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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/yarrowrevisitedo02word 
 
YARROW REVISITED, 
 
 Dtget JBoem& 
 
London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New- Street-Square. 
 
YARROW REVISITED, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 — — " Poets .... dwell on earth 
 To clothe whate'er the soul admires and loves 4 
 With language and with numbers." 
 
 Akenside. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW ; AND 
 
 EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 
 
 1835. 
 
5\<o 76 4 
 
W '92.(6 y 
 
 TO 
 
 SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 
 
 AS 
 A TESTIMONY OF FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 AND 
 AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF INTELLECTUAL OBLIGATIONS, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Rydal Mount, 
 Dec. 11. 1834. 
 
 A 3 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 It was the Author's intention to reserve the 
 contents of this Volume to be interspersed in 
 some future edition of his miscellaneous Poems; 
 but it is obvious that, by so doing, the pur- 
 chasers of his former works, who might wish for 
 these Pieces also, would have reason to complain 
 if they could not procure them without being 
 obliged to re-purchase what they already pos- 
 sessed: from this consideration, and at the 
 request of many of his friends, they are now 
 published in a separate volume, uniform with 
 former editions. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 POEMS COMPOSED DURING A TOUR IN 
 SCOTLAND, AND ON THE ENGLISH 
 BORDER, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1831. 
 
 Page 
 
 Yarrow Revisited - - 1 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbots- 
 ford, for Naples - 9 
 A Place of Burial in the South of Scotland - 10 
 On the Sight of a Manse in the South of Scotland 1 1 
 Composed in Roslin Chapel, during a Storm - 12 
 The Trosachs - - - - - 13 
 The Pibroch's Note, discountenanced or mute - 14 
 Composed in the Glen of Loch Etive - 15 
 Eagles, composed at Dunollie Castle in the Bay of 
 
 Oban - - 16 
 
 In the Sound of Mull - - - - 17 
 
 At Tyndrum - - - - 18 
 The Earl of Breadalbane's ruined Mansion, and 
 
 Family Burial-Place, near Killin - 19 
 
 Rest and be thankful, at the Head of Glencroe - 20 
 
 Highland Hut - - - - 21 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Brownie - - - 22 
 To the Planet Venus, an Evening Star. Composed 
 
 at Loch Lomond - 23 
 
 Bothwell Castle - - 24 
 Picture of Daniel in the Lion's Den, at Hamilton 
 
 Palace - - 25 
 The Avon, a Feeder of the Annan - - 26 
 Suggested by a View from an Eminence in Ingle- 
 wood Forest - - - - 27 
 Hart's-horn Tree, near Penrith - 28 
 Countess's Pillar - - 29 
 Roman Antiquities. (From the Roman Station at 
 Old Penrith) - - - 30 
 
 Apology for the foregoing - - 31 
 
 The Highland Broach - - - - 33 
 
 Notes - - 38 
 
 The Egyptian Maid; or, the Romance of the 
 
 Water Lily - - 45 
 
 Ode, composed on May Morning - - 69 
 
 To May - - - - . 73 
 
 Inscription - - 78 
 Elegiac Musings in the Grounds of Coleorton Hall, 
 
 the Seat of the late Sir George Beaumont, Bart. 80 
 
 Epitaph - - - 83 
 Inscription intended for a Stone in the Grounds of 
 
 Rydal Mount - - - 85 
 
 Written in an Album - - - ib. 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 Page 
 
 Incident at Bruges - - - - 86 
 A Jewish Family. (In a small Valley opposite St. 
 
 Goar, upon the Rhine) - - 89 
 
 Devotional Incitements - - 92 
 
 The Armenian Lady's Love - - 96 
 
 The Primrose of the Rock - - - 106 
 
 Presentiments - - - - 110 
 
 The Poet and the caged Turtledove - - 1 15 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Chatsworth! thy stately Mansion - - - 117 
 
 Desponding Father ! mark this altered Bough - 11 
 Roman Antiquities discovered, at Bishopstone, 
 
 Herefordshire - - - - 119 
 
 St. Catherine of Ledbury - - - 120 
 
 The Russian Fugitive. Part I. 121 
 
 Part II. - - 128 
 
 Part III. - - 133 
 
 Part IV. - - 138 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Why art thou silent ! 145 
 
 Four fiery Steeds impatient of the Rein - - 146 
 
 To the Author's Portrait - - - 147 
 
 Gold and Silver Fishes, in a Vase - - 148 
 
 Liberty. (Sequel to the above) - - 151 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Evening Voluntaries - - 159 
 
 Calm is the fragrant Air, and loth to lose - 161 
 
 Not in the lucid Intervals of Life - - 1 63 
 
 By the Side of Rydal Mere - - - 165 
 
 Soft as a Cloud is yon blue Ridge - - 167 
 
 The Leaves that rustled on this Oak-crowned Hill 169 
 
 The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire - 171 
 
 By the Sea-side - - - - 173 
 
 The Sun has long been set - - - 175 
 
 Throned in the Sun's descending Car - - 177 
 
 The Labourer's Noon-day Hymn - - ,178 
 
 A Wren's Nest - - - - 180 
 
 Sonnets, 1833, composed during a Tour - - 185 
 
 Adieu ! Rydalian Laurels ! that have grown - 187 
 
 Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this 
 
 Isle - - - - - 188 
 
 They called Thee merry England, in old Time - 189 
 
 To the River Greta, near Keswick - - 190 
 
 To the River Derwent - - - 191 
 
 In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth - - 192 
 
 Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle - 193 
 
 Nun's Well, Brigham - - - - 194 
 
 To a Friend (on the Banks of the Derwent) - 195 
 
 Mary Queen of Scots (landing at the Mouth of the 
 
 Derwent, Workington) - - - 196 
 
 In the Channel, between the Coast of Cumberland 
 
 and the Isle of Man - - - 197 
 
CONTENTS. Xlll 
 
 Page 
 At Sea off the Isle of Man - - - 198 
 
 Desire we past Illusions to recall? ■*, - 199 
 
 On entering Douglas Bay, Isle of Man - - 200 
 
 By the Sea- shore, Isle of Man - 201 
 
 Isle of Man - - - - - 202 
 
 The Retired Marine Officer, Isle of Man - 203 
 
 By a Retired Mariner (a Friend of the Author) - 204 
 At Bala-sala, Isle of Man. ( Supposed to be written 
 
 by a Friend of the Author) - - 
 
 TynwaldHill - ... 
 
 Despond who will — / heard a Voice exclaim 
 In the Frith of Clyde, Ailsa Crag. (July 17. 1833) 
 On the Frith of Clyde. (In a Steam-boat) 
 On revisiting Dunolly Castle 
 The Dunolly Eagle - 
 
 Cave of Staffa 
 
 Cave of Staffa - - 
 
 Cave of Staffa - - 
 
 Flowers on the Top of the Pillars at the Entrance 
 
 of the Cave - - - 215 
 
 On to lona! What can she afford - - 216 
 
 lona. (Upon landing) - - - 217 
 
 The Black Stones of lona - - - 218 
 
 Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell - 219 
 
 Greenock - 220 
 
 " There!" said a Stripling, pointing with meet 
 
 Pride - - - - 221 
 
 Fancy and Tradition - 222 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The River Eden, Cumberland - -223 
 
 Monument of Mrs. Howard (by Nollekins) in 
 Wetheral Church, near Corby, on the Banks of 
 
 the Eden - - - - 224 
 
 Tranquillity ! the sovereign aim wert thou - 225 
 
 Nunnery - - 226 
 
 Steam-boats, Viaducts, and Railways - - 227 
 
 Lowther ! in thy majestic Pile are seen - 228 
 
 To the Earl of Lonsdale - - - 229 
 
 To Cordelia M , Hallsteads, Ullswater - 230 
 
 Conclusion - - - - 231 
 
 Notes - - - 232 
 
 Lines written in the Album of the Countess of 
 
 . Nov. 5. 1834 - - - 237 
 
 The Somnambulist - - - 241 
 
 To , upon the Birth of her first-born Child, 
 
 March, 1833 - - - - 251 
 The Warning, a Sequel to the foregoing. March, 
 
 1833 - - - - 255 
 
 If this great World of Joy and Pain - - 263 
 Sonnet, composed after reading a Newspaper of the 
 
 Day - 264 
 Loving and Liking ; irregular Verses addressed to a 
 
 Child - 265 
 
 St. Bees, suggested in a Steam-boat off St. Bees' 
 
 Heads ... . 269 
 
 Note - - ... 280 
 
contents. xv 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Page 
 
 Deplorable his Lot who tills the Ground - 28 1 
 
 The Vaudois - 282 
 
 Praised be the Rivers, from their Mountain-springs 283 
 
 The Redbreast (suggested in a Westmoreland Cot- 
 tage - - - 284 
 
 To - - - • - 288 
 
 Rural Illusions ,. t - - - 289 
 
 This Lawn, &c. - - - - 2S1 
 
 Thought on the Seasons - - - 292 
 
 Humanity. (Written in the Year 1829) - 295 
 Lines suggested by a Portrait from the Pencil of 
 
 F. Stone - - - - 30 1 
 
 The foregoing Subject resumed - - 307 
 
 Stanzas on the Power of Sound - - 309 
 
 Postscript - 323 
 
ERRATA AND EMENDATIONS. 
 
 Page 13. line 6. from bottom, for " Guest" read " quest." 
 
 Page 47. last two lines, read thus : — 
 
 " Became, as nearer to the Coast she drew, 
 More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant. 
 
 Page 48. line 5. read thus : — 
 
 " Was ever built with patient care." 
 
 l'age 85. lines 6 and 7. read thus : — 
 " So let it rest, — and time will come 
 When here the tender-hearted." 
 
ERRATUM. 
 
 Page 108. line 6. for " In God's redeeming love," read " Is 
 God's redeeming love." 
 
ERRATA AND EMENDATIONS. 
 
 Page 13. line 6. from bottom, for " Guest" r^A « 
 
 vynen here the tender-hearted." 
 
YARROW REVISITED, 
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 
 COMPOSED (TWO EXCEPTED) DURING A TOUR IN 
 
 SCOTLAND, AND ON THE ENGLISH BORDER, 
 
 IN THE AUTUMN OF 1831. 
 
YARROW REVISITED. 
 
 [The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with 
 Sir "Walter Scott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the 
 Yarrow under his guidance, immediately before his depar- 
 ture from Abbotsford, for Naples. 
 
 The title Yarrow Revisited will stand in no need of ex- 
 planation, for Readers acquainted with the Author's previous 
 poems suggested by that celebrated Stream.] 
 
 The gallant Youth, who may have gained, 
 
 Or seeks, a " Winsome Marrow," 
 Was but an Infant in the lap 
 
 When first I looked on Yarrow ; 
 Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate 
 
 Long left without a Warder, 
 I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, 
 
 Great Minstrel of the Border! 
 b 2 
 
4 YARROW REVISITED, 1831. 
 
 Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, 
 
 Their dignity installing 
 In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves 
 
 Were on the bough, or falling ; 
 But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed — 
 
 The forest to embolden ; 
 Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 
 
 Transparence through the golden. 
 
 For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on 
 
 In foamy agitation ; 
 And slept in many a crystal pool 
 
 For quiet contemplation : 
 No public and no private care 
 
 The freeborn mind enthralling, 
 We made a day of happy hours, 
 
 Our happy days recalling. 
 
 Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, 
 
 With freaks of graceful folly, — 
 Life's temperate Noon, her sober Eve, 
 
 Her Night not melancholy, 
 Past, present, future, all appeared 
 
 In harmony united, 
 Like guests that meet, and some from far, 
 
 By cordial love invited. 
 
YARROW REVISITED, 1831. 
 
 And if, as Yarrow, through the woods 
 
 And down the meadow ranging, 
 Did meet us with unaltered face, 
 
 Though we were changed and changing ; 
 If, then, some natural shadows spread 
 
 Our inward prospect over, 
 The soul's deep valley was not slow 
 
 Its brightness to recover. 
 
 Eternal blessings on the Muse, 
 
 And her divine employment ! 
 The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons 
 
 For hope and calm enjoyment ; 
 Albeit sickness lingering yet 
 
 Has o'er their pillow brooded ; 
 And Care waylay their steps — a Sprite 
 
 Not easily eluded. 
 
 For thee, O Scott ! compelled to change 
 
 Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 
 For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes ; 
 
 And leave thy Tweed and Teviot 
 For mild Sorento's breezy waves ; 
 
 May classic Fancy, linking 
 With native Fancy her fresh aid, 
 
 Preserve thy heart from sinking ! 
 b 3 
 
6 YARROW REVISITED, 1831. 
 
 O ! while they minister to thee, 
 
 Each vying with the other, 
 May Health return to mellow Age, 
 
 With Strength, her venturous brother 
 And Tiber, and each brook and rill 
 
 Renowned in song and story, 
 With unimagined beauty shine, 
 
 Nor lose one ray of glory ! 
 
 For Thou, upon a hundred streams, 
 
 By tales of love and sorrow, 
 Of faithful love, undaunted truth, 
 
 Hast shed the power of Yarrow ; 
 And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, 
 
 Where'er thy path invite thee, 
 At parent Nature's grateful call, 
 
 With gladness must requite Thee. 
 
 A gracious welcome shall be thine, 
 
 Such looks of love and honour 
 As thy own Yarrow gave to me 
 
 When first I gazed upon her ; 
 Beheld what I had feared to see, 
 
 Unwilling to surrender 
 Dreams treasured up from early days, 
 
 The holy and the tender. 
 
YARROW REVISITED, 1831. 
 
 And what, for this frail world, were all 
 
 That mortals do or suffer, 
 Did no responsive harp, no pen, 
 
 Memorial tribute offer ? 
 Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? 
 
 Her features, could they win us, 
 Unhelped by the poetic voice 
 
 That hourly speaks within us ? 
 
 Nor deem that localised Romance 
 
 Plays false with our affections ; 
 Unsanctifies our tears — made sport 
 
 For fanciful dejections : 
 Ah, no ! the visions of the past 
 
 Sustain the heart in feeling 
 Life as she is — our changeful Life, 
 
 With friends and kindred dealing. 
 
 Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day 
 
 In Yarrow's groves were center'd ; 
 Who through the silent portal arch 
 
 Of mouldering Newark enter'd, 
 And clomb the winding stair that once 
 
 Too timidly was mounted 
 By the " last Minstrel,' ' (not the last) 
 
 Ere he his Tale recounted ! 
 b 4 
 
8 YARROW REVISITED, 1831. 
 
 Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream ! 
 
 Fulfil thy pensive duty, 
 Well pleased that future Bards should chant 
 
 For simple hearts thy beauty, 
 To dream-light dear while yet unseen, 
 
 Dear to the common sunshine, 
 And dearer still, as now I feel, 
 
 To memory's shadowy moonshine ! 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM 
 ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES. 
 
 A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain, 
 
 Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light 
 
 Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height : 
 
 Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain 
 
 For kindred Power departing from their sight ; 
 
 While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, 
 
 Saddens his voice again, and yet again. 
 
 Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners ! for the might 
 
 Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; 
 
 Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue 
 
 Than sceptred King or laurelled Conqueror know,*, 
 
 Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, 
 
 Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, 
 
 Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope ! 
 
 b s 
 
10 SONNETS. 
 
 II. 
 
 A PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Part fenced by man, part by a ragged steep 
 That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies ; 
 The Hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep ; 
 Which moonlit Elves, far seen by credulous eyes, 
 Enter in dance. Of Church, or Sabbath ties, 
 No vestige now remains ; yet thither creep 
 Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep 
 Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies. 
 Proud tomb is none ; but rudely-sculptured knights, 
 By humble choice of plain old times, are seen 
 Level with earth, among the hillocks green : 
 Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites 
 The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring 
 With jubilate from the choirs of spring ! 
 
SONNETS. 11 
 
 III. 
 
 ON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH OF 
 SCOTLAND. 
 
 Say, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills, 
 
 Among the happiest-looking Homes of men 
 
 Scatter'd all Britain over, through deep glen, 
 
 On airy upland, and by forest rills, 
 
 And o'er wide plains whereon the sky distils 
 
 Her lark's loved warblings; does aught meet your ken 
 
 More fit to animate the Poet's pen, 
 
 Aught that more surely by its aspect fills 
 
 Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode 
 
 Of the good Priest : who, faithful through all hours 
 
 To his high charge, and truly serving God, 
 
 Has yet a heart and hand for trees and flowers, 
 
 Enjoys the walks his Predecessors trod, 
 
 Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers. 
 
12 SONNETS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 COMPOSED IN ROSLIN CHAPEL, DURING A STORM. 
 
 The wind is now thy organist ; — a clank 
 (We know not whence) ministers for a bell 
 To mark some change of service. As the swell 
 Of music reached its height, and even when sank 
 The notes, in prelude, Roslin ! to a blank 
 Of silence, how it thrilled thy sumptuous roof, 
 Pillars, and arches, — not in vain time-proof, 
 Though Christian rites be wanting ! From what bank 
 Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown 
 Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem un- 
 known ? 
 Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche 
 Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green- 
 grown, 
 Copy their beauty more and more, and preach, 
 Though mute, of all things blending into one. 
 
SONNETS. 13 
 
 THE TROSACHS. 
 
 There 's not a nook within this solemn Pass, 
 
 But were an apt confessional for One 
 
 Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 
 
 That Life is but a tale of morning grass, 
 
 Withered at eve. From scenes of art that chase 
 
 That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 
 
 Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, 
 
 Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass 
 
 Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy Guest, 
 
 If from a golden perch of aspen spray 
 
 (October's workmanship to rival May) 
 
 The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast 
 
 This moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, 
 
 Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest. 
 
14 SONNETS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute ; 
 
 The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy 
 
 Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy ; 
 
 The target mouldering like ungathered fruit ; 
 
 The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, 
 
 As eagerly pursued ; the umbrella spread 
 
 To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head — 
 
 All speak of manners withering to the root, 
 
 And some old honours, too, and passions high : 
 
 Then may we ask, though pleased that thought 
 
 should range 
 Among the conquests of civility, 
 Survives imagination — to the change 
 Superior ? Help to virtue does it give ? 
 If not, O Mortals, better cease to live ! 
 
SONNETS. 15 
 
 VII. 
 
 COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE. 
 
 This Land of Rainbows, spanning glens whose walls, 
 Rock-built, are hung with rainbow- coloured mists, 
 Of far-stretched Meres, whose salt flood never rests. 
 Of tuneful caves and playful waterfalls, 
 Of mountains varying momently their crests — 
 Proud be this Land ! whose poorest Huts are Halls 
 Where Fancy entertains becoming guests ; 
 While native song the heroic Past recalls. 
 Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught, 
 The Muse exclaimed ; but Story now must hide 
 Her trophies, Fancy crouch ; — the course of pride 
 Has been diverted, other lessons taught, 
 That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head 
 Where the all-conquering Roman feared to tread. 
 
16 SONNETS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 EAGLES. 
 COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE IN THE BAY OF OBAN. 
 
 Dishonoured Rock and Ruin ! that, by law 
 
 Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred 
 
 Like a lone criminal whose life is spared. 
 
 Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw 
 
 Was on the wing ; stooping, he struck with awe 
 
 Man, bird, and beast ; then, with a Consort paired, 
 
 From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard, 
 
 Flew high above Atlantic waves, to draw 
 
 Light from the fountain of the setting sun. 
 
 Such was this Prisoner once ; and, when his plumes 
 
 The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on, 
 
 In spirit, for a moment, he resumes 
 
 His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live free, 
 
 His power, his beauty, and his majesty. 
 
SONNETS. 17 
 
 IX. 
 
 IN THE SOUND OF MULL. 
 
 Tradition, be thou mute ! Oblivion, throw 
 
 Thy veil, in mercy, o'er the records hung 
 
 Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient 
 
 tongue 
 On rock and ruin darkening as we go, — 
 Spots where a word, ghost-like, survives to show 
 What crimes from hate, or desperate love^have sprung ; 
 From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong, 
 What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe : 
 Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed 
 By civil arts and labours of the pen, 
 Could gentleness be scorned by these fierce Men, 
 Who, to spread wide the reverence that they claimed 
 For patriarchal occupations, named 
 Yon towering Peaks, " Shepherds of Etive Glen ?"* 
 
 * In Gaelic, Buachaill Eite. 
 
18 SONNETS. 
 
 X. 
 
 AT TYNDRUM. 
 
 Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook. 
 
 And all that Greece and Italy have sung 
 
 Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among ! 
 
 Ours couch on naked rocks, will cross a brook 
 
 Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look 
 
 This way or that, or give it even a thought 
 
 More than by smoothest pathway may be brought 
 
 Into a vacant mind. Can written book 
 
 Teach what they learn ? Up, hardy Mountaineer ! 
 
 And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One 
 
 Of Nature 's privy council, as thou art, 
 
 On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear 
 
 To what dread Power He delegates his part 
 
 On earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone. 
 
SONNETS. 19 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE EARL OF BREADALBANE S RUINED MANSION, 
 AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, NEAR KILLIN. 
 
 Well sang the Bard who called the Grave, in strains 
 Thoughtful and sad, the " Narrow House." No style 
 Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile 
 Grief of her sting ; nor cheat, where he detains 
 The sleeping dust, stern Death : how reconcile 
 With truth, or with each other, decked Remains 
 Of a once warm Abode, and that new Pile, 
 For the departed, built with curious pains 
 And mausolean pomp ? Yet here they stand 
 Together, — 'mid trim walks and artful bowers, 
 To be looked down upon by ancient hills, 
 That, for the living and the dead, demand 
 And prompt a harmony of genuine powers ; 
 Concord that elevates the mind, and stills 
 
20 SONNETS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 REST AND BE THANKFUL, AT THE HEAD OF 
 GLENCROE. 
 
 Doobling and doubling with laborious walk, 
 Who, that has gained at length the wished-for Height, 
 This brief this simple way-side call can slight, 
 And rests not thankful ? Whether cheered by talk 
 With some loved Friend, or by the unseen Hawk 
 Whistling to clouds and sky-born streams, that shine 
 At the sun's outbreak, as with light divine, 
 Ere they descend to nourish root and stalk 
 Of valley flowers. Nor, while the limbs repose, 
 Will we forget that, as the Fowl can keep 
 Absolute stillness, poised aloft in air, 
 And Fishes front, unmoved, the torrent's sweep, — 
 So may the Soul, through powers that Faith bestows, 
 Win rest, and ease, and peace, with bliss that 
 Angels share. 
 
SONNETS. 21 
 
 XIII. 
 
 HIGHLAND HUT. 
 
 See what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built Cot, 
 Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it may, 
 Shines in the greeting of the Sun's first ray 
 Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot. 
 The limpid mountain rill avoids it not ; 
 And why shouldst thou ? If rightly trained and bred, 
 Humanity is humble, — finds no spot 
 Which her Heaven-guided feet refuse to tread. 
 The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery roof, 
 Undressed the pathway leading to the door ; 
 But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor ; 
 Search, for their worth, some gentle heart wrong- 
 proof, 
 Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials fewer, 
 Belike less happy. — Stand no more aloof! * 
 
 * See Note, p. 38. 
 
22 SONNETS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE BROWNIE. 
 
 [Upon a small island not far from the head of Loch Lomond, 
 are some remains of an ancient building, which was for 
 several years the abode of a solitary Individual, one of the 
 last survivors of the Clan of Macfarlane, once powerful in 
 that neighbourhood. Passing along the shore opposite this 
 island in the year 1814, the Author learned these particulars, 
 and that this person then living there had acquired the 
 appellation of " The Brownie." (See " The Brownie's Cell," 
 in the Author's Poems, vol. ii. p. 237. ed. of 1832, to which 
 the following Sonnet is a sequel.] 
 
 " How disappeared he ? " Ask the newt and toad ; 
 
 Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell 
 
 How he was found, cold as an icicle, 
 
 Under an arch of that forlorn abode ; 
 
 Where he, unpropp'd, and by the gathering flood 
 
 Of years hemm'd round, had dwelt, prepared to try 
 
 Privation's worst extremities, and die 
 
 With no one near save the omnipresent God. 
 
 Verily so to live was an awful choice — 
 
 A choice that wears the aspect of a doom ; 
 
 But in the mould of mercy all is cast 
 
 For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice ; 
 
 And this forgotten Taper to the last 
 
 Drove from itself, we trust, all frightful gloom. 
 
SONNETS. c 23 
 
 XV. 
 
 TO THE PLANET VENUS, AN EVENING STAR. 
 COMPOSED AT LOCH LOMOND. 
 
 Though joy attend thee orient at the birth 
 
 Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most 
 
 To watch thy course when Day-light, fled from earth, 
 
 In the grey sky hath left his lingering Ghost, 
 
 Perplexed as if between a splendour lost 
 
 And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun, 
 
 The absolute, the world-absorbing One, 
 
 Relinquished half his empire to the Host 
 
 Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star, 
 
 Holy as princely, who that looks on thee 
 
 Touching, as now, in thy humility 
 
 The mountain borders of this seat of care, 
 
 Can question that thy countenance is bright, 
 
 Celestial Power, as much with love as light ? 
 
24 SONNETS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 BOTHWELL CASTLE. 
 
 Immured in Bothwell's Towers, at times the Brave 
 
 (So beautiful is Clyde) forgot to mourn 
 
 The liberty they lost at Bannockbourn. 
 
 Once on those steeps /roamed at large, and have 
 
 In mind the landscape, as if still in sight ; 
 
 The river glides, the woods before me wave ; 
 
 But, by occasion tempted, now I crave 
 
 Needless renewal of an old delight. 
 
 Better to thank a dear and long-past day 
 
 For joy its sunny hours were free to give 
 
 Than blame the present, that our wish hath crost. 
 
 Memory, like Sleep, hath powers which dreams obey, 
 
 Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive : 
 
 How little that she cherishes is lost ! 
 
SONNETS. 25 
 
 XVII. 
 
 PICTURE OF DANIEL IN THE LIONS DEN, AT 
 HAMILTON PALACE. 
 
 Amid a fertile region green with wood 
 
 And fresh with rivers, well doth it become 
 
 The Ducal Owner, in his Palace-home 
 
 To naturalise this tawny Lion brood ; 
 
 Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood, 
 
 Couched in their Den, with those that roam at large 
 
 Over the burning wilderness, and charge 
 
 The wind with terror while they roar for food. 
 
 But these are satiate, and a stillness drear 
 
 Calls into life a more enduring fear ; 
 
 Yet is the Prophet calm, nor. would the cave 
 
 Daunt him — if his Companions, now be-drowsed 
 
 Yawning and listless, were by hunger roused : 
 
 Man placed him here, and God, he knows, can save. 
 
26 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE AVON (a feeder of the Annan). 
 
 Avon — a precious, an immortal name ! 
 
 Yet is it one that other Rivulets bear 
 
 Like this unheard-of, and their channels wear 
 
 Like this contented, though unknown to Fame : 
 
 For great and sacred is the modest claim 
 
 Of streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow ; 
 
 And ne'er did genius slight them, as they go, 
 
 Tree, flower, and green herb, feeding without blame. 
 
 But Praise can waste her voice on work of tears, 
 
 Anguish, and death : full oft where innocent blood 
 
 Has mixed its current with the limpid flood, 
 
 Her heaven-offending trophies Glory rears ; 
 
 Never for like distinction may the good 
 
 Shrink from thy name, pure Rill, with unpleased 
 
SONNETS. 27 
 
 XIX. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN 
 INGLEWOOD FOREST. 
 
 The forest huge of ancient Caledon 
 
 Is but a name, nor more is Inglewood, 
 
 That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood : 
 
 On her last thorn the nightly Moon has shone ; 
 
 Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none, 
 
 Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign 
 
 With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again, 
 
 To kill for merry feast their venison. 
 
 Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade 
 
 His Church with monumental wreck bestrown ; 
 
 The feudal Warrior-chief, a Ghost unlaid, 
 
 Hath still his Castle, though a Skeleton, 
 
 That he may watch by night, and lessons con 
 
 Of Power that perishes, and Rights that fade. 
 
 c 2 
 
28 SONNETS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 HART S-HORN TREE, NEAR PENRITH. 
 
 Here stood an Oak, that long had borne affixed 
 To his huge trunk, or, with more subtle art, 
 Among its withering topmost branches mixed, 
 The palmy antlers of a hunted Hart, 
 Whom the dog Hercules pursued — his part 
 Each desperately sustaining, till at last 
 Both sank and died, the life-veins of the chased 
 And chaser bursting here with one dire smart. 
 Mutual the Victory, mutual the Defeat ! 
 High was the trophy hung with pitiless pride ; 
 Say, rather, with that generous sympathy 
 That wants not, even in rudest breasts, a seat ; 
 And, for this feeling's sake, let no one chide 
 Verse that would guard thy memory, Hart's-horn 
 Tree!* 
 
 * See Note, p. 43. 
 
SONNETS. 29 
 
 XXI. 
 
 countess's pillar. 
 
 [On the roadside between Penrith and Appleby, there stands 
 a pillar with the following inscription : — 
 
 " This pillar was erected, in the year 1 656, by Anne Countess 
 Dowager of Pembroke, &c. for a memorial of her last parting 
 with her pious mother, Margaret Countess Dowager of Cum- 
 berland, on the 2d of April, 1616 ; in memory whereof she 
 hath left an annuity of 41. to be distributed to the poor of the 
 parish of Brougham, every 2d day of April for ever, upon the 
 stone table placed hard by. Laus Deo ! "] 
 
 While the Poor gather round, till the end of time 
 
 May this bright flower of Charity display 
 
 Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day : 
 
 Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime 
 
 Lovelier — transplanted from heaven's purest clime ! 
 
 " Charity never faileth :" on that creed, 
 
 More than on written testament or deed, 
 
 The pious Lady built with hope sublime. 
 
 Alms on this stone to be dealt out, for ever! 
 
 " Laus Deo." Many a Stranger passing by 
 
 Has with that parting mixed a filial sigh, 
 
 Blest its humane Memorial's fond endeavour ; 
 
 And, fastening on those lines an eye tear-glazed, 
 
 Has ended, though no Clerk, with " God be 
 
 praised ! " 
 
 c 3 
 
30 SONNETS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ROMAN ANTIQUITIES. 
 (FROM THE ROMAN STATION AT OLD PENRITH.) 
 
 How profitless the relics that we cull, 
 Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome, 
 Unless they chasten fancies that presume 
 Too high, or idle agitations lull ! 
 Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full, 
 To have no seat for thought were better doom, 
 Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull 
 Of him who gloried in its nodding plume. 
 Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they ? 
 Our fond regrets, insatiate in their grasp ? 
 The Sage's theory ? the Poet's lay ? 
 Mere Fibulae without a robe to clasp ; 
 Obsolete lamps, whose light no time recalls; 
 Urns without ashes, tearless lacrymals ! 
 
31 
 
 APOLOGY. 
 
 No more : the end is sudden and abrupt, 
 Abrupt — as without preconceived design 
 Was the beginning, yet the several Lays 
 Have moved in order, to each other bound 
 By a continuous and acknowledged tie 
 Though unapparent, like those Shapes distinct 
 That yet survive ensculptured on the walls 
 Of Palace, or of Temple, 'mid the wreck 
 Of famed Persepolis ; each following each, 
 As might beseem a stately embassy, 
 In set array ; these bearing in their hands 
 Ensign of civil power, weapon of war, 
 Or gift, to be presented at the Throne 
 Of the Great King ; and others, as they go 
 In priestly vest, with holy offerings charged, 
 Or leading victims drest for sacrifice. 
 Nor will the Muse condemn, or treat with scorn 
 Our ministration, humble but sincere, 
 c 4 
 
32 APOLOGY. 
 
 That from a threshold loved by every Muse 
 Its impulse took — that sorrow-stricken door, 
 Whence, as a current from its fountain-head, 
 Our thoughts have issued, and our feelings flowed, 
 Receiving, willingly or not, fresh strength 
 From kindred sources ; while around us sighed 
 (Life's three first seasons having passed away) 
 Leaf- scattering winds, and hoar-frost sprinklings 
 
 fell, 
 Foretaste of winter, on the moorland heights; 
 And every day brought with it tidings new 
 Of rash change, ominous for the public weal. 
 Hence, if dejection have too oft encroached 
 Upon that sweet and tender melancholy 
 Which may itself be cherished and caressed 
 More than enough, a fault so natural, 
 Even with the young the hopeful or the gay, 
 For prompt forgiveness will not sue in vain. 
 
33 
 
 THE HIGHLAND BROACH. 
 
 If to Tradition faith be due, 
 And echoes from old verse speak true, 
 Ere the meek Saint, Columba, bore 
 Glad tidings to Iona's shore, 
 No common light of nature blessed 
 The mountain region of the west, 
 A land where gentle manners ruled 
 . O'er men in dauntless virtues schooled, 
 That raised, for centuries, a bar 
 Impervious to the tide of war; 
 Yet peaceful Arts did entrance gain 
 Where haughty Force had striven in vain 
 And, 'mid the works of skilful hands, 
 By wanderers brought from foreign lands 
 And various climes, was not unknown 
 The clasp that fixed the Roman Gown ; 
 c 5 
 
34 THE HIGHLAND BROACH. 
 
 The Fibula, whose shape, I ween, 
 
 Still in the Highland Broach is. seen, 
 
 The silver Broach of massy frame, 
 
 Worn at the breast of some grave Dame 
 
 On road or path, or at the door 
 
 Of fern-thatched Hut on heathy moor : 
 
 But delicate of yore its mould, 
 
 And the material finest gold ; 
 
 As might beseem the fairest Fair, 
 
 Whether she graced a royal chair, 
 
 Or shed, within a vaulted Hall, 
 
 No fancied lustre on the wall 
 
 Where shields of mighty Heroes hung, 
 
 While Fingal heard what Ossian sung. 
 
 The heroic Age expired — it slept 
 Deep in its tomb : — the bramble crept 
 O'er Fingal's hearth ; the grassy sod 
 Grew on the floors his Sons had trod : 
 Malvina ! where art thou ? Their state 
 The noblest-born must abdicate, 
 The fairest, while with fire and sword 
 Come Spoilers — horde impelling horde, 
 Must walk the sorrowing mountains, drest 
 By ruder hands in homelier vest. 
 
THE HIGHLAND BROACH. 35 
 
 Yet still the female bosom lent, 
 And loved to borrow, ornament ; 
 Still was its inner world a place 
 Reached by the dews of heavenly grace; 
 Still pity to this last retreat 
 Clove fondly ; to his favourite seat 
 Love wound his way by soft approach, 
 Beneath a massier Highland Broach. 
 
 When alternations came of rage 
 
 Yet fiercer, in a darker age ; 
 
 And feuds, where, clan encountering clan, 
 
 The weaker perished to a man ; 
 
 For maid and mother, when despair 
 
 Might else have triumphed, baffling prayer. 
 
 One small possession lacked not power, 
 
 Provided in a calmer hour, 
 
 To meet such need as might befall — 
 
 Roof, raiment, bread, or burial : 
 
 For woman, even of tears bereft, 
 
 The hidden silver Broach was left. 
 
 As generations come and go, 
 
 Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow ; 
 
 c 6 
 
36 THE HIGHLAND BROACH. 
 
 Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, 
 And feeble, of themselves, decay ; 
 What poor abodes the heir-loom hide, 
 In which the castle once took pride ! 
 Tokens, once kept as boasted wealth, 
 If saved at all, are saved by stealth. 
 Lo ! ships, from seas by nature barred, 
 Mount along ways by man prepared ; 
 And in far-stretching vales, whose streams 
 Seek other seas, their canvass gleams. 
 Lo ! busy towns spring up, on coasts 
 Thronged yesterday by airy ghosts ; 
 Soon, like a lingering star forlorn 
 Among the novelties of morn, 
 While young delights on old encroach, 
 Will vanish the last Highland Broach. 
 
 But when, from out their viewless bed, 
 Like vapours, years have rolled and spread 
 And this poor verse, and worthier lays, 
 Shall yield no light of love or praise, 
 Then, by the spade, or cleaving plough, 
 Or torrent from the mountain's brow, 
 
THE HIGHLAND BROACH. 37 
 
 Or whirlwind, reckless what his might 
 Entombs, or forces into light, 
 Blind Chance, a volunteer ally, 
 That oft befriends Antiquity, 
 And clears Oblivion from reproach, 
 May render back the Highland Broach. 
 
 The exact resemblance which the old Broach (still in use, 
 though rarely met with, among the Highlanders) bears to the 
 Roman Fibula must strike every one, and concurs with the 
 plaid and kilt to recall to mind the communication which the 
 ancient Romans had with this remote country. How much 
 the Broach is sometimes prized by persons in humble stations 
 may be gathered from an occurrence mentioned to me by a 
 female friend. She had had an opportunity of benefiting a poor 
 old woman in her own hut, who, wishing to make a return, said 
 to her daughter, in Erse, in a tone of plaintive earnestness, " I 
 would give any thing I have, but I hope she does not wish for 
 my Broach ! " and, uttering these words, she put her hand upon 
 the Broach which fastened her kerchief, and which, she ima- 
 gined, had attracted the eye of her benefactress. 
 
