FOR CHILDREN. 153

He sprang in glee—for what cared he
That the river was strong, and the rocks were
steep P
But the greyhound in the leash hung back,
And checked him in his leap !

The boy is in the arms of Wharf!
And strangled with a merciless forcee—
For never more was young Romilly seen
Till he rose a lifeless corse !

Long, long in darkness his mother sat,
And her first words were, “ Let there be
In Bolton, on the field of Wharf,
A stately Priory !”
The stately priory was reared,
And Wharf, as he moved along,
To matins? joined a mournful voice,
Nor failed at even-song.*

And the lady prayed in heaviness
That looked not for relief;

But slowly did her succour come,
And 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.
Wordsworth.

' Matins—morning prayers, as performed or chanted in
Roman Catholic churches.

* Even-song——evening service, corresponding to that of
the morning.