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THE BOY OF EGREMOND.
“ SAY, what remains when Hope is fled ?"
she read Who in his shroud lay sleeping.
At Embsay rung the matin-bell,
In the twelfth century William Fitz-Duncan laid waste the valleys of Craven with fire and sword; and was afterwards established there by his uncle, David King of Scotland.
He was the last of the race; his son, commonly called the Boy of Egre. mond, dying before him in the manner here related; when a Priory was removed from Embsay to Bolton, that it might be as near as possible to
Blithe was his
song But where the rock is rent in two, And the river rushes through, His voice was heard no more ! 'Twas but a step! the gulf he passed ; But that step-it was his last ! As through the mist he winged his way, (A cloud that hovers night and day,) The hound hung back, and back he drew. The Master and his merlin too. That narrow place of noise and strife Received their little all of Life!
There now the matin-bell is rung; The “ Miserere!” duly sung ; And holy men in cowl and hood Are wandering up and down the wood. But what avail they? Ruthless Lord, Thou didst not shudder when the sword Here on the young its fury spent, The helpless and the innocent.
the place where the accident happened. That place is still known by the name of the Strid: and the mother's answer, as given in the first stanza, is to this day often repeated in Wharfedale.--See Wurtaker's Hist, of Craven.
WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
- 4 - 46.
He stirs—yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams
Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight,
mind divine enchantment threw,
That in her veins a secret horror slept,
Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew
* On the death of her sister.