The day is placid in its going, To a lingering motion bound, Like the crystal stream now flowing 150 With its softest summer sound:[15] So the balmy minutes pass, While this radiant Creature lies Couched upon the dewy grass, Pensively with downcast eyes. 155 --But now again the people raise With awful cheer a voice of praise;[16] It is the last, the parting song; And from the temple forth they throng, And quickly spread themselves abroad, 160 While each pursues his several road. But some--a variegated band Of middle-aged, and old, and young, And little children by the hand Upon their leading mothers hung-- 165 With mute obeisance gladly paid Turn towards the spot, where, full in view, The white Doe, to her service true,[17] Her sabbath couch has made. It was a solitary mound; 170 Which two spears' length of level ground Did from all other graves divide: As if in some respect of pride; Or melancholy's sickly mood, Still shy of human neighbourhood; 175 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, 180 To whom the words were softly said, Hung back, and smiled, and blushed for joy, A shamed-faced blush of glowing red! Again the Mother whispered low, "Now you have seen the famous Doe; 185 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, 190 Her sabbath morning, foul or fair."