The presence of this wandering Doe 100 Fills many a damp obscure recess With lustre of a saintly show; And, reappearing, she no less Sheds on the flowers that round her blow A more than sunny liveliness.[10] 105 But say, among these holy places, Which thus assiduously she paces, Comes she with a votary's task, Rite to perform, or boon to ask? Fair Pilgrim! harbours she a sense 110 Of sorrow, or of reverence? Can she be grieved for quire or shrine, Crushed as if by wrath divine? For what survives of house where God Was worshipped, or where Man abode; 115 For old magnificence undone; Or for the gentler work begun By Nature, softening and concealing, And busy with a hand of healing?[M] Mourns she for lordly chamber's hearth 120 That to the sapling ash gives birth; For dormitory's length laid bare Where the wild rose blossoms fair;[N] Or altar, whence the cross was rent, Now rich with mossy ornament?[11] 125 --She sees a warrior carved in stone, Among the thick weeds, stretched alone;[O] A warrior, with his shield of pride Cleaving humbly to his side, And hands in resignation prest, 130 Palm to palm, on his tranquil breast; As little she regards the sight[12] As a common creature might: If she be doomed to inward care, Or service, it must lie elsewhere. 135 --But hers are eyes serenely bright, And on she moves--with pace how light! Nor spares to stoop her head, and taste The dewy turf with flowers bestrown; And thus she fares, until at last[13] 140 Beside the ridge of a grassy grave In quietness she lays her down; Gentle[14] as a weary wave Sinks, when the summer breeze hath died, Against an anchored vessel's side; 145 Even so, without distress, doth she Lie down in peace, and lovingly.