Nor hurled precipitous from steep to steep;
Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands Duddon And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands Held; but in radiant progress toward the Deep Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep Sink, and forget their nature—now expands Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands Gliding in silence with unfettered sweep! Beneath an ampler sky a region wide Is opened round him:-hamlets, towers, and towns, And blue-topped hills, behold him from afar; In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied Spreading his bosom under Kentish downs, With commerce freighted, or triumphant war.
But here no cannon thunders to the gale; Upon the wave no haughty pendants cast A crimson splendour: lowly is the mast That rises here, and humbly spread, the sail; While, less disturbed than in the narrow Vale Through which with strange vicissitudes he passed, The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast Where all his unambitious functions fail. And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be free- The sweets of earth contentedly resigned, And each tumultuous working left behind At seemly distance—to advance like Thee; Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm of mind And soul, to mingle with Eternity!
After- I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, Thought As being past away.-Vain sympathies!
For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide ; Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies ; While we, the brave, the mighty and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish ;—be it so ! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's trans- cendent dower,
We feel that we are greater than we know.
WRITTEN IN 1821, EXCEPT IN CERTAIN CASES
From the Introduction of Christianity into Britain, to the consummation of the Papal Dominion
A verse may catch a wandering Soul that flies Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise Convert delight into a Sacrifice."
I, WHO accompanied with faithful pace Cerulean Duddon from his cloud-fed spring, And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing Of mountain-quiet and boon nature's grace; I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace Of Liberty, and smote the plausive string Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing, Won for herself a lasting resting-place; Now seek upon the heights of Time the source Of a HOLY RIVER, on whose banks are found Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have crowned
Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force; And, for delight of him who tracks its course, Immortal amaranth and palms abound.
Conjectures If there be prophets on whose spirits rest Past things, revealed like future, they can tell What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed With its first bounty. Wandering through the west, Did holy Paul a while in Britain dwell, And call the Fountain forth by miracle, And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest? Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarred ? Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard The precious Current they had taught to flow?
Trepidation SCREAMS round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew-white
As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning, Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight, Portending ruin to each baleful rite
That, in the lapse of ages, hath crept o'er Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore.
Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines blight His transports? whither his heroic strains? But all shall be fulfilled ;-the Julian spear A way first opened; and, with Roman chains, The tidings come of Jesus crucified;
They come-they spread-the weak, the suffer- ing, hear;
Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.
MERCY and love have met thee on thy road, Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire And food cut off by sacerdotal ire,
From every sympathy that Man bestowed! Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God, Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire, These jealous Ministers of law aspire, As to the one sole fount whence wisdom flowed, Justice, and order. Tremblingly escaped, As if with prescience of the coming storm, That intimation when the stars were shaped; And still, 'mid yon thick woods, the primal truth Glimmers through many a superstitious form That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.
DARKNESS surrounds us; seeking, we are lost On Snowdon's wilds, amid Brigantian coves, Or where the solitary shepherd roves Along the plain of Sarum, by the ghost Of Time and shadows of Tradition crost; And where the boatman of the Western Isles Slackens his course-to mark those holy piles Which yet survive on bleak Iona's coast. Nor these, nor monuments of eldest name, Nor Taliesin's unforgotten lays,
Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame, To an unquestionable Source have led; Enough-if eyes, that sought the fountain-head In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.
Druidical Excommunication
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