38 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Highland Hut. Fage 21. 
 
 This sonnet describes the exterior of a Highland hut, as 
 often seen under morning or evening sunshine. The reader 
 may not be displeased with the following extract from the 
 journal of a Lady, my fellow-traveller in Scotland, in the 
 autumn of 1803, which accurately describes, under particular 
 circumstances, the beautiful appearance of the interior of one 
 of these rude habitations. 
 
 " On our return from the Trossachs the evening began to 
 darken, and it rained so heavily that we were completely wet 
 before we had come two miles, and it was dark when, we 
 landed with our boatman, at his hut upon the banks of tLpch 
 Katrine. I was faint from cold : the good woman had pro- 
 vided, according to her promise, a better fire than we had 
 found in the morning ; and, indeed, when I sat down .in the 
 chimney corner of her smoky biggin, I thought I had never 
 felt more comfortable in my life : a pan of coffee was boiling 
 for us, and, having put our clothes in the way of drying, we 
 all sat down thankful for a shelter. We could not prevail upon 
 our boatman, the master of the house, to draw near the fire, 
 though he was cold and wet, or to suffer his wife to get him 
 dry clothes till she had served us, which she did most willingly, 
 though not very expeditiously. 
 
 " A Cumberland man of the same rank would not have had 
 such a notion of what was fit and right in his own house, or, if 
 he had, one would have accused him of servility ; but in the 
 Highlander it only seemed like politeness (however erroneous 
 
NOTES. 39 
 
 and painful to us), naturally growing out of the dependence of 
 the inferiors of the clan upon their laird : he did not, however, 
 refuse to let his wife bring out the whisky bottle for his 
 refreshment, at our request. " She keeps a dram," as the 
 phrase is : indeed, I believe there is scarcely a lonely house by 
 the wayside, in Scotland, where travellers may not be accom- 
 modated with a dram. We asked for sugar, butter, barley- 
 bread, and milk ; and, with a smile and a stare more of kind- 
 ness than wonder, she replied, " Ye '11 get that," bringing each 
 article separately. We caroused our cups of coffee, laughing 
 like children at the strange atmosphere in which we were : the 
 smoke came in gusts, and spread along the walls ; and above 
 our heads in the chimney (where the hens were roosting) like 
 clouds in the sky. We laughed and laughed again, in spite of 
 the smarting of our eyes, yet had a quieter pleasure in observ- 
 ing the beauty of the beams and rafters gleaming between the 
 clouds of smoke : they had been crusted over, and varnished by 
 many winters, till, where the firelight fell upon them, they had 
 become as glossy as black rocks, on a sunny day, cased in ice. 
 When we had eaten our supper we sat about half an hour, and 
 I think I never felt so deeply the blessing of a hospitable wel- 
 come and a warm fire. The man of the house repeated from 
 time to time that we should often tell of this night when we 
 got to our homes, and interposed praises of his own lake, which 
 he had more than once, when we were returning in the boat, 
 ventured to say was " bonnier than Loch Lomond." Our com- 
 panion from the Trossachs, who, it appeared, was an Edinburgh 
 drawing master going, during the vacation, on a pedestrian tour 
 to John o' Groat's house, was to sleep in the barn with my fellow- 
 travellers, where the man said he had plenty of dry hay. I do 
 not believe that the hay of the Highlands is ever very dry, 
 but this year it had a better chance than usual : wet or dry, 
 however, the next morning they said they had slept comfort- 
 ably. When I went to bed, the mistress, desiring me to " go 
 ben," attended me with a candle, and assured me that the bed 
 was dry, though not " sic as I had been used to." It was of 
 
40 NOTES. 
 
 chaff; there were two others in the room, a cupboard and two 
 chests, upon one of which stood milk in wooden vessels, covered 
 over. The walls of the whole house were of stone unplastered ■ 
 it consisted of three apartments, the cowhouse at one end, the 
 kitchen or house in the middle, and the spence at the other 
 end; the rooms were divided, not up to the rigging, but only 
 to the beginning of the roof, so that there was a free passage 
 for light and smoke from one end of the house to the other. 
 I went to bed some time before the rest of the family : the 
 door was shut between us, and they had a bright fire, which I 
 could not see, but the light it sent up among the varnished 
 rafters and beams, which crossed each other in almost as intri- 
 cate and fantastic a manner as I have seen the under boughs 
 of a large beech tree withered by the depth of shade above, 
 produced the most beautiful effect that can be conceived. It 
 was like what I should suppose an underground cave or 
 temple to be, with a dripping or moist roof, and the moonlight 
 entering in upon it by some means or other; and yet the 
 colours were more like those of melted gems. I lay looking 
 up till the light of the fire faded away, and the man and 
 his wife and child had crept into their bed at the other end of 
 the room: I did not sleep much, but passed a comfortable 
 night ; for my bed, though hard, was warm and clean : the 
 unusualness of my situation prevented me from sleeping. I 
 could hear the waves beat against the shore of the lake ; a little 
 rill close to the door made a much louder noise, and, when I 
 sat up in my bed, I could see the lake through an open 
 window-place at the bed's head. Add to this, it rained all night. 
 I was less occupied by remembrance of the Trossachs, beautiful 
 as they were, than the vision of the Highland hut, which I 
 could not get out of my head ; I thought of the Fairy-land of 
 Spenser, and what I had read in romance at other times, and 
 then what a feast it would be for a London Pantomine-maker 
 could he but transplant it to Drury Lane, with all its beautiful 
 colours ! " — MS. 
 
NOTES. 41 
 
 Bothwell Castle. Page 24. Line 4. 
 " Once on those steeps /roamed." 
 
 The following is from the same MS., and gives an account 
 of the visit to Bothwell Castle here alluded to : — 
 
 " It was exceedingly delightful to enter thus unexpectedly 
 upon such a beautiful region. The castle stands nobly, over- 
 looking the Clyde. When we came up to it, I was hurt to 
 see that flower-borders had taken place of the natural over- 
 growings of the ruin, the scattered stones and wild plants. It 
 is a large and grand pile of red freestone, harmonising per- 
 fectly with the rocks of the river, from which, no doubt, it has 
 been hewn. When I was a little accustomed to the unnatural- 
 ness of a modern garden, I could not help admiring the exces- 
 sive beauty and luxuriance of some of the plants, particularly 
 the purple-flowered clematis, and a broad-leafed creeping plant 
 without flowers, which scrambled up the castle wall, along 
 with the ivy, and spread its vine-like branches so lavishly that 
 it seemed to be in its natural situation, and one could not help 
 thinking that, though not self-planted among the ruins of this 
 country, it must somewhere have its native abode in such 
 places. If Bothwell Castle had not been close to the Douglas 
 mansion, we should have been disgusted with the possessor's 
 miserable conception of adorning such a venerable ruin ; but it 
 is so very near to the house, that of necessity the pleasure- 
 grounds must have extended beyond it, and perhaps the neat- 
 ness of a shaven lawn and the complete desolation natural to 
 a ruin might have made an unpleasing contrast ; and, besides 
 being within the precincts of the pleasure-grounds, and so very 
 near to the dwelling of a noble family, it has forfeited, in some 
 degree, its independent majesty, and becomes a tributary to 
 the mansion : its solitude being interrupted, it has no longer 
 the command over the mind in sending it back into past times, 
 or excluding the ordinary feelings which we bear about us in 
 daily life. We had then only to regret that the castle and 
 the house were so near to each other ; and it was impossible 
 
42 NOTES. 
 
 not to regret it ; for the ruin presides in state over the river, 
 far from city or town, as if it might have a peculiar privilege 
 to preserve its memorials of past ages and maintain its own 
 character for centuries to come. We sat upon a bench under 
 the high trees, and had beautiful views of the different reaches 
 of the river, above and below. On the opposite bank, which is 
 finely wooded with elms and other trees, are the remains of a 
 priory built upon a rock ; and rock and ruin are so blended, 
 that it is impossible to separate the one from the other. 
 Nothing can be more beautiful than the little remnant of this 
 holy place : elm trees (for we were near enough to distinguish 
 them by their branches) grow out of the walls, and overshadow 
 a small, but very elegant window. It can scarcely be con- 
 ceived what a grace the castle and priory impart to each other ; 
 and the river Clyde flows on smooth and unruffled below, 
 seeming to my thoughts more in harmony with the sober and 
 stately images of former times, than if it had roared over a 
 rocky channel forcing its sound upon the ear. It blended 
 gently with the warbling of the smaller birds, and the chatter- 
 ing of the larger ones, that had made their nests in the ruins. 
 In this fortress the chief of the English nobility were confined 
 after the battle of Bannockburn. If a man is to be a prisoner, 
 he scarcely could have a more pleasant place to solace his cap- 
 tivity ; but I thought that, for close confinement, I should pre- 
 fer the banks of a lake, or the seaside. The greatest charm of 
 a brook or river is in the liberty to pursue it through its wind- 
 ings ; you can then take it in whatever mood you like ; silent 
 or noisy, sportive or quiet. The beauties of a brook or river 
 must be sought, and the pleasure is in going in search of 
 them ; those of a lake, or of the sea, 'come to you of themselves. 
 These rude warriors cared little, perhaps, about either ; and 
 yet, if one may judge from the writings of Chaucer, and from 
 the old romances, more interesting passions were connected 
 with natural objects in the days of chivalry than now ; though 
 going in search of scenery, as it is called, had not then been 
 thought of. I had previously heard nothing of Bothwell 
 
NOTES. 43 
 
 Castle, at least nothing that I remembered ; therefore, perhaps, 
 my pleasure was greater, compared with what I received else- 
 where, than others might feel." — MS. Journal. 
 
 The Harfs-horn Tree. Page 28. 
 
 u In the time of the first Robert de Clifford, in the year 1333 
 or 1334, Edward Baliol king of Scotland came into Westmor- 
 land, and stayed some time with the said Robert at his castles 
 of Appleby, Brougham, and Pendragon. And during that 
 time they ran a stag by a single greyhound out of Whinfell 
 Park to Redkirk, in Scotland, and back again to this place ; 
 where, being both spent, the stag leaped over the pales, but 
 died on the other side ; and the greyhound, attempting to leap, 
 fell, and died on the contrary side. In memory of this fact 
 the stag's horns were nailed upon a tree just by, and (the dog 
 being named Hercules) this rythme was made upon them : 
 
 ' Hercules kill'd Hart a greese 
 And Hart a greese kill'd Hercules.' 
 
 The tree to this day bears the name of Hart's-horn Tree. The 
 horns in process of time were almost grown over by the growth 
 of the tree, and another pair was put up in their place." — 
 Nicholson and Burns's History of Westmorland and Cumberland. 
 The tree has now disappeared, but the author of these 
 poems well remembers its imposing appearance as it stood, in a 
 decayed state, by the side of the high road leading from Penrith 
 to Appleby. This whole neighbourhood abounds in interest- 
 ing traditions and vestiges of antiquity, viz., Julian's Bower ; 
 Brougham and Penrith Castles ; Penrith Beacon, and the cu- 
 rious remains in Penrith churchyard ; Arthur's Round Table ; 
 the excavation, called the Giant's Cave, on the banks of the 
 Eamont ; Long Meg and her Daughters, near Eden, &c. &c. 
 
THE EGYPTIAN MAID; 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 
 
 [For the names and persons in the following poem, see the 
 " History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights 
 of the Round Table ;" for the rest the Author is answerable ; 
 only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of 
 the goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, 
 was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once in- 
 cluded among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British 
 Museum. 1 
 
47 
 
 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 
 
 While Merlin paced the Cornish sands, 
 Forth-looking toward the Rocks of Scilly, 
 The pleased Enchanter was aware 
 Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air, 
 Yet was she work of mortal hands, 
 And took from men her name — The Water Lily. 
 
 Soft was the wind, that landward blew ; 
 And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant, 
 Grows from a little edge of light 
 To a full orb, this Pinnace bright, 
 As nearer to the Coast she drew, 
 Appeared more glorious, with spread sail and pen- 
 dant. 
 
48 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; Oft, 
 
 Upon this winged Shape so fair 
 Sage Merlin gazed with admiration : 
 Her lineaments, thought he, surpass 
 Aught that was ever shown in magic glass ; 
 In patience built with subtle care ; 
 Or, at a touch, set forth with wondrous trans- 
 formation. 
 
 Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill 
 Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science, 
 Grave Merlin (and belike the more 
 For practising occult and perilous lore) 
 Was subject to a freakish will 
 That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with 
 defiance. 
 
 Provoked to envious spleen, he cast 
 An altered look upon the advancing Stranger 
 Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried, 
 " My Art shall help to tame her pride — " 
 Anon the breeze became a blast, 
 And the waves rose, and sky portended danger. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 49 
 
 With thrilling word, and potent sign 
 Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges ; 
 The clouds in blacker clouds are lost, 
 Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed 
 By Fiends of aspect more malign ; 
 And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer 
 scourges. 
 
 But worthy of the name she bore 
 Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley ; 
 Supreme in loveliness and grace 
 Of motion, whether in the embrace 
 Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er 
 The main flood roughened into hill and valley. 
 
 Behold, how wantonly she laves 
 Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding; 
 Like something out of Ocean sprung 
 To be for ever fresh and young, 
 Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves 
 Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding ! 
 
50 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 But Ocean under magic heaves, 
 And cannot spare the Thing he cherished : 
 Ah ! what avails that She was fair, 
 Luminous, blithe, and debonair ? 
 The storm has stripped her of her leaves ; 
 The Lily floats no longer ! — She hath perished. 
 
 Grieve for her, — She deserves no less ; 
 So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature ! 
 No heart had she, no busy brain ; 
 Though loved, she could not love again ; 
 Though pitied, feel her own distress ; 
 Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature. 
 
 Yet is there cause for gushing tears ; 
 So richly was this Galley laden ; 
 A fairer than Herself she bore, 
 And, in her struggles, cast ashore ; 
 A lovely One, who nothing hears 
 Of wind or wave — a meek and guileless Maiden. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 51 
 
 Into a cave had Merlin fled 
 From mischief, caused by spells himself had mut- 
 tered ; 
 And, while repentant all too late, 
 In moody posture there he sate, 
 He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head, 
 A Visitant by whom these words were uttered : 
 
 " On Christian service this frail Bark 
 Sailed" (hear me, Merlin !) " under high protec- 
 tion, 
 Though on her prow a sign of heathen power 
 Was carved — a Goddess with a Lily flower, 
 The old Egyptian's emblematic mark 
 Of joy immortal and of pure affection. 
 
 " Her course was for the British strand, 
 Her freight it was a Damsel peerless ; 
 God reigns above, and Spirits strong 
 May gather to avenge this wrong 
 Done to the Princess, and her Land 
 Which she in duty left, though sad not cheerless. 
 
 d 2 
 
52 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 " And to Caerleon's loftiest tower 
 Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table 
 A cry of lamentation send; 
 And all will weep who there attend, 
 To grace that Stranger's bridal hour, 
 For whom the sea was made unnavigable. 
 
 " Shame ! should a Child of Royal Line 
 Die through the blindness of thy malice :" 
 Thus to the Necromancer spake 
 Nina, the Lady of the Lake, 
 A gentle Sorceress, and benign, 
 Who ne'er embittered any good man's chalice. 
 
 " What boots," continued she, " to mourn ? 
 To expiate thy sin endeavour ! 
 From the bleak isle where she is laid, 
 Fetched by our art, the Egyptian Maid 
 May yet to Arthur's court be borne 
 Cold as she is, ere life be fled for ever. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 53 
 
 " My pearly Boat, a shining Light, 
 That brought me down that sunless river, 
 Will bear me on from wave to wave, 
 And back with her to this sea-cave ; 
 Then Merlin ! for a rapid flight 
 Through air to thee my charge will I deliver. 
 
 " The very swiftest of thy Cars 
 Must, when my part is done, be ready ; 
 Meanwhile, for further guidance, look 
 Into thy own prophetic book ; 
 And, if that fail, consult the Stars 
 To learn thy course ; farewell ! be prompt and 
 steady." 
 
 This scarcely spoken, she again 
 Was seated in her gleaming Shallop, 
 That, o'er the yet-distempered Deep, 
 Pursued its way with bird-like sweep, 
 Or like a steed, without a rein, 
 Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop. 
 
 d 3 
 
54} THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 Soon did the gentle Nina reach 
 That Isle without a house or haven ; 
 Landing, she found not what she sought, 
 Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught 
 But a carved Lotus cast upon the shore 
 By the fierce waves, a flower in marble graven. 
 
 Sad relique, but how fair the while ! 
 For gently each from each retreating 
 With backward curve, the leaves revealed 
 The bosom half, and half concealed, 
 Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile 
 On Nina as she passed, with hopeful greeting. 
 
 No quest was hers of vague desire, 
 Of tortured hope and purpose shaken ; 
 Following the margin of a bay, 
 She spied the lonely Cast-away, 
 Unmarred, unstripped of her attire, 
 But with closed eyes, — of breath and bloom for- 
 saken. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 55 
 
 Then Nina, stooping down, embraced, 
 With tenderness and mild emotion, 
 The Damsel, in that trance embound ; 
 And, while she raised her from the ground, 
 And in the pearly shallop placed, 
 Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean. 
 
 The turmoil hushed, celestial springs 
 
 Of music opened, and there came a blending 
 
 Of fragrance, underived from earth, 
 
 With gleams that owed not to the Sun their 
 
 birth, 
 And that soft rustling of invisible wings 
 Which Angels make, on works of love descending. 
 
 And Nina heard a sweeter voice 
 Than if the Goddess of the Flower had spoken : 
 " Thou hast achieved, fair Dame ! what none 
 Less pure in spirit could have done ; 
 Go, in thy enterprise rejoice ! 
 Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken." 
 
 d 4? 
 
56 THE EGYPTIAN MAID; OR, 
 
 So cheered she left that Island bleak, 
 A bare rock of the Scilly cluster ; 
 And, as they traversed the smooth brine, 
 The self-illumined Brigantine 
 Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek 
 And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre. 
 
 Fleet was their course, and when they came 
 To the dim cavern, whence the river 
 Issued into the salt-sea flood, 
 Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood, 
 Was thus accosted by the Dame : 
 " Behold to thee my Charge I now deliver ! 
 
 " But where attends thy chariot — where ? " 
 Quoth Merlin, " Even as I was bidden, 
 So have I done ; as trusty as thy barge 
 My vehicle shall prove — O precious Charge I 
 If this be sleep, how soft I if death, how fair ! 
 Much have my books disclosed, but the end is 
 hidden." 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 57 
 
 He spake, and gliding into view 
 Forth from the grotto's dimmest chamber 
 Came two mute Swans, whose plumes of dusky- 
 white 
 Changed, as the pair approached the light, 
 Drawing an ebon car, their hue 
 (Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber. 
 
 Once more did gentle Nina lift 
 The Princess, passive to all changes : 
 The car received her ; then up-went 
 Into the ethereal element 
 The Birds with progress smooth and swift 
 As thought, when through bright regions memory 
 ranges. 
 
 Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer's side, 
 Instructs the Swans their way to measure ; 
 And soon Caerleon's towers appeared, 
 And notes of minstrelsy were heard 
 From rich pavilions spreading wide, 
 For some high day of long-expected pleasure. 
 
 d 5 
 
58 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 Awe-stricken stood both Knights and Dames 
 Ere on firm ground the car alighted ; 
 Eftsoons astonishment was past, 
 For in that face they saw the last 
 Last lingering look of clay, that tames 
 All pride, by which all happiness is blighted. 
 
 Said Merlin, " Mighty King, fair Lords, 
 Away with feast and tilt and tourney ! 
 Ye saw, throughout this Royal House, 
 Ye heard, a rocking marvellous 
 Of turrets, and a clash of swords 
 Self-shaken, as I closed my airy journey. 
 
 " Lo ! by a destiny well known 
 To mortals, joy is turned to sorrow ; 
 This is the wished-for Bride, the Maid 
 Of Egypt, from a rock conveyed 
 Where she by shipwreck had been thrown ; 
 111 sight ! but grief may vanish ere the morrow." 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 59 
 
 " Though vast thy power, thy words are weak," 
 Exclaimed the King, " a mockery hateful ; 
 Dutiful Child ! her lot how hard ! 
 Is this her piety's reward ? 
 Those watery locks, that bloodless cheek ! 
 O winds without remorse ! O shore ungrateful ! 
 
 " Rich robes are fretted by the moth ; 
 Towers, temples, fall by stroke of thunder ; 
 Will that, or deeper thoughts, abate 
 A Father's sorrow for her fate ? 
 He will repent him of his troth ; 
 His brain will burn, his stout heart split asunder. 
 
 " Alas ! and I have caused this woe ; 
 For, when my prowess from invading Neighbours 
 Had freed his Realm, he plighted word 
 That he would turn to Christ our Lord, 
 And his dear Daughter on a Knight bestow 
 Whom I should choose for love and matchless la- 
 bours. 
 
 d 6 
 
60 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 " Her birth was heathen, but a fence 
 Of holy Angels round her hovered ; 
 A Lady added to my court 
 So fair, of such divine report 
 And worship, seemed a recompence 
 For fifty kingdoms by my sword recovered. 
 
 " Ask not for whom, O champions true ! 
 She was reserved by me her life's betrayer; 
 She who was meant to be a bride 
 Is now a corse ; then put aside 
 Vain thoughts, and speed ye, with observance 
 due 
 Of Christian rites, in Christian ground to lay her." 
 
 " The tomb," said Merlin, " may not close 
 Upon her yet, earth hide her beauty ; 
 Not froward to thy sovereign will 
 Esteem me, Liege ! if I, whose skill 
 Wafted her hither, interpose 
 To check this pious haste of erring duty. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 61 
 
 " My books command me to lay bare 
 The secret thou art bent on keeping ; 
 Here must a high attest be given, 
 WhatBvidegroom was for her ordained by Heaven ; 
 And in my glass significants there are 
 Of things that may to gladness turn this weeping. 
 
 u For this, approaching, One by One, 
 
 Thy Knights must touch the cold hand of the 
 
 Virgin ; 
 So, for the favoured One, the Flower may bloom 
 Once more ; but, if unchangeable her doom, 
 If life departed be for ever gone, 
 Some blest assurance, from this cloud, emerging 
 
 May teach him to bewail his loss ; 
 Not with a grief that, like a vapour, rises 
 And melts ; but grief devout that shall endure, 
 And a perpetual growth secure 
 Of purposes which no false thought shall cross, 
 A harvest of high hopes and noble enterprises." 
 
62 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 " So be it," said the King; — " anon, 
 Here, where the Princess lies, begin the trial ; 
 Knights each in order as ye stand 
 Step forth." — To touch the pallid hand 
 Sir Agravaine advanced ; no sign he won 
 From Heaven or Earth; — SirKayehad like denial. 
 
 Abashed, Sir Dinas turned away ; 
 Even for Sir Percival was no disclosure ; 
 Though he, devoutest of all Champions, ere 
 He reached that ebon car, the bier 
 Whereon diffused like snow the Damsel lay, 
 Full thrice had crossed himself in meek composure. 
 
 Imagine (but ye Saints ! who can ?) 
 How in still air the balance trembled ; 
 The wishes, peradventure the despites 
 That overcame some not ungenerous Knights : 
 And all the thoughts that lengthened out a span 
 Of time to Lords and Ladies thus assembled. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 63 
 
 What patient confidence was here ! 
 
 And there how many bosoms panted ! 
 
 While drawing toward the Car Sir Gawaine, 
 
 mailed 
 For tournament, his Beaver vailed, 
 And softly touched; but, to his princely cheer 
 And high expectancy, no sign was granted. 
 
 Next, disencumbered of his harp, 
 Sir Tristram, dear to thousands as a brother, 
 Came to the proof, nor grieved that there ensued 
 No change ; — the fair Izonda he had wooed 
 With love too true, a love with pangs too sharp, 
 From hope too distant, not to dread another. 
 
 Not so Sir Launcelot ; — from Heaven's grace 
 A sign he craved, tired slave of vain contrition ; 
 The royal Guinever looked passing glad 
 When his touch failed. — Next came Sir Galahad; 
 He paused, and stood entranced by that still face 
 Whose features he had seen in noontide vision. 
 
64 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 For late, as near a murmuring stream 
 He rested 'mid an arbour green and shady, 
 Nina, the good Enchantress, shed 
 A light around his mossy bed ; 
 And, at her call, a waking dream 
 Prefigured to his sense the Egyptian Lady. 
 
 Now, while his bright-haired front he bowed, 
 And stood, far-kenned by mantle furred with 
 
 ermine, 
 As o'er the insensate Body hung 
 The enrapt, the beautiful, the young, 
 Belief sank deep into the crowd 
 That he the solemn issue would determine. 
 
 Nor deem it strange ; the Youth had worn 
 That very mantle on a day of glory, 
 The day when he achieved that matchless feat, 
 The marvel of the Perilous Seat, 
 Which whosoe'er approached of strength was shorn, 
 Though King or Knight the most renowned in story. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 65 
 
 He touched with hesitating hand, 
 
 And lo ! those Birds, far-famed through Love's 
 
 dominions, 
 The Swans, in triumph clap their wings ; 
 And their necks play, involved in rings, 
 Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land; — 
 " Mine is she," cried the Knight ; — again they 
 
 clapped their pinions. 
 
 " Mine was she — mine she is, though dead, 
 And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow;" 
 Whereat, a tender twilight streak 
 Of colour dawned upon the Damsel's cheek ; 
 And her lips, quickening with uncertain red, 
 Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow. 
 
 Deep was the awe, the rapture high, 
 Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining, 
 When, to the mouth, relenting Death 
 Allowed a soft and flower-like breath, 
 Precursor to a timid sigh, 
 To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining. 
 
66 THE EGYPTIAN MAID ; OR, 
 
 In silence did King Arthur gaze 
 Upon the signs that pass away or tarry ; 
 In silence watched the gentle strife 
 Of Nature leading back to life ; 
 Then eased his Soul at length by praise 
 Of God, and Heaven's pure Queen — the blissful 
 Mary. 
 
 Then said he, " Take her to thy heart 
 Sir Galahad ! a treasure that God giveth, 
 Bound by indissoluble ties to thee 
 Through mortal change and immortality ; 
 Be happy and unenvied, thou who art 
 A goodly Knight that hath no Peer that liveth ! " 
 
 Not long the Nuptials were delayed ; 
 And sage tradition still rehearses 
 The pomp the glory of that hour 
 When toward the Altar from her bower 
 King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid, 
 And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses ; — 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY. 67 
 
 Who shrinks not from alliance 
 Of evil with good Powers, 
 To God proclaims defiance, 
 And mocks whom he adores. 
 
 A Ship to Christ devoted 
 From the Land of Nile did go ; 
 Alas ! the bright Ship floated, 
 An Idol at her Prow. 
 
 By magic domination, 
 The Heaven-permitted vent 
 Of purblind mortal passion, 
 Was wrought her punishment. 
 
 The Flower, the Form within it, 
 What served they in her need ? 
 Her port she could not win it, 
 Nor from mishap be freed. 
 
68 THE EGYPTIAN MAID. 
 
 The tempest overcame her, 
 And she was seen no more ; 
 But gently gently blame her, 
 She cast a Pearl ashore. 
 
 The Maid to Jesu hearkened, 
 And kept to him her faith, 
 Till sense in death was darkened, 
 Or sleep akin to death. 
 
 But Angels round her pillow 
 Kept watch, a viewless band ; 
 And, billow favouring billow, 
 She reached the destined strand. 
 
 Blest Pair ! whate'er befall you, 
 Your faith in Him approve 
 Who from frail earth can call you, 
 To bowers of endless love ! 
 
69 
 
 ODE, 
 
 COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING, 
 
 While from the purpling east departs 
 
 The Star that led the dawn, 
 Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts, 
 
 For May is on the lawn. 
 A quickening hope, a freshening glee, 
 
 Foreran the expected Power, 
 Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree, 
 
 Shakes off that pearly shower. 
 
 All Nature welcomes Her whose sway, 
 
 Tempers the year's extremes ; 
 Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day, 
 
 Like morning's dewy gleams ; 
 While mellow warble, sprightly trill, 
 
 The tremulous heart excite ; 
 And hums the balmy air to still 
 
 The balance of delight. 
 
70 MAY MORNING. 
 
 Time was, blest Power ! when Youths and Maids 
 
 At peep of dawn would rise, 
 And wander forth, in forest glades 
 
 Thy birth to solemnize. 
 Though mute the song — to grace the rite 
 
 Untouched the hawthorn bough, 
 Thy Spirit triumphs e'er the slight ; 
 
 Man changes, but not Thou ! 
 
 Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings 
 
 In love's disport employ ; 
 Warmed by thy influence, creeping Things 
 
 Awake to silent joy: 
 Queen art thou still for each gay Plant 
 
 Where the slim wild Deer roves ; 
 And served in depths where Fishes haunt 
 
 Their own mysterious groves. 
 
 Cloud-piercing Peak, and trackless Heath, 
 
 Instinctive homage pay ; 
 Nor wants the dim-lit Cave a wreath 
 
 To honour Thee, sweet May ! 
 
MAY MORNING. 71 
 
 Where Cities fanned by thy brisk airs 
 
 Behold a smokeless sky, 
 Their puniest Flower-pot-nursling dares 
 
 To open a bright eye. 
 
 And if, on this thy natal morn, 
 
 The Pole, from which thy name 
 Hath not departed, stands forlorn 
 
 Of song and dance and game, 
 Still from the village-green a vow 
 
 Aspires to thee addrest, 
 Wherever peace is on the brow, 
 
 Or love within the breast. 
 
 Yes ! where Love nestles thou canst teach 
 
 The soul to love the more ; 
 Hearts also shall thy lessons reach 
 
 That never loved before. 
 Stript is the haughty One of pride, 
 
 The bashful freed from fear, 
 While rising, like the ocean-tide, 
 
 In flows the joyous year* 
 
72 MAY MORNING. 
 
 Hush, feeble lyre ! weak words, refuse 
 
 The service to prolong ! 
 To yon exulting Thrush the Muse 
 
 Intrusts the imperfect song ; 
 His voice shall chant, in accents clear, 
 
 Throughout the live-long day, 
 Till the first silver Star appear, 
 
 The sovereignty of May. 
 
73 
 
 TO MAY. 
 
 Though many suns have risen and set 
 
 Since thou, blithe May, wert born, 
 And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget 
 
 Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn ; 
 There are who to a birthday strain 
 
 Confine not harp and voice, 
 But evermore throughout thy reign 
 
 Are grateful and rejoice ! 
 
 Delicious odours ! music sweet, 
 
 Too sweet to pass away ! 
 Oh for a deathless song to meet 
 
 The soul's desire — a lay 
 That, when a thousand years are told, 
 
 Should praise thee, genial Power ! 
 Through summer heat, autumnal cold, 
 
 And winter's dreariest hour. 
 
 E 
 
74? TO MAY. 
 
 Earth, Sea, thy presence feel — nor less, 
 
 If yon ethereal blue 
 With its soft smile the truth express, 
 
 The Heavens have felt it too. 
 The inmost heart of man if glad 
 
 Partakes a livelier cheer ; 
 And eyes that cannot but be sad 
 
 Let fall a brightened tear. 
 
 Since thy return, through days and weeks 
 
 Of hope that grew by stealth, 
 How many wan and faded cheeks 
 
 Have kindled into health ! 
 The Old, by thee revived, have said, 
 
 " Another year is ours ;" 
 And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, 
 
 Have smiled upon thy flowers. 
 
 Who tripping lisps a merry song 
 
 Amid his playful peers ? 
 The tender Infant who was long 
 
 A prisoner of fond fears ; 
 
TO MAY. 75 
 
 But now, when every sharp-edged blast 
 
 Is quiet in its sheath, 
 His Mother leaves him free to taste 
 
 Earth's sweetness in thy breath. 
 
 Thy help is with the Weed that creeps 
 
 Along the humblest ground ; 
 No Cliff so bare but on its steeps 
 
 Thy favours may be found ; 
 But most on some peculiar nook 
 
 That our own hands have drest, 
 Thou and thy train are proud to look, 
 
 And seem to love it best. 
 
 And yet how pleased we wander forth 
 
 When May is whispering, * Come ! 
 Choose from the bowers of virgin earth 
 
 The happiest for your home ; 
 Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread 
 
 From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves, 
 Drops on the mouldering turret's head, 
 
 And on your turf-clad graves ! " 
 
 E 2 
 
76 TO MAY. 
 
 Such greeting heard, away with sighs 
 
 For lilies that must fade, 
 Or " the rathe primrose as it dies 
 
 Forsaken" in the shade ! 
 Vernal fruitions and desires 
 
 Are linked in endless chase ; 
 While,, as one kindly growth retires, 
 
 Another takes its place. 
 
 And what if thou, sweet May, hast known 
 
 Mishap by worm and blight ; 
 If expectations newly blown 
 
 Have perished in thy sight ; 
 If loves and joys, while up they sprung, 
 
 Were caught as in a snare ; 
 Such is the lot of all the young, 
 
 However bright and fair. 
 
 Lo ! Streams that April could not check 
 
 Are patient of thy rule ; 
 Gurgling in foamy water-break, 
 
 Loitering in glassy pool : 
 
TO MAY. 77 
 
 By thee, thee only, could be sent 
 
 Such gentle Mists as glide, 
 Curling with unconfirmed intent, 
 
 On that green mountain's side. 
 
 How delicate the leafy veil 
 
 Through which yon House of God 
 Gleams 'mid the peace of this deep dale 
 
 By few but shepherds trod ! 
 And lowly Huts, near beaten ways, 
 
 No sooner stand attired 
 In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise 
 
 Peep forth, and are admired. 
 
 Season of fancy and of hope, 
 
 Permit not for one hour 
 A blossom from thy crown to drop, 
 
 Nor add to it a flower ! 
 Keep, lovely May, as if by touch 
 
 Of self-restraining art, 
 This modest charm of not too much, 
 
 Part seen, imagined part ! 
 
 e 3 
 
78 
 
 INSCRIPTION. 
 
 The massy Ways, carried across these Heights 
 
 By Roman Perseverance, are destroyed, 
 
 Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms. 
 
 How venture then to hope that Time will spare 
 
 This humble Walk ? Yet on the mountain's side 
 
 A Poet's hand first shaped it ; and the steps 
 
 Of that same Bard, repeated to and fro 
 
 At morn, at noon, and under moonlight skies, 
 
 Through the vicissitudes of many a year, 
 
 Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line. 
 
 No longer, scattering to the heedless winds 
 
 The vocal raptures of fresh poesy, 
 
 Shall he frequent these precincts ; locked no 
 
 more 
 In earnest converse with beloved Friends, 
 Here will he gather stores of ready bliss, 
 As from the beds and borders of a garden 
 
INSCRIPTION. 79 
 
 Choice flowers are gathered! But, if Power may 
 
 spring 
 Out of a farewell yearning favoured more 
 Than kindred wishes mated suitably 
 With vain regrets, the Exile would consign 
 This Walk, his loved possession, to the care 
 Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse. 
 
 e 4 
 
80 
 
 ELEGIAC MUSINGS 
 
 IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT OF THE 
 LATE SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART. 
 
 In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural 
 monument, the Inscription upon which, in deference to the 
 earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, 
 and these words: — " Enter not into judgment with thy 
 servant, O Lord ! "] 
 
 With copious eulogy in prose and rhyme 
 Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time, 
 Alas, how feebly ! but our feelings rise 
 And still we struggle when a good man dies : 
 Such offering Beaumont dreaded and forbade, 
 A spirit meek in self-abasement clad. 
 Yet here at least, though few have numbered days 
 That shunned so modestly the light of praise, 
 His graceful manners, and the temperate ray 
 Of that arch fancy which would round him play, 
 Brightening a converse never known to swerve 
 From courtesy and delicate reserve ; 
 That sense — the bland philosophy of life 
 Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife ; 
 
ELEGIAC MUSINGS. 81 
 
 Those fine accomplishments, and varied powers, 
 
 Might have their record among sylvan bowers. 
 
 — Oh, fled for ever ! vanished like a blast 
 
 That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed ; 
 
 Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky, 
 
 From all its spirit-moving imagery, 
 
 Intensely studied with a Painter's eye, 
 
 A Poet's heart ; and, for congenial view, 
 
 Portrayed with happiest pencil, not untrue 
 
 To common recognitions while the line 
 
 Flowed in a course of sympathy divine — 
 
 Oh ! severed too abruptly from delights 
 
 That all the seasons shared with equal rights — 
 
 Rapt in the grace of un dismantled age, 
 
 From soul-felt music, and the treasured page, 
 
 Lit by that evening lamp which loved to shed 
 
 Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head, 
 
 While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, 
 
 mien, 
 More than theatric force to Shakspeare's scene — 
 Rebuke us not ! — The mandate is obeyed 
 That said, " Let praise be mute where I am laid ;" 
 The holier deprecation^ given in trust 
 To the cold Marble, waits upon thy dust ; 
 e 5 
 
82 ELEGIAC MUSINGS. 
 
 Yet have we found how slowly genuine grief 
 
 From silent admiration wins relief. 
 
