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Or guilt, that humbly would express
A penitential loneliness.
“Look, there she is, my Child! draw near;
She fears not, wherefore should we fear?
She means no harm;”—but still the Boy,
To whom the words were softly said,
Hung back, and smiled and blushed for joy,
A shame-faced blush of glowing red!
Again the Mother whispered low,
“Now you have seen the famous Doe;
From Rylstone she hath found her way
Over the hills this sabbath-day;
Her work, whate’er it be, is done,
And she will depart when we are gone;
Thus doth she keep, from year to year,
Her sabbath morning, foul or fair.”
This whisper soft repeats what he
Had known from early infancy.
