ELEGIAC STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged pile! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: I saw thee every day; and all the while So pure the sky, so quiet was the air; How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep; Ah! THEN, if mine had been the painter's hand, I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile! A picture had it been of lasting ease, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been : The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, friend! who would have been the friend, If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. Oh, 'tis a passionate work!-yet wise and well; Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, And this huge castle, standing here sublime, The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone, But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, TO THE DAISY. SWEET flower! belike one day to have I welcome thee once more: Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day His wish was gained: a little time Would bring him back in manhood's prime And free for life, these hills to climb, With all his wants supplied. And full of hope day followed day While that stout ship at anchor lay Beside the shores of Wight; The May had then made all things green; And floating there in pomp serene, That ship was goodly to be seen, His pride and his delight! Yet then, when called ashore, he sought The tender peace of rural thought; In more than happy mood To your abodes, bright daisy flowers! He then would steal at leisure hours, And loved you glittering in your bowers, But hark the word !-the ship is gone ;- Once more on English earth they stand: They parted, sorrow was at hand Ill-fated vessel!-ghastly shock! And through the stormy night they steer, "Silence!" the brave commander cried ; -A few (my soul oft sees that sight) Six weeks beneath the moving sea To quit the ship for which he died, And there they found him at her side • And bore him to the grave. Vain service! yet not vainly done For this, if other end were none, Upon a way of life unmeet For such a gentle soul and sweet, That neighbourhood of grove and field The birds shall sing and ocean make A mournful murmur for his sake; And thou, sweet flower, shalt sleep and wake Upon his senseless grave.* "Late, late yestreen, I saw the new moone Wi' the auld moon in hir arme." -Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, Percy's Reliques. ONCE I could hail (howe'er serene the sky) No faculty yet given me to espy The dusky shape within her arms imbound, That thin memento of effulgence lost Which some have named her predecessor's ghost. See, in Poems on the Naming of Places, the one beginning "When, to the attractions of the busy world," page 163 Young, like the crescent that above me shone, I saw (ambition quickening at the view) Or was it Dian's self that seemed to mov And when I learned to mark the spectral shape, Now, dazzling stranger! when thou meet'st my glance, Thy dark associate ever I discern ; Emblem of thoughts too eager to advance While I salut my joys, thoughts sad or stern, Their fill of promised lustre wait in vain. So changes mortal life with fleeting years, ELEGIAC STANZAS. 1824. OH, for a dirge! But why complain? To bind around the Christian's brows, We pay a high and holy debt; |