 Too long abashed thy Name is like a Rose 
 
 That doth " within itself its sweetness close;" 
 
 A drooping Daisy changed into a cup 
 
 In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up. 
 
 Within these Groves, where still are flitting by 
 
 Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh, 
 
 Shall stand a votive Tablet, haply free, 
 
 When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee ! 
 
 If sculptured emblems of our mortal doom 
 
 Recall not there the wisdom of the Tomb, 
 
 Green ivy, risen from out the cheerful earth, 
 
 Shall fringe the lettered stone ; and herbs spring 
 
 forth, 
 Whose fragrance, by soft dews and rain unbound, 
 Shall penetrate the heart without a wound ; 
 While truth and love their purposes fulfil, 
 Commemorating genius, talent, skill, 
 That could not lie concealed where Thou wert 
 
 known ; 
 Thy virtues He must judge, and He alone, 
 The God upon whose mercy they are thrown. 
 
83 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 By a blest Husband guided, Mary came 
 From nearest kindred, ****** her new name 
 She came, though meek of soul, in seemly pride 
 Of happiness and hope, a youthful Bride. 
 O dread reverse ! if aught be so, which proves 
 That God will chasten whom he dearly loves. 
 Faith bore her up through pains in mercy given, 
 And troubles that were each a step to Heaven : 
 Two Babes were laid in earth before she died ; 
 A third now slumbers at the Mother's side ; 
 Its Sister-twin survives, whose smiles afford 
 A trembling solace to her widowed Lord. 
 
 Reader ! if to thy bosom cling the pain 
 Of recent sorrow combated in vain ; 
 Or if thy cherished grief have failed to thwart 
 Time still intent on his insidious part, 
 E 6 
 
84 EPITAPH. 
 
 Lulling the Mourner's best good thoughts asleep, 
 Pilfering regrets we would, but cannot, keep ; 
 Bear with Him — judge Him gently who makes 
 
 known 
 His bitter loss by this memorial Stone ; 
 And pray that in his faithful breast the grace 
 Of resignation find a hallowed place. 
 
85 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 INTENDED FOR A STONE IN THE GROUNDS. OF RYDAL MOUNT. 
 
 In these fair Vales hath many a Tree 
 
 At Wordsworth's suit been spared ; 
 And from the Builder's hand this Stone, 
 For some rude beauty of its own, 
 
 Was rescued by the Bard : 
 To let it rest in peace ; and here 
 
 (Heaven knows how soon) the tender-hearted 
 May heave a gentle sigh for him, 
 
 As one of the departed. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Small service is true service while it lasts ; 
 
 Of Friends, however humble, scorn not one : 
 The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts, 
 
 Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun. 
 
86 
 
 INCIDENT AT BRUGES. 
 
 In Bruges town is many a street 
 
 Whence busy life hath fled ; 
 Where, without hurry, noiseless feet, 
 
 The grass-grown pavement tread. 
 There heard we, halting in the shade 
 
 Flung from a Convent-tower, 
 A harp that tuneful prelude made 
 
 To a voice of thrilling power. 
 
 The measure, simple truth to tell, 
 
 Was fit for some *gay throng ; 
 Though from the same grim turret fell 
 
 The shadow and the song. 
 When silent were both voice and chords 
 
 The strain seemed doubly dear, 
 Yet sad as sweet, for English words 
 
 Had fallen upon the ear. 
 
INCIDENT AT BRUGES. 87 
 
 It was a breezy hour of eve ; 
 
 And pinnacle and spire 
 Quivered and seemed almost to heave, 
 
 Clothed with innocuous fire ; 
 But where we stood, the setting sun 
 
 Showed little of his state ; 
 And, if the glory reached the Nun, 
 
 'Twas through an iron grate. 
 
 Not always is the heart unwise, 
 
 Nor pity idly born, 
 If even a passing Stranger sighs 
 
 For them who do not mourn. 
 Sad is thy doom, self-solaced dove, 
 
 Captive, whoe'er thou be ! 
 Oh ! what is beauty, what is love, 
 
 And opening life to thee ? 
 
 Such feeling pressed upon my soul, 
 
 A feeling sanctified 
 By one soft trickling tear that stole 
 
 From the Maiden at my side ; 
 
88 INCIDENT AT BRUGES. 
 
 Less tribute could she pay than this, 
 Borne gaily o'er the sea, 
 
 Fresh from the beauty and the bliss 
 Of English liberty ? 
 
89 
 
 A JEWISH FAMILY. 
 
 (IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR, UPON THE RHINE.) 
 
 
 Genius of Raphael ! if thy wings 
 
 Might bear thee to this glen, 
 With faithful memory left of things 
 
 To pencil dear and pen, 
 Thou wouldst forego the neighbouring Rhine, 
 
 And all his majesty, 
 A studious forehead to incline 
 
 O'er this poor family. 
 
 The Mother — her thou must have seen, 
 
 In spirit, ere she came 
 To dwell these rifted rocks between, 
 
 Or found no earth a name ; 
 An image, too, of that sweet Boy, 
 
 Thy inspirations give : 
 Of playfulness, and love, and joy, 
 
 Predestined here to live. 
 
90 A JEWISH FAMILY. 
 
 Downcast, or shooting glances far, 
 
 How beautiful his eyes, 
 That blend the nature of the star 
 
 With that of summer skies ! 
 I speak as if of sense beguiled ; 
 
 Uncounted months are gone, 
 Yet am I with the Jewish Child, 
 
 That exquisite Saint John. 
 
 I see the dark brown curls, the brow, 
 
 The smooth transparent skin, 
 Refined, as with intent to show 
 
 The holiness within ; 
 The grace of parting Infancy 
 
 By blushes yet untamed ; 
 Age faithful to the mother's knee, 
 
 Nor of her arms ashamed. 
 
 Two lovely Sisters, still and sweet 
 As flowers, stand side by side ; 
 
 Their soul-subduing looks might cheat 
 The Christian of his pride : 
 
A JEWISH FAMILY. 91 
 
 Such beauty hath the Eternal poured 
 
 Upon them not forlorn, 
 Though of a lineage once abhorred, 
 
 Nor yet redeemed from scorn. 
 
 Mysterious safeguard, that, in spite 
 
 Of poverty and wrong, 
 Doth here preserve a living light, 
 
 From Hebrew fountains sprung ; 
 That gives this ragged group to cast 
 
 Around the dell a gleam 
 Of Palestine, of glory past, 
 
 And proud Jerusalem ! 
 
92 
 
 DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS. 
 
 " Not to the earth confined, 
 " Ascend to heaven." 
 
 Where will they stop, those breathing Powers, 
 
 The Spirits of the new-born flowers ? 
 
 They wander with the breeze, they wind 
 
 Where'er the streams a passage find ; 
 
 Up from their native ground they rise 
 
 In mute aerial harmonies ; 
 
 From humble violet modest thyme 
 
 Exhaled, the essential odours climb, 
 
 As if no space below the sky 
 
 Their subtle flight could satisfy : 
 
 Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride 
 
 If like ambition be their guide. 
 
 Roused by this kindliest of May-showers, 
 The spirit- quickener of the flowers, 
 That with moist virtue softly cleaves 
 The buds, and freshens the young leaves, 
 
DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS. 93 
 
 The Birds pour forth their souls in notes 
 Of rapture from a thousand throats, 
 Here checked by too impetuous haste, 
 While there the music runs to waste, 
 With bounty more and more enlarged, 
 Till the whole air is overcharged ; 
 Give ear, O Man ! to their appeal 
 And thirst for no inferior zeal, 
 Thou, who canst think, as well as feel. 
 
 Mount from the earth ; aspire ! aspire ! 
 So pleads the town's cathedral choir, 
 In strains that from their solemn height 
 Sink, to attain a loftier flight ; 
 While incense from the altar breathes 
 Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths ; 
 Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds 
 The taper lights, and curls in clouds 
 Around angelic Forms, the still 
 Creation of the painter's skill, 
 That on the service wait concealed 
 One moment, and the next revealed. 
 — Cast off your bonds, awake, arise, 
 And for no transient ecstasies ! 
 
94 DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS. 
 
 What else can mean the visual plea .> 
 
 Of still or moving imagery ? 
 
 The iterated summons loud, 
 
 Not wasted on the attendant crowd, 
 
 Nor wholly lost upon the throng 
 
 Hurrying the busy streets along? 
 
 Alas ! the sanctities combined 
 By art to unsensualise the mind, 
 Decay and languish ; or, as creeds 
 And humours change, are spurned like weeds 
 The solemn rites, the awful forms, 
 Founder amid fanatic storms ; 
 The priests are from their altars thrust, 
 The temples levelled with the dust : 
 Yet evermore, through years renewed 
 In undisturbed vicissitude 
 Of seasons balancing their flight 
 On the swift wings of day and night, 
 Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door 
 Wide open for the scattered Poor. 
 Where flower-breathed incense to the skies 
 Is wafted in mute harmonies ; 
 

 DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS. 95 
 
 And ground fresh cloven by the plough 
 Is fragrant with a humbler vow ; 
 Where birds and brooks from leafy dells 
 Chime forth unwearied canticles, 
 And vapours magnify and spread 
 The glory of the sun's bright head ; 
 Still constant in her worship, still 
 Conforming to the almighty Will, 
 Whether men sow or reap the fields, 
 Her admonitions Nature yields ; 
 That not by bread alone we live, 
 Or what a hand of flesh can give ; 
 That every day should leave some part 
 Free for a sabbath of the heart ; 
 So shall the seventh be truly blest, 
 From morn to eve, with hallowed rest. 
 
96 
 
 THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE. 
 
 [The subject of the following poem is from the Orlandus of 
 the author's friend, Kenelm Henry Digby ; and the liberty 
 is taken of inscribing it to him as an acknowledgment, how- 
 ever unworthy, of pleasure and instruction derived from his 
 numerous and valuable writings, illustrative of the piety and 
 chivalry of the olden time.] 
 
 1. 
 
 You have heard " a Spanish Lady 
 
 How she wooed an English Man;"* 
 Hear now of a fair Armenian, 
 Daughter of the proud Soldan ; 
 How she loved a Christian Slave, and told her pain 
 By word, look, deed, with hope that he might love 
 again. 
 
 * See, in Percy's Reliques, that fine old ballad, " The Spa- 
 nish Lady's Love ; " from which Poem the form of stanza, as 
 suitable to dialogue, is adopted. 
 
THE ARMENIAN LADY's LOVE. 97 
 
 2. 
 
 " Pluck that rose, it moves my liking," 
 
 Said she, lifting up her veil ; 
 " Pluck it for me, gentle Gardener, 
 Ere it wither and grow pale." 
 " Princess fair, I till the ground, but may not take 
 From twig or bed an humbler flower, even for your 
 sake." 
 
 3. 
 '» Grieved am I, submissive Christian ! 
 
 To behold thy captive state ; 
 Women, in your land, may pity 
 (May they not ?) the unfortunate." 
 " Yes, kind Lady ! otherwise Man could not bear 
 Life, which to every one that breathes is full of care." 
 
 4. 
 " Worse than idle is compassion 
 
 If it end in tears and sighs ; 
 Thee from bondage would I rescue 
 And from vile indignities ; 
 Nurtured, as thy mien bespeaks, in high degree, 
 Look up — and help a hand that longs to set thee 
 free." 
 
 F 
 
9& THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE. 
 5. 
 
 " Lady, dread the wish, nor venture 
 
 In such peril to engage ; 
 Think how it would stir against you 
 Your most loving Father's rage : 
 Sad deliverance would it be, and yoked with shame, 
 Should troubles overflow on her from whom it 
 came." 
 
 6. 
 " Generous Frank ! the just in effort 
 
 Are of inward peace secure ; 
 Hardships for the brave encountered, 
 Even the feeblest may endure : 
 If Almighty Grace through me thy chains unbind, 
 My Father for slave's work may seek a slave in 
 mind." 
 
 7. 
 " Princess, at this burst of goodness, 
 
 My long-frozen heart grows warm ! " 
 " Yet you make all courage fruitless, 
 Me to save from chance of harm : 
 Leading such Companion I that gilded Dome, 
 Yon Minarets, would gladly leave for his worst home." 
 
THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE. 99 
 
 8. 
 " Feeling tunes your voice, fair Princess ! 
 
 And your brow is free from scorn, 
 Else these words would come like mockery, 
 Sharper than the pointed thorn." 
 " Whence the undeserved mistrust? Too wide apart 
 Our faith hath been, — O would that eyes could see 
 the heart ! " 
 
 9. 
 " Tempt me not, I pray ; my doom is 
 
 These base implements to wield ; 
 Rusty Lance, I ne'er shall grasp thee, 
 Ne'er assoil my cobwebb'd shield I 
 Never see my native land, nor castle towers, 
 Nor Her who thinking of me there counts widowed 
 hours." 
 
 10. 
 " Prisoner ! pardon youthful fancies ; 
 
 Wedded ? If you can, say no ! — 
 Blessed is and be your Consort ; 
 Hopes I cherished let them go ! 
 Handmaid's privilege would leave my purpose free, 
 Without another link to my felicity." 
 f 2 
 
100 THE ARMENIAN LADY S LOVE. 
 
 11. 
 
 " Wedded love with loyal Christians, 
 
 Lady, is a mystery rare ; 
 Body, heart, and soul in union, 
 Make one being of a pair." 
 " Humble love in me would look for no return, 
 Soft as a guiding star that cheers, but cannot burn. 
 
 12. 
 " Gracious Allah ! by such title 
 Do I dare to thank the God, 
 Him who thus exalts thy spirit, 
 Flower of an unchristian sod ! 
 Or hast thou put off wings which thou in heaven 
 
 dost wear ? 
 
 What have I seen, and heard, or dreamt ? where am 
 I? where?" 
 
 IS. 
 Here broke off the dangerous converse : 
 
 Less impassioned words might tell 
 How the Pair escaped together, 
 
 Tears not wanting, nor a knell [door, 
 
 Of sorrow in her heart while through her Father's 
 And from her narrow world, she passed for evermore. 
 
THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE. 101 
 14. 
 
 But affections higher, holier, 
 
 Urged her steps ; she shrunk from trust 
 In a sensual creed that trampled 
 Woman's birthright into dust. 
 Little be the wonder then, the blame be none, 
 If she, a timid Maid, hath put such boldness on. 
 
 15. 
 Judge both Fugitives with knowledge : 
 
 In those old romantic days 
 Mighty were the soul's commandments 
 To support, restrain, or raise. 
 Foes might hang upon their path, snakes rustle near, 
 But nothing from their inward selves had they to 
 fear. 
 
 16. 
 Thought infirm ne'er came between them, 
 
 Whether printing desert sands 
 With accordant steps, or gathering 
 Forest-fruit with social hands ; 
 Or whispering like two reeds that in the cold moon- 
 beam 
 Bend with the breeze their heads, beside a crystal 
 stream. 
 
102 THE ARMENIAN LADYS LOVE. 
 17. 
 
 On a friendly deck reposing 
 
 They at length for Venice steer ; 
 There, when they had closed their voyage, 
 One, who daily on the Pier 
 Watched for tidings from the East, beheld his Lord, 
 Fell down and clasped his knees for joy, not uttering 
 word. 
 
 18. 
 Mutual was the sudden transport ; 
 
 Breathless questions followed fast, 
 Years contracting to a moment, 
 Each word greedier than the last; 
 " Hie thee to the Countess, Friend ! return with 
 
 speed, 
 And of this Stranger speak by whom her Lord was 
 freed. 
 
 19. 
 " Say that I, who might have languished, 
 
 Drooped and pined till life was spent, 
 Now before the gates of Stolberg 
 My Deliverer would present 
 For a crowning recompence, the precious grace 
 Of her who in my heart still holds her ancient 
 place. 
 
THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE. 103 
 
 20. 
 " Make it known that my Companion 
 
 Is of royal Eastern blood, 
 Thirsting after all perfection, 
 Innocent, and meek, and good, 
 Though with misbelievers bred ; but that dark night 
 Will Holy Church disperse by beams of Gospel 
 Light." 
 
 21. 
 Swiftly went that grey-haired Servant, 
 
 Soon returned a trusty Page 
 Charged with greetings, benedictions, 
 Thanks and praises, each a gage 
 For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger's way, 
 Her virtuous scruples to remove, her fears allay. 
 
 22. 
 Fancy (while, to banners floating 
 
 High on Stolberg's Castle walls, 
 
 Deafening noise of welcome mounted, 
 
 Trumpets, Drums, and Atabals,) 
 
 The devout embraces still, while such tears fell 
 
 As made a meeting seem most like a dear farewell. 
 
 f 4 
 
104 THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE. 
 
 23. 
 
 Through a haze of human nature, 
 
 Glorified by heavenly light, 
 Looked the beautiful Deliverer 
 On that overpowering sight, 
 While across her virgin cheek pure blushes strayed, 
 For every tender sacrifice her heart had made. 
 
 On the ground the weeping Countess 
 
 Knelt, and kissed the Stranger's hand ; 
 Act of soul-devoted homage, 
 Pledge of an eternal band : 
 Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie, 
 Which, with a generous shout, the crowd did ratify. 
 
 25. 
 Constant to the fair Armenian, 
 
 Gentle pleasures round her moved, 
 Like a tutelary Spirit 
 Reverenced, like a Sister, loved. 
 Christian meekness smoothed for all the path of life, 
 Who, loving most, should wiseliest love, their only 
 strife. 
 
THE ARMENIAN LADY S LOVE. 105 
 
 26. 
 
 Mute Memento of that union 
 
 In a Saxon Church survives, 
 Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured 
 As between two wedded Wives — 
 Figures with armorial signs of race and birth, 
 And the vain rank the Pilgrims bore while yet on 
 earth. 
 
 p 5 
 
106 
 
 THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 
 
 A Rock there is whose homely front 
 
 The passing Traveller slights ; 
 Yet there the Glow-worms hang their lamps, 
 
 Like stars, at various heights ; 
 And one coy Primrose to that Rock 
 
 The vernal breeze invites. 
 
 What hideous warfare hath been waged, 
 What kingdoms overthrown, 
 
 Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft 
 And marked it for my own ; 
 
 A lasting link in Nature's chain 
 From highest Heaven let down ! 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 107 
 
 The Flowers, still faithful to the stems, 
 
 Their fellowship renew ; 
 The stems are faithful to the root. 
 
 That worketh out of view ; 
 And to the rock the root adheres 
 
 In every fibre true. 
 
 Close clings to earth the living rock, 
 Though threatening still to fall ; 
 
 The earth is constant to her sphere ; 
 And God upholds them all : 
 
 So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads 
 Her annual funeral. 
 
 Here closed the meditative Strain ; 
 
 But air breathed soft that day, 
 The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, 
 
 The sunny vale looked gay ; 
 And to the Primrose of the Rock 
 
 I gave this after-lay. 
 
 f 6 
 
108 THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 
 
 I sang, Let myriads of bright flowers, 
 Like Thee, in field and grove 
 
 Revive unenvied, — mightier far 
 Than tremblings that reprove 
 
 Our vernal tendencies to hope 
 In God's redeeming love : 
 
 That love which changed, for wan disease, 
 
 For sorrow that had bent 
 O'er hopeless dust, for withered age, 
 
 Their moral element, 
 And turned the thistles of a curse 
 
 To types beneficent. 
 
 Sin-blighted though we are, we too, 
 The reasoning Sons of Men, 
 
 From one oblivious winter called 
 Shall rise, and breathe again ; 
 
 And in eternal summer lose 
 Our threescore years and ten. 
 
THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 109 
 
 To humbleness of heart descends 
 
 This prescience from on high, 
 The faith that elevates the Just, 
 
 Before and when they die ; 
 And makes each soul a separate heaven, 
 
 A court for Deity. 
 
110 
 
 PRESENTIMENTS. 
 
 Presentiments ! they judge not right 
 Who deem that ye from open light 
 
 Retire in fear of shame ; 
 All heaven-born Instincts shun the touch 
 Of vulgar sense, and, being such, 
 
 Such privilege ye claim. 
 
 The tear whose source I could not guess, 
 The deep sigh that seemed fatherless, 
 
 Were mine in early days ; 
 And now, unforced by Time to part 
 With Fancy, I obey my heart, 
 
 And venture on your praise. 
 
PRESENTIMENTS. Ill 
 
 What though some busy Foes to good, 
 Too potent over nerve and blood, 
 
 Lurk near you, and combine 
 To taint the health which ye infuse, 
 This hides not from the moral Muse 
 
 Your origin divine. 
 
 How oft from you, derided Powers ! 
 Comes Faith that in auspicious hours 
 
 Builds castles, not of air ; 
 Bodings unsanctioned by the will 
 Flow from your visionary skill, 
 
 And teach us to beware. 
 
 The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, 
 That no philosophy can lift, 
 
 Shall vanish, if ye please, 
 Like morning mist ; and, where it lay, 
 The spirits at your bidding play 
 
 In gaiety and ease. 
 
112 PRESENTIMENTS. 
 
 Star-guided Contemplations move 
 
 Through space, though calm, not raised above 
 
 Prognostics that ye rule ; 
 The naked Indian of the Wild, 
 And haply, too, the cradled Child, 
 
 Are pupils of your school. 
 
 But who can fathom your intents, 
 Number their signs or instruments ? 
 
 A rainbow, a sunbeam, 
 A subtle smell that Spring unbinds, 
 Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds, 
 
 An echo, or a dream. 
 
 The laughter of the Christmas hearth 
 With sighs of self-exhausted mirth 
 
 Ye feelingly reprove ; 
 And daily, in the conscious breast, 
 Your visitations are a test 
 
 And exercise of love. 
 
PRESENTIMENTS. 113 
 
 When some great change gives boundless scope 
 To an exulting Nation's hope, 
 
 Oft, startled and made wise 
 By your low-breathed interpretings, 
 The simply-meek foretaste the springs 
 
 Of bitter contraries. 
 
 Ye daunt the proud array of War, 
 Pervade the lonely Ocean far 
 
 As sail hath been unfurled ; 
 For Dancers in the festive hall 
 What ghastly Partners hath your call 
 
 Fetched from the shadowy world ! 
 
 'T is said, that warnings ye dispense, 
 Emboldened by a keener sense ; 
 
 That men have lived for whom, 
 With dread precision, ye made clear 
 The hour that in a distant year 
 
 Should knell them to the tomb. 
 
114 PRESENTIMENTS. 
 
 Unwelcome Insight ! Yet there are 
 Blest times when mystery is laid bare, 
 
 Truth shows a glorious face, 
 While on that Isthmus which commands 
 The councils of both worlds she stands, 
 
 Sage Spirits ! by your grace. 
 
 God, who instructs the Brutes to scent 
 All changes of the element, 
 
 Whose wisdom fixed the scale 
 Of Natures, for our wants provides 
 By higher, sometimes humbler, guides, 
 
 When lights of Reason fail. 
 
115 
 
 THE POET AND THE CAGED TURTLEDOVE. 
 
 As often as I murmur here 
 
 My half-formed melodies, 
 Straight from her osier mansion near, 
 
 The Turtledove replies : 
 Though silent as a leaf before, 
 
 The captive promptly coos ; 
 Is it to teach her own soft lore, 
 
 Or second my weak Muse ? 
 
 I rather think, the gentle Dove 
 
 Is murmuring a reproof, 
 Displeased that I from lays of love 
 
 Have dared to keep aloof; 
 That I, a Bard of hill and dale, 
 
 Have caroll'd, fancy free, 
 As if nor dove, nor nightingale, 
 
 Had heart or voice for me. 
 
116 THE POET AND CAGED TURTLEDOVE. 
 
 If such thy meaning, O forbear, 
 
 Sweet Bird ! to do me wrong ; 
 Love, blessed Love, is every where 
 
 The spirit of my song : 
 'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside, 
 
 Love animates my lyre ; 
 That coo again ! — 'tis not to chide, 
 
 I feel, but to inspire. 
 
SONNETS. 117 
 
 Chatsworth ! thy stately mansion, and the pride 
 
 Of thy domain, strange contrast do present 
 
 To house and home in many a craggy rent 
 
 Of the wild Peak ; where new-born waters glide 
 
 Through fields whose thrifty Occupants abide 
 
 As in a dear and chosen banishment, 
 
 With every semblance of entire content ; 
 
 So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried ! 
 
 Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth 
 
 To pastoral dales, thin set with modest farms, 
 
 May learn, if judgement strengthen with his growth, 
 
 That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms ; 
 
 And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms 
 
 The extremes of favoured life, may honour both. 
 
118 SONNETS. 
 
 Desponding Father! mark this altered bough, 
 
 So beautiful of late, with sunshine warmed, 
 
 Or moist with dews ; what more unsightly now, 
 
 Its blossoms shrivelled, and its fruit, if formed, 
 
 Invisible ? yet Spring her genial brow 
 
 Knits not o'er that discolouring and decay 
 
 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. 
 
SONNETS. 119 
 
 ROMAN ANTIQUITIES DISCOVERED, 
 AT BISHOPSTONE, HEREFORDSHIRE. 
 
 While poring Antiquarians search the ground 
 Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer, 
 Takes fire : — The men that have been reappear • 
 Romans for travel girt, for business gowned, 
 And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned, 
 In festal glee : why not? For fresh and clear, 
 As if its hues were of the passing year, 
 Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that 
 
 mound 
 Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins, 
 Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil : 
 Or a fierce impress issues with its foil 
 Of tenderness — the Wolf, whose suckling Twins 
 The unlettered Ploughboy pities when he wins 
 The casual treasure from the furrowed soil. 
 
120 SONNETS. 
 
 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 ground. 
 
THE 
 
 RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
f Peter Henry Bruce, having given in his entertaining Me- 
 moirs the substance of the following Tale, affirms, that, 
 besides the concurring reports of others, he had the story 
 from the Lady's own mouth. 
 
 The Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, was 
 the famous Catherine, then bearing that name as the ac- 
 knowledged Wife of Peter the Great.] 
 
123 
 
 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 1. 
 Enough of rose-bud lips, and eyes 
 
 Like harebells bathed in dew, 
 Of cheek that with carnation vies, 
 
 And veins of violet hue ; 
 Earth wants not beauty that may scorn 
 
 A likening to frail flowers ; 
 Yea, to the stars, if they were born 
 
 For seasons and for hours. 
 
 2. 
 Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred, 
 
 Stepped one at dead of night, 
 Whom such high beauty could not guard 
 
 From meditated blight ; 
 By stealth she passed, and fled as fast 
 
 As doth the hunted fawn, 
 Nor stopped, till in the dappling east 
 
 Appeared unwelcome dawn. 
 g 2 
 
124 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 3. 
 
 Seven days she lurked in brake and field, 
 
 Seven nights her course renewed, 
 Sustained by what her scrip might yield, 
 
 Or berries of the wood ; 
 At length, in darkness travelling on, 
 
 When lowly doors were shut, 
 The haven of her hope she won, 
 
 Her Foster-mother's hut. 
 
 4. 
 " To put your love to dangerous proof 
 
 I come," said she, " from far ; 
 For I have left my Father's roof, 
 
 In terror of the Czar." 
 No answer did the Matron give, 
 
 No second look she cast ; 
 She hung upon the Fugitive, 
 
 Embracing and embraced. 
 
 5. 
 She led her Lady to a seat 
 
 Beside the glimmering fire, 
 Bathed duteously her wayworn feet, 
 
 Prevented each desire : 
 

 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 125 
 
 The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed, 
 
 And on that simple bed, 
 Where she in childhood had reposed, 
 
 Now rests her weary head. 
 
 6. 
 When she, whose couch had been the sod, 
 
 Whose curtain pine or thorn, 
 Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God, 
 
 Who comforts the forlorn ; 
 While over her the Matron bent 
 
 Sleep sealed her eyes, and stole 
 Feeling from limbs with travel spent, 
 
 And trouble from the soul. 
 
 7. 
 Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn, 
 
 And soon again was dight 
 In those unworthy vestments worn 
 
 Through long and perilous flight ; 
 And " O beloved Nurse," she said, 
 
 My thanks with silent tears 
 Have unto Heaven and You been paid : 
 
 Now listen to my fears ! 
 
 g 3 
 
126 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 8. 
 " Have you forgot" — and here she smiled 
 
 " The babbling flatteries 
 You lavished on me when a child 
 
 Disporting round your knees ? 
 I was your lambkin, and your bird, 
 
 Your star, your gem, your flower ; 
 Light words, that were more lightly heard 
 
 In many a cloudless hour ! 
 
 9. 
 
 The blossom you so fondly praised 
 
 Is come to bitter fruit ; 
 A mighty One upon me gazed ; 
 
 I spurned his lawless suit, 
 And must be hidden from his wrath : 
 
 You, Foster-father dear, 
 Will guide me in my forward path ; 
 
 I may not tarry here ! 
 
 10. 
 
 I cannot bring to utter woe 
 
 Your proved fidelity." — 
 " Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so ! 
 
 For you we both would die." 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 127 
 
 " Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned 
 
 And cheek embrowned by art ; 
 Yet, being inwardly unstained, 
 
 With courage will depart." 
 
 11. 
 
 " But whither would you, could you, flee ? 
 
 A poor Man's counsel take ; 
 The Holy Virgin gives to me 
 
 A thought for your dear sake ; 
 Rest shielded by our Lady's grace ; 
 
 And soon shall you be led 
 Forth to a safe abiding-place, 
 
 Where never foot doth tread." 
 
 G 4? 
 
128 
 
 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 1. 
 
 The Dwelling of this faithful pair 
 
 In a straggling village stood, 
 For One who breathed unquiet air 
 
 A dangerous neighbourhood ; 
 But wide around lay forest ground 
 
 With thickets rough and blind ; 
 And pine-trees made a heavy shade 
 
 Impervious to the wind. 
 
 2. 
 And there, sequestered from the sight, 
 
 Was spread a treacherous swamp, 
 On which the noonday sun shed light 
 
 As from a lonely lamp ; 
 And midway in the unsafe morass, 
 
 A single Island rose 
 Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass 
 
 Adorned, and shady boughs. 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 129 
 
 3. 
 
 The Woodman knew, for such the craft 
 
 This Russian Vassal plied, 
 That never fowler's gun, nor shaft 
 
 Of archer, there was tried ; 
 A sanctuary seemed the spot 
 
 From all intrusion free ; 
 And there he planned an artful Cot 
 
 For perfect secrecy. 
 
 4. 
 With earnest pains unchecked by dread 
 
 Of Power's far-stretching hand, 
 The bold good Man his labour sped 
 
 At nature's pure command ; 
 Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren, 
 
 While, in a hollow nook, 
 She moulds her sight-eluding den 
 
 Above a murmuring brook. 
 
 5. 
 His task accomplished to his mind, 
 
 The twain ere break of day 
 Creep forth, and through the forest wind 
 Their solitary way ; 
 g 5 
 
ISO THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 Few words they speak, nor dare to slack 
 Their pace from mile to mile, 
 
 Till they have crossed the quaking marsh, 
 And reached the lonely Isle. 
 
 6. 
 The sun above the pine-trees showed 
 
 A bright and cheerful face ; 
 And Ina looked for her abode, 
 The promised hiding-place ; 
 She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled ; 
 " No threshold could be seen, 
 Nor roof, nor window ; all seemed wild 
 As it had ever been. 
 
 7. 
 Advancing, you might guess an hour, 
 
 The front with such nice care 
 Is masked, " if house it be or bower," 
 
 But in they entered are ; 
 As shaggy as were wall and roof 
 
 With branches intertwined, 
 So smooth was all within, air-proof, 
 
 And delicately lined. 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 131 
 
 8. 
 And hearth was there, and maple dish, 
 
 And cups in seemly rows, 
 And couch — all ready to a wish 
 
 For nurture or repose ; 
 And Heaven doth to her virtue grant 
 
 That here she may abide 
 In solitude, with every want 
 
 By cautious love supplied. 
 
 9. 
 No Queen, before a shouting crowd, 
 
 Led on in bridal state, 
 E'er struggled with a heart so proud, 
 
 Entering her palace gate ; 
 Rejoiced to bid the world farewell, 
 
 No saintly Anchoress 
 E'er took possession of her cell 
 
 With deeper thankfulness. 
 
 10. 
 " Father of all, upon thy care 
 
 And mercy am I thrown ; 
 Be thou my safeguard !" — such her prayer 
 When she was left alone, 
 g 6 
 
132 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 Kneeling amid the wilderness 
 
 When joy had passed away, 
 And smiles, fond efforts of distress 
 
 To hide what they betray ! 
 
 11. 
 
 The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen, 
 
 Diffused through form and face, 
 Resolves devotedly serene ; 
 
 That monumental grace 
 Of Faith, which doth all passions tame 
 
 That Reason should control ; 
 And shows in the untrembling frame 
 
 A statue of the soul. 
 
133 
 
 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 1. 
 
 *T is sung in ancient minstrelsy 
 
 That Phoebus wont to wear 
 " The leaves of any pleasant tree 
 
 Around his golden hair,"* 
 Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit 
 
 Of his imperious love, 
 At her own prayer transformed, took root, 
 
 A laurel in the grove. 
 
 2. 
 Then did the Penitent adorn 
 
 His brow with laurel green ; 
 And 'mid his bright locks never shorn 
 
 No meaner leaf was seen ; 
 
 * From Golding's Translation of Ovid's Metamorphc 
 See also his Dedicatory Epistle prefixed to the same work. 
 
134? THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 And Poets sage, through every age, 
 
 About their temples wound 
 The bay ; and Conquerors thanked the Gods, 
 
 With laurel chaplets crowned. 
 
 3. 
 
 Into the mists of fabling Time 
 
 So far runs back the praise 
 Of Beauty, that disdains to climb 
 
 Along forbidden ways ; 
 That scorns temptation ; power defies 
 
 Where mutual love is not ; 
 And to the tomb for rescue flies 
 
 When life would be a blot. 
 
 4. 
 To this fair Votaress, a fate 
 
 More mild doth Heaven ordain 
 Upon her Island desolate ; 
 
 And words, not breathed in vain, 
 Might tell what intercourse she found, 
 
 Her silence to endear ; 
 What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground 
 
 Sent forth her peace to cheer. 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 135 
 
 5. 
 
 To one mute Presence, above all, 
 
 Her soothed affections clung, 
 A picture on the Cabin wall 
 
 By Russian usage hung — 
 The Mother-maid, whose countenance bright 
 
 With love abridged the day ; 
 And, communed with by taper light, 
 
 Chased spectral fears away. 
 
 6. 
 And oft, as either Guardian came, 
 
 The joy in that retreat 
 Might any common friendship shame, 
 
 So high their hearts would beat ; 
 And to the lone Recluse, whate'er 
 
 They brought, each visiting 
 Was like the crowding of the year 
 
 With a new burst of spring. 
 
 7. 
 But, when she of her Parents thought, 
 
 The pang was hard to bear ; 
 And, if with all things not enwrought, 
 
 That trouble still is near. 
 
136 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 Before her flight she had not dared 
 Their constancy to prove, 
 
 Too much the heroic Daughter feared 
 The weakness of their love. 
 
 8. 
 Dark is the Past to them, and dark 
 
 The Future still must be, 
 Till pitying Saints conduct her bark 
 
 Into a safer sea — 
 Or gentle Nature close her eyes, 
 
 And set her Spirit free 
 From the altar of this sacrifice, 
 
 In vestal purity. 
 
 Yet, when above the forest-glooms 
 
 The white swans southward passed, 
 High as the pitch of their swift plumes 
 
 Her fancy rode the blast ; 
 And bore her tow'rd the fields of France, 
 
 Her Father's native land, 
 To mingle in the rustic dance, 
 
 The happiest of the band ! 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 137 
 
 10. 
 
 Of those beloved fields she oft 
 
 Had heard her Father tell 
 In phrase that now with echoes soft 
 
 Haunted her lonely Cell ; 
 She saw the hereditary bowers, 
 
 She heard the ancestral stream ; 
 The Kremlin and its haughty towers 
 
 Forgotten like a dream ! 
 
138 
 
 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 1. 
 
 The ever-changing Moon had traced 
 
 Twelve times her monthly round, 
 When through the unfrequented Waste 
 
 Was heard a startling sound ; 
 A shout thrice sent from one who chased 
 
 At speed a wounded Deer, 
 Bounding through branches interlaced, 
 
 And where the wood was clear. 
 
