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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540131" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Force Of Prayer, Or, The Founding Of Bolton, A Tradition</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What is good for a bootless bene?'<br>With these dark words begins my Tale;<br>And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring<br>When Prayer is of no avail?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What is good for a bootless bene?'<br>The Falconer to the Lady said;<br>And she made answer 'ENDLESS SORROW!'<br>For she knew that her Son was dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She knew it by the Falconer's words,<br>And from the look of the Falconer's eye; <br>And from the love which was in her soul<br>For her youthful Romilly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">--Young Romilly through Barden woods<br>Is ranging high and low;<br>And holds a greyhound in a leash,<br>To let slip upon buck or doe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pair have reached that fearful chasm,<br>How tempting to bestride!<br>For lordly Wharf is there pent in<br>With rocks on either side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This striding-place is called THE STRID,<br>A name which it took of yore:<br>A thousand years hath it borne that name,<br>And shall a thousand more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And hither is young Romilly come,<br>And what may now forbid<br>That he, perhaps for the hundredth time,<br>Shall bound across THE STRID?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sprang in glee,--for what cared he<br>That the river was strong, and the rocks were steep?-- <br>But the greyhound in the leash hung back,<br>And checked him in his leap.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Boy is in the arms of Wharf,<br>And strangled by a merciless force;<br>For never more was young Romilly seen<br>Till he rose a lifeless corse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now there is stillness in the vale,<br>And long, unspeaking, sorrow:<br>Wharf shall be to pitying hearts<br>A name more sad than Yarrow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If for a lover the Lady wept,<br>A solace she might borrow<br>From death, and from the passion of death;--<br>Old Wharf might heal her sorrow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She weeps not for the wedding-day<br>Which was to be to-morrow:<br>Her hope was a further-looking hope,<br>And hers is a mother's sorrow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was a tree that stood alone,<br>And proudly did its branches wave; <br>And the root of this delightful tree<br>Was in her husband's grave!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long, long in darkness did she sit,<br>And her first words were, 'Let there be<br>In Bolton, on the field of Wharf,<br>A stately Priory!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stately Priory was reared;<br>And Wharf, as he moved along,<br>To matins joined a mournful voice,<br>Nor failed at evensong. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the Lady prayed in heaviness<br>That looked not for relief!<br>But slowly did her succour come,<br>And a patience to her grief.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! there is never sorrow of heart<br>That shall lack a timely end,<br>If but to God we turn, and ask<br>Of Him to be our friend!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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With these dark words begins my Tale;
And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring
When Prayer is of no avail?

'What is good for a bootless bene?'
The Falconer to the Lady said;
And she made answer 'ENDLESS ..."></div>
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