The rising sun, the opening shades of dawn,
The white doe on the greenwood lawn,
The woman’s voice, the virgin’s song,
The tender scene that might have lasted long.
A consecrated animal,
She moveth on in stately wise;
And to all gentle hearts she brings
A tale of tears and mournful sighs.
Through many a change of place hath passed,
The White Doe, by her human friends beloved;
Through many a change of place hath passed,
Yet still she moves, unchanged, unmoved.
Unscared by aught of evil sound or sight,
She lives in peace, and unto all is kind;
And to the spot where Rylstone’s bones are laid,
The White Doe leads the pilgrim’s way.
Through many a change of place hath passed,
The White Doe, by her human friends beloved;
Through many a change of place hath passed,
Yet still she moves, unchanged, unmoved.
O silent hills, O ruined hall,
Where shadows deep and memories fall;
Through grief and loss, her spirit glides,
A timeless guide where hope abides.
Beneath the yew-tree’s shade she lies,
Calm as a dream, with tranquil eyes;
While winds of evening softly play,
She marks the silent close of day.
Through many a change of place hath passed,
The White Doe, by her human friends beloved;
Through many a change of place hath passed,
Yet still she moves, unchanged, unmoved.
Through storm and sun, through grief and years,
She walks untouched by mortal fears;
A spirit clothed in earthly guise,
A symbol pure that never dies.
Through many a change of place hath passed,
The White Doe, by her human friends beloved;
Through many a change of place hath passed,
Yet still she moves, unchanged, unmoved.