 2. 
 The fainting Creature took the marsh, 
 
 And toward the Island fled, 
 While plovers screamed with tumult harsh 
 
 Above his antlered head ; 
 This, Ina saw ; and, pale with fear, 
 
 Shrunk to her citadel ; 
 The desperate Deer rushed on, and near 
 
 The tangled covert fell. 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 139 
 
 3. 
 
 Across the marsh, the game in view, 
 
 The Hunter followed fast, 
 Nor paused, till o'er the Stag he blew 
 
 A death-proclaiming blast ; 
 Then, resting on her upright mind, 
 
 Came forth the Maid — " In me 
 Behold," she said, " a stricken Hind 
 
 Pursued by destiny ! 
 
 4. 
 From your deportment, Sir ! I deem 
 
 That you have worn a sword, 
 And will not hold in light esteem 
 
 A suffering woman's word ; 
 There is my covert, there perchance 
 
 I might have lain concealed, 
 My fortunes hid, my countenance 
 
 Not even to you revealed. 
 
 5. 
 
 Tears might be shed, and I might pray, 
 
 Crouching and terrified, 
 That what has been unveiled to day, 
 
 You would in mystery hide ; 
 
140 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 But I will not defile with dust 
 The knee that bends to adore 
 
 The God in heaven; — attend, be just: 
 This ask I, and no more ! 
 
 6. 
 I speak not of the winter's cold, 
 
 For summer's heat exchanged, 
 While I have lodged in this rough hold, 
 
 From social life estranged ; 
 Nor yet of trouble and alarms : 
 
 High Heaven is my defence ; 
 And every season has soft arms 
 
 For injured Innocence. 
 
 7. 
 From Moscow to the Wilderness 
 
 It was my choice to come, 
 Lest virtue should be harbourless, 
 
 And honour want a home ; 
 And happy were I, if the Czar 
 
 Retain his lawless will, 
 To end life here like this poor Deer, 
 
 Or a Lamb on a green hill." 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 141 
 
 8. 
 " Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried, 
 
 " From Gallic Parents sprung, 
 Whose vanishing was rumoured wide, 
 
 Sad theme for every tongue ; 
 Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest? 
 
 You, Lady, forced to wear 
 These rude habiliments, and rest 
 
 Your head in this dark lair ! " 
 
 9. * 
 
 But wonder, pity, soon were quelled ; 
 
 And in her face and mien 
 The soul's pure brightness he beheld 
 
 Without a veil between : 
 He loved, he hoped, — a holy flame 
 
 Kindled 'mid rapturous tears ; 
 The passion of a moment came 
 
 As on the wings of years. 
 
 10. 
 
 Such bounty is no gift of chance," 
 Exclaimed he ; " righteous Heaven, 
 eparing your deliverance, 
 To me the charge hath given. 
 
142 THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 The^Czar full oft in words and deeds 
 
 Is stormy and self-willed ; 
 But, when the Lady Catherine pleads, 
 
 His violence is stilled. 
 
 11. 
 
 " Leave open to my wish the course, 
 
 And I to her will go ; 
 From that humane and heavenly source, 
 
 Good, only good, can flow." 
 Faint sanction given, the Cavalier 
 
 Was eager to depart, 
 Though question followed question, dear 
 
 To the Maiden's filial heart. 
 
 12. 
 Light was his step, — his hopes, more light, 
 
 Kept pace with his desires ; 
 And the third morning gave him sight 
 
 Of Moscow's glittering spires. 
 He sued: — heart-smitten by the wrong, 
 
 To the lorn Fugitive 
 The Emperor sent a pledge as strong 
 
 As sovereign power could give. 
 
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 143 
 
 13. 
 
 O more than mighty change ! If e'er 
 
 Amazement rose to pain, 
 And over-joy produced a fear 
 
 Of something void and vain, 
 *T was when the Parents, who had mourned 
 
 So long the lost as dead, 
 Beheld their only Child returned, 
 
 The household floor to tread. 
 
 14. 
 Soon gratitude gave way to love 
 
 Within the Maiden's breast : 
 Delivered and Deliverer move 
 
 In bridal garments drest ; 
 Meek Catherine had her own reward ; 
 
 The Czar bestowed a dower ; 
 And universal Moscow shared 
 
 The triumph of that hour. 
 
 15. 
 
 Flowers strewed the ground ; the nuptial feast 
 
 Was held with costly state ; 
 And there, 'mid many a noble Guest, 
 
 The Foster-parents sate ; 
 
144- THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE. 
 
 Encouraged by the imperial eye, 
 They shrank not into shade ; 
 
 Great was their bliss, the honour high 
 To them and nature paid ! 
 
SONNETS. 145 
 
 Why art thou silent ! Is thy love a plant 
 Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
 
 i Of absence withers what was once so fair ? 
 Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? 
 Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant 
 (As would my deeds have been) with hourly care, 
 The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
 
 | For nought but what thy happiness could spare. 
 
 i Speak, though this soft warm heart, once free to hold 
 A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 
 Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 
 
 • fhan a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow 
 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine ; 
 Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may 
 know I 
 
146 SONNETS. 
 
 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, of the weapons that they wield 
 W T eary, and sick of strifeful Christendom, 
 Gaze on the moon by parting clouds revealed. 
 
SONNETS. 147 
 
 TO THE AUTHORS PORTRAIT, 
 
 [Painted at Rydal Mount, by W. Pickersgill, Esq., for 
 St. John's College, Cambridge.] 
 
 Go, faithful Portrait ! and where long hath knelt 
 Margaret, the saintly Foundress, take thy place ; 
 And, if Time spare the colours for the grace 
 Which to the work surpassing skill hath dealt, 
 Thou, on thy rock reclined, though Kingdoms melt 
 And States be torn up by the roots, wilt seem 
 To breathe in rural peace, to hear the stream, 
 To think and feel as once the Poet felt. 
 Whate'er thy fate, those features have not grown 
 Unrecognised through many a household tear, 
 More prompt more glad to fall than drops of dew 
 By morning shed around a flower half blown ; 
 Tears of delight, that testified how true 
 To life thou art, and, in thy truth, how dear ! 
 
 h 2 
 
148 
 
 GOLD AND SILVER FISHES, 
 
 IN A VASE. 
 
 The soaring Lark is blest as proud 
 
 When at Heaven's gate she sings ; 
 The roving Bee proclaims aloud 
 
 Her flight by vocal wings ; 
 While Ye, in lasting durance pent, 
 
 Your silent lives employ 
 For something " more than dull content 
 
 Though haply less than joy." 
 
 Yet might your glassy prison seem 
 
 A place where joy is known, 
 Where golden flash and silver gleam 
 
 Have meanings of their own ; 
 While, high and low, and all about, 
 
 Your motions, glittering Elves ! 
 Ye weave — no danger from without, 
 
 And peace among yourselves. 
 
GOLD AND SILVER FISHES. 149 
 
 Type of a sunny human breast 
 
 Is your transparent Cell ; 
 Where Fear is but a transient Guest, 
 
 No sullen Humours dwell ; 
 Where, sensitive of every ray 
 
 That smites this tiny sea, 
 Your scaly panoplies repay 
 
 The loan with usury. 
 
 How beautiful ! Yet none knows why 
 
 This ever-graceful change, 
 Renewed — renewed incessantly — 
 
 Within your quiet range. 
 Is it that ye with conscious skill 
 
 For mutual pleasure glide ; 
 And sometimes, not without your will, 
 
 Are dwarfed, or magnified ? 
 
 Fays — Genii of gigantic size — 
 
 And now, in twilight dim, 
 Clustering like constellated Eyes 
 
 In wings of Cherubim, 
 
 H 3 
 
150 GOLD AND SILVER FISHES. 
 
 When they abate their fiery glare : 
 Whate'er your forms express, 
 
 Whate'er ye seem, whate'er ye are, 
 All leads to gentleness. 
 
 Cold though your nature be, 'tis pure; 
 
 Your birthright is a fence 
 From all that haughtier kinds endure 
 
 Through tyranny of sense. 
 Ah ! not alone by colours bright 
 
 Are Ye to Heaven allied, 
 When, like essential Forms of light, 
 
 Ye mingle, or divide. 
 
 For day-dreams soft as e'er beguiled 
 
 Day-thoughts while limbs repose ; 
 For moonlight fascinations mild 
 
 Your gift, ere shutters close ; 
 Accept, mute Captives ! thanks and praise ; 
 
 And may this tribute prove 
 That gentle admirations raise 
 
 Delight resembling love. 
 
151 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 (sequel to the above.) 
 
 [Addressed to a Friend ; the Gold and Silver Fishes having 
 been removed to a pool in the pleasure-ground of Rydal 
 Mount.] 
 
 " The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws 
 which they have made for themselves, under whatever form it 
 be of government. The liberty of a private man, in being mas- 
 ter of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the 
 laws of God and of his country. Of this latter we are here to 
 discourse." — Cowley. 
 
 Those breathing Tokens of your kind regard, 
 (Suspect not, Anna, that their fate is hard ; 
 Not soon does aught to which mild fancies cling, 
 In lonely spots, become a slighted thing ;) 
 Those silent Inmates now no longer share, 
 
 I Nor do they need, our hospitable care, 
 Removed in kindness from their glassy Cell 
 
 j To the fresh waters of a living Well ; 
 
 \ That spreads into an elfin pool opaque 
 Of which close boughs a glimmering mirror make, 
 h 4< 
 
152 LIBERTY. 
 
 On whose smooth breast with dimples light and small 
 
 The fly may settle, leaf or blossom fall. 
 
 — There swims, of blazing sun and beating shower 
 
 Fearless (but how obscured !) the golden Power, 
 
 That from his bauble prison used to cast 
 
 Gleams by the richest jewel unsurpast; 
 
 And near him, darkling like a sullen Gnome, 
 
 The silver Tenant of the crystal dome ; 
 
 Dissevered both from all the mysteries 
 
 Of hue and altering shape that charmed all eyes. 
 
 They pined, perhaps, they languished while they 
 
 shone ; 
 And, if not so, what matters beauty gone 
 And admiration lost, by change of place 
 That brings to the inward Creature no disgrace ? 
 But if the change restore his birthright, then, 
 Whate'er the difference, boundless is the gain. 
 Who can divine what impulses from God 
 Reach the caged Lark, within a town-abode, 
 From his poor inch or two of daisied sod ? 
 O yield him back his privilege ! No sea 
 Swells like the bosom of a man set free ; 
 A wilderness is rich with liberty. 
 Roll on, ye spouting Whales, who die or keep 
 Your independence in the fathomless Deep ! 
 
LIBERTY. 153 
 
 Spread, tiny Nautilus, the living sail ; 
 Dive, at thy choice, or brave the freshening gale ! 
 If unreproved the ambitious Eagle mount 
 Sunward to seek the daylight in its fount, 
 Bays, gulfs, and Ocean's Indian width, shall be, 
 Till the world perishes, a field for thee ! 
 
 ■ While musing here I sit in shadow cool, 
 And watch these mute Companions, in the pool, 
 Among reflected boughs of leafy trees, 
 By glimpses caught — disporting at their ease — 
 Enlivened, braced, by hardy luxuries, 
 I ask what warrant fixed them (like a spell 
 Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal Cell ; 
 To wheel with languid motion round and round, 
 Beautiful, yet in a mournful durance bound. 
 Their peace, perhaps, our lightest footfall marred ; 
 On their quick sense our sweetest music jarred; 
 And whither could they dart, if seized with 
 
 fear ? 
 No sheltering stone, no tangled root was near. 
 When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room, 
 They wore away the night in starless gloom ; 
 And, when the sun first dawned upon the streams, 
 How faint their portion of his vital beams ! 
 h 5 
 
154 LIBERTY. 
 
 Thus, and unable to complain, they fared, 
 While not one joy of ours by them was shared. 
 
 Is there a cherished Bird (I venture now 
 To snatch a sprig from Chaucer's reverend brow) — 
 Is there a brilliant Fondling of the cage, 
 Though sure of plaudits on his costly stage, 
 Though fed with dainties from the snow-white 
 
 hand 
 Of a kind Mistress, fairest of the land, 
 But gladly would escape; and, if need were, 
 Scatter the colours from the plumes that bear 
 The emancipated captive through blithe air 
 Into strange woods, where he at large may live 
 On best or worst which they and Nature give ? 
 The Beetle loves his unpretending track, 
 The Snail the house he carries on his back : 
 The far-fetched Worm with pleasure would disown 
 The bed we give him, though of softest down ; 
 A noble instinct ; in all Kinds the same, 
 All Ranks ! What Sovereign, worthy of the name, 
 If doomed to breathe against his lawful will 
 An element that natters him — to kill, 
 But would rejoice to barter outward show 
 For the least boon that freedom can bestow ? 
 
LIBERTY. 155 
 
 But most the Bard is true to inborn right, 
 Lark of the dawn, and Philomel of night, 
 Exults in freedom, can with rapture vouch 
 For the dear blessings of a lowly couch, 
 A natural meal — days, months, from Nature's 
 
 hand ; 
 Time, place, and business, all at his command ! 
 Who bends to happier duties, who more wise 
 Than the industrious Poet, taught to prize, 
 Above all grandeur, a pure life uncrossed 
 By cares in which simplicity is lost ? 
 That life — the flowery path which winds by 
 
 stealth, 
 Which Horace needed for his spirit's health ; 
 Sighed for, in heart and genius, overcome 
 By noise, and strife, and questions wearisome, 
 And the vain splendours of Imperial Rome ? 
 Let easy mirth his social hours inspire, 
 And fiction animate his sportive lyre, 
 Attuned to verse that crowning light Distress 
 With garlands cheats her into happiness ; 
 Give me the humblest note of those sad strains 
 Drawn forth by pressure of his gilded chains, 
 As a chance sunbeam from his memory fell 
 Upon the Sabine Farm he loved so well ; 
 h 6 
 
156 LIBERTY. 
 
 Or when the prattle of Bandusia's spring 
 Haunted his ear — he only listening — 
 He proud to please, above all rivals, fit 
 To win the palm of gaiety and wit; 
 He, doubt not, with involuntary dread, 
 Shrinking from each new favour to be shed, 
 By the World's Ruler, on his honoured head ! 
 
 In a deep vision's intellectual scene, 
 Such earnest longings and regrets as keen 
 Depressed the melancholy Cowley, laid 
 Under a fancied yew-tree's luckless shade ; 
 A doleful bower for penitential song, 
 Where Man and Muse complained of mutual 
 
 wrong ; 
 While Cam's ideal current glided by, 
 And antique Towers nodded their foreheads high, 
 Citadels dear to studious privacy. 
 But Fortune, who had long been used to sport 
 With this tried Servant of a thankless Court, 
 Relenting met his wishes ; and to You 
 The remnant of his days at least was true ; 
 You, whom, though long deserted, he loved best ; 
 You, Muses, Books, Fields, Liberty, and Rest ! 
 
LIBERTY. 157 
 
 But happier they who, fixing hope and aim 
 On the humanities of peaceful fame. 
 Enter betimes with more than martial fire 
 The generous course, aspire, and still aspire ; 
 Upheld by warnings heeded not too late 
 Stifle the contradictions of their fate, 
 And to one purpose cleave, their Being's godlike 
 mate! 
 
 Thus, gifted Friend, but with the placid brow 
 That Woman ne'er should forfeit, keep thy vow ; 
 With modest scorn reject whate'er would blind 
 The ethereal eyesight, cramp the winged mind ! 
 Then, with a blessing granted from above 
 To every act, word, thought, and look of love, 
 Life's book for Thee may lie unclosed, till age 
 Shall with a thankful tear bedrop its latest page.* 
 
 * There is now, alas ! no possibility of the anticipation, with 
 which the above Epistle concludes, being realised : nor were 
 the verses ever seen by the Individual for whom they were in- 
 tended. She accompanied her husband,, the Rev. Wm. Flet- 
 cher, to India, and died of cholera, at the age of thirty-two or 
 thirty-three years, on her way from Shalapore to Bombay, 
 deeply lamented by all who knew her. 
 
 Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast; and her 
 great talents would have enabled her to be eminently useful in 
 the difficult path of life to which she had been called. The 
 
158 NOTE. 
 
 opinion she entertained of her own performances, given to the 
 world under her maiden name, Jewsbury, was modest and 
 humble, and, indeed, far below their merits ; as is often the 
 case with those who are making trial of their powers with a 
 hope to discover what they are best fitted for. In one quality, 
 viz., quickness in the motions of her mind, she was in the 
 author's estimation unequalled. 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 

 161 
 
 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose 
 
 Day's grateful warmth, tho' moist with falling dews. 
 
 Look for the stars, you '11 say that there are none ; 
 
 Look up a second time, and, one by one, 
 
 You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, 
 
 And wonder how they could elude the sight. 
 
 The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers, 
 
 Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers, 
 
 But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers : 
 
 Nor does the Village Church- clock's iron tone 
 
 The time's and season's influence disown; 
 
 Nine beats distinctly to each other bound 
 
 In drowsy sequence ; how unlike the sound 
 
 That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear 
 
 On fireside Listeners, doubting what they hear J 
 
 The Shepherd, bent on rising with the sun, 
 
 Had closed his door before the day was done, 
 
162 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep, 
 And join his little Children in their sleep. 
 The Bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade, 
 Flits and reflits along the close arcade ; 
 Far-heard the Dor-hawk chases the white Moth 
 With burring note, which Industry and Sloth 
 Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both. 
 Wheels and the tread of hoofs are heard no more ; 
 One Boat there was, but it will touch the shore 
 With the next dipping of its slackened oar ; 
 Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay, 
 Might give to serious thought a moment's sway, 
 As a last token of Man's toilsome day ! 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 163 
 
 II. 
 
 Not in the lucid intervals of life 
 
 That come but as a curse to Party-strife ; 
 
 Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh 
 
 Of languor puts his rosy garland by ; 
 
 Not in the breathing-times of that poor Slave 
 
 Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon's cave, 
 
 Is Nature felt, or can be ; nor do words, 
 
 Which practised Talent readily affords, 
 
 Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords ; 
 
 Nor has her gentle beauty power to move 
 
 With genuine rapture and with fervent love 
 
 The soul of Genius, if he dares to take 
 
 Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake; 
 
 Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent 
 
 Of all the truly Great and all the Innocent. 
 
 But who is innocent ? By grace divine, 
 
 Not otherwise, O Nature ! we are thine, 
 
 Through good and evil thine, in just degree 
 
 Of rational and manly sympathy. 
 
164 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing, 
 And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing, 
 Add every charm the Universe can show 
 Through every change its aspects undergo, 
 Care may be respited, but not repealed ; 
 No perfect cure grows on that bounded field. 
 Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace, 
 If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease, 
 Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance, 
 Come not to speed the Soul's deliverance ; 
 To the distempered Intellect refuse 
 His gracious help, or give what we abuse. 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 165 
 
 III. 
 
 (BY THE SIDE OF RYDAL MERE.) 
 
 The Linnet's warble, sinking towards a close, 
 Hints to the Thrush 't is time for their repose ; 
 The shrill- voiced Thrush is heedless, and again 
 The Monitor revives his own sweet strain ; 
 But both will soon be mastered, and the copse 
 Be left as silent as the mountain-tops, 
 ! Ere some commanding Star dismiss to rest 
 | The throng of Rooks, that now, from twig or nest, 
 (After a steady flight on home-bound wings, 
 And a last game of mazy hoverings 
 Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise 
 Disturb the liquid music's equipoise. 
 O Nightingale ! Who ever heard thy song 
 Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong 
 That listening sense is pardonably cheated 
 Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted. 
 Surely, from fairest spots of favoured lands, 
 Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands, 
 
166 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 This hour of deepening darkness here would be, 
 As a fresh morning for new harmony ; 
 And Lays as prompt would hail the dawn of night ; 
 A dawn she has both beautiful and bright, 
 When the East kindles with the full moon's light. 
 
 Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led, 
 For sway profoundly felt as widely spread ; 
 To king, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear, 
 And to the soldier's trumpet-wearied ear ; 
 How welcome wouldst thou be to this green Vale 
 Fairer than Tempe ! Yet, sweet Nightingale ! 
 From the warm breeze that bears thee on alight 
 At will, and stay thy migratory flight ; 
 Build, at thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount, 
 Who shall complain, or call thee to account ? 
 The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they 
 That ever walk content with Nature's way, 
 God's goodness measuring bounty as it may ; 
 For whom the gravest thought of what they miss, 
 Chastening the fulness of a present bliss, 
 Is with that wholesome office satisfied, 
 While unrepining sadness is allied 
 In thankful bosoms to a modest pride. 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 167 
 
 IV. 
 
 Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge — the Mere 
 
 Seems firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear, 
 
 And motionless ; and, to the gazer's eye, 
 
 Deeper than Ocean, in the immensity 
 
 Of its vague mountains and unreal sky ! 
 
 Bat, from the process in that still retreat, 
 
 Turn to minuter changes at our feet ; 
 
 Observe how dewy Twilight has withdrawn 
 
 The crowd of daisies from the shaven lawn, 
 
 And has restored to view its tender green, 
 
 That, while the sun rode high, was lost beneath 
 
 their dazzling sheen. 
 —An emblem this of what the sober Hour 
 Can do for minds disposed to feel its power ! 
 Thus oft, when we in vain have wish'd away 
 The petty pleasures of the garish day, 
 Meek Eve shuts up the whole usurping host 
 (Unbashful dwarfs each glittering at his post) 
 
168 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 And leaves the disencumbered spirit free 
 To reassume a staid simplicity. 
 Tis well — but what are helps of time and place, 
 When wisdom stands in need of nature's grace ; 
 Why do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend, 
 Like Angels from their bowers, our virtues to be- 
 friend ; 
 If yet To-morrow, unbelied, may say, 
 " I come to open out, for fresh display, 
 The elastic vanities of yesterday ? " 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 169 
 
 The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill, 
 And sky that danced among those leaves, are still ; 
 Rest smooths the way for sleep ; in field and bower 
 Soft shades and dews have shed their blended power 
 On drooping eyelid and the closing flower ; 
 Sound is there none at which the. faintest heart 
 Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start ; 
 Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream 
 Pierces the ethereal vault ; and 'mid the gleam 
 Of unsubstantial imagery — the dream, 
 From the hushed vale's realities, transferred 
 To the still lake, the imaginative Bird 
 Seems, 'mid inverted mountains, not unheard. 
 
 Grave Creature ! whether, while the moon shines 
 bright 
 
 On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight, 
 Thou art discovered in a roofless tower, 
 Rising from what may once have been a Lady's 
 
 bower : 
 
 i 
 
170 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 Or spied where thou sit'st moping in thy mew 
 
 At the dim centre of a churchyard yew ; 
 
 Or, from a rifted crag or ivy tod 
 
 Deep in a forest, thy secure abode, 
 
 Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout, 
 
 A puzzling notice of thy whereabout ; 
 
 May the night never come, the day be seen, 
 
 When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien ! 
 
 In classic ages men perceived a soul 
 
 Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl ! 
 
 Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove; 
 
 And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove, 
 
 His Eagle's favourite perch, while round him sate 
 
 The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate, 
 
 Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side — 
 
 Hark to that second larum ! far and wide 
 
 The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied. 
 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 171 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire, 
 Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire, 
 Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams, 
 Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams. 
 Look round; — of all the clouds not one is moving; 
 'T is the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving. 
 Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky, 
 The boundless plain of waters seems to lie: — 
 Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er 
 The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore ! 
 No 't is the earth-voice of the mighty sea, 
 Whispering how meek and gentle he can be ! 
 
 Thou Power supreme ! who, arming to rebuke 
 Offenders, dost put off the gracious look, 
 And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood 
 Of ocean roused into his fiercest mood, 
 i 2 
 
172 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 Whatever discipline thy Will ordain 
 
 For the brief course that must for me remain ; 
 
 Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice 
 
 In admonitions of thy softest voice ! 
 
 Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace, 
 
 Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace, 
 
 Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere 
 
 Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear ; 
 
 Glad to expand, and, for a season, free 
 
 From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee ! 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 173 
 
 VII. 
 
 (by the sea-side.) 
 
 The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, 
 And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest 
 Air slumbers — wave with wave no longer strives, 
 Only a heaving of the deep survives, 
 A tell-tale motion ! soon will it be laid, 
 And by the tide alone the water swayed. 
 Stealthy with drawings, interminglings mild 
 Of light with shade in beauty reconciled — 
 Such is the prospect far as sight can range, 
 The soothing recompence, the welcome change. 
 Where now the ships that drove before the blast, 
 Threatened by angry breakers as they passed ; 
 And by a train of flying clouds bemocked ; 
 Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked 
 As on a bed of death ? Some lodge in peace, 
 Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease ; 
 And some, too heedless of past danger, court 
 Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port ; 
 i 3 
 
174; EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 But near, or hanging sea and sky between, 
 Not one of all those winged Powers is seen, 
 Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard ; 
 Yet oh ! how gladly would the air be stirred 
 By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, 
 Soft in its temper as those vesper lays 
 Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars 
 Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores ; 
 A sea-born service through the mountains felt 
 Till into one loved vision all things melt : 
 Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound 
 The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound ; 
 And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise 
 With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies. 
 Hush, not a voice is here ! but why repine, 
 Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine 
 On British waters with that look benign ? 
 Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, 
 Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay, 
 May silent thanks at least to God be given 
 With a full heart, " our thoughts are heard in 
 heaven ! " 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 175 
 
 VIII. 
 
 [The former of the two following Pieces appeared, many years 
 ago, among the Author's poems, from which, in subsequent 
 editions, it was excluded. It is here reprinted, at the 
 request of a friend who was present when the lines were 
 thrown off as an impromptu. 
 
 For printing the latter, some reason should be given, as 
 not a word of it is original : it is simply a fine stanza of 
 Akenside, connected with a still finer from Beattie, by a 
 couplet of Thomson. This practice, in which the author 
 sometimes indulges, of linking together, in his own mind, 
 favourite passages from different authors, seems in itself 
 unobjectionable : but, as the publishing such compilations 
 might lead to confusion in literature, he should deem him- 
 self inexcusable in giving this specimen, were it not from a 
 hope that it might open to others a harmless source of private 
 gratification.] 
 
 The sun has long been set, 
 
 The stars are out by twos and threes, 
 The little birds are piping yet 
 
 Among the bushes and trees ; 
 There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, 
 And a far-off wind that rushes, 
 And a sound of water that gushes, 
 And the Cuckoo's sovereign cry 
 Fills all the hollow of the sky. 
 i 4 
 
176 EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 
 
 Who would " go parading " 
 In London, " and masquerading," 
 On such a night of June 
 With that beautiful soft half-moon, 
 And all these innocent blisses, 
 On such a night as this is ? 
 
EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 177 
 
 IX. 
 
 Throned in the Sun's descending car 
 What Power unseen diffuses far 
 This tenderness of mind? 
 What Genius smiles on yonder flood ? 
 What God in whispers from the wood 
 Bids every thought be kind ? 
 
 O ever pleasing Solitude, 
 Companion of the wise and good, 
 Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine, 
 
 Thy charms my only theme ; 
 My haunt the hollow cliff whose Pine 
 
 Waves o'er the gloomy stream ; 
 Whence the scared Owl on pinions grey 
 
 Breaks from the rustling boughs, 
 And down the lone vale sails away 
 
 To more profound repose ! 
 
 I 5 
 
178 
 
 THE LABOURER'S NOON-DAY HYMN. 
 
 Up to the throne of God is borne 
 The voice of praise at early morn, 
 And he accepts the punctual hymn 
 Sung as the light of day grows dim. 
 
 Nor will he turn his ear aside 
 From holy offerings at noontide : 
 Then here reposing let us raise 
 A song of gratitude and praise. 
 
 What though our burthen be not light 
 We need not toil from morn to night ; 
 The respite of the mid-day hour 
 Is in the thankful Creature's power. 
 
 Blest are the moments, doubly blest, 
 That, drawn from this one hour of rest, 
 Are with a ready heart bestowed 
 Upon the service of our God ! 
 
THE LABOURER'S NOON-DAY HYMN. 179 
 
 Why should we crave a hallowed spot ? 
 An Altar is in each man's cot, 
 A Church in every grove that spreads 
 Its living roof above our heads. 
 
 Look up to Heaven ! the industrious Sun 
 Already half his race hath run ; 
 He cannot halt nor go astray, 
 But our immortal Spirits may. 
 
 Lord ! since his rising in the East, 
 If we have faltered or transgressed, 
 Guide, from thy love's abundant source, 
 What yet remains of this day's course : 
 
 Help with thy grace, through life's short day 
 Our upward and our downward way ; 
 And glorify for us the west, 
 When we shall sink to final rest. 
 
 i 6 
 
180 
 
 A WREN'S NEST. 
 
 Among the dwellings framed by birds 
 In field or forest with nice care, 
 
 Is none that with the little Wren's 
 In snugness may compare. 
 
 No door the tenement requires, 
 And seldom needs a laboured roof; 
 
 Yet is it to the fiercest sun 
 Impervious and storm-proof. 
 
 So warm, so beautiful withal, 
 In perfect fitness for its aim, 
 
 That to the Kind by special grace 
 Their instinct surely came. 
 
 And when for their abodes they seek 
 
 An opportune recess, 
 The Hermit has no finer eye 
 
 For shadowy quietness. 
 
a wren's nest. 181 
 
 These find, 'mid ivied Abbey walls, 
 
 A canopy in some still nook ; 
 Others are pent-housed by a brae 
 
 That overhangs a brook. 
 
 There to the brooding Bird her Mate 
 Warbles by fits his low clear song ; 
 
 And by the busy Streamlet both 
 Are sung to all day long. 
 
 Or in sequestered lanes they build, 
 Where, till the flitting Bird's return, 
 
 Her eggs within the nest repose, 
 Like relics in an urn. 
 
 But still, where general choice is good, 
 
 There is a better and a best ; 
 And, among fairest objects, some 
 
 Are fairer than the rest ; 
 
 This, one of those small Builders proved 
 In a green covert, where, from out 
 
 The forehead of a pollard oak, 
 The leafy antlers sprout ; 
 
182 a wren's nest. 
 
 For She who planned the mossy Lodge, 
 
 Mistrusting her evasive skill, 
 Had to a Primrose looked for aid 
 
 Her wishes to fulfil. 
 
 High on the trunk's projecting brow, 
 And fixed an infant's span above 
 
 The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest 
 The prettiest of the grove ! 
 
 The treasure proudly did I show 
 
 To some whose minds without disdain 
 
 Can turn to little things, but once 
 Looked up for it in vain : 
 
 'T is gone — a ruthless Spoiler's prey, 
 Who heeds not beauty, love, or song, 
 
 'T is gone ! (so seemed it) and we grieved 
 Indignant at the wrong. 
 
 Just three days after, passing by 
 In clearer light the moss-built cell 
 
 I saw, espied its shaded mouth, 
 And felt that all was well. 
 

 A WREN S NEST. 183 
 
 The Primrose for a veil had spread 
 The largest of her upright leaves; 
 
 And thus, for purposes benign, 
 A simple Flower deceives. 
 
 Concealed from friends who might disturb 
 
 Thy quiet with no ill intent, 
 Secure from evil eyes and hands 
 
 On barbarous plunder bent, 
 
 Rest, mother-bird ! and when thy young 
 Take flight, and thou art free to roam, 
 
 When withered is the guardian flower, 
 And empty thy late home, 
 
 Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, 
 
 Amid the unviolated grove 
 Housed near the growing primrose tuft 
 
 In foresight, or in love. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 COMPOSED OR SUGGESTED DURING A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 
 IN THE SUMMER OF 1833. 
 
[Having been prevented by the lateness of the season, in 1831, 
 from visiting Staffa and lona, the author made these the 
 principal objects of a short tour in the summer of 1833, of 
 which the following series of sonnets is a Memorial. The 
 course pursued was down the Cumberland river Derwent, 
 and to Whitehaven ; thence (by the Isle of Man, where a few 
 days were passed) up the Frith of Clyde to Greenock, then 
 to Oban, Staffa, lona ; and back towards England, by Loch 
 Awe, Inverary, Loch Goil-head, Greenock, and through parts 
 of Renfrewshire, Ayrshire, and Dumfries-shire to Carlisle, 
 and thence up the river Eden, and homewards by mis- 
 water.] 
 
187 
 
 SONNETS, 1833. 
 
 I. 
 
 dieu, Rydalian Laurels ! that have grown 
 And spread as if ye knew that days might come 
 When ye would shelter in a happy home, 
 !On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own, 
 [One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown 
 |To sue the God ; but, haunting your green shade 
 (All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid 
 jGround-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self 
 
 sown. 
 Farewell ! no Minstrels now with Harp new-strung 
 or summer wandering quit their household bowers ; 
 Set not for this wants Poesy a tongue 
 To cheer the Itinerant on whom she pours 
 Ber spirit, while he crosses lonely moors, 
 3r musing sits forsaken halls among. 
 
188 SONNETS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through th 
 
 Isle, 
 Repine as if his hour were come too late ? 
 Not unprotected in her mouldering state, 
 Antiquity salutes him with a smile, 
 'Mid fruitful fields that ring with jocund toil, 
 And pleasure-grounds where Taste, refined Co-mat 
 Of Truth and Beauty, strives to imitate, 
 Far as she may, primeval Nature's style. 
 Fair land ! by Time's parental love made free, 
 By social Order's watchful arms embraced, 
 With unexampled union meet in thee, 
 For eye and mind, the present and the past; 
 With golden prospect for futurity, 
 If what is rightly reverenced may last. 
 
SONNETS. 189 
 
 III. 
 
 They called Thee merry England, in old time ; 
 A happy people won for thee that name 
 (With envy heard in many a distant clime ; 
 (And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same 
 Endearing title, a responsive chime 
 To the heart's fond belief, though some there are 
 Whose sterner judgments deem that word a snare 
 (For inattentive Fancy, like the lime 
 'Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask, 
 This face of rural beauty be a mask 
 For discontent, and poverty, and crime ; 
 [These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will ; 
 Forbid it, Heaven ! — that " merry England" still 
 ^May be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme ! 
 
190 SONNETS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 TO THE RIVER GRETA, NEAR KESWICK. 
 
 Greta, what fearful listening ! when huge stones 
 
 Rumble along thy bed, block after block: 
 
 Or, whirling with reiterated shock, 
 
 Combat, while darkness aggravates the groans : 
 
 But if thou (like Cocytus 1 from the moans 
 
 Heard on his rueful margin) thence wert named 
 
 The Mourner, thy true nature was defamed, 
 
 And the habitual murmur that atones 
 
 For thy worst rage, forgotten. Oft as Spring 
 
 Decks, on thy sinuous banks, her thousand thrones, 
 
 Seats of glad instinct and love's carolling, 
 
 The concert, for the happy, then may vie 
 
 With liveliest peals of birth-day harmony : 
 
 To a grieved heart, the notes are benisons. 
 
SONNETS. 191 
 
 V. 
 
 TO THE RIVER DERWENT. 2 
 
 Among the mountains were we nursed, loved stream ! 
 Thou near the Eagle's nest — within brief sail, 
 I, of his bold wing floating on the gale, 
 Where thy deep voice could lull me ! Faint the 
 
 beam 
 Of human life when first allowed to gleam 
 
 On mortal notice Glory of the Vale, 
 
 Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail, 
 Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam 
 Of thy soft breath ! — Less vivid wreath entwined 
 Nemaean victor's brow ; less bright was worn, 
 Meed of some Roman chief— in triumph borne 
 With captives chained ; and shedding from his car 
 The sunset splendours of a finished war 
 Upon the proud enslavers of mankind ! 
 
192 SONNETS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 IN SIGHT OF THE TOWN OF COCKERMOUTH, 
 
 (where the author was born, and his father's remains 
 
 ARE LAID.) 
 
 A point of life between my Parents' dust, 
 And your's, my buried Little-ones ! am I ; 
 And to those graves looking habitually 
 In kindred quiet I repose my trust. 
 Death to the innocent is more than just. 
 And, to the sinner, mercifully bent ; 
 So may I hope, if truly I repent 
 And meekly bear the ills which bear I must : 
 And You, my Offspring ! that do still remain, 
 Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 
 If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain 
 We breathed together for a moment's space, 
 The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, 
 And only love keep in your hearts a place. 
 
SONNETS. 193 
 
 VII. 
 
 ADDRESS FROM 
 THE SPIRIT OF COCKERMOUTH CASTLE. 
 
 Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, 
 
 Poet I that, stricken as both are by years, 
 
 We, differing once so much, are now Compeers, 
 
 Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink 
 
 Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link 
 
 United us ; when thou, in boyish play, 
 
 Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey 
 
 To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink 
 
 Of light was there ; — and thus did I, thy Tutor, 
 
 Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the 
 
 grave ; 
 While thou wert chasing the wing'd butterfly 
 Through my green courts ; or climbing, a bold 
 
 suitor, 
 Up to the flowers whose golden progeny 
 Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave. 
 
