Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh Which they would stifle, move at such a pace! The northern Wind, to call thee to the chase, Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had I The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be: And all the stars, fast as the clouds were riven, Should sally forth, to keep thee company, Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue heaven;
But, Cynthia! should to thee the palm be given, Queen both for beauty and for majesty. XXIV.
EVEN as a dragon's eye that feels the stress Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp Suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp, So burns yon Taper 'mid a black recess Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless: The lake below reflects it not; the sky, Muffled in clouds, affords no company To mitigate and cheer its loneliness. Yet, round the body of that joyless Thing Which sends so far its melancholy light, Perhaps are seated in domestic ring A gay society with faces bright, Conversing, reading, laughing;-or they sing, While hearts and voices in the song unite.
THE stars are mansions built by Nature's hand. And, haply, there the spirits of the blest Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest; Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand, A habitation marvellously planned, For life to occupy in love and rest;
All that we see-is dome, or vault, or nest, Or fortress, reared at Nature's sage command. Glad thought for every season! but the Spring Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart, 'Mid songs of birds, and insects murmuring; And while the youthful year's prolific art-
Of bud, leaf, blade, and flower was fashioning Abodes where self-disturbance hath no part.
DESPONDING Father! mark this altered bougn, So beautiful of late, with sunshine warmed, Or moist with dews; what more unsightly now, Its blossoms shrivelled, and its fruit, if formed, Knits not o'er that discolouring and decay Invisible? yet Spring her genial brow As false to expectation. Nor fret thou At like unlovely process in the May Of human life: a Stripling's graces blow, Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall (Misdeem it not a cankerous change) may grow Rich mellow bearings, that for thanks shall call : In all men, sinful is it to be slow To hope-in Parents, sinful above all.
CAPTIVITY.-MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. "As the cold aspect of a sunless way Strikes through the Traveller's frame with deadlier chill,
Oft as appears a grove, or obvious hill, Glistening with unparticipated ray, Or shining slope where he must never stray; So joys, remembered without wish or will, Sharpen the keenest edge of present ill,-- On the crushed heart a heavier burthen lay Just Heaven, contract the compass of my mind To fit proportion with my altered state! Quench those felicities whose light I find Reflected in my bosom all too late!-- O be my spirit, like my thraldom, strait; And, like mine eyes that stream with sorrow, blind!"
ST CATHERINE OF LEdbury.
WHEN human touch (as monkish books attest) Nor was applied nor could be, Ledbury bells Broke forth in concert flung adown the dells, And upward, high as Malvern's cloudy crest; Sweet tones, and caught by a noble Lady blest To rapture! Mabel listened at the side Of her loved mistress: soon the music died, And Catherine said, Here I set up my rest. Warned in a dream, the Wanderer long had sought
A home that by such miracle of sound Must be revealed:-she heard it now, or felt The deep, deep joy of a confiding thought; And there, a saintly Anchoress, she dwelt Till she exchanged for heaven that happy round.
FOUR fiery steeds, impatient of the rein Whirled us o'er sunless ground beneath a sky As void of sunshine, when, from that wide plain,
Clear tops of far-off mountains we descry, Like a Sierra of cerulean Spain,
All light and lustre. Did no heart reply? Yes, there was One-for One, asunder fly The thousand links of that ethereal chain; And green vales open out, with grove and field, And the fair front of many a happy Home; Such tempting spots as into vision come While Soldiers, weary of the arms they wield And sick at heart of strifeful Christendom, Gaze on the moon by parting clouds revealed.
BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks, Intent his wasted spirits to renew: And whom the curious Painter doth pursue Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks, And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks; If wish were mine some type of thee to view, Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do Like Grecian Artists, give thee human checks, Channels for tears; no Naiad shouldst thou be,-
Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs:
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee With purer robes than those of flesh and blood, And hath bestowed on thec a safer good; Unwearied joy, and life without its cares
COMPOSED ON THE BANKS OF A ROCKY STREAM. DOGMATIC Teachers, of the snow-white fur! Ye wrangling Schoolmen, of the scarlet hood! Who, with a keenness not to be withstood, Press the point home, or falter and demur, Checked in your course by many a teasing burr; These natural council-seats your acrid blood Might cool--and, as the Genius of the flood Stoops willingly to animate and spur Each lighter function slumbering in the brain, Yon eddying balls of foam, these arrowy gleams That o'er the pavement of the surging streams Welter and flash, a synod might detain With subtle speculations, haply vain, But surely less so than your far-fetched themes!
