The fishers say, those sisters fair Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie! W. WORDSWORTH. The Force of Prayer or, The Founding of Bolton's Priory. (A Tradition.) "What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail ? "What is good for a bootless bene?" The falconer to the lady said; And she made answer, "Endless sorrow!" For she knew that her son was dead. She knew it by the falconer's words, Young Romilly through Barden woods Is ranging high and low; And holds a greyhound in a leash, To let slip upon buck or doe. The pair have reached that fearful chasm, How tempting to bestride! For lordly Wharf is there pent in, This striding-place is called The Strid, A name which it took of yore : A thousand years hath it borne that name, And hither is young Romilly come, And what may now forbid That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, 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, The boy is in the arms of Wharf, And strangled by a merciless force; For never more was young Romilly seen Now there is stillness in the vale, 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 Her hope was a farther-looking hope, He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, “Let there be In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, A stately priory!” The stately priory was reared; And the lady prayed in heaviness But slowly did her succour come, Oh! there is never sorrow of heart If but to God we turn, and ask Of Him to be our Friend! W. WORDSWORTH. ≈ Albert Græme's Song It was an English ladye bright, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all. Blithely they saw the rising sun, When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all. Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, For she had lands, both meadow and lea, That wine she had not tasted well, He pierced her brother to the heart, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall: So perish all would true love part, That Love may still be lord of all! And then he took the cross divine, (Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) And died for her sake in Palestine, So Love was still the lord of all. Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, For Love shall still be lord of all! |