I.

So all that day, as by a dream possessed—
On—on—by one idea absorbed, opprest—
For many a mile, as if herself she fled,
Shunning all human sight the Wanderer sped:
'To save him!' the one hope, one lure to guide
Her course—all goading sharp despair beside.

But when exhausted nature would have rest,
And, reckless where, she sank upon the ground,
She was upon the very spot, she found,
Where Ranolf and herself, by rain delayed,
On that first blessed journey once had stayed.
And at a little distance she espied
The cave itself where they had made their nest,—
Laughing, their happy nest!—a yellow cave
Of clayey sandstone scooped out smooth and round
By some long-vanished immemorial wave;
One of a row that undermined the base
Of the steep hill-side green with tangled fern—
Only a few feet high and deep—a place
Just large enough for those two lovers fond,
And over-draped with drooping bough and frond.
page 438 There lay the flattened fern-couch—brown and dry;
The impress of two forms she could descry,
Still undisturbed by winds or passers-by.
Then did the conquering tenderness return;
And she resolved (for, but a little space,
The circuit her arrival would delay
At her sad journey's end) she would repair
Once more to those dear Lakes; the district fair
Where all the bliss of her life's little day
Lay like a vanished treasure; stored up there—
Quite lost to her—gone—lost and laid away!