plot
For pleasure made, a goodly spot,
With lawns, and beds of flowers, and shades
Of trellis-work in long arcades,
VO L. III.

And cirque and crescent framed by wall
Of close-clipt foliage green and tall,
Converging walks, and fountains gay,
And terraces in trim array,-
With pine and cedar spreading wide
Beneath yon cypress spiring high,
Their darksome boughs on either side,
In open moonlight doth she lie;
Happy as others of her kind,
That, far from human neighbourhood,
Range-unrestricted as the wind-
Through park, or chase, or savage wood.
But where at this still hour is she,
The consecrated Emily?

Even while I speak, behold the Maid

Emerging from the cedar shade
To open moonshine, where the Doe
Beneath a cypress-spire is laid;
Like a patch of April snow,
Upon a bed of herbage green,
Lingering in a woody glade,
Or behind a rocky screen;
Lonely relic! which, if seen
By the Shepherd, is passed by
With an inattentive eye.

-Nor more regard doth she bestow
Upon the uncomplaining Doe!

Yet the meek Creature was not free,
Erewhile, from some perplexity:
For thrice hath she approached, this day,
The thought-bewildered Emily;
Endeavouring, in her gentle way,
Some smile or look of love to gain,
Encouragement to sport or play;
Attempts which by the unhappy Maid
Have all been slighted or gainsaid.
-O welcome to the viewless breeze!
And instantaneous sympathies
'Tis fraught with acceptable feeling,

Into the Sufferer's bosom stealing ;-
Ere she hath reached yon rustic Shed
Hung with late-flowering woodbine spread
Along the walls and overhead,
The fragrance of the breathing flowers
Revives a memory of those hours
When here, in this remote Alcove,
(While from the pendant woodbine came
Like odours, sweet as if the same)
A fondly anxious Mother strove
To teach her salutary fears
And mysteries above her years.

-Yes, she is soothed :-an Image faint-
And yet not faint a presence bright
Returns to her ;-'tis that bless'd Saint
Who with mild looks and language mild
Instructed here her darling Child,
While yet a prattler on the knee,
To worship in simplicity

The invisible God, and take for guide
The faith reformed and purified.

'Tis gone the Vision, and the sense
Of that beguiling influence !
"But oh! thou Angel from above,
Thou Spirit of maternal love,

That stood'st before my eyes, more clear
Than Ghosts are fabled to appear
Sent upon embassies of fear;
Vouchsafed-in radiant ministry
As thou thy presence hast to me

3 B

Descend on Francis :-through the air
Of this sad earth to him repair,
Speak to him with a voice, and say,
That he must cast despair away!"

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
When there the youthful Nortons met,
To practise games and archery :
How proud and happy they! the crowd
Of Lookers-on how pleased and proud!
And from the heat of the noontide sun,
From showers, or when the prize was won,
They to the Watch-tower did repair,
Commodious Pleasure-house! and there
Would mirth run round, with generous fare;
And the stern old Lord of Rylstone Hall,
He was the proudest of them all!

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—
Oh hear me, hear me, gentle Maid!
For I am come with power to bless,
To scatter gleams through your distress
Of a redeeming happiness.

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,

"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!

"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,

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Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 3