6.

When rose the heron in the wind,
His legs outstretch'd his flight behind,
In search of warmer skies;
She gaz'd on him, with upturn'd eyes.
And said, " Oh, thou, the fleet, the wild!
Stay! tell me — Hast thou seen my child? "
When after him the eagle pass'd,
And over her his shadow cast,
She said, " Thou strong of eye and wing!
Far can'st thou fly, and widely see;
Oh, King-bird, seek her, find her, bring
My Telmarine to me!
Or I must die in misery. "
Then, on the bird she strain'd her sight,

4.

To slumber lull'd by wailings faint,
Awak'd by moanings of complaint,
From his high seat, in sportive glee
Down looking on her misery,
The squirrel, morrow after morrow,
Heard speech that sigh'd.
The sun, at morn, still found her weeping;
The sun, at eve, beheld her weeping,
And bow'd his beamy head in sorrow;
And when, at night, the otter stole
From his root-roof'd and fishy hole
Beneath the moon-lit tree —
The sound that mingled with the beam
Reflected from the " watery gleam, "

2.

In solitude, yet not alone,
She liv'd, with nought to do but weep:
Oh, better had she been a stone
O'er whose old age old mosses creep!
For emerald shadows with them dwell,
And lonely sunbeams love them well.
Ever, " My child! my child! " she said,
And loath'd her food, her hearth, her bed;
And could not bear to keep
Within her cot, by day or night;
But, like a cloud that cannot sleep,
Abroad, with darkness dwelt and light,
And with the dews that pitied her.
And with the winds that sooth'd her sadness;

1.

Oh, hast thou seen the mountain snow
Which south winds softly overblow,
How fast it wastes, how swiftly hastes
To feed the rock-rill's lonely flow,
And swell a sea of tears below?
So wastes, so weeps lone Etheline,
For she hath lost her Telmarine.
In evil hour, an awful power
Hath stol'n lord Konig's child;
And never since that dismal hour
Hath she, the maiden-mother, smil'd.
Seldom she sleeps,
But always weeps;
And when she sleeps, she dreams

BOOK IV.

Ellen! " the dead are safe, " I said;
Yet to the unreturning dead
I must again sad utterance give:
My pleasing task will then be done;
Soon, then, my mortal course be run;
And I, too, shall begin to live.
Who shall undo the past day's deed?
It labours for the coming hour;
And if I am but as a weed,
The weed, though dead, is still a power;
Ay, and of Goodness! of all powers
Greatest, the Life that cannot die,
The evergrowing Unity,
Whose death-matur'd and brightest flowers

11.

Ceas'd the fang'd voice. The murderous eye,
The globe of crimson fire, were gone;
And from the sky — how silvery,
How cold o'er all, how suddenly —
Moonlight and starlight, silent, shone!
The Wanderer wept — he was alone.
Not so? From choral voice and gong,
And trumpet, blown deep shades among,
Arose a storm of sound and song:
" The sought is found! and summons thee
To doom and darkness, Heresy! "
Brief, sudden, loud,
As thunder from a rainless cloud,
While shudder'd man and beast,

9.

The Wanderer answer'd, " I to thee
Consign the Maid of Destiny,
This sin-born child; for 'tis my will,
That vice which blights, and crimes that kill,
And pain, of evil born, shall bring
Blessings to every living thing;
And that all wrong, by love withstood,
Shall turn all evil into good. "

10.

But woe-tried men have feelings fine;
And loth was Adwick to resign
The nursling, at his journey's end;
As loth was she to quit her friend.
Friend? Ay, she knew his troubled brow;
Had heard him oft, in dreams, complain;

7.

" Mine is the shadow, mine the throne, "
The Wanderer cried; " I therefore dare
The shadow of the throne;
For I am He who sits thereon,
In spirit, everywhere;
God! I am God! the all-adored!
The many-nam'd! the only Lord!
Incarnate oft' in human form;
Permitting fear to worship love,
On altar-stone, in hallow'd grove,
And proud to bless the meanest worm,
Though thron'd o'er earth, and sea, and sky;
My chariot Light; my torch-stand Night;
My sceptre Life; my falchion Pain;

6.

Then, westward turn'd the sable four;
The stately whiteness westward turn'd;
Them following, he the nursling bore;
And, rais'd aloft, the torches burn'd.
How strangely, pillars vast
On each hand pass'd!
How grandly, overhead,
Domes, following domes, behind them fled,
All in deep silence! Silence deep
Lay on the fretted roof, like sleep;
And there the moonlight lay, like death
It could not pierce the gloom beneath,
Where a broad orb, beheld afar,
Shone westward, like a crimson star,

3.

The dread chaunt ceas'd, and over all,
Except the Wanderer and the child,
Strange awe, like death-bed fear, did fall,
Or sleep, that dreams of woe.
On came the Wanderer, unaffrighted;
And while the valiant child, delighted,
Listen'd, or clapp'd her hands and smil'd,
He stood before the Nun of Snow.

4.

" Fear not, thou Wanderer sad, " she said,
" To follow whither I must lead:
The pray'r is pray'd, the rede is read;
And ever best the boldest speed.
Well hast thou done th' appointed deed: