Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree Less than they heed a breath of wanton air.

-Then Canute, rising from the invaded throne,

Said to his servile Courtiers,-"Poor the reach,

The undisguised extent, of mortal sway! He only is a King, and he alone

Deserves the name (this truth the billows preach)

Whose everlasting laws, sea, earth, and heaven, obey."

This just reproof the prosperous Dane Drew, from the influx of the main, For some whose rugged northern mouths would strain

At oriental flattery;

And Canute (fact more worthy to be known)

From that time forth did for his brows

disown

The ostentatious symbol of a crown;
Esteeming earthly royalty
Contemptible as vain.

Now hear what one of elder days,
Rich theme of England's fondest praise,
Her darling Alfred, might have spoken;
To cheer the remnant of his host

When he was driven from coast to coast, Distressed and harassed, but with mind unbroken:

"My faithful followers, lo! the tide is spent

That rose, and steadily advanced to fill The shores and channels, working Nature's will

Among the mazy streams that backward

went,

And in the sluggish pools where ships are pent:

And now, his task performed, the flood stands still,

At the green base of many an inland hill,
In placid beauty and sublime content!
Such the repose that sage and hero find;
Such measured rest the sedulous and good
Of humbler name; whose souls do, like
the flood

Of Ocean, press right on; or gently wind,
Neither to be diverted nor withstood,
Until they reach the bounds by Heaven
assigned."

1816.

TO DORA

The complaint in my eyes which gave occasion to this address to my daughter first showed itsel as a consequence of inflammation, caught at the top of Kirkstone, when I was over-heated by having carried up the ascent my eldest son, a lusty infant. Frequently has the disease recurred since, leaving my eyes in a state which has often prevented my reading for months, and makes me at this day incapable of bearing without injury any strong light by day or night. My acquaintance with books has therefore been far short of my wishes; and on this account, to acknowledge the services daily and hourly done me by my family and friends, this note is written.

"A little onward lend thy guiding hand To these dark steps, a little further on!" -What trick of memory to my voice hath brought

This mournful iteration? For though Time,

The Conqueror, crowns the Conquered, on this brow

Planting his favourite silver diadem,
Nor he, nor minister of his-intent
To run before him-hath enrolled me yet,
Though not unmenaced, among those who
lean

Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight.
--O my own Dora, my beloved child!
Should that day come-but hark! the

Her temples, fearless for the stately work, Though waves, to every breeze, its higharched roof,

And storms the pillars rock. But we such schools

Of reverential awe will chiefly seek

In the still summer noon, while beams of light,

Reposing here, and in the aisles beyond
Traceably gliding through the dusk, recall
To mind the living presences of nuns;
A gentle, pensive, white-robed sisterhood,
Whose saintly radiance mitigates the gloom
Of those terrestrial fabrics, where they serve,
To Christ, the Sun of righteousness,
espoused.

Now also shall the page of classic lore, To these glad eyes from bondage freed, again

Lie open; and the book of Holy Writ, Again unfolded, passage clear shall yield To heights more glorious still, and into shades

More awful, where, advancing hand in hand,

We may be taught, O Darling of my care!
To calm the affections, elevate the soul,
And consecrate our lives to truth and love.
1816.

ΤΟ

ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT

OF HELVELLYN

Written at Rydal Mount. The lady was Miss Blackett, then residing with Mr. Montagu Bur

goyne at Fox-Ghyll. We were tempted to remain too long upon the mountain; and I, imprudently, with the hope of shortening the way, led her among the crags and down a steep slope which entangled us in difficulties that were met by her with much spirit and courage.

INMATE of a mountain-dwelling, Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed From the watch-towers of Helvellyn; Awed, delighted, and amazed!

Potent was the spell that bound thee
Not unwilling to obey;

For blue Ether's arms, flung round thee,
Stilled the pantings of dismay.

Lo! the dwindled woods and meadows;
What a vast abyss is there!

Lo! the clouds, the solemn shadows,
And the glistenings-heavenly fair!

And a record of commotion
Which a thousand ridges yield;
Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean
Gleaming like a silver shield!

Maiden! now take flight ;-inherit Alps or Andes-they are thine! With the morning's roseate Spirit, Sweep their length of snowy line;

Or survey their bright dominions
In the gorgeous colours drest
Flung from off the purple pinions,
Evening spreads throughout the west !

Thine are all the coral fountains
Warbling in each sparry vault
Of the untrodden lunar mountains;
Listen to their songs !—or halt,

To Niphates' top invited,
Whither spiteful Satan steered;
Or descend where the ark alighted,
When the green earth re-appeared;

For the power of hills is on thee,
As was witnessed through thine eye
Then, when old Helvellyn won thee
1816.
To confess their majesty!

