Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/156

148 The Boy is in the arms of Wharf,

And strangled by a merciless force;

For never more was young Romilly seen

Till he rose a lifeless Corse!

Now there is stillness in the Vale,

And long unspeaking sorrow:—

Wharf shall be to pitying hearts

A name more sad than Yarrow.

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

Which was to be to-morrow:

Her hope was a farther-looking hope,

And hers is a Mother's sorrow.

He was a Tree that stood alone,

And proudly did its branches wave;

And the Root of this delightful Tree

Was in her Husband's grave!