Page:The white doe of Rylstone - or, The fate of the Nortons. A poem (IA whitedoeofrylsto00wordrich).pdf/129

 THE

CANTO SEVENTH.

Spirit, whose angelic hand Was to the Harp a strong command, Called the submissive strings to wake In glory for this Maiden’s sake, Say, Spirit! whither hath she fled To hide her poor afflicted head? What mighty forest in its gloom Enfolds her ?—is a rifted tomb