194? SONNETS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 nun's well, brigham. 
 
 The cattle crowding round this beverage clear 
 To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod 
 The encircling turf into a barren clod ; 
 Through which the waters creep, then disappear, 
 Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near ; 
 Yet, o'er the brink, and round the limestone-cell 
 Of the pure spring (they call it the " Nun's Well," 
 Name that first struck by chance my startled ear) 
 A tender Spirit broods — the pensive Shade 
 Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid 
 By hooded Votaries 3 with saintly cheer ; 
 Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild 
 Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled 
 Into the shedding of " too soft a tear." 
 
SONNETS. 195 
 
 IX. 
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 (on the banks of the derwent). 
 
 Pastor and Patriot ! at whose bidding rise 
 These modest Walls, amid a flock that need 
 For one who comes to watch them and to feed 
 A fixed Abode, keep down presageful sighs. 
 Threats which the unthinking only can despise, 
 Perplex the Church ; but be thou firm, — be true 
 To thy first hope, and this good work pursue, 
 Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice 
 Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke 
 Of thy new hearth ; and sooner shall its wreaths, 
 Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes, 
 From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke, 
 And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain 
 This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain. 
 
 K 2 
 
196 SONNETS. 
 
 X* 
 
 MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, 
 
 (LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE DERWENT, WORKINGTON. 4 ) 
 
 Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, 
 The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore ; 
 And to the throng how touchingly she bowed 
 That hailed her landing on the Cumbrian shore ; 
 Bright as a Star (that, from a sombre cloud 
 Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts, 
 When a soft summer gale at evening parts 
 The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) 
 She smiled ; but Time, the old Saturnian Seer, 
 Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 
 With step prelusive to a long array 
 Of woes and degradations hand in hand, 
 Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear 
 Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay ! 
 
SONNETS. 197 
 
 XI. 
 
 IN THE CHANNEL, BETWEEN THE COAST OF 
 CUMBERLAND AND THE ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 Ranging the Heights of Scawfell or Black- coom, 
 
 In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause, 
 
 And strive to fathom the mysterious laws 
 
 By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom, 
 
 On Mona settle, and the shapes assume 
 
 Of all her peaks and ridges. What He draws 
 
 From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause 
 
 He will take with him to the silent tomb : 
 
 Or, by his fire, a Child upon his knee, 
 
 Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak 
 
 Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory 
 
 That satisfies the simple and the meek, 
 
 Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak 
 
 To cope with Sages undevoutly free. 
 
 K 3 
 

 198 SONNETS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 AT SEA OFF THE ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 Bold words affirmed, in days when faith was 
 
 strong, 
 That no adventurer's bark had power to gain 
 These shores if he approached them bent on wrong ; 
 For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main, 
 Mists rose to hide the Land — that search, though 
 
 long 
 And eager, might be still pursued in vain. 
 O Fancy, what an age was that for song ! 
 That age, when not by laws inanimate, 
 As men believed, the waters were impelled, 
 The air controlled, the stars their courses held, 
 But element and orb on acts did wait 
 Of Powers endued with visible form, instinct 
 With will, and to their work by passion linked. 
 
SONNETS. 199 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Desire we past illusions to recall ? 
 
 To reinstate wild Fancy would we hide 
 
 Truths whose thick veil Science has drawn aside. 
 
 No, — let this Age, high as she may, install 
 
 In her esteem the thirst that wrought man's fall, 
 
 The universe is infinitely wide, 
 
 And conquering Reason, if self-glorified, 
 
 Can nowhere move uncrossed by some new wall 
 
 Or gulf of mystery, which thou alone, 
 
 Imaginative Faith ! canst overleap, 
 
 In progress toward the fount of Love, — the throne 
 
 Of Power, whose ministering Spirits records keep 
 
 Of periods fixed, and laws established, less 
 
 Flesh to exalt than prove its nothingness. 
 
 k 4 
 
200 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY, ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori.' 
 
 The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn, 
 Even when they rose to check or to repel 
 Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well 
 Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn 
 Just limits ; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn 
 This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence ; 
 Blest work it is of love and innocence, 
 A Tower of refuge to the else forlorn. 
 Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner, 
 Struggling for life, into its saving arms ! 
 Spare, too, the human helpers ! Do they stir 
 'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid to die ? 
 No, their dread service nerves the heart it warms, 
 And they are led by noble Hillary. 5 
 
SONNETS. 201 
 
 XV. 
 
 BY THE SEA-SHORE, ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine 
 
 With wonder, smit by its transparency, 
 
 And all-enraptured with its purity ? 
 
 Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline, 
 
 Have ever in them something of benign; 
 
 Whether in gem, in water, or in sky, 
 
 A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye 
 
 Of a young maiden, only not divine. 
 
 Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm 
 
 For beverage drawn as from a mountain well: 
 
 Temptation centres in the liquid Calm ; 
 
 Our daily raiment seems no obstacle 
 
 To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea ! 
 
 And revelling in long embrace with Thee. 
 
 k 5 
 
202 SONNETS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 A youth too certain of his power to wade 
 
 On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea, 
 
 To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee 
 
 Leapt from this rock, and surely, had not aid 
 
 Been near, must soon have breathed out life, betrayed 
 
 By fondly trusting to an element 
 
 Fair, and to others more than innocent ; 
 
 Then had sea-nymphs sung dirges for him laid 
 
 In peaceful earth : for, doubtless, he was frank, 
 
 Utterly in himself devoid of guile ; 
 
 Knew not the double-dealing of a smile ; 
 
 Nor aught that makes men's promises a blank, 
 
 Or deadly snare : and He survives to bless 
 
 The Power that saved him in his strange distress. 
 
SONNETS. 203 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE RETIRED MARINE OFFICER, ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 Not pangs of grief for lenient time too keen, 
 Grief that devouring waves had caused, nor guilt 
 Which they had witnessed, swayed the man who 
 
 built 
 This homestead, placed where nothing could be seen, 
 Nought heard of ocean, troubled or serene. 
 A tired Ship-soldier on paternal land, 
 That o'er the channel holds august command, 
 The dwelling raised, — a veteran Marine ; 
 Who, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea 
 To shun the memory of a listless life 
 That hung between two callings. May no strife 
 More hurtful here beset him, doom'd, though free, 
 Self-doom'd to worse inaction, till his eye 
 Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky ! 
 
 k 6 
 
204? SONNETS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 BY A RETIRED MARINER, 
 (a friend of the author.) 6 
 
 From early youth I ploughed the restless Main, 
 
 My mind as restless and as apt to change ; 
 
 Through every clime and ocean did I range, 
 
 In hope at length a competence to gain ; 
 
 For poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain. 
 
 Year after year I strove, but strove in vain, 
 
 And hardships manifold did I endure, 
 
 For Fortune on me never deign'd to smile ; 
 
 Yet I at last a resting-place have found, 
 
 With just enough life's comforts to procure, 
 
 In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle, 
 
 A peaceful spot where Nature's gifts abound ; 
 
 Then sure I have no reason to complain, 
 
 Though poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain. 
 
SONNETS. 205 
 
 XIX. 
 
 AT BALA-SALA, ISLE OF MAN. 
 (supposed to be written by a friend of the author.) 
 
 Broken in fortune, but in mind entire 
 
 And sound in principle, I seek repose 
 
 Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose *, 
 
 In ruin beautiful. When vain desire 
 
 Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire 
 
 To cast a soul-subduing shade on me, 
 
 A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee, 
 
 A shade but with some sparks of heavenly fire 
 
 Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when I note 
 
 The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams 
 
 Of sunset ever there, albeit streams 
 
 Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought, 
 
 I thank the silent Monitor, and say 
 
 " Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day I " 
 
 * Rushen Abbey. 
 
206 SONNETS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 TYNWALD HILL. 
 
 Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound 
 (Still marked with green turf circles narrowing 
 Stage above stage) would sit this Island's King, 
 The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned; 
 While, compassing the little mount around, 
 Degrees and Orders stood, each under each : 
 Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach, 
 The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found. 
 Off with yon cloud, old Snafell ! 7 that thine eye 
 Over three Realms may take its widest range ; 
 And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange 
 Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy, 
 If the whole State must suffer mortal change, 
 Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty. 
 
SONNETS. 207 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Despond who will — /heard a voice exclaim, 
 
 " Though fierce theassault, and shatter'd the defence, 
 
 It cannot be that Britain's social frame, 
 
 The glorious work of time and providence, 
 
 Before a flying season's rash pretence, 
 
 Should fall ; that She, whose virtue put to shame, 
 
 When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror's aim, 
 
 Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense 
 
 The cloud is ; but brings that a day of doom 
 
 To Liberty ? Her sun is up the while, 
 
 That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone, 
 
 Then laugh, ye innocent Vales ! ye Streams, sweep 
 
 on, 
 Nor let one billow of our heaven-blest Isle 
 Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume." 
 
208 SONNETS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG. 
 (july 17. 1833.) 
 
 Since risen from ocean, ocean to defy, 
 Appeared the Crag of Ailsa ; ne'er did morn 
 With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn 
 His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead high : 
 Now, faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse, 
 Still is he seen, in lone sublimity, 
 Towering above the sea and little ships ; 
 For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by, 
 Each for her haven ; with her freight of Care, 
 Pleasure, or Grief, and Toil that seldom looks 
 Into the secret of to-morrow's fare ; 
 Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books, 
 Or aught that watchful Love to Nature owes 
 For her mute Powers, fix'd Forms, and transient 
 Shows. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 209 
 
 ON THE FRITH OF CLYDE. 
 
 (IN A STEAM-BOAT.) 
 
 Arran ! a single- crested Teneriffe, 
 A St. Helena next — in shape and hue, 
 Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue ; 
 Who but must covet a cloud-seat or skiff 
 Built for the air, or winged Hippogriff, 
 That he might fly, where no one could pursue, 
 From this dull Monster and her sooty crew ; 
 And, like a God, light on thy topmost cliff. 
 Impotent wish ! which reason would despise 
 If the mind knew no union of extremes, 
 No natural bond between the boldest schemes 
 Ambition frames, and heart-humilities. 
 Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies, 
 And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams. 
 

 210 SONNETS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ON REVISITING DUNOLLY CASTLE. 8 
 
 [See former series, p. 16.] 
 
 The captive Bird was gone ; — to cliff or moor 
 Perchance had flown, delivered by the storm ; 
 Or he had pined, and sunk to feed the worm : 
 Him found we not ; but, climbing a tall tower, 
 There saw, impaved with rude fidelity 
 Of art mosaic, in a roofless floor, 
 An Eagle with stretched wings, but beamless eye- 
 An Eagle that could neither wail nor soar. 
 Effigies of the Vanished, (shall I dare 
 To call thee so?) or symbol of past times, 
 That towering courage, and the savage deeds 
 Those times were proud of, take Thou too a share 
 Not undeserved, of the memorial rhymes 
 That animate my way where'er it leads ! 
 
SONNETS. 211 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE DUNOLLY EAGLE. 
 
 jNot to the clouds, not to the cliff, he flew ; 
 But when a storm, on sea or mountain bred, 
 Came and delivered him, alone he sped 
 Into the Castle-dungeon's darkest mew. 
 ; Now, near his Master's house in open view 
 iHe dwells, and hears indignant tempests howl, 
 • Kennelled and chained. Ye tame domestic Fowl, 
 Beware of him ! Thou, saucy Cockatoo, 
 Look to thy plumage and thy life ! — The Roe, 
 '. Fleet as the west wind, is for him no quarry ; 
 | Balanced in ether he will never tarry, 
 Eying the sea's blue depths. Poor Bird ! even so 
 j Doth Man of Brother-man a creature make, 
 ; That clings to slavery for its own sad sake. 
 
212 SONNETS. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 CAVE OF STAFFA. 
 
 We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd, 
 Not One of us has felt, the far-famed sight ; 
 How could we feel it ? each the other's blight, 
 Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud. 
 O-for those motions only that invite 
 The Ghost of Fingal to his tuneful Cave ! 
 By the breeze entered, and wave after wave 
 Softly embosoming the timid light ! 
 And by one Votary who at will might stand 
 Gazing, and take into his mind and heart, 
 With undistracted reverence, the effect 
 Of those proportions where the almighty hand 
 That made the worlds, the sovereign Architect, 
 Has deigned to work as if with human Art ! 
 
SONNETS. 213 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 CAVE OF STAFFA. 
 
 Thanks for the lessons of this Spot — fit school 
 For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign 
 Mechanic laws to agency divine ; 
 And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule 
 Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule, 
 Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed, 
 Might seem designed to humble Man, when proud 
 Of his best workmanship by plan and tool. 
 Down-bearing with his whole Atlantic weight 
 Of tide and tempest on the Structure's base, 
 And flashing upwards to its topmost height, 
 Ocean has proved its strength, and of its grace 
 In calms is conscious, finding for his freight 
 Of softest music some responsive place. 
 
214 SONNETS. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 CAVE OF STAFFA. 
 
 Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims 
 In every cell of Fingal's mystic Grot, 
 Where are ye ? Driven or venturing to the spot, . 
 Our Fathers glimpses caught of your thin Frames, 
 And, by your mien and bearing, knew your names ; 
 And they could hear his ghostly song who trod 
 Earth, till the flesh lay on him like a load, 
 While he struck his desolate harp without hopes o 
 
 aims. 
 Vanished ye are, but subject to recall ; 
 Why keep we else the instincts whose dread law 
 Ruled here of yore, till what men felt they saw, 
 Not by black arts but magic natural ! 
 If eyes be still sworn vassals of belief, 
 Yon light shapes forth a Bard, that shade a Chief. 
 
SONNETS. 215 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 'LOWERS ON THE TOP OF THE PILLARS AT THE 
 ENTRANCE OF THE CAVE. 
 
 Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, 
 Children of Summer ! 10 Ye fresh flowers that brave 
 What Summer here escapes not, the fierce wave, 
 Arid whole artillery of the western blast, 
 Battering the Temple's front, its long-drawn nave 
 Smiting, as if each moment were their last. 
 But ye, bright flowers, on frieze and architrave 
 Survive, and once again the Pile stands fast, 
 Calm as the Universe, from specular Towers 
 Of heaven contemplated by Spirits pure — 
 Suns and their systems, diverse yet sustained 
 In symmetry, and fashioned to endure, 
 Unhurt, the assault of Time with all his hours, 
 As the supreme Artificer ordained. 
 
216 SONNETS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 On to Ion a ! — What can she afford 
 To us save matter for a thoughtful sigh, 
 Heaved over ruin with stability 
 In urgent contrast ? To diffuse the Word 
 (Thy Paramount, mighty Nature ! and Time's Lord} 
 Her Temples rose, 'mid pagan gloom ; but why, 
 Even for a moment, has our verse deplored 
 Their wrongs, since they fulfilled their destiny ? 
 And when, subjected to a common doom 
 Of mutability, those far-famed Piles 
 Shall disappear from both the sister Isles, 
 Iona's Saints, forgetting not past days, 
 Garlands shall wear of amaranthine bloom, 
 While heaven's vast sea of voices chants then 
 praise. 
 
SONNETS. 217 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 IONA. 
 (upon landing.) 
 
 With earnest look, to every voyager, 
 
 Some ragged child holds up for sale his store 
 
 Of wave-worn pebbles, pleading on the shore 
 
 Where once came monk and nun with gentle stir, 
 
 Blessings to give, news ask, or suit prefer. 
 
 But see yon neat trim church, a grateful speck 
 
 Of novelty amid this sacred wreck — 
 
 Nay spare thy scorn, haughty Philosopher ! 
 
 Fallen though she be, this Glory of the west, 
 
 Still on her sons the beams of mercy shine ; 
 
 And "hopes, perhaps more heavenly bright than thine, 
 
 A grace by thee unsought and unpossest, 
 
 A faith more fixed, a rapture more divine 
 
 Shall gild their passage to eternal rest." 1] 
 
^18 SONNETS. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 THE BLACK STONES OF IONA. 
 [See Martin's Voyage among the Western Isles.] 
 
 Here on their knees men swore : the stones were 
 
 black, 
 Black in the People's minds and words, yet they 
 Were at that time, as now, in colour grey. 
 But what is colour, if upon the rack 
 Of conscience souls are placed by deeds that lack 
 Concord with oaths ? What differ night and day 
 Then, when before the Perjured on his way 
 Hell opens, and the heavens in vengeance crack 
 Above his head uplifted in vain prayer 
 To Saint, or Fiend, or to the Godhead whom 
 He had insulted — Peasant, King, or Thane. 
 Fly where the culprit may, guilt meets a doom ; 
 And, from invisible worlds at need laid bare, 
 Come links for social order's awful chain. 
 
SONNETS. 219 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell, 
 Where Christian piety's soul-cheering spark 
 (Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark 
 Of time) shone like the morning-star, farewell ! — 
 Remote St. Kilda, art thou visible ? 
 No — but farewell to thee, beloved sea-mark 
 For many a voyage made in Fancy's bark, 
 When, with more hues than in the rainbow dwell 
 Thou a mysterious intercourse dost hold; 
 Extracting from clear skies and air serene, 
 And out of sun-bright waves, a lucid veil, 
 That thickens, spreads, and, mingling fold with fold 
 Makes known, when thou no longer canst be seen, 
 Thy whereabout, to warn the approaching sail. 
 
 l 2 
 
220 SONNETS. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 GREENOCK. 
 
 Per me si va nella Citta dolente. 
 
 We have not passed into a doleful City, 
 We who were led to-day down a grim Dell, 
 By some too boldly named " the Jaws of Hell :" 
 Where be the wretched Ones, the sights for pity ? 
 These crowded streets resound no plaintive ditty 
 As from the hive where bees in summer dwell, 
 Sorrow seems here excluded ; and that knell, 
 It neither damps the gay, nor checks the witty. 
 Too busy Mart ! thus fared it with old Tyre, 
 Whose Merchants Princes were, whose decks were 
 
 thrones : 
 Soon may the punctual sea in vain respire 
 To serve thy need, in union with that Clyde 
 Whose nursling current brawls o'er mossy stones, 
 The poor, the lonely Herdsman's joy and pride. 
 
SONNETS. 221 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 I There! " said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride 
 Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, 
 " Is Mossgiel farm ; and that 's the very field 
 Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy." Far and wide 
 A plain below stretched sea-ward, while, descried 
 Above sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose ; 
 And, by that simple notice, the repose 
 Of earth, sky, sea, and air, was vivified. 
 Beneath " the random bield of clod or stone " 
 Myriads of Daisies have shone forth in flower 
 Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour 
 Have passed away, less happy than the One 
 That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove 
 The tender charm of Poetry and Love. 
 
 l 3 
 
222 SONNETS. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 FANCY AND TRADITION. 
 
 The Lovers took within this ancient grove 
 Their last embrace ; beside those crystal springs 
 The Hermit saw the Angel spread his wings 
 For instant flight ; the Sage in yon alcove 
 Sate musing ; on that hill the Bard would rove, 
 Not mute, where now the Linnet only sings : 
 Thus ever}'- where to truth Tradition clings, 
 Or Fancy localises Powers we love. 
 Were only History licensed to take note 
 Of things gone by, her meagre monuments 
 Would ill suffice for persons and events : 
 There is an ampler page for man to quote, 
 A readier book of manifold contents, 
 Studied alike in palace and in cot. 
 
SONNETS. 223 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 THE RIVER EDEN, CUMBERLAND. 
 
 Eden ! till now thy beauty had I viewed 
 By glimpses only, and confess with shame 
 That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood, 
 Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name ; 
 Yet fetched from Paradise 12 that honour came, 
 Rightfully borne ; for Nature gives thee flowers 
 That have no rivals among British bowers ; 
 And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame. 
 Measuring thy course, fair Stream ! at length I pay 
 To my life's neighbour dues of neighbourhood ; 
 But I have traced thee on thy winding way 
 With pleasure sometimes by the thought restrained 
 That things far off are toiled for, while a good 
 Not sought, because too near, is seldom gained. 
 
 l 4- 
 
224 SONNETS. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 MONUMENT OF MRS. HOWARD, 
 
 (by Nollekins^) 
 
 IN WETHERAL CHURCH, NEAR CORBY, ON THE BANKS OF T] 
 EDEN. 
 
 Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies dead 
 Her new-born Babe, dire issue of bright hope ! 
 But Sculpture here, with the divinest scope 
 Of luminous faith, heavenward hath raised that heac 
 So patiently; and through one hand has spread 
 A touch so tender for the insensate Child, 
 Earth's lingering love to parting reconciled, 
 Brief parting — for the spirit is all but fled ; 
 That we, who contemplate the turns of life 
 Through this still medium, are consoled and cheered; 
 Feel with the Mother, think the severed Wife 
 Is less to be lamented than revered ; 
 And own that Art, triumphant over strife 
 And pain, hath powers to Eternity endeared. 
 
SONNETS. 225 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Tranquillity! the sovereign aim wert thou 
 In heathen schools of philosophic lore ; 
 Heart-stricken by stern destiny of yore 
 The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow ; 
 And what of hope Elysium could allow 
 Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore 
 Peace to the Mourner's soul ; but He who wore 
 The crown of thorns around his bleeding brow 
 Warmed our sad being with his glorious light : 
 Then Arts, which still had drawn a softening grace 
 From shadowy fountains of the Infinite, 
 Communed with that Idea face to face ; 
 And move around it now as planets run, 
 Each in its orbit, round the central Sun. 
 
 l 5 
 
226 SONNETS 
 
 XL. 
 
 NUNNERY. 
 
 The floods are roused, and will not soon be weary ; 
 
 Down from the Pennine Alps # how fiercely sweeps 
 
 Croglin, the stately Eden's tributary ! 
 
 He raves., or through some moody passage creeps 
 
 Plotting new mischief — out again he leaps 
 
 Into broad light, and sends, through regions airy, 
 
 That voice which soothed the Nuns while on the 
 
 steeps 
 They knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary. 
 That union ceased : then, cleaving easy walks 
 Through crags, and smoothing paths beset with 
 
 danger, 
 Came studious Taste ; and many a pensive Stranger 
 Dreams on the banks, and to the river talks. 
 What change shall happen next to Nunnery Dell ? 
 Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway, tell ! 13 
 
 * The chain of Crossfell, which parts Cumberland and West- 
 moreland from Northumberland and Durham. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 STEAMBOATS, VIADUCTS, AND RAILWAYS. 
 
 Motions and Means, on land and sea at war 
 
 With old poetic feeling, not for this, 
 
 Shall ye, by Poets even, be judged amiss ! 
 
 Nor shall your presence, howsoe'er it mar 
 
 The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar 
 
 To the Mind's gaining that prophetic sense 
 
 Of future change, that point of vision whence 
 
 May be discovered what in soul ye are. 
 
 In spite of all that beauty may disown 
 
 In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace 
 
 Her lawful offspring in Man's art ; and Time, 
 
 Pleased with your triumphs o'er his brother Space, 
 
 Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown 
 
 Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime. 
 
 
 l 6 
 
228 SONNETS. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Lowther ! in thy majestic Pile are seen 
 
 Cathedral pomp and grace, in apt accord 
 
 With the baronial castle's sterner mien ; 
 
 Union significant of God adored, 
 
 And charters won and guarded by the sword 
 
 Of ancient honour ; whence that goodly state 
 
 Of Polity which wise men venerate, 
 
 And will maintain, if God his help afford. 
 
 Hourly the democratic torrent swells ; 
 
 For airy promises and hopes suborned 
 
 The strength of backward - looking thoughts is 
 
 scorned. 
 Fall if ye must, ye Towers and Pinnacles, 
 With what ye symbolise, authentic Story 
 Will say, Ye disappeared with England's Glory ! 
 
SONNETS. 229 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF LONSDALE. 14 
 
 " Magistratus indicat virum." 
 
 Lonsdale! it were unworthy of a Guest, 
 
 Whose heart with gratitude to thee inclines, 
 
 If he should speak, by fancy touched, of signs 
 
 On thy Abode harmoniously imprest, 
 
 Yet be unmoved with wishes to attest 
 
 How in thy mind and moral frame agree 
 
 Fortitude and that christian Charity 
 
 Which, filling, consecrates the human breast. 
 
 And if the Motto on thy 'scutcheon teach 
 
 With truth, " The Magistracy shows the Man ;' 
 
 That searching test thy public course has stood ; 
 
 As will be owned alike by bad and good, 
 
 Soon as the measuring of life's little span 
 
 Shall place thy virtues out of Envy's reach. 
 
230 SONNETS. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 TO CORDELIA M- 
 
 HALLSTEADS, ULLSWATER. 
 
 Not in the mines beyond the western main, 
 You tell me, Delia ! was the metal sought, 
 Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought 
 Into this flexible yet faithful Chain ; 
 Nor is it silver of romantic Spain 
 You say, but from Helvellyn's depths was brought, 
 Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought 
 Mix strangely ; trifles light, and partly vain, 
 Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being : 
 Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound 
 (Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord, 
 What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing, 
 Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord, 
 For precious tremblings in your bosom found ! 
 
SONNETS. 231 
 
 XLV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 
 
 To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 
 
 While a fair region round the Traveller lies 
 
 Which he forbears again to look upon ; 
 
 Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 
 
 The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 
 
 Of meditation, slipping in between 
 
 The beauty coming and the beauty gone. 
 
 If Thought and Love desert us, from that day • 
 
 Let us break off all commerce with the Muse ; 
 
 With Thought and Love companions of our way, 
 
 Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, 
 
 The Mind's internal Heaven shall shed her dews 
 
 Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 
 
232 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 The River Greta. Page 190. 
 i " But if thou like Cocytus," &c. 
 
 Many years ago, when the author was at Greta Bridge, in 
 Yorkshire, the hostess of the inn, proud of her skill in ety- 
 mology, said, that " the name of the river was taken from the 
 bridge, the form of which, as every one must notice, exactly 
 resembled a great A." But Dr. Whitaker has derived it from 
 the word of common occurrence in the north of England, " to 
 greet ; " signifying to lament aloud, mostly with weeping 
 conjecture rendered more probable from the stony and rocky 
 channel of both the Cumberland and Yorkshire rivers. The 
 Cumberland Greta, though it does not, among the country 
 people, take up that name till within three miles of its disap- 
 pearance in the river Derwent, may be considered as having 
 its source in the mountain cove of Wythburn, and flowing 
 through Thirlmere, the beautiful features of which lake are 
 known only to those who, travelling between Grasmere and 
 Keswick, have quitted the main road in the vale of Wythburn, 
 and, crossing over to the opposite side of the lake, have pro- 
 ceeded with it on the right hand. 
 
 The channel of the Greta, immediately above Keswick, has, 
 for the purposes of building, been in a great measure cleared 
 of the immense stones which, by their concussion in high 
 floods, produced the loud and awful noises described in the 
 sonnet. 
 
NOTES. 233 
 
 " The scenery upon this river," says Mr. Southey in his 
 Colloquies, " where it passes under the woody side of Latrigg, 
 is of the finest and most rememberable kind : — 
 
 ' ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque, 
 
 Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas. ' " 
 
 2 To the River Derwent. Page 191. 
 This sonnet has already appeared in several editions of the 
 author's poems; but he is tempted to reprint it in this place, as 
 a natural introduction to the two that follow it. 
 
 Nun's Well, Brigham. Page 194. 
 3 " By hooded votaries," &c. 
 
 Attached to the church of Brigham was formerly a chan- 
 try, which held a moiety of the manor ; and in the decayed 
 parsonage some vestiges of monastic architecture are still to be 
 seen. 
 
 4 Mary Queen of Scots landing at Workington. Page 1 96. 
 
 " The fears and impatience of Mary were so great," says 
 Robertson, " that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about 
 twenty attendants landed at Workington, in Cumberland ; and 
 thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to Car- 
 lisle." The apartment in which the Queen had slept at Work- 
 ington Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry Curwen 
 as became her rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out 
 of respect to her memory, as she had left it ; and one cannot 
 but regret that some necessary alterations in the mansion 
 could not be effected without its destruction. 
 
 Douglas Bay, Isle of Man. Page 200. 
 b " They are led by noble Hillary." 
 
 The Tower of Refuge, an ornament to Douglas Bay, was 
 erected chiefly through the humanity and zeal of Sir William 
 Hillary; and he also was the founder of the life-boat establish- 
 
234 NOTES. 
 
 ment, at that place ; by which, under his superintendence, and 
 often by his exertions at the imminent hazard of his own life, 
 many seamen and passengers have been saved. 
 
 6 By a retired Mariner. Page 204. 
 
 This unpretending sonnet is by a gentleman nearly con- 
 nected with the author who hopes, as it falls so easily into its 
 place, that both the writer and the reader will excuse 1 its ap- 
 pearance here. 
 
 Tynwald Hill. Page 206. 
 7 " Off with yon cloud, old Snafell ! " 
 
 The summit of this mountain is well chosen by Cowley, as 
 the scene of the " Vision," in which the spectral angel dis- 
 courses with him concerning the government of Oliver Crom- 
 well. " I found myself," says he, " on the top of that famous 
 hill in the Island Mona, which has the prospect of three 
 great, and not long since most happy, kingdoms. As soon as 
 ever I looked upon them, they called forth the sad represent- 
 ation of all the sins and all the miseries that had overwhelmed 
 them these twenty years." It is not to be denied that the 
 changes now in progress, and the passions, and the way in 
 which they work, strikingly resemble those which led to the 
 disasters the philosophic writer so feelingly bewails. God 
 grant that the resemblance may not become still more striking 
 as months and years advance ! 
 
 8 On revisiting Dunolly Castle. Page 210. 
 
 This ingenious piece of workmanship, as the author after- 
 wards learned, had been executed for their own amusement 
 by some labourers employed about the place. 
 
 9 CaveofStaffa. Page 213. 
 
 The reader may be tempted to exclaim, " How came this and 
 the two following sonnets to be written, after the dissatisfac- 
 
NOTES. 235 
 
 tion expresed in the preceding one ? " In fact, at the risk of 
 incurring the reasonable displeasure of the master of the steam- 
 boat, the author returned to the cave, and explored it under 
 circumstances more favourable to those imaginative impres- 
 sions, which it is so wonderfully fitted to make upon the 
 mind. 
 
 Sonnet 29. Page 215. 
 10 " Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, 
 Children of summer ! " 
 
 Upon the head of the columns which form the front of 
 the cave, rests a body of decomposed basaltic matter, which 
 was richly decorated with that large bright flower, the ox-eyed 
 J daisy. The author had noticed the same flower growing with 
 [profusion among the bold rocks on the western coast of the 
 Isle of Man ; making a brilliant contrast with their black and 
 gloomy surfaces. 
 
 u Iona. Page 217. 
 
 The four last lines of this sonnet are adopted from a well- 
 known sonnet of Russel, as conveying the author's feeling 
 better than any words of his own could do. 
 
 The River Eden. Page 223. 
 12 " Yet fetched from Paradise," &c 
 
 It is to be feared that there is more of the poet than the 
 sound etymologist in this derivation of the name Eden. On 
 the western coast of Cumberland is a rivulet which enters the 
 sea at Moresby, known also in the neighbourhood by the name 
 of Eden. May not the latter syllable come from the word 
 Dean, a valley ? Langdale, near Ambleside, is by the inha- 
 bitants called Langden. The former syllable occurs in the 
 name Eamont, a principal feeder of the Eden ; and the stream 
 which flows, when the tide is out, over Cartmel Sands, is called 
 the Ea. 
 
236 NOTES. 
 
 Nunnery. Page 226. 
 
 13 " Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway, tell!" 
 
 At Corby? a few miles below Nunnery, the Eden is crossed 
 by a magnificent viaduct ; and another of these works is thrown 
 over a deep glen or ravine at a very short distance from the 
 main stream. 
 
 1 4 To the Earl of Lonsdale. Page 229. 
 
 This sonnet was written immediately after certain trials, 
 which took place at the Cumberland Assizes, when the Earl 
 of Lonsdale, in consequence of repeated and long continued 
 attacks upon his character, through the local press, had thought 
 it right to prosecute the conductors and proprietors of three 
 several journals. A verdict of libel was given in one case ; 
 and in the others, the prosecutions were withdrawn, upon the 
 individuals retracting and disavowing the charges, expressing 
 regret that they had been made, and promising to abstain from 
 the like in future. 
 
237 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF THE COUNTESS OF 
 Nov. 5. 1834. 
 
 Lady ! a Pen, perhaps, with thy regard, 
 
 Among the Favoured, favoured not the least, 
 
 Left, 'raid the Records of this Book inscribed, 
 
 Deliberate traces, registers of thought 
 
 And feeling, suited to the place and time 
 
 That gave them birth: — months passed, and still 
 
 this hand, 
 That had not been too timid to imprint 
 Words which the virtues of thy Lord inspired, 
 Was yet not bold enough to write of Thee. 
 And why that scrupulous reserve ? In sooth 
 The blameless cause lay in the Theme itself. 
 Flowers are there many that delight to strive 
 With the sharp wind, and seem to court the shower, 
 lYet are by nature careless of the sun 
 : Whether he shine on them or not ; and some, 
 Where'er he moves along the unclouded sky, 
 
238 LINES WRITTEN IN THE 
 
 Turn a broad front full on his flattering beams : 
 Others do rather from their notice shrink, 
 Loving the dewy shade, — a humble Band, 
 Modest and sweet, a Progeny of earth, 
 Congenial with thy mind and character, 
 High-born Augusta ! 
 
 Towers, and stately Groves, 
 Bear witness for me ; thou, too, Mountain-stream ! I 
 From thy most secret haunts ; and ye Parterres, 
 Which she is pleased and proud to call her own ; 
 Witness how oft upon my noble Friend 
 Mute offerings, tribute from an inward sense 
 Of admiration and respectful love, 
 Have waited, till the affections could no more 
 Endure that silence, and broke out in song ; 
 Snatches of music taken up and dropt 
 Like those self-solacing those under notes 
 Trilled by the redbreast, when autumnal leaves 
 Are thin upon the bough. Mine, only mine, 
 The pleasure was, and no one heard the praise, 
 Checked, in the moment of its issue checked; 
 And reprehended by a fancied blush 
 From the pure qualities that called it forth. 
 
ALBUM OF THE COUNTESS OF . 239 
 
 Thus Virtue lives debarred from Virtue's meed; 
 Thus, Lady, is retiredness a veil 
 That, while it only spreads a softening charm 
 O'er features looked at by discerning eyes, 
 Hides half their beauty from the common gaze ; 
 And thus, even on the exposed and breezy hill 
 Of lofty station, female goodness walks, 
 When side by side with lunar gentleness, 
 As in a cloister. Yet the grateful Poor 
 (Such the immunities of low estate, 
 Plain Nature's enviable privilege, 
 Her sacred recompence for many wants) 
 Open their hearts before Thee, pouring out 
 All that they think and feel, with tears of joy ; 
 And benedictions not unheard in Heaven : 
 And friend in the ear of friend^ where speech is free 
 To follow truth, is eloquent as they. 
 
 Then let the Book receive in these prompt lines 
 A just memorial ; and thine eyes consent 
 To read that they, who mark thy course, behold 
 A life declining with the golden light 
 Of summer, in the season of sere leaves ; 
 See cheerfulness undamped by stealing Time ; 
 
240 LINES, ETC. 
 
 See studied kindness flow with easy stream, 
 Illustrated with inborn courtesy ; 
 And an habitual disregard of self 
 Balanced by vigilance for others' weal. 
 
 And shall the verse not tell of lighter gifts 
 With these ennobling attributes conjoined 
 And blended, in peculiar harmony, 
 By Youth's surviving spirit ? What agile grace ! 
 A nymph-like liberty, in nymph-like form, 
 Beheld with wonder ; whether floor or path 
 Thou tread, or on the managed steed art borne, 
 Fleet as the shadows, over down or field, 
 Driven by strong winds at play among the clouds. 
 
 Yet one word more — one farewell word — a wish 
 Which came, but it has passed into a prayer, 
 That, as thy sun in brightness is declining, 
 So, at an hour yet distant for their sakes 
 Whose tender love, here faltering on the way 
 Of a diviner love, will be forgiven, — 
 So may it set in peace, to rise again 
 For everlasting glory won by faith. 
 
241 f 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 1. 
 
 List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower * 
 
 At eve ; how softly then 
 Doth Aira-force, that torrent hoarse, 
 
 Speak from the woody glen ! 
 Fit music for a solemn vale ! 
 
 And holier seems the ground 
 To him who catches on the gale 
 The spirit of a mournful tale, 
 
 Embodied in the sound. 
 
 * A pleasure-house built by the late Duke of Norfolk upon 
 the banks of Ullswater. Force is the word used in the Lake 
 District for Water-fall. 
 
242 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 2. 
 
 Not far from that fair site whereon 
 
 The Pleasure-house is reared, 
 As Story says, in antique days, 
 
 A stern-brow'd house appeared ; 
 Foil to a jewel rich in light 
 
 There set, and guarded well ; 
 Cage for a bird of plumage bright, 
 Sweet-voiced, nor wishing for a flight 
 
 Beyond her native dell. 
 
