And that striding place is call'd THE STRID, A name which it took of yore; A thousand years hath it borne that name, And shall a thousand more. And thither is young Romelli come; And what may now forbid That He, perhaps for the hundredth time, Shall bound across the Strid? 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 And check'd him in his leap. The Boy is in the arms of Wharf, And strangled with a merciless force; For never more was young Romelli seen, Till he was a lifeless corse. Now is there stillness in the vale And long unspeaking sorrow, Wharf has buried fonder hopes Than e'er were drown'd in Yarrow.[E] If for a Lover the Lady wept A comfort she might borrow From death, and from the passion of death; Old Wharf might heal her sorrow. She weeps not for the Wedding-day That was to be to-morrow,[F] Her hope was a farther-looking hope And hers is a Mother's sorrow. Oh was he not a comely tree? And proudly did his branches wave; And the Root of this delightful Tree Is in her Husband's grave. Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first word was, "Let there be At Bolton, in the Fields of Wharf A stately Priory." And the stately Priory was rear'd, And Wharf as he moved along, To Matins joined a mournful voice, Nor fail'd at Even-song. And the Lady pray'd in heaviness That wish'd not for relief; But slowly did her succour come, And a patience to her grief. Oh! there is never sorrow of heart That shall lack a timely end, If but to God we turn, and ask Of him to be our Friend. The poem of Samuel Rogers, to which Wordsworth refers in the Fenwick note, is named _The Boy of Egremond_. It begins-- "Say, what remains when Hope is fled?" She answered, "endless weeping!"