THIS, AND THE TWO FOLLOWING, WERE SUG- GESTED BY MR W. WESTALL'S VIEWS OF THE CAVES, ETC., IN YORKSHIRE. PURE element of waters! wheresoe'er Thou dost forsake thy subterranean haunts, Green herbs, bright flowers, and berry-bearing plants,
Rise into life and in thy train appear: And, through the sunny portion of the year, Swift insects shine, thy hovering pursuivants : And, if thy bounty fail, the forest pants: And hart and hind and hunter with his spear,
Languish and droop together. Nor unfelt In man's perturbed soul thy sway benign; And, haply, far within the marble belt Of central earth, where tortured Spirits pine For grace and goodness lost, thy murmurs melt Their anguish, -and they blend sweet songs with thine.*
WAS the aim frustrated by force or guile, When giants scooped from out the rocky ground, Tier under tier, this semicirque profound? (Giants-the same who built in Erin's isle That Causeway with incomparable toil !). O, had this vast theatric structure wound With finished sweep into a perfect round, No mightier work had gained the plausive smile Of all-beholding Phoebus! But, alas, Vain earth! false world! Foundations must be laid
In Heaven; for, 'mid the wreck of Is and WAS, Things incomplete and purposes betrayed Make sadder transits o'er thought's optic glass Than noblest objects utterly decayed.
COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER EARTH has not any thing to show more fair: 3. 1802. Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Never did sun more beautifully steep Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
IF these brief Records, by the Muses' art Produced as lonely Nature or the strife
* Waters (as Mr Westall informs us in the letter-press prefixed to his admirable views) are invariably found to flow through these caverns.
That animates the scenes of public life Inspired, may in their leisure claim a part; And if these Transcripts of the private heart Have gained a sanction from thy falling tears; Then I repent not. But my soul hath fears
Breathed from eternity (for as a dart Cleaves the blank air, Life flies; now every day Is but a glimmering spoke in the swift wheel Of the revolving week. Away, away, All fitful cares, all transitory zeal!
So timely Grace the immortal wing may heal, And honour rest upon the senseless clay.
THOUGH the bold wings of Poesy affect The clouds, and wheel around the mountain tops
Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt,
Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect The lingering dew-there steals along, or stops Watching the least small bird that round her hops,
Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect. Her functions are they therefore less divine, Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent Her simplest fancies? Should that fear be thine, Aspiring Votary, ere thy hand present One offering, kneel before her modest shrine, With brow in penitential sorrow bent !
Not while-to aid the spirit of the place- The crescent moon clove with its glittering prow The clouds, or night-bird sang from shady bough;
But in plain daylight:-She, too, at my side, Who, with her heart's experience satisfied, Maintains inviolate its slightest vow! Sweet Fancy! other gifts must I receive; Proofs of a higher sovereignty I claim:
And to that brow life's morning wreath restore; Let her be comprehended in the frame Of these illusions, or they please no more.
RECOLLECTION OF THE PORTRAIT OF KING HENRY EIGHTH, TRINITY LODGE, CAMBRIDGE.
THE imperial Stature, the colossal stride, Are yet before me; yet do I behold The broad full visage, chest of amplest mould, The vestments 'broidered with barbaric pride: And lo! a poniard, at the Monarch's side, Hangs ready to be grasped in sympathy With the keen threatenings of that fulgent eye, Below the white-rimmed bonnet, far-descried. Who trembles now at thy capricious mood? 'Mid those surrounding Worthies, haughty King,
We rather think, with grateful mind sedate, Of lawless will, unlooked-for streams of good How Providence educeth, from the spring
Which neither force shall check nor time abate! V.
ON THE DEATH OF HIS MAJESTY (GEORGE THE THIRD).
WARD of the LAW!-dread Shadow of a King! Whose realm had dwindled to one stately room; Darkness as thick as life o'er life could fling, Whose universe was gloom immersed in gloom, Save haply for some feeble glimmering Of Faith and Hope-if thou, by nature's doom, Gently hast sunk into the quiet tomb, Why should we bend in grief, to sorrow cling, When thankfulness were best?-Fresh-flowing
Or, where tears flow not, sigh succeeding sigh, Yield to such after-thought the sole reply Which justly it can claim. The Nation hears In this deep knell, silent for threescore years, An unexampled voice of awful memory 1
FAME tells of groves-from England far away- *Groves that inspire the Nightingale to trill And modulate, with subtle reach of skill Elsewhere unmatched, her ever-varying lay; Such bold report I venture to gainsay: For I have heard the quire of Richmond hill Chanting, with indefatigable bill,
Strains that recalled to mind a distant day; When, haply under shade of that same wood, And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars Plied steadily between those willowy shores, The sweet-souled Poet of the Seasons stood Listening, and listening long, in rapturous mood, Ye heavenly Birds! to your Progenitors.
