Page:The white doe of Rylstone - or, The fate of the Nortons. A poem (IA whitedoeofrylsto00wordrich).pdf/144

 Nor did she fear in the still moonshine To look upon Saint Mary’s shrine; Nor on the lonely turf that showed Where Francis slept in his last abode. For that she came; there oft and long. She sate in meditation strong: And, when she from the abyss returned Of thought, she neither shrunk nor mourned; Was happy that she lived to greet Her mute Companion as it lay In love and pity at her feet; How happy in her turn to meet That recognition ! the mild glance Beamed from that gracious countenance ;— Communication, like the ray Of a new morning, to the nature And prospects of the inferior Creature !

A mortal Song we frame, by dower Encouraged of celestial power;