Page:The white doe of Rylstone - or, The fate of the Nortons. A poem (IA whitedoeofrylsto00wordrich).pdf/153

 And hither is young Romilly come, And what may now forbid That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, Shall bound across ?

He sprang in glee,—for what cared he That the River was strong and the rocks were steep! But the Greyhound in the leash hung back, And checked him in his leap.

The Boy is in the arms of Wharf, And strangled with a merciless force; For never more was young Romilly seen Till he rose a lifeless Corsc !

Now is there stillness in the Vale, And long unspeaking sorrow :— Wharf shall be to pitying hearts A name more sad than Yarrow.