 3. 
 
 To win this bright bird from her cage, 
 
 To make this gem their own, 
 Came Barons bold, with store of gold, 
 
 And Knights of high renown ; 
 But one she prized, and only One ; 
 
 Sir Eglamore was he ; 
 Full happy season, when was known, 
 Ye Dales and Hills ! to you alone 
 
 Their mutual loyalty — 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 243 
 
 4. 
 
 Known chiefly, Aira ! to thy glen, 
 
 Thy brook, and bowers of holly ; 
 Where Passion caught what Nature taught, 
 
 That all but Love is folly ; 
 Where Fact with Fancy stooped to play, 
 
 Doubt came not, nor regret ; 
 To trouble hours that winged their way, 
 As if through an immortal day 
 
 Whose sun could never set. 
 
 But in old times Love dwelt not long 
 
 Sequester'd with repose ; 
 Best throve the fire of chaste desire, 
 
 Fanned by the breath of foes. 
 I A conquering lance is beauty's test, 
 
 " And proves the Lover true;" 
 So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed 
 The drooping Emma to his breast, 
 
 And looked a blind adieu. 
 
 M 2 
 
244 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 6. 
 
 They parted. — Well with him it fared 
 
 Through wide-spread regions errant ; 
 A knight of proof in love's behoof, 
 
 The thirst of fame his warrant : 
 And she her happiness can build 
 
 On woman's quiet hours ; 
 Though faint, compared with spear and shield. 
 The solace beads and masses yield, 
 
 And needlework and flowers. 
 
 Yet blest was Emma when she heard 
 
 Her Champion's praise recounted ; 
 Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim, 
 
 And high her blushes mounted ; 
 Or when a bold heroic lay 
 
 She warbled from full heart : 
 Delightful blossoms for the May 
 Of absence ! but they will not stay, 
 
 Born only to depart. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 245 
 
 8. 
 
 Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills 
 
 Whatever path he chooses ; 
 As if his orb, that owns no curb, 
 
 Received the light hers loses. 
 He comes not back ; an ampler space 
 
 Requires for nobler deeds ; 
 He ranges on from place to place, 
 Till of his doings is no trace 
 
 But what her fancy breeds. 
 
 His fame may spread, but in the past 
 
 Her spirit finds its centre ; 
 Clear sight she has of what he was, 
 
 And that would now content her. 
 " Still is he my devoted knight?" 
 
 The tear in answer flows ; 
 Month falls on month with heavier weight ; 
 Day sickens round her, and the night 
 
 Is empty of repose. 
 
 m 3 
 
246 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 10. 
 
 In sleep she sometimes walked abroad, 
 
 Deep sighs with quick words blending, 
 Like that pale Queen whose hands are seen 
 
 With fancied spots contending ; 
 But she is innocent of blood, — 
 
 The moon is not more pure 
 That shines aloft, while through the wood 
 She thrids her way, the sounding Flood 
 
 Her melancholy lure ! 
 
 11. 
 
 While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe, 
 
 And owls alone are waking, 
 In white arrayed, glides on the Maid 
 
 The downward pathway taking, 
 That leads her to the torrent's side 
 
 And to a holly bower ; 
 By whom on this still night descried ? 
 By whom in that lone place espied ? 
 
 By thee, Sir Eglamore ! 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 247 
 
 12. 
 
 A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight, 
 
 His coming step lias thwarted, 
 Beneath the boughs that heard their vows, 
 
 Within whose shade they parted. 
 Hush, hush, the busy Sleeper see ! 
 
 Perplexed her fingers seem, 
 As if they from the holly tree 
 Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly 
 
 Flung from her to the stream. 
 
 13. 
 
 What means the Spectre ? Why intent 
 
 To violate the Tree, 
 Thought Eglamore, by which I swore 
 
 Unfading constancy ? 
 Here am I, and to-morrow's sun, 
 
 To her I left, shall prove 
 That bliss is ne'er so surely won 
 As when a circuit has been run 
 
 Of valour, truth, and love. 
 
 m 4 
 
248 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 14. 
 
 So from the spot whereon he stood, 
 
 He moved with stealthy pace ; 
 And, drawing nigh, with his living eye, 
 
 He recognised the face ; 
 And whispers caught, and speeches small, 
 
 Some to the green-leaved tree, 
 Some muttered to the torrent-fall, — 
 " Roar on, and bring him with thy call ; 
 
 " I heard, and so may he ! " 
 
 15. 
 
 Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew 
 
 If Emma's Ghost it were, 
 Or boding Shade, or if the Maid 
 
 Her very self stood there. 
 He touched, what followed who shall tell ? 
 
 The soft touch snapped the thread 
 Of slumber — shrieking back she fell, 
 And the Stream whirled her down the dell 
 
 Along its foaming bed. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. l i49 
 
 16. 
 
 In plunged the Knight ! when on firm ground 
 
 The rescued Maiden lay, 
 Her eyes grew bright with blissful light, 
 
 Confusion passed away ; 
 She heard, ere to the throne of grace 
 
 Her faithful Spirit flew, 
 His voice ; beheld his speaking face, 
 And, dying, from his own embrace, 
 
 She felt that he was true. 
 
 17. 
 
 So was he reconciled to life : 
 
 Brief words may speak the rest ; 
 Within the dell he built a cell, 
 
 And there was Sorrow's guest ; 
 In hermits' weeds repose he found, 
 
 From vain temptations free ; 
 Beside the torrent dwelling — bound 
 By one deep heart-controlling sound, 
 
 And awed to piety. 
 
 m 5 
 
250 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 18. 
 
 Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course, 
 
 Nor fear memorial lays, 
 Where clouds that spread in solemn shade, 
 
 Are edged with golden rays ! 
 Dear art thou to the light of Heaven, 
 
 Though minister of sorrow ; 
 Sweet is thy voice at pensive Even ; 
 And thou, in Lovers' hearts forgiven, 
 
 Shall take thy place with Yarrow ! 
 
251 
 TO , 
 
 UPON THE BIRTH OF HER. FIRST-BORN CHILD, MARCH, 1833. 
 
 Turn porro puer, ut saevis projectus ab undis 
 Navita ; nudus humi jacet," &c. — Lucretius. 
 
 Like a shipwreck'd Sailor tost 
 By rough waves on a perilous coast, 
 Lies the Babe, in helplessness 
 And in tenderest nakedness, 
 Flung by labouring nature forth 
 Upon the mercies of the earth. 
 Can its eyes beseech ? no more 
 Than the hands are free to implore 
 Voice but serves for one brief cry, 
 Plaint was it ? or prophecy 
 Of sorrow that will surely come ? 
 Omen of man's grievous doom ! 
 
 But, O Mother ! by the close 
 Duly granted to thy throes ; 
 
 m 6 
 
252 TO , ETC. 
 
 By the silent thanks now tending 
 Incense-like to Heaven, descending 
 Now to mingle and to move 
 With the gush of earthly love, 
 As a debt to that frail Creature, 
 Instrument of struggling Nature 
 For the blissful calm, the peace 
 Known but to this one release ; 
 Can the pitying spirit doubt 
 That for human-kind springs out 
 From the penalty a sense 
 Of more than mortal recompence ? 
 
 As a floating summer cloud, 
 Though of gorgeous drapery proud, 
 To the sun-burnt traveller, 
 Or the stooping labourer, 
 Ofttimes makes its bounty known 
 By its shadow round him thrown ; 
 So, by chequerings of sad cheer, 
 Heavenly guardians, brooding near, 
 Of their presence tell — too bright 
 Haply for corporeal sight ! 
 
TO , ETC. 253 
 
 Ministers of grace divine 
 Feelingly their brows incline 
 O'er this seeming Castaway 
 Breathing, in the light of day, 
 Something like the faintest breath 
 That has power to baffle death — 
 Beautiful, while very weakness 
 Captivates like passive meekness ! 
 
 And, sweet Mother ! under warrant 
 Of the universal Parent, 
 Who repays in season due 
 Them who have, like thee, been true 
 To the filial chain let down 
 From his everlasting throne, 
 Angels hovering round thy couch, 
 With their softest whispers vouch, 
 That, whatever griefs may fret, 
 Cares entangle, sins beset 
 This thy first-born, and with tears 
 Stain her cheek in future years, 
 Heavenly succour, not denied 
 To the Babe, whate'er betide, 
 Will to the Woman be supplied ! 
 
254 TO , ETC. 
 
 . Mother ! blest be thy calm ease ; 
 Blest the starry promises, 
 And the firmament benign 
 Hallowed be it, where they shine ! 
 Yes, for them whose souls have scope 
 Ample for a winged hope, 
 And can earthward bend an ear 
 For needful listening, pledge is here, 
 That, if thy new-born Charge shall tread 
 In thy footsteps, and be led 
 By that other Guide, whose light 
 Of manly virtues, mildly bright, 
 Gave him first the wished-for part 
 In thy gentle virgin heart, 
 Then, amid the storms of life 
 Presignified by that dread strife 
 Whence ye have escaped together, 
 She may look for serene weather ; 
 In all trials sure to find 
 Comfort for a faithful mind ; 
 Kindlier issues, holier rest, 
 Than even now await her prest, 
 Conscious Nursling, to thy breast ! 
 
<255 
 
 THE WARNING, 
 A SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING. 
 
 MARCH, 1833. 
 
 List, the winds of March are blowing; 
 
 Her ground-flowers shrink, afraid of showing 
 
 Their meek heads to the nipping air, 
 
 Which ye feel not, happy pair ! 
 
 Sunk into a kindly sleep. 
 
 We, meanwhile, our hope will keep ; 
 
 And if Time leagued with adverse Change 
 
 (Too busy fear !) shall cross its range, 
 
 Whatsoever check they bring, 
 
 Anxious duty hindering, 
 
 To like hope our prayers will cling. 
 
 Thus, while the ruminating spirit feeds 
 Upon each home-event as life proceeds, 
 Affections pure and holy in their source 
 Gain a fresh impulse, run a livelier course ; 
 Hopes that within the Father's heart prevail, 
 Are in the experienced Grandsire's slow to fail 
 
 
9,56 THE WARNING. 
 
 And if the harp pleased his gay youth, it rings 
 To his grave touch with no unready strings, 
 While thoughts press on, and feelings overflow, 
 And quick words round him fall like flakes of snow. 
 
 Thanks to the Powers that yet maintain their 
 sway, 
 And have renewed the tributary Lay. 
 Truths of the heart flock in with eager pace, 
 And Fancy greets them with a fond embrace ; 
 Swift as the rising sun his beams extends 
 She shoots the tidings forth to distant friends ; 
 Their gifts she hails (deemed precious, as they prove 
 For the unconscious Babe an unbelated love ! ) 
 But from this peaceful centre of delight 
 Vague sympathies have urged her to take flight. 
 She rivals the fleet Swallow, making rings 
 In the smooth lake where'er he dips his wings : 
 — Rapt into upper regions, like the Bee 
 That sucks from mountain heath her honey fee ; 
 Or, like the warbling Lark intent to shroud 
 His head in sunbeams or a bowery cloud, 
 She soars — and here and there her pinions rest 
 On proud towers, like this humble cottage, blest 
 With a new visitant, an infant guest — 
 
THE WARNING. 257 
 
 Towers where red streamers flout the breezy sky 
 In pomp foreseen by her creative eye, 
 When feasts shall crowd the Hall, and steeple bells 
 Glad proclamation make, and heights and dells 
 Catch the blithe music as it sinks or swells ; 
 And harboured ships, whose pride is on the sea, 
 Shall hoist their topmast flags in sign of glee, 
 Honouring the hope of noble ancestry. 
 
 But who (though neither reckoning ills assigned 
 By Nature, nor reviewing in the mind 
 The track that was, and is, and must be, worn 
 With weary feet by all of woman born) — 
 Shall now by such a gift with joy be moved, 
 Nor feel the fulness of that joy reproved? 
 Not He, whose last faint memory will command 
 The truth that Britain was his native land ; 
 Whose infant soul was tutored to confide 
 In the cleansed faith for which her martyrs died ; 
 Whose boyish ear the voice of her renown 
 With rapture thrilled; whose Youth revered the 
 
 crown 
 Of Saxon liberty that Alfred wore, 
 Alfred, dear Babe, thy great Progenitor! 
 
C 25S THE WARNING. 
 
 — Not He, who from her mellowed practice drew 
 His social sense of just, and fair, and true ; 
 And saw, thereafter, on the soil of France 
 Rash Polity begin her maniac dance, 
 Foundations broken up, the deeps run wild, 
 Nor grieved to see, (himself not unbeguiled) — 
 Woke from the dream, the dreamer to upbraid, 
 And learn how sanguine expectations fade 
 When novel trusts by folly are betrayed, — 
 To see presumption, turning pale, refrain 
 From further havoc, but repent in vain, — 
 Good aims lie down, and perish in the road 
 Where guilt had urged them on, with ceaseless 
 
 goad, 
 Till undiscriminating Ruin swept 
 The Land, and Wrong perpetual vigils kept ; 
 With proof before her that on public ends 
 Domestic virtue vitally depends. 
 
 Can such a one, dear Babe ! though glad and 
 proud 
 To welcome Thee, repel the fears that crowd 
 Into his English breast, and spare to quake 
 Not for his own, but for thy innocent sake ? 
 
THE WARNING. 259 
 
 Too late — or, should the providence of God 
 
 Lead, through blind ways by sin and sorrow trod, 
 
 Justice and peace to a secure abode, 
 
 Too soon — thou com'st into this breathing world; 
 
 Ensigns of mimic outrage are unfurled. 
 
 Who shall preserve or prop the tottering Realm ? 
 
 What hand suffice to govern the state-helm ? 
 
 If, in the aims of men, the surest test 
 
 Of good or bad (whate'er be sought for or profest) 
 
 Lie in the means required, or ways ordained, 
 
 For compassing the end, else never gained ; 
 
 Yet governors and govern'd both are blind 
 
 To this plain truth, or fling it to the wind ; 
 
 If to expedience principle must bow ; 
 
 Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incumbent 
 
 Now; 
 If cowardly concession still must feed 
 The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede ; 
 If generous Loyalty must stand in awe 
 Of subtle Treason, with his mask of law; 
 Or with bravado insolent and hard, 
 Provoking punishment, to win reward ; 
 If office help the factious to conspire, 
 And they who should extinguish, fan the fire — 
 
260 THE WARNING. 
 
 Then, will the sceptre be a straw, the crown 
 Sit loosely, like the thistle's crest of down ; 
 To be blown off at will, by Power that spares it 
 In cunning patience, from the head that wears it. 
 
 Lost people, trained to theoretic feud ; 
 Lost above all, ye labouring multitude ! 
 Bewildered whether ye, by slanderous tongues 
 Deceived, mistake calamities for wrongs ; 
 And over fancied usurpations brood, 
 Oft snapping at revenge in sullen mood ; 
 Or, from long stress of real injuries fly 
 To desperation for a remedy ; 
 In bursts of outrage spread your judgments wide, 
 And to your wrath cry out, " Be thou our guide ;" 
 Or, bound by oaths, come forth to tread earth's 
 
 floor 
 In marshalled thousands, darkening street and moor 
 With the worst shape mock-patience ever wore ; 
 Or, to the giddy top of self-esteem 
 By Flatterers carried, mount into a dream 
 Of boundless suffrage, at whose sage behest 
 Justice shall rule, disorder be supprest, 
 And every man sit down as Plenty's Guest ! 
 
THE WARNING. 261 
 
 — O for a bridle bitted with remorse 
 To stop your Leaders in their headstrong course ! 
 Oh may the Almighty scatter with his grace 
 These mists, and lead you to a safer place, 
 By paths no human wisdom can foretrace ! 
 May He pour round you, from worlds far above 
 Man's feverish passions, his pure light of love, 
 That quietly restores the natural mien 
 To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen ! 
 Else shall your blood-stained hands in frenzy reap 
 Fields gaily sown when promises were cheap. 
 Why is the Past belied with wicked art, 
 The Future made to play so false a part, 
 Among a people famed for strength of mind, 
 Foremost in freedom, noblest of mankind? 
 We act as if we joyed in the sad tune 
 Storms make in rising, valued in the moon 
 Nought but her changes. Thus, ungrateful Nation ! 
 If thou persist, and, scorning moderation, 
 Spread for thyself the snares of tribulation, 
 Whom, then, shall meekness guard? What saving 
 
 skill 
 Lie in forbearance, strength in standing still ? 
 
262 THE WARNING. 
 
 — Soon shall the Widow (for the speed of Time 
 Nought equals when the hours are winged with 
 
 crime) 
 Widow, or Wife, implore on tremulous knee, 
 From him who judged her Lord, a like decree ; 
 The skies will weep o'er old men desolate : 
 Ye Little-ones ! Earth shudders at your fate, 
 Outcasts and homeless orphans 
 
 But turn, my Soul, and from the sleeping Pair 
 Learn thou the beauty of omniscient care ! 
 Be strong in faith, bid anxious thoughts lie still ; 
 Seek for the good and cherish it — the ill 
 Oppose, or bear with a submissive will. 
 
263 
 
 If this great world of joy and pain 
 
 Revolve in one sure track ; 
 If Freedom, set, will rise again, 
 
 And Virtue, flown, come back ; 
 Woe to the purblind crew who fill 
 
 The heart with each day's care ; 
 Nor gain, from past or future, skill 
 
 To bear, and to forbear ! 
 
264 
 
 SONNET*, 
 
 COMPOSED AFTER READING A NEWSPAPER OF THE DAY. 
 
 " People ! your chains are severing link by link ; 
 Soon shall the Rich be levelled down — the Poor 
 Meet them halfway." Vain boast ! for These, the more 
 They thus would rise, must low and lower sink 
 Till, by repentance stung, they fear to think ; 
 While all lie prostrate, save the tyrant few 
 Bent in quick turns each other to undo, 
 And mix the poison, they themselves must drink. 
 Mistrust thyself, vain Country ! cease to cry, 
 " Knowledge will save me from the threatened woe." 
 For, if than other rash ones more thou know, 
 Yet on presumptuous wing as far would fly 
 Above thy knowledge as they dared to go, 
 Thou wilt provoke a heavier penalty. 
 
 * This Sonnet ought to have followed No. VII. in the 
 series of 1831, but was omitted by mistake. 
 
265 
 
 LOVING AND LIKING 
 
 IRREGULAR VERSES, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A CHILD. 
 
 {In the former editions of the author's Miscellaneous Poems 
 are three pieces addressed to Children : — the following, a 
 few lines excepted, is by the same Writer ; and, as it be- 
 longs to the same unassuming class of compositions, she has 
 been prevailed upon to consent to its publication.] 
 
 There's more in words than I can teach : 
 Yet listen, Child ! — I would not preach ; 
 But only give some plain directions 
 To guide your speech and your affections. 
 Say not you love a roasted Fowl, 
 But you may love a screaming Owl, 
 And, if you can, the unwieldy Toad 
 That crawls from his secure abode 
 Within the mossy garden wall 
 When evening dews begin to fall. 
 Oh mark the beauty of his eye : 
 What wonders in that circle lie ! 
 
266 LOVING AND LIKING. 
 
 So clear, so bright, our fathers said 
 He wears a jewel in his head ! 
 And when, upon some showery day, 
 Into a path or public way 
 A Frog leaps out from bordering grass, 
 Startling the timid as they pass, 
 Do you observe him, and endeavour 
 To take the intruder into favour ; 
 Learning from him to find a reason 
 For a light heart in a dull season. 
 And you may love him in the pool, 
 That is for him a happy school, 
 In which he swims, as taught by nature, 
 A pattern for a human creature, 
 Glancing amid the water bright, 
 And sending upward sparkling light. 
 Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing 
 A love for things that have no feeling : 
 The spring's first Rose, by you espied, 
 May fill your breast with joyful pride ; 
 And you may love the Strawberry Flower, 
 And love the Strawberry in its bower ; 
 But when the fruit, so often praised 
 For beauty, to your lip is raised, 
 
LOVING AND LIKING. 267 
 
 Say not you love the delicate treat, 
 But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat. 
 Long may you love your pensioner Mouse, 
 Though one of a tribe that torment the house: 
 Nor dislike for her cruel sport the Cat, 
 That deadly foe of both mouse and rat ; 
 Remember she follows the law of her kind, 
 And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind. 
 Then think of her beautiful gliding form, 
 Her tread that would not crush a worm, 
 And her soothing song by the winter fire, 
 Soft as the dying throb of the lyre. 
 
 I would not circumscribe your love : 
 It may soar with the Eagle and brood with the Dove, 
 May pierce the earth with the patient Mole, 
 Or track the Hedgehog to his hole. 
 Loving and liking are the solace of life, 
 They foster all joy, and extinguish all strife. » 
 You love your father and your mother, 
 Your grown-up and your baby brother; 
 You love your sister, and your friends, 
 And countless blessings which God sends : 
 And while these right affections play, 
 You live each moment of your day; 
 n 2 
 
268 LOVING AND LIKING. 
 
 They lead you on to full content, 
 And likings fresh and innocent, 
 That store the mind, the memory feed, 
 And prompt to many a gentle deed : 
 But likings come, and pass away ; 
 'Tis love that remains till our latest day: 
 Our heavenward guide is holy love, 
 And it will be our bliss with saints above. 
 
STANZAS 
 
 SUGGESTED 
 
 IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF ST. BEES HEADS, 
 
 ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND. 
 
 N 3 
 
[St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a 
 conspicuous sea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N. E. parts 
 of the Irish Sea. In a bay. one side of which is formed by 
 the southern headland, stands the village of St. Bees ; a place 
 distinguished, from very early times, for its religious and 
 scholastic foundations. 
 
 " St. Bees," say Nicholson and Burns, " had its name 
 from Bega, an holy woman from Ireland, who is said to have 
 founded here, about the year of our Lord 650, a small 
 monastery, where afterwards a church was built in memory 
 of her. 
 
 " The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the 
 Danes, was restored by William de Meschiens, son of 
 Ranulph, and brother of Ranulph de Meschiens, first Earl 
 of Cumberland after the Conquest ; and made a cell of a 
 prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey of St. Mary 
 at York." 
 
 Several traditions of miracles, connected with the found- 
 ation of the first of these religious houses, survive among 
 the people of the neighbourhood ; one of which is alluded 
 to in the following Stanzas ; and another, of a somewhat 
 bolder and more peculiar character, has furnished the subject 
 of a spirited poem by the Rev. R. Parkinson, M.A., late 
 Divinity Lecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of 
 the Collegiate Church of Manchester. 
 
 After the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop 
 Grindal founded a free school at St. Bees, from which the 
 counties of Cumberland and Westmoreland have derived 
 great benefit ; and recently,' under the patronage of the 
 Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been established there for 
 the education of ministers for the English Church. The 
 old Conventual Church has been repaired under the super- 
 intendence of the Rev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the Col- 
 lege ; and is well worthy of being visited by any strangers 
 who might be led to the neighbourhood of this celebrated 
 spot. 
 
 The form of stanza in the following Piece, and something 
 in the style of versification, are adopted from the " St. Mo- 
 nica," a poem of much beauty upon a monastic subject, by 
 Charlotte Smith : a lady to whom English verse is under 
 greater obligations, than are likely to be either acknowledged 
 or remembered. She wrote little, and that little unambi- 
 tiously, but with true feeling for nature.] 
 
271 
 
 ST. BEES, 
 
 SUGGESTED 
 
 IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF ST. BEES* HEADS. 
 
 If Life were slumber on a bed of down, 
 Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown, 
 Sad were our lot : no Hunter of the Hare 
 Exults like him whose javelin from the lair 
 Has roused the Lion ; no one plucks the Rose, 
 Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows 
 'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries, 
 With joy like his who climbs on hands and knees, 
 For some rare Plant, yon Headland of St. Bees. 
 
 n 4 
 
272 ST. BEES. 
 
 this in dependence upon oar and sail, 
 This new indifference to breeze or gale, 
 This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea, 
 And regular as if locked in certainty, 
 Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the Storm ! 
 That Courage may find something to perform ; 
 That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze 
 At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas, 
 Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees. 
 
 3. 
 
 Dread Cliff of Baruth ! that wild wish may sleep, 
 Bold as if Men and Creatures of the Deep 
 Breathed the same Element : too many wrecks 
 Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks 
 Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought 
 Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought : 
 With thy stern aspect better far agrees 
 Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease, 
 As Millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees. 
 
ST. BEES. 273 
 
 4. 
 Yet, while each useful Art augments her store, 
 What boots the gain if Nature should lose more ? 
 And Wisdom, that once held a Christian place 
 In Man's intelligence sublimed by grace ? 
 When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast, 
 Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd ; 
 As high and higher heaved the billows, faith 
 Grew with them, mightier than the powers of death. 
 She knelt in prayer — the waves their wrath appease ; 
 And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees, 
 Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chauntry 
 of St. Bees. 
 
 5. 
 
 " Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand," 
 
 Who in these Wilds then struggled for command 
 
 The strong were merciless, without hope the weak ; 
 
 Till this bright Stranger came, fair as Day-break, 
 
 And as a Cresset true that darts its length 
 
 Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength ; 
 
 Guiding the Mariner through troubled seas, 
 
 And cheering oft his peaceful reveries, 
 
 Like the fixed Light that crowns yon headland of 
 
 St. Bees. 
 
 n 5 
 
274 ST. BEES. 
 
 6. 
 To aid the Votaress, miracles believed 
 Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved; 
 So piety took root ; and Song might tell 
 What humanizing Virtues round her Cell 
 Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around ; 
 How savage bosoms melted at the sound 
 Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies 
 Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees, 
 From her religious Mansion of St. Bees. 
 
 7. 
 When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love, 
 Was glorified, and took its place, above 
 The silent stars, among the angelic Quire, 
 Her Chauntry blazed with sacrilegious fire, 
 And perished utterly ; but her good deeds 
 Had sown the spot that witnessed them with seeds 
 Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze 
 With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas, 
 And lo ! a statelier Pile, the Abbey of St. Bees. 
 
ST. BEES. 275 
 
 8. 
 
 There were the naked clothed, the hungry ted ; 
 
 And Charity extended to the Dead 
 
 Her intercessions made for the soul's rest 
 
 Of tardy Penitents ; or for the best 
 
 Among the good (when love might else have slept, 
 
 Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept. 
 
 Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees, 
 
 Who, to that service bound by venial fees, 
 
 Kept watch before the Altars of St. Bees. 
 
 9. 
 
 Were not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties 
 Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies, 
 Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, 
 To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart? 
 The prayer for them whose hour was past away 
 Said to the Living, profit while ye may ! 
 A little part, and that the worst, he sees 
 Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys 
 That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees. 
 n 6 
 
276 ST. BEES. 
 
 10. 
 
 Conscience, the timid being's inmost light, 
 Hope of the dawn and solace of the night, 
 Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray 
 In many an hour when judgement goes astray. 
 Ah ! scorn not hastily their rule who try 
 Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify ; 
 Consume with zeal, in winged extacies 
 Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries, 
 Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees. 
 
 11. 
 
 Yet none so prompt to succour and protect 
 The forlorn Traveller, or Sailor wrecked 
 On the bare coast ; nor do they grudge the boon 
 Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon 
 Claim for the Pilgrim : and, though chidings sharp 
 May sometimes greet the strolling Minstrel's harp, 
 It is not then when, swept with sportive ease, 
 It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees, 
 Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees. 
 
ST. BEES. 277 
 
 12. 
 
 How did the Cliffs and echoing Hills rejoice 
 What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice, 
 Imploring, or commanding with meet pride, 
 Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside, 
 And under one blest ensign serve the Lord 
 In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword ! 
 Flaming till thou from Panym hands release 
 That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities 
 Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees. 
 
 13. 
 
 On, Champions, on ! — But mark ! the passing Day 
 Submits her intercourse to milder sway,, 
 With high and low whose busy thoughts from far 
 Follow the fortunes which they may not share. 
 W T hile in Judea Fancy loves to roam, 
 She helps to make a Holy-land at home : 
 The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites 
 To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights ; 
 And wedded life, through scriptural mysteries, 
 Heavenward ascends with all her charities, 
 Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees. 
 
278 ST. BEES. 
 
 14. 
 Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors, 
 And to green meadows changed the swampy shores? 
 Thinned the rank woods ; and for the cheerful Grange 
 Made room whereWolf and Boarwere used to range? 
 Who taught, and showed by deeds, thatgentler chains 
 Should bind the Vassal to his Lord's domains ? 
 The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please, 
 For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies 
 Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees ! 
 
 15. 
 
 But all availed not ; by a mandate given 
 
 Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven 
 
 Forth from their cells ; — their ancient House laid low 
 
 In Reformation's sweeping overthrow. 
 
 But now once more the iocal Heart revives, 
 
 The inextinguishable Spirit strives. 
 
 Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas, 
 
 And cleared a way for the first Votaries, 
 
 Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees ! 
 
ST. BEES. 219 
 
 16. 
 Alas ! the Genius of our age from Schools 
 Less humble draws her lessons, aims, and rules. 
 To Prowess guided by her insight keen 
 Matter and Spirit are as one Machine ; 
 Boastful Idolatress of formal skill 
 "She in her own would merge the eternal will : 
 Expert to move in paths that Newton trod, 
 From Newton's Universe would banish God. 
 Better, if Reason's triumphs match with these, 
 Her flight before the bold credulities 
 That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees. 
 
280 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 St. Bees. Page 275. 
 " Were not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties." 
 
 The author is aware that he is here treading upon tender 
 ground ; but to the intelligent reader he feels that no apology 
 is due. The prayers of survivors, during passionate grief for 
 the recent loss of relatives and friends, as the object of those 
 prayers could no longer be the suffering body of the dying, 
 would naturally be ejaculated for the souls of the departed ; 
 the barriers between the two worlds dissolving before the power 
 of love and faith. The ministers of religion, from their 
 habitual attendance upon sick-beds, would be daily witnesses 
 of these benign results ; and hence would be strongly tempted 
 to aim at giving to them permanence, by embodying them in 
 rites and ceremonies, recurring at stated periods. All this, as 
 it was in course of nature, so was it blameless, and even praise- 
 worthy; but no reflecting person can view without sorrow 
 the abuses which rose out of thus formalizing sublime in- 
 stincts, and disinterested movements of passion, and perverting 
 them into means of gratifying the ambition and rapacity of 
 the priesthood. But, while we deplore and are indignant at 
 these abuses, it would be a great mistake if we imputed the 
 origin of the offices to prospective selfishness on the part of the 
 monks and clergy : they were at first sincere in their sympathy, 
 and in their degree dupes rather of their own creed, than artful 
 and designing men. Charity is, upon the whole, the safest 
 guide that we can take in judging our fellow-men, whether of 
 past ages, or of the present time. 
 
SONNETS. 281 
 
 [The three following Sonnets are an intended addition to the 
 " Ecclesiastical Sketches," the first to stand second ; and 
 the two that succeed, seventh and eighth, in the second part 
 of the Series. — ■ See the Author's Poems. — They are placed 
 here as having some connection with the foregoing Poem.] 
 
 Deplorable his lot who tills the ground, 
 His whole life long tills it, with heartless toil 
 Of villain-service, passing with the soil 
 To each new Master, like a steer or hound, 
 Or like a rooted tree, or stone earth-bound ; 
 But, mark how gladly, through their own domains, 
 The Monks relax or break these iron chains ; 
 While Mercy, uttering, through their voice, a sound 
 Echoed in Heaven, cries out, " Ye Chiefs, abate 
 These legalized oppressions ! Man whose name 
 And nature God disdained not ; Man, whose soul 
 Christ died for, cannot forfeit his high claim 
 To live and move exempt from all controul 
 Which fellow-feeling doth not mitigate ! " 
 
282 SONNETS 
 
 THE VAUDOIS. 
 
 But whence came they who for the Saviour Lord 
 Have long borne witness as the Scriptures teach ? 
 Ages ere Valdo raised his voice to preach 
 In Gallic ears the unadulterate Word, 
 Their fugitive Progenitors explored 
 Subalpine vales, in quest of safe retreats [heats 
 Where that pure Church survives, though summer 
 Open a passage to the Romish sword, 
 Far as it dares to follow. Herbs self-sown, 
 And fruitage gathered from the chestnut wood, 
 Nourish the Sufferers then ; and mists, that brood 
 O'er chasms with new-fallen obstacles bestrown, 
 Protect them ; and the eternal snow that daunts 
 Aliens, is God's good winter for their haunts. 
 
 
SONNETS. 2S3 
 
 Praised be the Rivers, from their mountain-springs 
 Shouting to Freedom, " Plant thy Banners here ! " 
 To harassed Piety, " Dismiss thy fear, 
 And in our Caverns smooth thy ruffled wings ! " 
 Nor be unthanked their tardiest lingerings 
 Mid reedy fens wide-spread and marshes drear, 
 Their own creation, till their long career 
 End in the sea engulphed. Such welcomings 
 As came from mighty Po when Venice rose, 
 Greeted those simple Heirs of truth divine 
 Who near his fountains sought obscure repose, 
 Yet were prepared as glorious lights to shine, 
 Should that be needed for their sacred Charge ; 
 Blest Prisoners They, whose spirits are at large ! 
 
284 
 THE REDBREAST. 
 
 (SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE..) 
 
 Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air, 
 
 From half-stripped woods and pastures bare, 
 
 Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home : 
 
 Not like a beggar is he come, 
 
 But enters as a looked-for guest, 
 
 Confiding in his ruddy breast, 
 
 As if it were a natural shield 
 
 Charged with a blazon on the field, 
 
 Due to that good and pious deed 
 
 Of which we in the Ballad read. 
 
 But pensive fancies putting by, 
 
 And wild-wood sorrows, speedily 
 
 He plays the expert ventriloquist ; 
 
 And, caught by glimpses now — now missed, 
 
 Puzzles the listener with a doubt 
 
 If the soft voice he throws about 
 
 Comes from within doors or without ! 
 
THE REDBREAST. 285 
 
 Was ever such a sweet confusion, 
 
 Sustained by delicate illusion ? 
 
 He 's at your elbow — to your feeling 
 
 The notes are from the floor or ceiling ; 
 
 And there's a riddle to be guessed, 
 
 'Till you have marked his heaving breast, 
 
 Where tiny sinking, and faint swell, 
 
 Betray the Elf that loves to dwell 
 
 In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell. 
 
 Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird 
 If seen, and with like pleasure stirred 
 Commend him, when he's only heard. 
 But small and fugitive our gain 
 Compared with his who long hath lain, 
 With languid limbs and patient head, 
 Reposing on a lone sick-bed ; 
 Where now he daily hears a strain 
 That cheats him of too busy cares, 
 Eases his pain, and helps his prayers. 
 And who but this dear Bird beguiled 
 The fever of that pale-faced Child ? 
 Now cooling, with his passing wing, 
 Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring ; 
 
286 THE REDBREAST. 
 
 Recalling now, with descant soft 
 Shed round her pillow from aloft, 
 Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh, 
 And the invisible sympathy 
 Of " Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, 
 Blessing the bed she lies upon :" * 
 And sometimes, just as listening ends 
 In slumber, with the cadence blends 
 A dream of that low-warbled hymn 
 Which Old-folk, fondly pleased to trim 
 Lamps of faith now burning dim, 
 Say that the Cherubs carved in stone, 
 When clouds gave way at dead of night, 
 And the moon filled the church with light, 
 Used to sing in heavenly tone, 
 Above and round the sacred places 
 They guard, with winged baby-faces. 
 
 Thrice-happy Creature ! in all lands 
 Nurtured by hospitable hands: 
 
 * The words — 
 
 " Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, 
 Bless the bed that I lie on," 
 
 are part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the 
 northern counties. 
 
THE REDBREAST- 281 
 
 Free entrance to this cot has he, 
 Entrance and exit both yet free ; 
 And, when the keen unruffled weather 
 That thus brings man and bird together, 
 Shall with its pleasantness be past, 
 And casement closed and door made fast, 
 To keep at bay the howling blast, 
 He needs not fear the season's rage, 
 For the whole house is Robin's cage. 
 Whether the bird flit here or there, 
 O'er table lilt, or perch on chair, 
 Though some may frown, and make a stir 
 To scare him as a trespasser, 
 And he belike will flinch or start, 
 Good friends he has to take his part; 
 One chiefly, who with voice and look 
 Pleads for him from the chimney nook, 
 Where sits the Dame, and wears away 
 Her long and vacant holiday ; 
 With images about her heart, 
 Reflected, from the years gone by, 
 On human nature's second infancy. 
 
288 
 
 TO 
 
 [Miss not the occasion ; by the forelock take 
 That subtile Power, the never-halting Time, 
 Lest a mere moment's putting-off should make 
 Mischance almost as heavy as a crime.] 
 