A PARSONAGE IN OXFORDSHIRE.
WHERE holy ground begins, unhallowed ends, Is marked by no distinguishable line; The turf unites, the pathways intertwine; And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep tends, Garden, and that Domain where kindred, friends,
Take from her brow the withering flowers of And neighbours rest together, here confound
*This line alludes to Sonnets which will be found in another Class.
Their several features, mingled like the sound Of many waters, or as evening blends
* Wallachia is the country alluded to.
With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub and flower,
Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave; And while those lofty poplars gently wave Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky Bright as the glimpses of eternity,
To saints accorded in their mortal hour.
COMPOSED AMONG THE RUINS OF A CASTLE IN NORTH WALES.
THROUGH shattered galleries,'mid roofless halls, Wandering with timid footsteps oft betrayed, The Stranger sighs, nor scruples to upbraid Old Time, though he, gentlest among the Thralls Of Destiny, upon these wounds hath laid His lenient touches, soft as light that falls, From the wan Moon, upon the towers and walls, Light deepening the profoundest sleep of shade. Relic of Kings! Wreck of forgotten wars, To winds abandoned and the prying stars, Time loves Thee! at his call the Seasons twine Luxuriant wreaths around thy forehead hoar And, though past pomp no changes can restore, A soothing recompence, his gift, is thine!
TO THE LADY E. B. AND THE HON. MISS P.
Composed in the Grounds of Plass Newidd, near Llangollen, 1824.
A STREAM, to mingle with your favourite Dee, Along the VALE OF MEDITATION flows; So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see In Nature's face the expression of repose; Or haply there some pious hermit chose To live and die, the peace of heaven his aim; To whom the wild sequestered region owes, At this late day, its sanctifying name. GLYN CAFAILLGAROCH, in the Cambrian tongue, In ours, the VALE OF FRIENDSHIP, let this spot Be named; where, faithful to a low-roofed Cot, On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long; Sisters in love, a love allowed to climb, Even on this earth, above the reach of Time!
IN THE WOODS OF RYDAL.
WILD Redbreast! hadst thou at Jemima's lip A half-blown rose had tempted thee to sip Pecked, as at mine, thus boldly, Love might say,
Its glistening dews; but hallowed is the clay Which the Muse warms; and I, whose head is grey,
Am not unworthy of thy fellowship: Nor could I let one thought-one motion-slip That might thy sylvan confidence betray. For are we not all His without whose care Vouchsafed no sparrow falleth to the ground? Who gives his Angels wings to speed through air, And rolls the planets through the blue profound; Then peck or perch, fond Flutterer! nor forbear To trust a Poet in still musings bound.
WHEN Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle Like a Form sculptured on a monument Lay couched on him or his dread bow unbent Some wild Bird oft might settle and beguile The rigid features of a transient smile, Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent, Slackening the pains of ruthless banishmen From his loved home, and from heroic toil. And trust that spiritual Creatures round us Griefs to allay which Reason cannot heal; Yea, veriest reptiles have sufficed to prove To fettered wretchedness, that no Bastile Though man for brother man has ceased to feel. Is deep enough to exclude the light of love,
And friends too rarely prop the languid head. Yet, helped by Genius-untired comforter, The presence even of a stuffed Owl for her Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out To ivied castles and to moonlight skies, Though he can neither stir a plume, nor shout: Nor veil, with restless film, his staring eyes.
TO, IN HER SEVENTIETH YEAR.
SUCH age how beautful! O Lady bright, Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind To something purer and more exquisite Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st my sight,
When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek, Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white,
And head that droops because the soul is meek, Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare: That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb
From desolation toward the genial prime; Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air, And filling more and more with crystal light As pensive Evening deepens into night.
A GRAVE-STONE UPON THE FLOOR IN THE CLOISTERS OF WORCESTER CATHEDRAL. "MISERRIMUS!" and neither name nor date, Prayer, text, or symbol, graven upon the stone; Nought but that word assigned to the unknown, That solitary word-to separate
From all, and cast a cloud around the fate Of him who lies beneath. Most wretched one, Who chose his epitaph?-Himself alone Could thus have dared the grave to agitate, And claim, among the dead, this awful crown; Nor doubt that He marked also for his own Close to these cloistral steps a burial-place, That every foot might fall with heavier tread, Trampling upon his vileness. Stranger, pass Softly! To save the contrite, Jesus bled.
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