So stout and hardy were the band

That scraped the chords with strenuous hand!

And who but listened? - till was paid
Respect to every Inmate's claim :
The greeting given, the music played,
In honor of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And "Merry Christmas" wished to all!

O Brother! I revere the choice
That took thee from thy native hills;
And it is given thee to rejoice:
Though public care full often tills
(Heaven only witness of the toil)
A barren and ungrateful soil.

Yet, would that Thou, with me and mine,
Hadst heard this never-failing rite;

And seen on other faces shine

A true revival of the light

Which Nature and these rustic Powers,

In simple childhood, spread through ours!

For pleasure hath not ceased to wait

On these expected annual rounds;
Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate
Call forth the unelaborate sounds,

Or they are offered at the door

That guards the lowliest of the poor.

20

30

How touching, when, at midnight, sweep
Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark,
To hear and sink again to sleep!
Or, at an earlier call, to mark,
By blazing fire, the still suspense
Of self-complacent innocence;

The mutual nod, - the grave disguise

Of hearts with gladness brimming o'er ;
And some unbidden tears that rise

For names once heard, and heard no more;
Tears brightened by the serenade

For infant in the cradle laid.

40

Ah! not for emerald fields alone,

With ambient streams more pure and bright
Than fabled Cytherea's zone

50

Glittering before the Thunderer's sight,

Is to my heart of hearts endeared

The ground where we were born and reared!

Hail, ancient Manners! sure defence,

Where they survive, of wholesome laws;
Remnants of love whose modest sense
Thus into narrow room withdraws;
Hail, Usages of pristine mould,

And ye that guard them, Mountains old!

Bear with me, Brother! quench the thought
That slights this passion, or condemns ;
If thee fond Fancy ever brought

From the proud margin of the Thames,

60

And Lambeth's venerable towers,

To humbler streams, and greener bowers.

Yes, they can make, who fail to find,
Short leisure even in busiest days;
Moments, to cast a look behind,
And profit by those kindly rays

That through the clouds do sometimes steal,
And all the far-off past reveal.

Hence, while the imperial City's din

Beats frequent on thy satiate ear,

A pleased attention I may win
To agitations less severe,

That neither overwhelm nor cloy,
But fill the hollow vale with joy!

As aptly, also, might be given

A Pencil to her hand;

That, softening objects, sometimes even

Outstrips the heart's demand;

70

That smooths foregone distress, the lines
Of lingering care subdues,

Long-vanished happiness refines,

ΤΟ

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.

O 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.

20

TO THE LADY FLEMING,

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

1823. — 1827.

BLEST is this Isle,

I.

our native Land;

Where bottlement 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,
Naught 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 Nightshade 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.

ΤΟ

20