THEY dreamt not of a perishable home Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours

of fear

Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here;

Or through the aisles of Westminster to

roam:

Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam

Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath

Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path

Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome

Hath typified by reach of daring art Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest, The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread

As now, when She hath also seen her breast

Filled with mementos, satiate with its part Of grateful England's overflowing Dead.

XLVI EJACULATION

GLORY to God! and to the Power who

came

In filial duty, clothed with love divine, That made his human tabernacle shine Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame; Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes its

name

XLVII

CONCLUSION

WHY sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled, Coil within coil, at noon-tide? For the WORD

Yields, if with unpresumptuous faith explored,

Power at whose touch the sluggard shall unfold

His drowsy rings. Look forth!-that Stream behold,

THAT STREAM upon whose bosom we have passed

Floating at ease while nations have effaced Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold Long lines of mighty Kings-look forth, my Soul !

(Nor in this vision be thou slow to trust) The living Waters, less and less by guilt Stained and polluted, brighten as they roll, Till they have reached the eternal Citybuilt

For the perfected Spirit of the just!

MEMORY

A PEN to register; a key-
That winds through secret wards
Are well assigned to Memory
By allegoric Bards.

even

In hours of peace, or when the storm is driven

Along the nether region's rugged frame!1

1 See Note.

That smooths foregone distress, the lines
Of lingering care subdues,
Long-vanished happiness refines,
And clothes in brighter hues;

Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works
Those Spectres to dilate

That startle Conscience, as she lurks
Within her lonely seat.

Oh! that our lives, which flee so fast,
In purity were such,

That not an image of the past
Should fear that pencil's touch!

Retirement then might hourly look
Upon a soothing scene,

Age steal to his allotted nook
Contented and serene;

With heart as calm as lakes that sleep,
In frosty moonlight glistening;
Or mountain rivers, where they creep
Along a channel smooth and deep,
To their own far-off murmurs listening.

1823.

TO THE LADY FLEMING

ON SEEING THE FOUNDATION PREPARING FOR THE ERECTION OF RYDAL CHAPEL, WESTMORELAND

After thanking Lady Fleming in prose for the service she had done to her neighbourhood by erecting this Chapel, I have nothing to say beyond the expression of regret that the architect did not furnish an elevation better suited to the site in a narrow mountain-pass, and, what is of more consequence, better constructed in the interior for the purposes of worship. It has no chancel; the altar is unbecomingly confined; the pews are so narrow as to preclude the possibility of kneeling with comfort; there is no vestry; and what ought to have been first mentioned, the font, instead of standing at its proper place at the entrance, is thrust into the farther end of a When these pew. defects shall be pointed out to the munificent Patroness, they will, it is hoped, be corrected.

I

BLEST is this Isle-our native Land;
Where battlement and moated gate
Are objects only for the hand
Of hoary Time to decorate;
Where shady hamlet, town that breathes
Its busy smoke in social wreaths,
No rampart's stern defence require,
Nought but the heaven-directed spire,
And steeple tower (with pealing bells
Far-heard)-our only citadels.

II

O Lady! from a noble line

Of chieftains sprung, who stoutly bore
The spear, yet gave to works divine
A bounteous help in days of yore,
(As records mouldering in the Dell
Of Nightshade1 haply yet may tell ;)
Thee kindred aspirations moved
To build, within a vale beloved,
For Him upon whose high behests
All peace depends, all safety rests.

III

How fondly will the woods embrace
This daughter of thy pious care,
Lifting her front with modest grace
To make a fair recess more fair;
And to exalt the passing hour;
Or soothe it with a healing power
Drawn from the Sacrifice fulfilled,
Before this rugged soil was tilled,
Or human habitation rose
To interrupt the deep repose!

IV

Well may the villagers rejoice!
Nor heat, nor cold, nor weary ways,
Will be a hindrance to the voice
That would unite in prayer and praise;
More duly shall wild wandering Youth
Receive the curb of sacred truth,

Shall tottering Age, bent earthward, hear
The Promise, with uplifted ear;
And all shall welcome the new ray
Imparted to their sabbath-day.

V

Nor deem the Poet's hope misplaced,
His fancy cheated-that can see
A shade upon the future cast,
Of time's pathetic sanctity;
Can hear the monitory clock
Sound o'er the lake with gentle shock
At evening, when the ground beneath
Is ruffled o'er with cells of death;
Where happy generations lie,
Here tutored for eternity.

1 Bekangs Ghyll-or the dell of Nightshadein which stands St. Mary's Abbey in Low Furness.

VI

Lives there a man whose sole delights
Are trivial pomp and city noise,
Hardening a heart that loathes or slights
What every natural heart enjoys?
Who never caught a noon-tide dream
From murmur of a running stream;
Could strip, for aught the prospect yields
To him, their verdure from the fields;
And take the radiance from the clouds
In which the sun his setting shrouds.

X

Heaven prosper it! may peace, and love,
And hope, and consolation, fall,
Through its meek influence, from above,
And penetrate the hearts of all;
All who, around the hallowed Fane,
Shall sojourn in this fair domain;
Grateful to Thee, while service pure,
And ancient ordinance, shall endure,
For opportunity bestowed

To kneel together, and adore their God! 1823.

VII

ON THE SAME OCCASION

Oh! gather whencesoe'er ye safely may
The help which slackening Piety requires;
Nor deem that he perforce must go astray
Who treads upon the footmarks of his sires.

Our churches, invariably perhaps, stand east and west, but why is by few persons exactly known; nor, that the degree of deviation from due east often noticeable in the ancient ones was determined, in each particular case, by the point in the horizon, at which the sun rose upon the day of the saint to whom the church was dedicated. These observances of our ancestors, and the causes of them, are the subject of the following stanzas.

WHEN in the antique age of bow and spear
And feudal rapine clothed with iron mail,
Came ministers of peace, intent to rear
The Mother Church in yon sequestered
vale;

Then, to her Patron Saint a previous rite Resounded with deep swell and solemn close,

Through unremitting vigils of the night, Till from his couch the wished-for Sun up

rose.

He rose, and straight-as by divine command,

They, who had waited for that sign to trace Their work's foundation, gave with careful

hand

To the high altar its determined place;

Mindful of Him who in the Orient born There lived, and on the cross his life resigned,

Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control, Mix with the day, and cross the hour of rest;

While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties" of love is blest.

That sigh of thine, not meant for human

ear,

Tells that these words thy humbleness offend;

Yet bear me up-else faltering in the rear Of a steep march: support me to the end.

Peace settles where the intellect is meek, And Love is dutiful in thought and deed; Through Thee communion with that Love I seek:

The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds the Creed, 1824.

"HOW RICH THAT FOREHEAD'S

CALM EXPANSE"

Written at Rydal Mount. Mrs. Wordsworth's impression is that the Poem was written at Coleorton: it was certainly suggested by a Print at Coleorton Hall.

How rich that forehead's calm expanse !
How bright that heaven-directed glance!
-Waft her to glory, wingèd Powers,
Ere sorrow be renewed,

And intercourse with mortal hours

Bring back a humbler mood!

So looked Cecilia when she drew

An Angel from his station;

So looked; not ceasing to pursue
Her tuneful adoration!

But hand and voice alike are still;
No sound here sweeps away the will
That gave it birth: in service meek
One upright arm sustains the cheek,
And one across the bosom lies-
That rose, and now forgets to rise,
Subdued by breathless harmonies
Of meditative feeling;

Mute strains from worlds beyond the