 " Watt, prithee, wait ! " this answer Lesbia threw 
 Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed ; 
 Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew 
 Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed ; 
 But from that bondage when her thoughts were freed 
 She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew, 
 Whence the poor unregarded Favorite, true 
 To old affections, had been heard to plead 
 With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek 
 Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain 
 Of harmony ! — a shriek of terror, pain, 
 And self-reproach ! — for, from aloft, a Kite 
 Pounced, and the Dove, which from its ruthless beak 
 She could not rescue, perished in her sight ! 
 
289 
 
 RURAL ILLUSIONS. 
 
 1. 
 
 Sylph was it ? or a Bird more bright 
 
 Than those of fabulous stock ? 
 A second darted by; — and lo ! 
 
 Another of the flock, 
 Through sunshine flitting from the bough 
 
 To nestle in the rock. 
 Transient deception ! a gay freak 
 
 Of April's mimicries ! 
 Those brilliant Strangers, hailed with joy 
 
 Among the budding trees, 
 Proved last year's leaves, pushed from the spray 
 
 To frolic on the breeze 
 o 
 
290 RURAL ILLUSIONS. 
 
 2. 
 
 Maternal Flora ! show thy face, 
 
 And let thy hand be seen 
 Which sprinkles here these tiny flowers, 
 
 That, as they touch the green, 
 Take root (so seems it) and look up 
 
 In honour of their Queen. 
 Yet, sooth, those little starry specks, 
 
 That not in vain aspired 
 To be confounded with live growths, 
 
 Most dainty, most admired, 
 Were only blossoms dropped from twigs 
 
 Of their own offspring tired. 
 3. 
 Not such the World's illusive shows ; 
 
 Her wingless flutterings, 
 Her blossoms which, though shed, outbrave 
 
 The Floweret as it springs, 
 For the Undeceived, smile as they may, 
 
 Are melancholy things : 
 But gentle Nature plays her part 
 
 With ever- varying wiles, 
 And transient feignings with plain truth 
 
 So well she reconciles, . 
 That those fond Idlers most are pleased 
 
 Whom oftenest she beguiles. 
 
291 
 
 THIS LAWN, &c. 
 
 This Lawn, a carpet all alive 
 
 With shadows flung from leaves — to strive 
 
 In dance, amid a press 
 Of sunshine — an apt emblem yields 
 Of Worldlings revelling in the fields 
 
 Of strenuous idleness ; 
 
 Less quick the stir when tide and breeze 
 Encounter, and to narrow seas 
 
 Forbid a moment's rest : 
 The medley less when boreal Lights 
 Glance to and fro like aery Sprites 
 I To feats of arms addrest ! 
 
 Yet, spite of all this eager strife, 
 This ceaseless play, the genuine life 
 
 That serves the steadfast hours, 
 Is in the grass beneath, that grows 
 Unheeded, and the mute repose 
 
 Of sweetly -breathing flowers, 
 o 2 
 
292 
 
 THOUGHT ON THE SEASONS. 
 
 Flattered with promise of escape 
 
 From every hurtful blast, 
 Spring takes, O sprightly May ! thy shape, 
 
 Her loveliest and her last. 
 
 Less fair is summer riding high 
 
 In fierce solstitial power, 
 Less fair than when a lenient sky 
 
 Brings on her parting hour. 
 
 When earth repays with golden sheaves 
 
 The labours of the plough, 
 And ripening fruits and forest leaves 
 
 All brighten on the bough, 
 
 What pensive beauty autumn shows, 
 
 Before she hears the sound 
 Of winter rushing in, to close 
 
 The emblematic round ! 
 
THOUGHT ON THE SEASONS. 293 
 
 Such be our Spring, our Summer such ; 
 
 So may our Autumn blend 
 With hoary Winter, and Life touch, 
 
 Through heaven-born hope, her end ! 
 
 o 3 
 
!95 
 
 HUMANITY. 
 
 (written in the year 1829.) 
 
 Not from his fellows only man may learn 
 Rights to compare and duties to discern : 
 All creatures and all objects, in degree, 
 Are friends and patrons of humanity. — MS. 
 
 [The Rocking-stones, alluded to in the beginning of the fol- 
 lowing verses, are supposed to have been used, by our British 
 ancestors, both for judicial and religious purposes. Such 
 stones are not uncommonly found, at this day, both in Great 
 Britain and in Ireland.] 
 
 What though the Accused, upon his own appeal 
 To righteous Gods when Man has ceased to feel, 
 Or at a doubting Judge's stern command, 
 Before the Stone of Power no longer stand — 
 To take his sentence from the balanced Blogk, 
 As, at his touch, it rocks, or seems to rock ; 
 Though, in the depths of sunless groves, no more 
 The Druid-priest the hallowed Oak adore ; 
 o 4 
 
296 
 
 HUMANITY. 
 
 Yet, for the Initiate, rocks and whispering trees 
 Do still perform mysterious offices ! 
 And still in beast and bird a function dwells, 
 That, while we look and listen, sometimes tells 
 Upon the heart, in more authentic guise 
 Than Oracles, or winged Auguries, 
 Spake to the Science of the ancient wise. 
 Not uninspired appear their simplest ways ; 
 Their voices mount symbolical of praise — 
 To mix with hymns that Spirits make and hear ■ 
 And to fallen Man their innocence is dear. 
 Enraptured Art draws from those sacred springs 
 Streams that reflect the poetry of things ! 
 Where Christian Martyrs stand in hues por- 
 trayed, 
 That, might a wish avail, would never fade, 
 Borne in their hands the Lily and the Palm 
 Shed round the Altar a celestial calm ; 
 There, too, behold the Lamb and guileless Dove 
 Prest in the tenderness of virgin love 
 To saintly bosoms ! — Glorious is the blending 
 Of right Affections, climbing or descending 
 Along a scale of light and life, with cares 
 Alternate .; carrying holy thoughts and prayers 
 
HUMANITY. '297 
 
 Up to the sovereign seat of the Most High ; 
 
 Descending to the worm in charity ; * 
 
 Like those good Angels whom a dream of night 
 
 Gave, in the Field of Luz, to Jacob's sight ; 
 
 All, while he slept, treading the pendent stairs 
 
 Earthward or heavenward, radiant Messengers, 
 
 That, with a perfect will in one accord 
 
 Of strict obedience, served the Almighty Lord ; 
 
 And with untired humility forbore 
 
 The ready service of the wings they wore. 
 
 What a fair World were ours for Verse to paint, 
 If Power could live at ease with self-restraint ! 
 Opinion bow before the naked sense 
 Of the great Vision, — faith in Providence; 
 Merciful over all existence, just 
 To the least particle of sentient dust ; 
 And, fixing by immutable decrees, 
 Seedtime and harvest for his purposes ! 
 Then would be closed the restless oblique eye 
 That looks for evil like a treacherous spy ; 
 Disputes would then relax, like stormy winds 
 That into breezes sink ; impetuous Minds 
 
 * The author is indebted, here, to a passage in one of 
 Mr. Digby's valuable works. 
 
 o 5 
 
298 HUMANITY. 
 
 By discipline endeavour to grow meek 
 
 As Truth herself, whom they profess to seek. 
 
 Then Genius, shunning fellowship with Pride, 
 
 Would braid his golden locks at Wisdom's side ; 
 
 Love ebb and flow untroubled by caprice ; 
 
 And not alone harsh tyranny would cease, 
 
 But unoffending creatures find release 
 
 From qualified oppression, whose defence 
 
 Rests on a hollow plea of recompence ; 
 
 Thought-tempered wrongs, for each humane respect 
 
 Oft worse to bear, or deadlier in effect. 
 
 Witness those glances of indignant scorn 
 
 From some high-minded Slave, impelled to spurn 
 
 The kindness that would make him less forlorn ; 
 
 Or, if the soul to bondage be subdued, 
 
 His look of pitiable gratitude ! 
 
 Alas for thee, bright Galaxy of Isles, 
 Where day departs in pomp, returns with smiles — 
 To greet the flowers and fruitage of a land, 
 As the sun mounts, by sea-born breezes fanned ; 
 A land whose azure mountain-tops are seats 
 For Gods in council, whose green vales, Retreats 
 Fit for the Shades of Heroes, mingling there 
 To breathe Elysian peace in upper air. 
 

 HUMANITY. 299 
 
 Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave, 
 Stone-walls a Prisoner make, but not a Slave. 
 Shall Man assume a property in Man ? 
 Lay on the moral Will a withering ban ? 
 Shame that our laws at distance should protect 
 Enormities, which they at home reject ! 
 " Slaves cannot breathe in England" — a proud boast ! 
 And yet a mockery ! if, from coast to coast, 
 Though fettered slave be none, her floors and soil 
 Groan underneath a weight of slavish toil, 
 For the poor Many, measured out by rules 
 Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools, 
 That to an Idol, falsely called " the Wealth 
 Of Nations/' sacrifice a People's health, 
 Body and mind and soul ; a thirst so keen 
 Is ever urging on the vast machine 
 Of sleepless Labour, 'mid whose dizzy wheels 
 The Power least prized is that which thinks and 
 feels. 
 
 Then, for the pastimes of this delicate age, 
 And all the heavy or light vassalage 
 W T hich for their sakes we fasten, as may suit 
 Our varying moods, on human kind or brute, 
 o 6 
 
300 HUMANITY. 
 
 'Twere well in little, as in great, to pause, 
 
 Lest Fancy trifle with eternal laws. 
 
 There are to whom even garden, grove, and field, 
 
 Perpetual lessons of forbearance yield; 
 
 Who would not lightly violate the grace 
 
 The lowliest flower possesses in its place ; 
 
 Nor shorten the sweet life, too fugitive, 
 
 Which nothing less than Infinite Power could give. 
 
301 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A PORTRAIT FROM THE PENCIL OF F. STONE. 
 
 Beguiled into forgetfulness of care 
 
 Due to the day's unfinished task, of pen 
 
 Or book regardless, and of that fair scene 
 
 In Nature's prodigality displayed 
 
 Before my window, oftentimes and long 
 
 I gaze upon a Portrait whose mild gleam 
 
 Of beauty never ceases to enrich 
 
 The common light ; whose stillness charms the air : 
 
 Or seems to charm it, into like repose ; 
 
 Whose silence, for the pleasure of the ear, 
 
 Surpasses sweetest music. There she sits 
 
 With emblematic purity attired 
 
 In a white vest, white as her marble neck 
 
 Is, and the pillar of the throat would be 
 
 But for the shadow by the drooping chin 
 
 Cast into that recess — the tender shade 
 
 The shade and light, both there and every where, 
 
 And through the very atmosphere she breathes, 
 
302 LINES ON A PORTRAIT. 
 
 Broad, clear, and toned harmoniously, with skill 
 That might from nature have been learnt in the hour 
 When the lone Shepherd sees the morning spread 
 Upon the mountains. Look at her, whoe'er 
 Thou be, that kindling with a poet's soul 
 Hast loved the painter's true Promethean craft 
 Intensely — from Imagination take 
 The treasure, what mine eyes behold see thou, 
 Even though the Atlantic Ocean roll between. 
 
 A silver line, that runs from brow to crown, 
 And in the middle parts the braided hair. 
 Just serves to show how delicate a soil 
 The golden harvest grows in ; and those eyes, 
 Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky 
 Whose azure depth their colour emulates, 
 Must needs be conversant with upward looks, 
 Prayer's voiceless service ; but now, seeking nought 
 And shunning nought, their own peculiar life 
 Of motion they renounce, and with the head 
 Partake its inclination towards earth 
 In humble grace, and quiet pensiveness 
 Caught at the point where it stops short of sadness. 
 
 Offspring of soul-bewitching Art, make me 
 Thy confidant ! say, whence derived that air 
 
LINES ON A PORTRAIT. 303 
 
 Of calm abstraction ? Can the ruling thought 
 Be with some lover far away, or one 
 Crossed by misfortune, or of doubted faith ? 
 Inapt conjecture ! Childhood here, a moon 
 Crescent in simple loveliness serene, 
 Has but approached the gates of womanhood, 
 Not entered them ; her heart is yet unpierced 
 By the blind Archer-god, her fancy free : 
 The fount of feeling, if unsought elsewhere, 
 Will not be found. 
 
 Her right hand, as it lies 
 Across the slender wrist of the left arm 
 Upon her lap reposing, holds — but mark 
 How slackly, for the absent mind permits 
 No firmer grasp — a little wild-flower, joined 
 As in a posy, with a few pale ears 
 Of yellowing corn, the same that overtopped 
 And in their common birthplace sheltered it 
 'Till they were plucked together ; a blue flower 
 Called by the thrifty husbandman a weed ; 
 But CereSj in her garland, might have worn 
 That ornament, unblamed. The floweret, held 
 In scarcely conscious fingers, was, she knows, 
 (Her Father told her so) in Youth's gay dawn 
 
304 LINES ON A PORTRAIT. 
 
 Her Mother's favourite ; and the orphan Girl, 
 In her own dawn — a dawn less gay and bright, 
 Loves it while there in solitary peace 
 She sits, for that departed Mother's sake. 
 — Not from a source less sacred is derived 
 (Surely I do not err) that pensive air 
 Of calm abstraction through the face diffused 
 And the whole person. 
 
 Words have something told 
 More than the pencil can, and verily 
 More than is needed, but the precious Art 
 Forgives their interference — Art divine, 
 That both creates and fixes, in despite 
 Of Death and Time, the marvels it hath wrought. 
 
 Strange contrasts have we in this world of ours ! 
 That posture, and the look of filial love 
 Thinking of past and gone, with what is left 
 Dearly united, might be swept away 
 From this fair Portrait's fleshly Archetype, 
 Even by an innocent fancy's slightest freak 
 Banished, nor ever, haply, be restored . 
 To their lost place, or meet in harmony 
 So exquisite ; but here do they abide, 
 
LINES ON A PORTRAIT. 305 
 
 Enshrined for ages. Is not then the Art 
 
 Godlike, a humble branch of the divine, 
 
 In visible quest of immortality, 
 
 Stretched forthwith trembling hope? In every realm, 
 
 From high Gibraltar to Siberian plains, 
 
 Thousands, in each variety of tongue . 
 
 .That Europe knows, would echo this appeal ; 
 
 One above all, a Monk who waits on God 
 
 In the magnific Convent built of yore 
 
 To sanctify the Escurial palace. He, 
 
 Guiding, from cell to cell and room to room, 
 
 A British Painter (eminent for truth 
 
 In character, and depth of feeling, shown 
 
 By labours that have touched the hearts of kings 
 
 And are endeared to simple cottagers) 
 
 Left not unvisited a glorious work, 
 
 Our Lord's Last Supper, beautiful as when first 
 
 The appropriate Picture, fresh from Titian's hand, 
 
 Graced the Refectory : and there, while both 
 
 Stood with eyes fixed upon that Masterpiece, 
 
 The hoary Father in the Stranger's ear 
 
 Breathed out these words : — " Here daily do we sit, 
 
 Thanks given to God for daily bread, and here 
 
 Pondering the mischiefs of these restless Times, 
 
 And thinking of my Brethren, dead, dispersed, 
 
306 
 
 LINES ON A PORTRAIT. 
 
 Or changed and changing, I not seldom gaze 
 
 Upon this solemn Company unmoved 
 
 By shock of circumstance, or lapse of years, 
 
 Until I cannot but believe that they — 
 
 They are in truth the Substance, we the Shadows." 
 
 So spake the mild Jeronymite, his griefs 
 Melting away within him like a dream 
 Ere he had ceased to gaze, perhaps to speak : 
 And I, grown old, but in a happier land, 
 Domestic Portrait ! have to verse consigned 
 In thy calm presence those heart-moving words : 
 Words that can soothe, more than they agitate ; 
 Whose spirit, like the angel that went down 
 Into Bethesda's pool, with healing virtue 
 Informs the fountain in the human breast 
 That by the visitation was disturbed. 
 
 But why this stealing tear ? Companion mute, 
 
 On thee I look, not sorrowing ; fare thee well, 
 My Song's Inspirer, once again farewell ! 
 
 The pile of buildings, composing the palace and convent of 
 San Lorenzo, has, in common usage, lost its proper name in 
 that of the Escurial, a village at the foot of the hill upon 
 which the splendid edifice, built by Philip the Second, stands. 
 It need scarcely be added, that Wilkie is the painter alluded 
 to. 
 
307 
 
 THE FOREGOING SUBJECT RESUMED. 
 
 Among a grave fraternity of Monks, 
 For One, but surely not for One alone, 
 Triumphs, in that great work, the Painter's skill, 
 Humbling the body, to exalt the soul ; 
 Yet representing, amid wreck and wrong 
 And dissolution and decay, the warm 
 And breathing life of flesh, as if already 
 Clothed with impassive majesty, and graced 
 With no mean earnest of a heritage 
 Assigned to it in future worlds. Thou, too, 
 With thy memorial flower, meek Portraiture ! 
 From whose serene companionship I passed, 
 Pursued by thoughts that haunt me still; thou also- 
 Though but a simple object, into light 
 Called forth by those affections that endear 
 The private hearth ; though keeping thy sole seat 
 In singleness, and little tried by time, 
 Creation, as it were, of yesterday — 
 With a congenial function art endued 
 For each and all of us, together joined, 
 
308 LINES ON A PORTRAIT. 
 
 In course of nature, under a low roof 
 
 By charities and duties that proceed 
 
 Out of the bosom of a wiser vow. 
 
 To a like salutary sense of awe, 
 
 Or sacred wonder, growing with the power 
 
 Of meditation that attempts to weigh, 
 
 In faithful scales, things and their opposites, 
 
 Can thy enduring quiet gently raise 
 
 A household small and sensitive, — whose love, 
 
 Dependent as in part its blessings are 
 
 Upon frail ties dissolving or dissolved 
 
 On earth, will be revived, we trust, in heaven. 
 
 In the class entitled " Musings," in Mr. Southey's Minor 
 Poems, is one upon his own miniature Picture, taken in child- 
 hood, and another upon a landscape painted by Gaspar Poussin. 
 It is possible that every word of the above verses, though 
 similar in subject, might have been written had the author 
 been unacquainted with those beautiful effusions of poetic 
 sentiment. But, for his own satisfaction, he must be allowed 
 thus publicly to acknowledge the pleasure those two poems 
 of his Friend have given him, and the grateful influence they 
 have upon his mind as often as he reads them, or thinks of 
 them. 
 
STANZAS 
 
 THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Ear addressed, as occupied by a spiritual functionary, in 
 communion with sounds, individual, or combined in studied 
 harmony. — Sources and effects of those sounds (to the close 
 of 6th Stanza). — The power of music, whence proceeding, 
 exemplified in the idiot. — Origin of music, and its effect in 
 early ages — how produced (to the middle of 10th Stanza). 
 — The mind recalled to sounds acting casually and severally. 
 ■ — Wish uttered (11th Stanza) that these could be united 
 into a scheme or system for moral interests and intellectual 
 contemplation. — (Stanza 12th.) The Pythagorean theory of 
 numbers and music, with their supposed power over the 
 motions of the universe — imaginations consonant with such 
 a theory. — Wish expressed (in 11th Stanza) realised, in 
 some degree, by the representation of all sounds under the 
 form of thanksgiving to the Creator. — (Last Stanza) the 
 destruction of earth and the planetary system — the survival 
 of audible harmony, and its support in the Divine Nature, 
 as revealed in Holy Writ. 
 
311 
 
 ON THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
 1. 
 
 Thv functions are etherial, 
 
 As if within thee dwelt a glancing Mind, 
 
 Organ of Vision ! And a Spirit aerial 
 
 Informs the cell of hearing, dark and blind ; 
 
 Intricate labyrinth, more dread for thought 
 
 To enter than oracular cave ; 
 
 Strict passage, through which sighs are brought, 
 
 And whispers, for the heart, their slave ; 
 
 And shrieks, that revel in abuse 
 
 Of shivering flesh ; and warbled air, 
 
 Whose piercing sweetness can unloose 
 
 The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile 
 
 Into the ambush of despair ; 
 
 Hosannas pealing down the long-drawn aisle, 
 
 And requiems answered by the pulse that beats 
 
 Devoutly, in life's last retreats ! 
 
312 THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
 2. 
 
 The headlong Streams and Fountains 
 
 Serve Thee, Invisible Spirit, with untired powers; 
 
 Cheering the wakeful Tent on Syrian mountains, 
 
 They lull perchance ten thousand thousand flowers. 
 
 That roar, the prowling Lion's Here I am, 
 
 How fearful to the desert wide ! 
 
 That bleat, how tender I of the Dam 
 
 Calling a straggler to her side. 
 
 Shout, Cuckoo ! let the vernal soul 
 
 Go with thee to the frozen zone ; 
 
 Toll from thy loftiest perch, lone Bell-bird, toll ! 
 
 At the still hour to Mercy dear, 
 
 Mercy from her twilight throne 
 
 Listening to Nun's faint sob of holy fear, 
 
 To Sailor's prayer breathed from a darkening sea, 
 
 Or Widow's cottage lullaby. 
 
 3. 
 Ye Voices, and ye Shadows, 
 And Images of voice — to hound and horn 
 From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows 
 Flung back, and, in the sky's blue caves, reborn, 
 
THE POWER OF SOUND. 313 
 
 On with your pastime ! till the church-tower bells 
 A greeting give of measured glee ; 
 And milder echoes from their cells 
 Repeat the bridal symphony. 
 Then, or far earlier, let us rove 
 Where mists are breaking up or gone, 
 And from aloft look down into a cove 
 "Besprinkled with a careless quire, 
 Happy Milk-maids, one by one 
 Scattering a ditty each to her desire, 
 A liquid concert matchless by nice Art, 
 A stream as if from one full heart. 
 
 4. 
 Blest be the song that brightens 
 The blind Man's gloom, exalts the Veteran's mirth; 
 Un scorned the Peasant's whistling breath, that 
 
 lightens 
 • His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth. 
 For the tired Slave, Song lifts the languid oar, 
 And bids it aptly fall, with chime 
 That beautifies the fairest shore, 
 And mitigates the harshest clime. 
 
314 THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
 Yon Pilgrims see — in lagging file 
 
 They move ; but soon the appointed way 
 
 A choral Ave Marie shall beguile, 
 
 And to their hope the distant shrine 
 
 Glisten with a livelier ray : 
 
 Nor friendless He, the Prisoner of the Mine, 
 
 Who from the well-spring of his own clear breast 
 
 Can draw, and sing his griefs to rest. 
 
 5. 
 When civic renovation 
 Dawns on a kingdom, and for needful haste 
 Best eloquence avails not, Inspiration 
 Mounts with a tune, that travels like a blast 
 Piping through cave and battlemented tower ; 
 Then starts the Sluggard, pleased to meet 
 That voice of Freedom, in its power 
 Of promises, shrill, wild, and sweet ! 
 Who, from a martial pageant, spreads 
 Incitements of a battle-day, 
 Thrilling the unweaponed crowd with plumeless 
 
 heads ; 
 Even She whose Lydian airs inspire 
 Peaceful striving, gentle play 
 Of timid hope and innocent desire 
 
THE POWER OF SOUND. 315 
 
 Shot from the dancing Graces, as they move 
 Fanned by the plausive wings of Love. 
 
 6. 
 How oft along thy mazes, 
 
 Regent of Sound, have dangerous Passions trod ! 
 O Thou, through whom the Temple rings with 
 
 praises, 
 And blackening clouds in thunder speak of God, 
 Betray not by the cozenage of sense 
 Thy Votaries, wooingly resigned 
 To a voluptuous influence 
 That taints the purer, better mind ; 
 But lead sick Fancy to a harp 
 That hath in noble tasks been tried ; 
 And, if the Virtuous feel a pang too sharp, 
 Soothe it into patience, — stay 
 The uplifted arm of Suicide ; 
 And let some mood of thine in firm array 
 Knit every thought the impending issue needs, 
 Ere Martyr burns, or Patriot bleeds ! 
 
 p 2 
 
316 THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
 7. 
 As Conscience, to the centre 
 Of Being, smites with irresistible pain, 
 So shall a solemn cadence, if it enter 
 The mouldy vaults of the dull Idiot's brain, 
 Transmute him to a wretch from quiet hurled — 
 Convulsed as by a jarring din ; 
 And then aghast, as at the world 
 Of reason partially let in 
 By concords winding with a sway 
 Terrible for sense and soul ! 
 Or, awed he weeps, struggling to quell dismay. 
 Point not these mysteries to an Art 
 Lodged above the starry pole ; 
 Pure modulations flowing from the heart 
 Of divine Love, where Wisdom, Beauty, Truth 
 With Order dwell, in endless youth ? 
 
 8. 
 Oblivion may not cover 
 All treasures hoarded by the Miser, Time. 
 Orphean Insight ! Truth's undaunted Lover, 
 To the first leagues of tutored passion climb, 
 
THE POWER OF SOUND. 317 
 
 When Music deigned within this grosser sphere 
 
 Her subtle essence to enfold, 
 
 And Voice and Shell drew forth a tear 
 
 Softer than Nature's self could mould. 
 
 Yet strenuous was the infant Age : 
 
 Art, daring because souls could feel, 
 
 Stirred nowhere but an urgent equipage 
 
 Of rapt imagination sped her march 
 
 Through the realms of woe and weal : 
 
 Hell to the lyre bowed low ; the upper arch 
 
 Rejoiced that clamorous spell and magic verse 
 
 Her wan disasters could disperse. 
 
 9. 
 The Gift to King Amphion 
 That walled a city with its melody 
 Was for belief no dream ; thy skill, Arion ! 
 Could humanise the creatures of the sea, 
 Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves, 
 Leave for one chant ; — the dulcet sound 
 Steals from the deck o'er willing waves, 
 And listening Dolphins gather round. 
 
 p 3 
 
318 THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
 Self-cast, as with a desperate course, 
 'Mid that strange audience, he bestrides 
 A proud One docile as a managed horse ; 
 And singing, while the accordant hand 
 Sweeps his harp, the Master rides ; 
 So shall he touch at length a friendly strand, 
 And he, with his Preserver, shine star-bright 
 In memory, through silent night. 
 
 10. 
 The pipe of Pan, to Shepherds 
 Couched in the shadow of Menalian Pines, 
 Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the Leopards, 
 That in high triumph drew the Lord of vines, 
 How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang ! 
 While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground 
 In cadence, — and Silenus swang 
 This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned. 
 To life, to life give back thine Ear : 
 Ye who are longing to be rid 
 Of Fable, though to truth subservient, hear 
 The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell 
 Echoed from the coffin lid ; 
 The Convict's summons in the steeple knell. 
 
THE POWER OF SOUND. 319 
 
 r The vain distress-gun," from a leeward shore, 
 Repeated — heard, and heard no more ! 
 
 11. 
 For terror, joy, or pity, 
 Vast is the compass, and the swell of notes: 
 From the Babe's first cry to voice of regal City, 
 Rolling a solemn sea-like bass, that floats 
 Far as the woodlands — with the trill to blend 
 Of that shy Songstress, whose love-tale 
 Might tempt an Angel to descend, 
 While hovering o'er the moonlight vale. 
 O for some soul-affecting scheme 
 Of moral music, to unite 
 
 Wanderers whose portion is the faintest dream 
 Of memory ! — O that they might stoop to bear 
 Chains, such precious chains of sight 
 As laboured minstrelsies through ages wear ! 
 O for a balance fit the truth to tell 
 Of the Unsubstantial, pondered well 1 
 
 p 4- 
 
320 THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
 12. 
 
 By one pervading Spirit 
 
 Of tones and numbers all things are controlled, 
 
 As Sages taught, where faith was found to merit 
 
 Initiation in that mystery old. 
 
 The Heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still 
 
 As they themselves appear to be, 
 
 Innumerable voices fill 
 
 With everlasting harmony ; 
 
 The towering Headlands, crowned with mist, 
 
 Their feet among the billows, know 
 
 That Ocean is a mighty harmonist ; 
 
 Thy pinions, universal Air, 
 
 Ever waving to and fro, 
 
 Are delegates of harmony, and bear 
 
 Strains that support the Seasons in their round ; 
 
 Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound. 
 
 13. 
 Break forth into thanksgiving, 
 Ye banded Instruments of wind and chords; 
 Unite, to magnify the Ever-living, 
 Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words! 
 
THE POWER OF SOUND. 321 
 
 Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead, 
 
 Nor mute the forest hum of noon ; 
 
 Thou too be heard, lone Eagle ! freed 
 
 From snowy peak and cloud, attune 
 
 Thy hungry barkings to the hymn 
 
 Of joy, that from her utmost walls 
 
 The six-days' Work, by flaming Seraphim, 
 
 Transmits to Heaven ! As Deep to Deep 
 
 Shouting through one valley calls, 
 
 All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep 
 
 For praise and ceaseless gratuiation, poured 
 
 Into the ear of God, their Lord ! 
 
 14. 
 A Voice to Light gave Being ; 
 To Time, and Man his earth-born Chronicler ; 
 A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing, 
 And sweep away life's visionary stir ; 
 The Trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride, 
 Arm at its blast for deadly wars) 
 To archangel ic lips applied, 
 The grave shall open, quench the stars. 
 
 f 5 
 
322 THE POWER OF SOUND. 
 
 O Silence I are Man's noisy years 
 
 No more than moments of thy life? 
 
 Is Harmony, blest Queen of smiles and tears, 
 
 With her smooth tones and discords just, 
 
 Tempered into rapturous strife, 
 
 Thy destined Bond- slave ? No ! though Earth be 
 
 dust 
 And vanish, though the Heavens dissolve, her stay 
 Is in the Word, that shall not pass away. 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 In the present volume, as in the author's previous 
 poems, the reader will have found occasionally opinions 
 expressed upon the course of public affairs, and feelings 
 given vent to as national interests excited them. Since 
 nothing, he trusts, has been uttered but in the spirit of 
 reflective patriotism, those notices are left to produce 
 their own effect ; but, among the many objects of 
 general concern, and the changes going forward, which 
 he has glanced at in verse, are some especially affecting 
 the lower orders of society : in reference to these, he 
 wishes here to add a few words in plain prose. 
 
 Were he conscious of being able to do justice to 
 those important topics, he might avail himself of the 
 periodical press for offering anonymously his thoughts, 
 such as they are, to the world ; but he feels that, in 
 procuring attention, they may derive some advantage, 
 however small, from his name, in addition to that of 
 being presented in a less fugitive shape. It is also not 
 impossible that the state of mind which sor of the 
 foregoing poems may have produced in the reader will 
 dispose him to receive more readily the impression the 
 author desires to make, and to admit the conclusions he 
 would establish. 
 
 I. The first thing that presses upon his attention is the 
 Poor-Law Amendment Act. He is aware of the mag- 
 nitude and complexity of the subject, and tr^e unwearied 
 P 6 
 
321' POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 attention which it has received from men of far wider 
 experience than his own ; yet he cannot forbear touching 
 upon one point of it, and to this he will confine himself, 
 though not insensible to the objection which may rea- 
 sonably be brought against treating a portion of this, or 
 any other, great scheme of civil polity separately from 
 the whole. The point to which he wishes to draw 
 the reader's attention is, that all persons who cannot 
 find employment, or procure wages sufficient to support 
 the body in health and strength, are entitled to mainte- 
 nance by law. 
 
 This principle is acknowledged in the Report of the 
 Commissioners : but is there not room for apprehension 
 that some of the regulations of the new act have a tend- 
 ency to render the principle nugatory by difficulties 
 thrown in the way of applying it? If this be so, 
 persons will not be wanting to show it, by examining 
 the provisions of the act in detail, — an attempt which 
 would be quite out of place here ; but it will not, there- 
 fore, be deemed unbecoming in one who fears that the 
 prudence of the head may, in framing some of those 
 provisions, have supplanted the wisdom of the heart, 
 to enforce a principle which cannot be violated without 
 infringing upon one of the most precious rights of the 
 English people, and opposing one of the most sacred 
 claims of civilised humanity. 
 
 There can be no greater error, in this department of 
 legislation, than the belief that this principle does by 
 necessity operate for the degradation of those who claim, 
 or are so circumstanced as to make it likely they may 
 claim, through laws founded upon it, relief or assistance. 
 The direct contrary is the truth : it may be unanswerably 
 maintained that its tendency is to raise, not to depress ; 
 by stamping a value upon life, which can belong to it 
 only where the laws have placed men who are willing 
 to work, and yet cannot find employment, abo\e the 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 325 
 
 necessity of looking for protection against hunger and 
 other natural evils, either to individual and casual charity, 
 to despair and death, or to the breach of law by theft 
 or violence. 
 
 And here, as the fundamental principle has been 
 recognised in the Report of the Commissioners, the 
 author is not at issue with them any farther than he is 
 compelled to believe that their " remedial measures" 
 obstruct the application of that principle more than the 
 interests of society require. 
 
 And, calling to mind the doctrines of political economy 
 which are now prevalent, he cannot forbear to enforce 
 the justice of the principle, and to insist upon its 
 salutary operation. 
 
 And first for its justice : If self-preservation be the 
 first law of our nature, would not every one in a state 
 of nature be morally justified in taking to himself that 
 which is indispensable to such preservation, where, by 
 so doing, he would not rob another of that which might 
 be equally indispensable to Ms preservation ? And if the 
 value of life be regarded in a right point of view, may 
 it not be questioned whether this right of preserving 
 life, at any expense short of endangering the life of 
 another, does not survive man's entering into the social 
 state ; whether this right can be surrendered or for- 
 feited, except when it opposes the divine law, upon any 
 supposition of a social compact, or of any convention for 
 the protection of mere rights of property ? 
 
 But, if it be not safe to touch the abstract question of 
 man's right in a social state to help himself even in the 
 last extremity, may we not still contend for the duty of 
 a Christian government, standing in loco parentis towards 
 all its subjects, to make such effectual provision, that 
 no one shall be in danger of perishing either through 
 the neglect or harshness of its legislation ? Or, waving 
 this, is it not indisputable that the claim of the state to 
 
326 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 the allegiance, involves the protection,, of the subject ? 
 Anc^ as all rights in one party impose a correlative duty 
 upon another, it follows that the right of the state to 
 require the services of its members, even to the jeoparding 
 of their lives in the common defence, establishes a right 
 in the people (not to be gainsaid by utilitarians and 
 economists) to public support when,, from any cause, 
 they may be unable to support themselves. 
 
 Let us now consider the salutary and benign operation 
 of this principle. Here we must have recourse to 
 elementary feelings of human nature, and to truths 
 which from their very obviousness are apt to be slighted, 
 till they are forced upon our notice by our own suffer- 
 ings or those of others. In the Paradise Lost, Milton 
 represents Adam, after the Fall, as exclaiming, in the 
 anguish of his soul, — 
 
 " Did I request Thee, Maker, from my clay 
 To mould me man, did I solicit Thee 
 From darkness to promote me ? 
 
 My will 
 
 Concurred not to my being." 
 
 Under how many various pressures of misery have 
 men been driven thus, in a strain touching upon im- 
 piety, to expostulate with the Creator ; and under few 
 so afflictive as when the source and origin of earthly 
 existence have been brought back to the mind by its 
 impending close in the pangs of destitution. But as 
 long as, in our legislation, due weight shall be given to 
 this principle, no man will be forced to bewail the gift 
 of life in hopeless want of the necessaries of life. 
 
 Englishmen have, therefore, by the progress of civilis- 
 ation among them, been placed in circumstances more 
 favourable to piety, and resignation to the divine will, 
 than the inhabitants of other countries, where a like 
 provision has not been established. And as Providence, 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 327 
 
 in this care of our countrymen, acts through a human 
 medium, the objects of that care must, in like manner, 
 be more inclined towards a grateful love of their fellow- 
 men. Thus, also, do stronger ties attach the people to 
 their country, whether while they tread its soil, or, at 
 a distance, think of their native land as an indulgent 
 parent, to whose arms, even they who have been im- 
 prudent and undeserving may, like the prodigal son, 
 betake themselves, without fear of being rejected. 
 
 Such is the view of the case that would first present 
 itself to a reflective mind ; and it is in vain to show, 
 by appeals to experience, in contrast with this view, 
 that provisions founded upon the principle have pro- 
 moted profaneness of life, and dispositions the reverse 
 of philanthropic, by spreading idleness, selfishness, and 
 rapacity : for these evils have arisen, not as an inevi- 
 table consequence of the principle, but for want of judg- 
 ment in framing laws based upon it; and, above all, 
 from faults in the mode of administering the law. The 
 mischief that has grown to such a height from granting 
 relief in cases where proper vigilance would have shown 
 that it was not required, or in bestowing it in undue 
 measure, will be urged by no truly enlightened states- 
 man, as a sufficient reason for banishing the principle 
 itself from legislation. 
 
 Let us recur to the miserable states of consciousness 
 that it precludes. 
 
