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Heed not such onset! nay, if praise of men
Might smile, O Lady! on a task once dear
TO THE RIVER DERWENT. 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 Oa 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 Nemæan 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 !
DECAY OF PIETY. Oft have I scen, ere Time had ploughed my cheek, Matrons and Sires-who, punctual to the call Of their loved Church, on Fast or Festival Through the long year the House of Prayer would seek. By Christmas snows, by visitation bleak Of Easter winds, unscared, from Hut or Hall They came to lowly bench or sculptured Stall, But with one fervour of devotion mcek. I see the places where they once were known, And ask, surrounded even by kneeling crowds, Is ancient Piety for ever flown? Alas! even then they seemed like fleecy clouds That, struggling through the western sky, have you Their pensive light from a departed sun!
COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE VALLEYS OF
WESTMORLAND ON EASTER SUNDAY. Wita each recurrence of this glorious morn That saw the Saviour in his human frame Rise from the dead, erewhile the Cottage-dame Put on fresh raiment-till that hour unworn : Domestic hands the home-bred wool had shorn, And she who span it culled the daintiest fleece, la thoughtful reverence to the Prince of Peace, Whose temples bled beneath the platted thorn. A blest estate when piety sublime These humble props disdained not! O green dales ! Sad may I be who heard your sabbath chime When Art's abused inventions were unknown; Kind Nature's various wealth was all your own; And benefits were weighed in Reason's scales!
COMPOSED ON THE EVE OF THE MARRIAGE
OF A FRIEND, IN THE VALE OF GRASMERE. What need of clamorous bells, or ribands gay, These humble Nuptials to proclaim or grace? Angels of Love, look down upon the place, Shed on the chosen Vale a sun-bright day! Yet no proud gladness would the Bride display Even for such promise:-serious is her face, Modest her mien; and she, whose thoughts keep pace With gentleness, in that becoming way Will thank you. Faultless does the Maid appear, No disproportion in her soul, no strife: But, when the closer view of wedded life Hath shewn that nothing human can be clear From frailty, for that insight may the Wife To her indulgent Lord become more dear.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO.
Grief, thou hast lost an ever-ready Friend
Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
TO S. H. Excuse is needless when with love sincere Of occupation, not by fashion led, Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread; My nerves from no such murmur shrink,-tho' near, Soft as the Dorhawk's to a distant car, When twilight shades bedim the mountain's head. She who was feigned to spin our vital thread
FROM THE SAME. No mortal object did these eyes behold When first they met the placid light of thine,
And my Soul felt her destiny divine,
Heavy is woe;-and joy, for human-kind, And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze !» Heaven-born, the Soul a beaven-ward course must hold; Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days Beyond the visible world She soars to seck
Who wants the glorious faculty assigned (For what delights the sense is false and weak) To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind, Ideal Form, the universal mould.
And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest
Imagination is that sacred power,
Imagination lofty and refined ;
Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples bind That kills the soul: love betters what is best,
Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, Even bere below, but more in heaven above.
And do not shrink from sorrow's keepest wind.
FROM THE SAME
TO THE SUPREME being.
It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free ;
SCRPBISED by joy-impatient as the Wind
Where lies the Land to whiclı yon Ship must go?
Margotonr I saw the footsteps of a throne
Thou art our king, o Death! to thee we groan.»
Wiru Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Wear is the will of Man, his judgment blind; Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays;
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
Sound sense, and love, itself, and mirth and glee
A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found,
Wings have we,-and as far as we cao go
We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood,
Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for
Which with the lofty sanctifies the low,
aye; Convinced that there, there only, she can lay
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Secure foundations. As the year runs round,
Are a substantial world, both pure
and good: Apart she toils within the chosen ring;
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, While the stars shine, or while day's purple eye
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. Is gently closing with the flowers of spring;
There find I personal themes, a pleateous store; Where even the motion of an Angel's wing
Matter wherein right voluble I am: Would interrupt the intense tranquillity
To which I listen with a ready ear;
Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear, -
And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lainb.
Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote Like a bold Girl, who plays her agile pranks
From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought, At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks, Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. When sbe stands cresting the Clown's bead, and mocks Hence have I genial seasons,
hence have I The crowd beneath her. Verily I think,
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous though Such place to me is sometimes like a dream
And thus from day to day my little Boat Or map of the whole world : thoughts, link by link, Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
Blessings be with them-and eternal praise, Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares-
The Poets, who on earth have made us Heirs
Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs,
Then gladly would I end my mortal days.
TO R. B. HAYDON, ESQ.
High is our calling, Friend! - Creative Art
(Whether the instrument of words she use, These all wear out of me, like forms, with chalk
Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,) Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.
Demands the service of a mind and heart, Better than such discourse doth silence long,
Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part, Long, barren silence, square with my desire;
Heroically fashioned-to infuse To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,
Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse, Jo the loved presence of my cottage-fire,
While the whole world seems adverse to desert. And listen to the flapping of the thume,
And, oh! when Nature siuks, as oft she may,
Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,
And in the soul admit of no decay,
Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
From the dark chambers of dejection freed,
Spurning the unprofitable yoke of care,
Pise, Gillies, rise : the gales of youth shall bear Owed many years of early liberty.
