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The White Doe tracked with faithful pace
The Lady to her Dwelling-place;
That nook where, on paternal ground,
A habitation she had found,
The Master of whose humble board
Once owned her Father for his Lord;
A Hut, by tufted Trees defended,
Where Rylstone Brook with Wharf is blended.
When Emily by morning light
Went forth, the Doe was there in sight.
She shrunk:—with one frail shock of pain,
Received and followed by a prayer,
Did she behold-saw once again;
Shun will she not, she feels, will bear;—
But wheresoever she looked round
All now was trouble-haunted ground.
So doth the Sufferer deem it good
Even once again this neighbourhood