VERNAL ODE

Composed at Rydal Mount, to place in view the immortality of succession where immortality is denied, as far as we know, to the individual

creature.

Rerum Natura tota est nusquam magis quam in minimis.-PLIN. Nat. Hist.

I

BENEATH the concave of an April sky, When all the fields with freshest green

were dight,

Appeared, in presence of the spiritual eye That aids or supersedes our grosser sight, The form and rich habiliments of One Whose countenance bore resemblance to the sun,

When it reveals, in evening majesty, Features half lost amid their own pure light. Poised like a weary cloud, in middle air He hung, then floated with angelic ease (Softening that bright effulgence by degrees) Till he had reached a summit sharp and bare,

Where oft the venturous heifer drinks the noontide breeze.

Upon the apex of that lofty cone
Alighted, there the Stranger stood alone;
Fair as a gorgeous Fabric of the east
Suddenly raised by some enchanter's power,
Where nothing was; and firm as some old
Tower

Of Britain's realm, whose leafy crest Waves high, embellished by a gleaming shower!

II

Beneath the shadow of his purple wings Rested a golden harp;- he touched the strings;

And, after prelude of unearthly sound Poured through the echoing hills around, He sang

"No wintry desolations, Scorching blight or noxious dew, Affect my native habitations;

Buried in glory, far beyond the scope
Of man's inquiring gaze, but to his hope
Imaged, though faintly, in the hue
Profound of night's ethereal blue;
And in the aspect of each radiant orb;-
Some fixed, some wandering with no timid
curb:

"What if those bright fires Shine subject to decay,

Sons haply of extinguished sires, Themselves to lose their light, or pass away Like clouds before the wind,

Be thanks poured out to Him whose hand bestows,

Nightly, on human kind

That vision of endurance and repose. -And though to every draught of vital breath

Renewed throughout the bounds of earth or ocean,

The melancholy gates of Death
Respond with sympathetic motion;
Though all that feeds on nether air,
Howe'er magnificent or fair,
Grows but to perish, and entrust
Its ruins to their kindred dust;
Yet, by the Almighty's ever-during cart,
Her procreant vigils Nature keeps
Amid the unfathomable deeps;
And saves the peopled fields of earth
From dread of emptiness or dearth.
Thus, in their stations, lifting tow'rd the
sky

The foliaged head in cloud-like majesty,
The shadow-casting race of trees survive:
Thus, in the train of Spring, arrive
Sweet flowers;--what living eye hath viewed
Their myriads?-endlessly renewed,
Wherever strikes the sun's glad ray;
Where'er the subtle waters stray;
Wherever sportive breezes bend
Their course, or genial showers descend!
Mortals, rejoice! the very Angels quit
Their mansions unsusceptible of change.
Amid your pleasant bowers to sit,
And through your sweet vicissitudes to
range!"

IV

Oh, nursed at happy distance from the cares Of a too-anxious world, mild pastoral Muse

That, to the sparkling crown Urania wears, And to her sister Clio's laurel wreath, Prefer'st a garland culled from purple heath, Or blooming thicket moist with morning dews;

Was such bright Spectacle vouchsafed to me?

And was it granted to the simple ear
Of thy contented Votary

Such melody to hear!

His rather suits it, side by side with thee,
Wrapped in a fit of pleasing indolence,
While thy tired lute hangs on the hawthorn-
tree,

To lie and listen-till o'er-drowsed sense
Sinks, hardly conscious of the influence-
To the soft murmur of the vagrant Bee.
-A slender sound! yet hoary Time
Doth to the Soul exalt it with the chime
Of all his years;--a company

Of ages coming, ages gone;

Nations from before them sweeping, Regions in destruction steeping,) Bat every awful note in unison With that faint utterance, which tells Of treasure sucked from buds and bells, For the pure keeping of those waxen cells; Where She-a statist prudent to confer Upon the common weal; a warrior bold, Radiant all over with unburnished gold, And armed with living spear for mortal fight;

Ere shaken by that mood of stern disdain At which the desert trembles. --Humming Bee!

Thy sting was needless then, perchance unknown,

The seeds of malice were not sown;

All creatures met in peace, from fierceness free,

And no pride blended with their dignity.
-Tears had not broken from their source;
Nor Anguish strayed from her Tartarean
den;

The golden years maintained a course
Not undiversified though smooth and even;
We were not mocked with glimpse and
shadow then,

Bright Seraphs mixed familiarly with men; And earth and stars composed a universal heaven! 1817.