This care was thine when sickness did condemn Thougt: bold Bellerophon ( so Jove decreed
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem : la wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air,
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray Yet a rich guerdon waits on minds that dare,
Where'er I liked; and finally array If aught be in them of immortal seed,
My temples with the Muse's diadem. And reason govern that audacious flight
Bence, if in freedom I have loved the truth, Which heav'o-ward they direct.—Theu droop not thou, If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, Erroneously renewing a sad vow
In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays Jo the low dell mid Roslin's faded grove :
Of higher mood, which now I medicate, A cbeerful life is what the Muses love,
It gladdens me, 0 worthy, short-lived Youth! A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
To think how much of this will be thy praise.
Far Prime of life! were it enough to gild
Thee might thy Minions crown, and chant thy power, i l'opuied by the wise, all censure stilled.
Ah! show that worthier honours are thy due ;
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
I DEARD (alas!'t was only in a dream) 1 Strains—which, as sage Antiquity believed,
Nor Love, por War, nor the tumultuous swell By waking ears have sometimes been received
Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change, Wafted adown the wind from lake or stream;
Nor Duty struggling with aftlictions strange, A most melodious requiem, – ,-a supreme
Not these alone inspire the tuneful shell; And perfect harmony of votes, achieved
But where untroubled peace and concord dwell,
There also is the Muse not loth to range, 1
Ly a fair Swan ou drowsy billows heaved,
Watching the blue smoke of the elmy grange, For is she not the votary of Apollo?
Skyward ascending from the twilight dell. | Aod kuows she not, singing as he inspires,
Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour, That bliss awaits her which the ungenial hollow"
And sage content, and placid melancholy; Of the dull earih partakes pot, nor desires ?
She loves to gaze upon a crystal river, Mount, tuneful Bird, and join the immortal quires! Diaphanous, because it travels slowly; She soared-and I awoke,-struguling in vain to follow. Soft is the music that would charm for ever ;
The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly. 1 RETIREMENT.
While not a leaf seems faded,—while the fields, With action, were as nothing, patriot Friend!
With ripening harvest prodigally fair, From thy remonstrance would be no appeal!
In brightest sunshine bask,--this nipping air, But to promote and fortify the weal
Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields Of our own Being, is her paramount end;
llis icy scimitar, a foretaste yields " A truth which they alone shall comprehend
Of bitter change-and bids the Flowers beware; Who shun the mischief which they cannot heal.
And whispers to the silent Birds, « Prepare · Peace in these feverish times is sovereign bliss; Against the threatening Foe your trustiest shields.»
For liere, with no thirst but what the stream can slake,
me, who under kindlier Jaws belong And started only by the rustling brake,
To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry Cool air I breathe ; while the unincumbered Mind, Through leaves yet green, and you crystalline sky, By some weak aims at services assigned
Announce a season potent to renew,
Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of
TO TBE MEMORY OF RAISLEY CALVERT.
See the Pbedo of Plato, by which this Sonnet was suggested.
Which, strewn with snow as smooth as heaven can shed, The Stars are mansions built by Nature's hand;
The sun is peopled; and with Spirits blest,
Say, can the gentle Moon be unpossest? And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread,
Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand, If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head
A habitation marvellously planned, Terrestrial-bui a surface, by the tlight
For life to occupy in love and rest; Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing,
All that we cee-is dome, or vault, or nest, Unswept, unstained! Nor shall the aerial Powers
Or fort, erected at her sage command. Dissolve that beauty-destined to endure,
Is this a vernal thought? Even so, the Spring White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure,
Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart, Through all vicissitudes-till genial spring
Mid song of birds, and insects murmuring; Have filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.
And while the youthful year's prolific art
Of bud, leaf, blade, and flower-was fashioning
Abodes, where self-disturbance hath no part.
TO THE LADY BEAUMONT. Went forth--liis course surrendering to the care
LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
While I was shaping beds for winter flowers; Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;
While I was planting grcen unfading bowers, While trees, dim-scen, in frenzied numbers tear
And shrubs lo hang upon the warm alcove, The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
And sheltering wall; and still, as fancy wove Aud shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
The dream, to time and nature's blended powers As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
I gave this paradise for winter hours, Soul-smitten-for, that instant, did appear]
A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove. Large space, mid dreadful clouds, of purest sky,
Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines, An azure orb-shield of Tranquillity,
Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom Jovisible, unlooked-for minister
Or of high gladness you shall hither bring;
And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines
And all the mighty ravishment of spring.
TO THE LADY MARY LOWTHER,
WITH A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF ANNE, CoryLike an unbidden guest. Though day by day,
TESS OF WINCHELSEA; AND EXTRACTS OF SIMILAR Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, way-lay
CHARACTER FROM OTHER WRITERS; TRANSCRIBED The rising sun, and on the plains descend; Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
LADY! I rifled a Parnassian Cave Shall soon behold this border thickly set
(But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore; With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing
And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers;
Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave Nor will I theo thy modest grace forget,
The azure brooks where Dian joys to lave
Dim shades-for reliques, upon Lethe's shore,
To female bands the treasures were resigned;
And lo this Work!-a grotto bright and clear
From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind
May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere; When haughty expectations prostrate lie,
Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined
To holy musing, it may enter here.
There is a pleasure in poetic pains
Whom could the Muses else allure to tread
Their smootbest paths, to wear their lightest chaios! Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great
When happiest Fancy has inspired the Strains,
Pursues the Enthusiast to the social board,
Haupts him belated on the silent plains ! Whom onset, tiercely urged at Jove's command, Yet he repincs not, if his thought stand clear Might overwhelm, but could not separate!
At last of hindrance and obscurity,
BY A FEMALE FRIEND.