Page:The white doe of Rylstone - or, The fate of the Nortons. A poem (IA whitedoeofrylsto00wordrich).pdf/29

 And in this way she fares, till at last 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 day is placid in its going, To a lingering motion bound, Like the river in its flowing; Can there be a softer sound? So the balmy minutes pass, While this radiant Creature lies Couched upon the dewy grass, Pensively with downcast eyes. —When now again the people rear A voice of praise, with awful chear!