 There is a story told, by a traveller in Spain, of a 
 female who, by a sudden shock of domestic calamity, 
 was driven out of her senses, and ever after looked up 
 incessantly to the sky, feeling that her fellow- creatures 
 could do nothing for her relief. Can there be English- 
 men who, with a good end in view, would, upon system, 
 expose their brother Englishmen to a like necessity of 
 looking upwards only ; or downwards to the earth, 
 after it shall contain no spot where the destitute can 
 
528 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 demand, by civil right, what by right of nature they 
 are entitled to ? 
 
 Suppose the objects of our sympathy not sunk into 
 this blank despair, but wandering about as strangers in 
 streets and ways, with the hope of succour from casual 
 charity ; what have we gained by such a change of 
 scene ? Wof ul is the condition of the famished Northern 
 Indian, dependent, among winter snows, upon the chance- 
 passage of a herd of deer, from which one, if brought 
 down by his rifle-gun, may be made the means of 
 keeping him and his companions alive. As miserable 
 is that of some savage Islander, who, when the land 
 has ceased to afford him sustenance, watches for food 
 which the waves may cast up, or in vain endeavours to 
 extract it from the inexplorable deep. But neither of 
 these is in a state of wretchedness comparable to that, 
 which is so often endured in civilised society: multi- 
 tudes, in all ages, have known it, of whom may be 
 said : — 
 
 " Homeless, near a thousand homes they stood, 
 And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food." 
 
 The author may justly be accused of wasting time in 
 an uncalled-for attempt to excite the feelings of his 
 reader, if systems of political economy, widely spread, 
 did not impugn the principle, and if the safeguards 
 against such extremities were left unimpaired. It is 
 broadly asserted by many, that every man who en- 
 deavours to find work, may find it : were this assertion 
 capable of being verified, there still would remain a 
 question, what kind of work, and how far may the 
 labourer be fit for it ? For if sedentary work is to be 
 exchanged for standing ; and some light and nice ex- 
 ercise of the fingers, to which an artisan has been ac- 
 customed all his life, for severe labour of the arms ; the 
 best efforts would turn to little account, and occasion 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 329 
 
 would be given for the unthinking and the unfeeling 
 unwarrantably to reproach those who are put upon such 
 employment, as idle, froward, and unworthy of relief, 
 either by law or in any other way ! Were this state- 
 ment correct, there would indeed be an end of the 
 argument, the principle here maintained would be super- 
 seded. But, alas, it is far otherwise. That principle, 
 applicable to the benefit of all countries, is indispensable 
 for England, upon whose coast families are perpetually 
 deprived of their support by shipwreck, and where large 
 masses of men are so liable to be thrown out of their 
 ordinary means of gaining bread, by changes in com- 
 mercial intercourse, subject mainly or solely to the 
 will of foreign powers ; by new discoveries in arts 
 and manufactures ; and by reckless laws, in conformity 
 with theories of political economy, which, whether 
 right or wrong in the abstract, have proved a scourge 
 to ten of thousands, by the abruptness with which they 
 have been carried into practice. 
 
 But it is urged, — refuse altogether compulsory relief 
 to the able-bodied, and the number of those who stand 
 in need of relief will steadily diminish, through a con- 
 viction of an absolute necessity for greater forethought, 
 and more prudent care of a man's earnings. Undoubt- 
 edly it would, but so also would it, and in a much 
 greater degree, if the legislative provisions were re- 
 tained, and parochial relief administered under the 
 care of the upper classes, as it ought to be. For it has 
 been invariably found, that wherever the funds have 
 been raised and applied under the superintendence of 
 gentlemen and substantial proprietors, acting in vestries, 
 and as overseers, pauperism has diminished accordingly. 
 Proper care in that quarter would effectually check 
 what is felt in some districts to be one of the worst 
 evils in the poor law system, viz. the readiness of small 
 and needy proprietors to join in imposing rates that 
 
330 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 seemingly subject them to great hardships,, while,, in 
 fact, this is done with an understanding, which pre- 
 pares the way for the relief that each is ready to bestow 
 upon his still poorer neighbours being granted to him- 
 self, or his relatives, when it shall be applied for. 
 
 But let us look to inner sentiments of a nobler qua- 
 lity, in order to know what we have to build upon. 
 Affecting proofs occur in every one's experience, who is 
 acquainted with the unfortunate and the indigent, of 
 their unwillingness to derive their subsistence from 
 aught but their own funds or labour, or to be indebted 
 to parochial assistance for the attainment of any object, 
 however dear to them. A case was reported, the other 
 day, from a coroner's inquest, of a pair who, through 
 the space of four years, had carried about their dead 
 infant from house to house, and from lodging to lodg- 
 ing, as their necessities drove them, rather than ask 
 the parish to bear the expense of its interment : the 
 poor creatures lived in the hope of one day being able 
 to bury their child at their own cost. It must have 
 been heart-rending to see and hear the mother, who 
 had been called upon to account for the state in which 
 the body was found, make this deposition. She and 
 her husband had, it is true, been once in prosperity. 
 But examples, where the spirit of independence works 
 with equal strength, though not with like miserable ac- 
 companiments, are frequently to be found even yet 
 among the humblest peasantry and mechanics. There 
 is not, then, sufficient cause for doubting that a like 
 sense of honour may be revived among the people, and 
 their ancient habits of independence restored, without 
 resorting to those severities which the new Poor Law 
 Act has introduced. 
 
 But even, if the surfaces of things only are to be 
 examined, we have a right to expect that lawgivers 
 should take into account the various tempers and dis- 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 331 
 
 positions of mankind : while some are led, by the 
 existence of a legislative provision, into idleness and 
 extravagance, the economical virtues might be cherished 
 in others by the knowledge, that if all their efforts fail, 
 they have in the Poor Laws a (i refuge from the storm 
 and a shadow from the heat." Despondency and dis- 
 traction are no friends to prudence : the springs of in- 
 dustry will relax, if cheerfulness be destroyed by anxiety; 
 without hope men become reckless, and have a sullen 
 pride in adding to the heap of their own wretchedness. 
 He who feels that he is abandoned by his fellow men 
 will be almost irresistibly driven to care little for him- 
 self; will lose his self-respect accordingly, and with 
 that loss what remains to him of virtue. 
 
 With all due deference to the particular experience^ 
 and general intelligence of the individuals who framed 
 the Act, and of those who in and out of parliament have 
 approved of and supported it ; it may be said, that it 
 proceeds too much upon the presumption that it is a 
 labouring man's own fault if he be not, as the phrase 
 is,, beforehand with the world. But the most prudent 
 are liable to be thrown back by sickness, cutting them 
 off from labour, and causing to them expense ; and who 
 but has observed how distress creeps upon multitudes 
 without misconduct of their own ; and merely from a 
 gradual fall in the price of labour, without a correspond- 
 ent one in the price of provisions ; so that men who 
 may have ventured upon the marriage state with a fair 
 prospect of maintaining their families in comfort and 
 happiness, see them reduced to a pittance which no 
 effort of theirs can increase ? Let it be remembered, 
 also^ that there are thousands with whom vicious habits 
 of expense are not the cause why they do not store up 
 their gains ; but they are generous and kind-hearted, 
 and ready to help their kindred and friends ; moreover, 
 they have a faith in Providence that those who have 
 
332 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 been prompt to assist others, will not be left destitute, 
 should they themselves come to need. By acting from 
 these blended feelings, numbers have rendered them- 
 selves incapable of standing up against a sudden reverse. 
 Nevertheless, these men, in common with all who have 
 the misfortune to be in want, if many theorists had 
 their wish, would be thrown upon one or other of those 
 three sharp points of condition before adverted to, from 
 which the intervention of law has hitherto saved them. 
 All that has been said tends to show how the princi- 
 ple contended for makes the gift of life more valuable, 
 and has, the writer hopes, led to the conclusion that its 
 legitimate operation is to make men worthier of that 
 gift : in other words, not to degrade but to exalt human 
 nature. But the subject must not be dismissed without 
 adverting to the indirect influence of the same principle 
 upon the moral sentiments of a people among whom it 
 is embodied in law. In our criminal jurisprudence 
 there is a maxim, deservedly eulogised, that it is better 
 that ten guilty persons should escape, than that one 
 innocent man should suffer; so, also, might it be main- 
 tained, with regard to the Poor Laws, that it is better for 
 the interests of humanity among the people at large, 
 that ten undeserving should partake of the funds pro- 
 vided, than that one morally good man, through want 
 of relief, should either have his principles corrupted, or 
 his energies destroyed ; than that such a one should 
 either be driven to do wrong, or be cast to the earth in 
 utter hopelessness. In France, the English maxim of 
 criminal jurisprudence is reversed ; there^ it is deemed 
 better that ten innocent men should suffer, than one 
 guilty escape : in France, there is no universal provision 
 for the poor ; and we may judge of the small value set 
 upon human life in the metropolis of that country, by 
 merely noticing the disrespect with which, after death, 
 the body is treated, not by the thoughtless vulgar, but 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 333 
 
 in schools of anatomy, presided over by men allowed 
 to be, in their own art and in physical science, among 
 the most enlightened in the world. In the East, where 
 countries are overrun with population as with a weed, 
 infinitely more respect is shown to the remains of the 
 deceased ; and what a bitter mockery is it, that this in- 
 sensibility should be found where civil polity is so busy 
 in minor regulations, and ostentatiously careful to gra- 
 tify the luxurious propensities, whether social or intel- 
 lectual, of the multitude ! Irreligion is, no doubt, much 
 concerned with this offensive disrespect, shown to the 
 bodies of the dead in France ; but it is mainly attri- 
 butable to the state in which so many of the living 
 are left by the absence of compulsory provision for 
 the indigent, so humanely established by the law of 
 England. 
 
 Sights of abject misery, perpetually recurring, harden 
 the heart of the community. In the perusal of history, 
 and of works of fiction, we are not, indeed, unwilling 
 to have our commiseration excited by such objects of 
 distress as they present to us ; but in the concerns of 
 real life, men know that such emotions are not given to 
 be indulged for their own sakes : there, the conscience 
 declares to them that sympathy must be followed by 
 action; and if there exist a previous conviction that 
 the power to relieve is utterly inadequate to the demand, 
 the eye shrinks from communication with wretchedness, 
 ; and pity and compassion languish, like any other 
 qualities that are deprived of their natural aliment. 
 Let these considerations be duly weighed by those who 
 trust to the hope that an increase of private charity, 
 with all its advantages of superior discrimination, would 
 more than compensate for the abandonment of those 
 principles, the wisdom of which has been here insisted 
 upon. How discouraging, also, would be the sense of 
 injustice, which could not fail to arise in the minds of 
 
334 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 
 the well-disposed, if the burden of supporting the 
 poor, a burden of which the selfish have hitherto by 
 compulsion borne a share, should now, or hereafter, be 
 thrown exclusively upon the benevolent. 
 
 By having put an end to the Slave Trade and Slavery, 
 the British people are exalted in the scale of humanity ; 
 and they cannot but feel so, if they look into them- 
 selves, and duly consider their relation to God and thei 
 fellow-creatures. That was a noble advance ; but a re 
 trograde movement will assuredly be made, if ever th 
 principle, which has been here defended, should 
 either avowedly abandoned, or but ostensibly retained. 
 
 II. In a poem of the foregoing collection, the state 
 of the workmen congregated in manufactories is alluded 
 to. May the author here be permitted to say, that, 
 after much reflection upon this subject, he has not 
 been able to discover a more effectual mode of al- 
 leviating the evils to which that class are liable, and 
 establishing a better harmony between them and their 
 employers, than by a repeal of such laws as prevent 
 the formation of joint-stock companies ? The com- 
 binations of masters to keep down, unjustly, the price 
 of labour, would be fairly checked by these associations ; 
 they would encourage economy, inasmuch as they would 
 enable a man to draw profit from his savings, by vesting 
 them in buildings or machinery for processes of manu- 
 facture with which he was habitually connected. His 
 little capital would then be working for him while 
 he was at rest or asleep ; he would more clearly per- 
 ceive the necessity of capital for carrying on great 
 works ; he would better learn to respect the larger por- 
 tions of it in the hands of others ; he would be less 
 tempted to join in unjust combinations ; and, for the 
 sake of his own property, if not for higher reasons, he 
 would be slow to promote local disturbance, or en- 
 danger public tranquillity ; he would, at least, be loth 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 335 
 
 to act in that way knowingly : for it is not to be de- 
 nied that such societies might be nurseries of opinions 
 unfavourable to a mixed constitution of government, 
 like that of Great Britain. The democratic and re- 
 publican spirit which they might be apt to foster 
 would not, however, be dangerous in itself, but only as 
 it might act without being sufficiently counterbalanced, 
 either by landed proprietorship, or by a Church ex- 
 tending itself so as to embrace an ever-growing and 
 ever-shifting population of mechanics and artisans. 
 But if the tendencies of such societies would be to 
 make the men prosper who might belong to them, rulers 
 and legislators should rejoice in the result, and do their 
 duty to the state by upholding and extending the 
 influence of that Church to which it owes, in so great a 
 measure, its safety, its prosperity, and its glory. 
 
 This, in the temper of the present times, may be 
 difficult, but it is become indispensable, since large 
 towns in great numbers have sprung up, and others 
 have increased tenfold, with little or no dependence 
 upon the gentry and the landed proprietors ; and apart 
 from those mitigated feudal institutions, which, till of 
 late, have acted so powerfully upon the composition of 
 the House of Commons. Now it may be affirmed that, 
 in quarters where there is not an attachment to the 
 Church, or the landed aristocracy, and a pride in sup- 
 porting them, there the people will dislike both, and be 
 ready, upon such incitements as are perpetually re- 
 curring, to join in attempts to overthrow them. There 
 is no neutral ground here : from want of due attention 
 to the state of society in large towns and manufacturing 
 districts, and ignorance or disregard of these obvious 
 truths, innumerable well-meaning persons became zeal- 
 ous supporters of a Reform Bill, the qualities and powers 
 of which, whether destructive or constructive, they 
 would otherwise have been afraid of; and even the 
 
336 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 fraraers of that bill,, swayed as they might be by party 
 resentments and personal ambition, could not have 
 gone so far, had not they too been lamentably ignorant 
 or neglectful of the same truths both of fact and philo- 
 sophy. 
 
 But let that pass ; and let no opponent of the bill be 
 tempted to compliment his own foresight, by exagger- 
 ating the mischiefs and dangers that have sprung from 
 it : let not time be wasted in profitless regrets ; and let 
 those party distinctions vanish to their very names that 
 have separated men who, whatever course they may have 
 pursued, have ever had a bond of union in the wish to 
 save the limited monarchy, and those other institutions 
 that have, under Providence, rendered for so long a 
 period of time this country the happiest and worthiest 
 of which there is any record since the foundation of 
 civil society. 
 
 III. A philosophic mind is best pleased when looking 
 at] religion in its spiritual bearing ; as a guide of conduct, 
 a solace under affliction, and a support amid the insta- 
 bilities of mortal life : but the Church having been 
 forced by political considerations upon the notice of the 
 author, while treating of the labouring classes, he cannot 
 forbear saying a few words upon that momentous topic. 
 
 There is a loud clamour for extensive change in that 
 department. The clamour would be entitled to more 
 respect if they who are the most eager to swell it with 
 their voices were not generally the most ignorant of the 
 real state of the Church, and the service it renders to 
 the community. Reform is the word employed. Let 
 us pause and consider what sense it is apt to carry, and 
 how things are confounded by a lax use of it. The 
 great religious Reformation, in the sixteenth century, 
 did not profess to be a new construction, but a resto- 
 ration of something fallen into decay, or put out of 
 sight. That familiar and justifiable use of the word 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 337 
 
 seems to have paved the way for fallacies with respect 
 to the term reform, which it is difficult to escape from. 
 Were we to speak of improvement, and the correction 
 of abuses, we should run less risk of being deceived 
 ourselves, or of misleading others. We should be less 
 likely to fall blindly into the belief, that the change 
 demanded is a renewal of something that has existed 
 before, and that, therefore, we have experience on our 
 side ; nor should we be equally tempted to beg the 
 question, that the change for which we are eager must 
 be advantageous. From generation to generation, men 
 are the dupes of words ; and it is painful to observe, 
 that so many of our species are most tenacious of those 
 opinions which they have formed with the least con- 
 sideration. They who are the readiest to meddle with 
 public affairs, whether in church or state, fly to gene- 
 ralities, that they may be eased from the trouble of 
 thinking about particulars ; and thus is deputed to 
 mechanical instrumentality the work which vital know- 
 ledge only can do well. 
 
 " Abolish pluralities, have a resident incumbent in 
 every parish," is a favourite cry ; but, without adverting 
 to other obstacles in the way of this specious scheme, it 
 may be asked what benefit would accrue from its 
 indiscriminate adoption to counterbalance the harm it 
 would introduce, by nearly extinguishing the order of 
 curates, unless the revenues of the church should grow 
 with the population, and be greatly increased in many 
 thinly-peopled districts, especially among the parishes 
 of the North. 
 
 The order of curates is so beneficial, that some par- 
 ticular notice of it seems to be required in this place. 
 For a church poor as, relatively to the numbers of the 
 people, that of England is, and probably will continue 
 to be, it is no small advantage to have youthful servants, 
 who will work upon the wages of hope and expectation. 
 
338 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Still more advantageous is it to have, by means of this 
 order, young men scattered over the country, who being 
 more detached from the temporal concerns of the bene- 
 fice, have more leisure for improvement and study, and 
 are less subject to be brought into secular collision with 
 those who are under their spiritual guardianship. The 
 curate, if he reside at a distance from the incumbent, 
 undertakes the requisite responsibilities of a temporal 
 kind, in that modified way which prevents him, as a 
 new-comer, from being charged with selfishness : while 
 it prepares him for entering upon a benefice of his 
 own, with something of a suitable experience. If he 
 should act under and in co-operation with a resident 
 incumbent, the gain is mutual. His studies will pro- 
 bably be assisted ; and his training, managed by a supe- 
 rior, will not be liable to relapse in matters of prudence, 
 seemliness, or in any of the highest cares of his func- 
 tions ; and by way of return for these benefits to the 
 pupil, it will often happen that the zeal of a middle- 
 aged or declining incumbent will be revived, by being 
 in near communion with the ardour of youth, when 
 his own efforts may have languished through a melan- 
 choly consciousness that they have not produced as 
 much good among his flock as, when he first entered 
 upon the charge, he fondly hoped. 
 
 Let one remark, and that not the least important, be 
 added. A curate, entering for the first time upon his 
 office, comes from college after a course of expense, and 
 with such inexperience in the use of money, that, in 
 his new situation, he is apt to fall unawares into pe- 
 cuniary difficulties. If this happens to him, much 
 more likely is it to happen to the youthful incumbent ; 
 whose relations, to his parishioners and to society, are 
 more complicated; and, his income being larger and 
 independent of another, a costlier style of living is 
 required of him by public opinion. If embarrassment 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 339 
 
 should ensue, and with that unavoidably some loss of 
 respectability, his future usefulness will be proportion- 
 ably impaired : not so with the curate, for he can easily 
 remove and start afresh with a stock of experience and 
 an unblemished reputation, whereas the early indis- 
 cretions of an incumbent being rarely forgotten, may 
 be impediments to the efficacy of his ministry for the 
 remainder of his life. The same observations would 
 apply with equal force to doctrine. A young minister 
 is liable to errors, from his notions being either too lax 
 or overstrained. In both cases it would prove injurious 
 that the error should be remembered, after study and 
 reflection, with advancing years, shall have brought him 
 to a clearer discernment of the truth, and better judg- 
 ment in the application of it. 
 
 It must be acknowledged that, among the regula- 
 tions of ecclesiastical polity, none at first view are more 
 attractive than that which prescribes for every parish a 
 resident incumbent. How agreeable to picture to one's 
 *self, as has been done by poets and romance- writers, 
 from Chaucer down to Goldsmith, a man devoted to his 
 ministerial office, with not a wish or a thought ranging 
 beyond the circuit of its cares ! Nor is it in poetry and 
 fiction only that such characters are found; they are 
 scattered, it is hoped not sparingly, over real life, 
 especially in sequestered and rural districts, where there 
 is but small influx of new inhabitants, and little change 
 of occupation. The spirit of the Gospel, unaided by 
 acquisitions of profane learning and experience in the 
 world, that spirit, and the obligations of the sacred 
 office may, in such situations, suffice to effect most 
 of what is needful. But for the complex state of 
 society that prevails in England, much more is required, 
 both in large towns, and in many extensive districts of 
 the country. A minister there should not only be 
 irreproachable in manners and morals, but accomplished 
 
 Q 2 
 
340 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 in learning, as far as is possible without sacrifice of the 
 least of his pastoral duties. As necessary, perhaps 
 more so, is it that he should be a citizen as well as a 
 scholar ; thoroughly acquainted with the structure of 
 society, and the constitution of civil government, and 
 able to reason upon both with the most expert ; all 
 ultimately in order to support the truths of Christianity, 
 and to diffuse its blessings. 
 
 A young man coming fresh from the place of his 
 education, cannot have brought with him these accom- 
 plishments ; and if the scheme of equalising church 
 incomes, which many advisers are much bent upon, be 
 realised, so that ' there should be little or no secular 
 inducement for a clergyman to desire a removal from 
 the spot where he may chance to have been first set 
 down ; surely not only opportunities for obtaining the 
 requisite qualifications would be diminished, but the 
 motives for desiring to obtain them would be propor- 
 tion ably weakened. And yet these qualifications are 
 indispensable for the diffusion of that knowledge, by 
 which alone the political philosophy of the New Testa- 
 ment can be rightly expounded, and its precepts 
 adequately enforced. In these times, when the press is 
 daily exercising so great a power over the minds of the 
 people, for wrong or for right as may happen, that 
 preacher ranks among the first of benefactors who, 
 without stooping to the direct treatment of current 
 politics and passing events, can furnish infallible guid- 
 ance through the delusions that surround them ; and 
 who, appealing to the sanctions of Scripture, may place 
 the grounds of its injunctions in so clear a light, that 
 disaffection shall cease to be cultivated as a laudable 
 propensity, and loyalty cleansed from the dishonour of a 
 blind and prostrate obedience. 
 
 It is not, however, in regard to civic duties alone, 
 that this knowledge in a minister of the Gospel is 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 341 
 
 important ; it is still more so for softening and subduing 
 private and personal discontents. In all places, and at 
 all times, men have gratuitously troubled themselves, 
 because their survey of the dispensations of Providence 
 has been partial and narrow ; but now that readers are 
 so greatly multiplied, men judge as they are taught, and 
 repinings are engendered every where, by imputations 
 being cast upon the government, and are prolonged or 
 aggravated by being ascribed to misconduct or injustice 
 in rulers, when the individual himself only is in fault. 
 If a Christian pastor be competent to deal with these 
 humours, as they may be dealt with, and by no mem- 
 bers of society so successfully, both from more frequent 
 and more favourable opportunities of intercourse, and by 
 aid of the authority with which he speaks ; he will be 
 a teacher of moderation, a dispenser of the wisdom 
 that blunts approaching distress by submission to God's 
 will, and lightens, by patience, grievances which cannot 
 be removed. 
 
 We live in times when nothing, of public good at 
 least, is generally acceptable, but what we believe can be 
 traced to preconceived intention, and specific acts and 
 formal contrivances of human understanding. A Chris- 
 tian instructor thoroughly accomplished would be a 
 standing restraint upon such presumptuousness of judg- 
 ment, by impressing the truth that — 
 
 In the unreasoning progress of the world 
 
 A wiser spirit is at work for us, 
 
 A better eye than ours. MS. 
 
 Revelation points to the purity and peace of a future 
 world ; but our sphere of duty is upon earth ; and the 
 relations of impure and conflicting things to each other 
 must be understood, or we shall be perpetually going 
 wrong in all but goodness of intention ; and goodness 
 of intention will itself relax through frequent disappoint- 
 
 Q 3 
 
342 , POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 ment. How desirable, then, is it, that a minister of 
 the Gospel should be versed in the knowledge of existing 
 facts, and be accustomed to a wide range of social 
 experience ! Nor is it less desirable for the purpose of 
 counterbalancing and tempering in his own mind that 
 ambition with which spiritual power is as apt to be 
 tainted as any other species of power which men covet 
 or possess. 
 
 It must be obvious that the scope of the argument is 
 to discourage an attempt which would introduce into the 
 Church of England an equality of income, and station, 
 upon the model of that of Scotland. The sounder part 
 of the Scottish nation know what good their ancestors 
 derived from their church, and feel how deeply the living 
 generation is indebted to it. They respect and love it, 
 as accommodated in so great a measure to a comparatively 
 poor country, through the far greater portion of which 
 prevails a uniformity of employment ; but the acknow- 
 ledged deficiency of theological learning among the clergy 
 of that church is easily accounted for by this very 
 equality. What else may be wanting there, it would be 
 unpleasant to inquire, and might prove invidious to de- 
 termine: one thing, however, is clear; that in all countries 
 the temporalities of the Church Establishment should 
 bear an analogy to the state of society, otherwise it can- 
 not diffuse its influence through the whole community. 
 In a country so rich and luxurious as England, the 
 character of its clergy must unavoidably sink, and their 
 influence be every where impaired, if individuals from 
 the upper ranks, and men of leading talents, are to have 
 no inducements to enter into that body but such as are 
 purely spiritual. And this lc tinge of secularity" is no 
 reproach to the clergy, nor does it imply a deficiency of 
 spiritual endowments. Parents and guardians, looking 
 forward to sources of honourable maintenance for their 
 children and wards, often direct their thoughts early 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 343 
 
 towards the church, being determined partly by outward 
 circumstances, and partly by indications of seriousness, 
 or intellectual fitness. It is natural that a boy or youth, 
 with such a prospect before him, should turn his attention 
 to those studies, and be led into those habits of re- 
 flection, which will in some degree dispose and tend to 
 prepare him for the duties he is hereafter to undertake. 
 As he draws nearer to the time when he will be called 
 to these duties, he is both led and compelled to examine 
 the Scriptures. He becomes more and more sensible of 
 their truth. Devotion grows in him ; and what might 
 begin in temporal consideration, will end (as in a ma- 
 jority of instances we trust it does) in a spiritual-mind- 
 edness not unworthy of that Gospel, the lessons of which 
 he is to teach, and the faith of which he is to inculcate. 
 Not inappositely may be here repeated an observation, 
 which, from its obviousness and importance, must have 
 been frequently made, viz. that the impoverishing of the 
 clergy, and bringing their incomes much nearer to a 
 level, would not cause them to become less worldly- 
 minded : the emoluments, howsoever reduced, would be 
 as eagerly sought for, but by men from lower classes in 
 society ; men who, by their manners, habits, abilities, 
 and the scanty measure of their attainments, would un- 
 avoidably be less fitted for their station, and less com- 
 petent to discharge its duties. 
 
 Visionary notions have in all ages been afloat upon 
 the subject of best providing for the clergy ; notions 
 which have been sincerely entertained by good men, 
 with a view to the improvement of that order, and 
 eagerly caught at and dwelt upon, by the designing, for 
 its degradation and disparagement. Some are beguiled 
 by what they call the voluntary system, not seeing (what 
 stares one in the face at the very threshold) that they 
 who stand in most need of religious instruction are 
 unconscious of the want, and therefore cannot reasonably 
 
 Q 4 
 
344 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 be expected to make any sacrifices in order to supply it. 
 Will the licentious, the sensual, and the depraved, take 
 from the means of their gratifications and pursuits, to 
 support a discipline that cannot advance without uproot- 
 ing the trees that bear the fruit which they devour so 
 greedily ? Will they pay the price of that seed whose 
 harvest is to be reaped in an invisible world ? A vo- 
 luntary system for the religious exigences of a people 
 numerous and circumstanced as we are ! Not more 
 absurd would it be to expect that a knot of boys should 
 draw upon the pittance of their pocket-money to build 
 schools, or out of the abundance of their discretion be 
 able to select fit masters to teach and keep them in order ! 
 Some, who clearly perceive the incompetence and folly 
 of such a scheme for the agricultural part of the people, 
 nevertheless think it feasible in large towns, where the 
 rich might subscribe for the religious instruction of the 
 poor. Alas ! they know little of the thick darkness that 
 spreads over the streets and alleys of our large towns. 
 The parish of Lambeth, a few years since, contained not 
 more than one church and three or four small proprie- 
 tary chapels, while dissenting chapels of every deno- 
 mination were still more scantily found there ; yet the 
 inhabitants of the parish amounted at that time to 
 upwards of 50,000. Were the parish church and the 
 chapels of the Establishment existing there, an impedi- 
 ment to the spread of the Gospel among that mass of 
 people ? Who shall dare to say so ? 
 
 For the preservation of the Church Establishment, all 
 men, whether they belong to it or not, could they 
 perceive their true interest, would be strenuous: but 
 how inadequate are its provisions for the needs of the 
 country ! and how much is it to be regretted that, while 
 its zealous friends yield to alarms on account of the 
 hostility of dissent, they should so much over-rate the 
 danger to be apprehended from that quarter, and almost 
 
POSTSCRIPT, 
 
 345 
 
 overlook the fact that hundreds of thousands of our 
 fellow-countrymen, though formally and nominally of 
 the Church of England, never enter her places of 
 worship, neither have they communication with her 
 ministers ! This deplorable state of things seems 
 partly owing to a decay of zeal among the rich and 
 influential, and partly to a want of due expansive power 
 in the constitution of the Establishment as regulated 
 by law. Private benefactors, in their efforts to build 
 and endow churches, have been frustrated, or too much 
 impeded, by legal obstacles : these, where they are 
 unreasonable or unfitted for the times, ought to be 
 removed j and, keeping clear of intolerance and in- 
 justice, means should be used to render the presence 
 and powers of the church commensurate with the wants 
 of a shifting and still- increasing population. 
 
 This cannot be effected, unless the English Govern- 
 ment vindicate the truth, that, as her church exists for 
 the benefit of all (though not in an equal degree), whether 
 of her communion or not, all should be made to con- 
 tribute to its support. If this ground be abandoned, 
 the not remote consequence will be, the infliction of a 
 wound upon the moral heart of the English people, 
 from which, till ages shall have gone by, it will not 
 recover. 
 
 But let the friends of the church be of good courage. 
 Powers are at work, by which, under Divine Providence, 
 she may be strengthened and the sphere of her useful- 
 ness extended ; not by alterations in her Liturgy, ac- 
 commodated to this or that demand of finical taste, nor 
 by cutting off this or that from her Articles or Canons, 
 to which the scrupulous or the overweening may object. 
 Covert schism, and open nonconformity, would survive 
 after alterations, however promising in the eyes of 
 those whose subtilty had been exercised in making them. 
 Latitudinarianism is the parhelion of liberty of con- 
 
 Q 5 
 
346 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 science, and will ever successfully lay claim to a divided 
 worship. Among Presbyterians, Socinians, Baptists, 
 and Independents, there will always be found numbers 
 who will tire of their several creeds, and some will 
 come over to the Church. Conventicles may disappear, 
 congregations in each denomination may fall into decay 
 or be broken up, but the conquests which the National 
 Church ought chiefly to aim at, lie among the thousands 
 and tens of thousands of the unhappy outcasts who grow 
 up with no religion at all. The wants of these cannot 
 but be feelingly remembered. Whatever may be the 
 dispositions of the new constituencies under the reformed 
 parliament, and the course which the men of their 
 choice may be inclined or compelled to follow, it may 
 be confidently hoped that individuals, acting in their 
 private capacities, will endeavour to make up for the 
 deficiencies of the legislature. Is it too much to expect 
 that proprietors of large estates, where the inhabitants 
 are without religious instruction, or where it is sparingly 
 supplied, will deem it their duty to take part in this 
 good work ; and that thriving manufacturers and mer- 
 chants will, in their several neighbourhoods, be sensible 
 of the like obligation, and act upon it with generous 
 rivalry ? 
 
 Moreover, the force of public opinion is rapidly 
 increasing : and some may bend to it, who are not so 
 happy as to be swayed by a higher motive ; especially 
 they who derive large incomes from lay-impropriations, 
 in tracts of country where ministers are few and mea- 
 grely provided for. A claim still stronger may be 
 acknowledged by those who, round their superb habit- 
 ations j or elsewhere, walk over vast estates which Were 
 lavished upon their ancestors by royal favouritism, or 
 purchased at insignificant prices after church-spoliation; 
 such proprietors, though not conscience- stricken (there 
 is no call for that) may be prompted to make a return 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 34<7 
 
 for which their tenantry and dependents will learn to 
 bless their names. An impulse has been given ; an ac- 
 cession of means from these several sources, co-operating 
 with a weZZ-considered change in the distribution of 
 some parts of the property at present possessed by the 
 church, a change scrupulously founded upon due re- 
 spect to law and justice, will, we trust, bring about so 
 much of what her friends desire, that the rest may be 
 calmly waited for, with thankfulness for what shall 
 have been obtained. 
 
 Let it not be thought unbecoming in a layman, to 
 have treated at length a subject with which the clergy 
 are more intimately conversant. All may, without impro- 
 priety, speak of what deeply concerns all ; nor need an 
 apology be offered for going over ground which has 
 been trod before so ably and so often : without pre- 
 tending, however, to any thing of novelty, either in 
 matter or manner, something may have been offered to 
 view, which will save the writer from the imputation of 
 having little to recommend his labour, but goodness of 
 intention. 
 
 It was with reference to thoughts expressed in verse, 
 that the Author entered upon the above notices, and 
 with verse he will conclude. The passage is extracted 
 from his MSS. written above thirty years ago : it turns 
 upon the individual dignity which humbleness of 
 social condition does not preclude, but frequently pro- 
 motes. It has no direct bearing upon clubs for the 
 discussion of public affairs, nor upon political or trade- 
 unions ; but if a single workman — who, being a 
 member of one of those clubs, runs the risk of be- 
 coming an agitator, or who, being enrolled in a union, 
 must be left without a will of his own, and therefore a 
 slave — should read these lines, and be touched by 
 them, the Author would indeed rejoice, and little 
 would he care for losing credit as a poet with intern- 
 
348 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 perate critics, who think differently from him upon 
 political philosophy or public measures, if the sober- 
 minded admit that, in general views, his affections have 
 been moved, and his imagination exercised, under and 
 for the guidance of reason. 
 
 " Here might I pause, and bend in reverence 
 
 To Nature, and the power of human minds ; 
 
 To men as they are men within themselves. 
 
 How oft high service is performed within, 
 
 When all the external man is rude in show ; 
 
 Not like a temple rich with pomp and gold, 
 
 But a mere mountain chapel that protects 
 
 Its simple worshippers from sun and shower ! 
 
 Of these, said I, shall be my song ; of these, 
 
 If future years mature me for the task, 
 
 Will I record the praises, making verse 
 
 Deal boldly with substantial things — in truth 
 
 And sanctity of passion, speak of these, 
 
 That justice may be done, obeisance paid 
 
 Where it is due. Thus haply shall I teach, 
 
 Inspire, through unadulterated ears 
 
 Pour rapture, tenderness, and hope ; my theme 
 
 No other than the very heart of man, 
 
 As found among the best of those who live, 
 
 Not unexalted by religious faith, 
 
 Nor uninformed by books, good books, though few, 
 
 In Nature's presence : thence may I select 
 
 Sorrow that is not sorrow, but delight, 
 
 And miserable love that is not pain 
 
 To hear of, for the glory that redounds 
 
 Therefrom to human kind, and what we are. 
 
 Be mine to follow with no timid step 
 
 Where knowledge leads me ; it shall be my pride 
 
 That I have dared to tread this holy ground, 
 
 Speaking no dream, but things oracular, 
 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 349 
 
 Matter not lightly to be heard by those 
 
 Who to the letter of the outward promise 
 
 Do read the invisible soul ; by men adroit 
 
 In speech, and for communion with the world 
 
 Accomplished, minds whose faculties are then 
 
 Most active when they are most eloquent, 
 
 And elevated most when most admired. 
 
 Men may be found of other mould than these ; 
 
 Who are their own upholders, to themselves 
 
 Encouragement, and energy, and will ; 
 
 Expressing liveliest thoughts in lively words 
 
 As native passion dictates. Others, too, 
 
 There are, among the walks of homely life, 
 
 Still higher, men for contemplation framed ; 
 
 Shy, and unpractised in the strife of phrase ; 
 
 Meek men, whose very souls perhaps would sink 
 
 Beneath them, summoned to such intercourse. 
 
 Their's is the language of the heavens, the power, 
 
 The thought, the image, and the silent joy : 
 
 Wo'rds are but under-agents in their souls ; 
 
 When they are grasping with their greatest strength 
 
 They do not breathe among them ; this I speak 
 
 In gratitude to God, who feeds our hearts 
 
 For his own service, knoweth, loveth us, 
 
 When we are unregarded by the world." 
 
 THE END. 
 
London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street-Square. 
 


 
 
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