The discerning reader, who is aware that in the poem of Ellen Irwin I was desirous of throwing the reader at once out of the old ballad, so as, if possible, to preclude a comparison between that mode of dealing with the subject and the mode I meant to adopt-may here perhaps perceive that this poem originated in the four last lines of the first stanza. Those specks of snow, reflected in the lake and so transferred, as it were, to the subaqueous sky, reminded me of the swans which the fancy of the ancient classic poets yoked to the car of Venus. Hence the tenor of the whole first stanza, and the name of Lycoris, which-with some readers who think my theology and classical allusion too far-fetched and therefore more or less unnatural and affected-will tend to unrealise the sentiment that pervades these verses. But surely one who has written so much in verse as I have done may be allowed to retrace his steps in the regions of fancy which delighted him in his boyhood, when he first became acquainted with the Greek and Roman Poets. Before I read Virgil I was so strongly attached to Ovid, whose Metamorphoses I read at school, that I was quite in a passion whenever I found him, in books of criticism, placed below Virgil. As to Homer, I was never weary of travelling over the scenes through which he led me. Classical literature affected me by its own beauty. But the truths of scripture having been entrusted to the dead languages, and these fountains having been recently laid open at the Reformation, an importance and a sanctity were at that period attached to classical literature

that extended, as is obvious in Milton's Lycidas, for example, both to its spirit and form in a degree that can never be revived. No doubt the hackneyed and lifeless use into which mythology fell towards the close of the 17th century, and which continued through the 18th, disgusted the general reader with all allusion to it in modern verse; and though, in deference to this disgust, and also in a measure participating in it, I abstained in my earlier writings from all introduction of pagan fable, surely, even in its humble form, it may ally itself with real sentiment, as I can truly affirm it did in the present case.

I

AN age hath been when Earth was proud
Of lustre too intense

To be sustained; and Mortals bowed
The front in self-defence.

Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed,
Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed
While on the wing the Urchin played,
Could fearlessly approach the shade?
-Enough for one soft vernal day,
If I, a bard of ebbing time,
And nurtured in a fickle clime,
May haunt this horned bay;
Whose amorous water multiplies
The flitting halcyon's vivid dyes;
And smooths her liquid breast-to show
These swan-like specks of mountain snow,
White as the pair that slid along the plains
Of heaven, when Venus held the reins !

II

In youth we love the darksome lawn
Brushed by the owlet's wing;
Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn,
And Autumn to the Spring.
Sad fancies do we then affect,

In luxury of disrespect

To our own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness.
Lycoris (if such name befit

Thee, thee my life's celestial sign!)
When Nature marks the year's decline,
Be ours to welcome it;

Pleased with the harvest hope that runs
Before the path of milder suns;
Pleased while the sylvan world displays
Its ripeness to the feeding gaze;

Pleased when the sullen winds resound the

knell

Of the resplendent miracle.

But something whispers to my heart
That, as we downward tend,
Lycoris ! life requires an art
To which our souls must bend;
A skill-to balance and supply;
And, ere the flowing fount be dry,
As soon it must, a sense to sip.
Or drink, with no fastidious lip.
Then welcome, above all, the Guest
Whose smiles, diffused o'er land and se
Seem to recall the Deity

Of youth into the breast:
May pensive Autumn ne'er present
A claim to her disparagement !
While blossoms and the budding spray
Inspire us in our own decay;

Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark ged
Be hopeful Spring the favourite of the So

TO THE SAME

This as well as the preceding and the two tha follow were composed in front of Rydal M and during my walks in the neighbourb Nine-tenths of my verses have been murmu out in the open air: and here let me repeat w I believe has already appeared in print. On day a stranger having walked round the garm and grounds of Rydal Mount asked one da female servants, who happened to be at the c permission to see her master's study. "Tas said she, leading him forward, "is my master library where he keeps his books, but his study out of doors." After a long absence from han it has more than once happened that some ot my cottage neighbours has said-"Well, there is; we are glad to hear him booing about aga Once more, in excuse for so much egotism, let m say, these notes are written for my familiar frien and at their earnest request. Another tira gentleman whom James had conducted threes the grounds asked him what kind of plants th best there: after a little consideration he answer. -"Laurels." "That is," said the stranger, it should be; don't you know that the laurel the emblem of poetry, and that poets used public occasions to be crowned with it?" Jan: stared when the question was first put, but w doubtless much pleased with the information

ENOUGH of climbing toil!-Ambition tread Here, as 'mid busier scenes, ground ste