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But list!-though winter storms be nigh, Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre

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A PEN to register; a key—
That winds through secret wards;
Are well assign'd to Memory
By allegoric Bards.

As aptly, also, might be given

A Pencil to her hand;

That, softening objects, sometimes even

Outstrips the heart's demand;

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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

That smoothes foregone distress, the lines From murmur of a running stream?

Of lingering care subdues,
Long-vanish'd 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.

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.
[1823.

THIS lawn, a carpet all alive

Could strip, for aught the prospect yie ds
To him, their verdure from the fields?
And take the radiance from the clouds
In which the Sun his setting shrouds?

A soul so pitiably forlorn,

If such do on this Earth abide,
May season apathy with scorn,
May turn indifference to pride;
And still be not unblest, - compared
With him who grovels, self-debarr'd
From all that lies within the scope
Of holy faith and Christian hope;

5 Hundreds of times have I watched the dancing of shadows amid a press of sunshine, and other beautiful appearances of light and shade, flowers and shrubs. Some are of opinion that the habit of analysing, decomposing, and anatomising is unfavourable to the perception of beadty. People are led into this mistake by overlooking the fact that, such processes being to a certain extent within the reach of a limited intellect, we are apt to as cribe to them that insensibility of which they are in truth the effect, and not the cause. Admiration and love, to which all knowledge truly vital must tend, are felt by men of real genius in proportion as their discoveries in natural Pailosophy are enlarged; and the beauty in form of a plant or an animal is not made less but

With shadows flung from leaves, to strive more apparent as a whole, by more accu

In dance amid a press

Of sunshine, an apt emblem yields
Of Worldlings revelling in the fields
Of strenuous idleness:

rate insight into its constituent properties and powers. A savant, who is not also a poet in soul and a religionist in heart, is a feeble and unhappy creature. Author's Notes.

Or, shipwreck'd, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost."

TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH.

THE Minstrels play'd their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves:
While, smitten by a lofty Moon,
Th' encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpower'd their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band [hand!
That scraped the chords with strenuous

And who but listen'd?-till was paid
Respect to every Inmate's claim:
The greeting given, the music play'd,
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And "merry Christmas" wish'd 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 offer'd at the door
That guards the lowliest of the poor.

How touching, when, at midnight, sweep
Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark,
To hear, and sink again to sleep!

6 These two stanzas are from a poem of considerable length addressed "To the Lady Fleming." The piece, as a whole, is rather of a sermonising character; but I could not well resist the temptation to insert so much of it.

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 brighten'd by the serenade
For infant in the cradle laid.

Ah! not for emerald fields alone,
With ambient streams more pure and
Than fabled Cytherea's zone [bright
Glittering before the Thunderer's sight,
Is to my heart of hearts endear'd [rear'd!
The ground where we were born and

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!

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AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS.

1803.

SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH.

SHIVER, Spirit fierce and bold,

thought of what I now behold:

By Skiddaw seen;-
Neighbours we were, and loving friends
We might have been;

True friends though diversely inclined;
But heart with heart and mind with mind

Hs vapours breathed from dungeons cold Where the main fibres are entwined,

Strike pleasure dead,

So sadness comes from out the mould

Where Burns is laid.

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Through Nature's skill
May even by contraries be join'd
More closely still.

The tear will start, and let it flow:
Thou "poor Inhabitant below,"
At this dread moment-even so-
Might we together

Have sate and talk'd where gowans blow,
Or on wild heather."

What treasures would have then been
placed

Within my reach! of knowledge graced
By fancy what a rich repast!

But why go on?

O, spare to sweep, thou mournful blast,
His grave grass-grown!

There, too, a Son, his joy and pride,
(Not three weeks past the Stripling died,)
Lies gather'd to his Father's side,
Soul-moving sight!

Yet one to which is not denied
Some sad delight.

For he is safe, a quiet bed

Hath early found among the dead,
Harbour'd where none can be misled.
Wrong'd, or distrest;

And surely here it may be said

That such are blest.

And, O, for Thee, by pitying grace
Check'd oft-times in a devious race,

May He who halloweth the place

Where Man is laid

Receive thy Spirit in th' embrace
For which it pray'd!

standing in sight of each other, are the most conspicuous objects in their several places, they are well taken to represent the geographical nearness of the two poets.

9 Gowan is a Scotch word for daisy. The poet had in mind Burns' beautiful stanzas To a Mountain Daisy.

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TO THE SONS OF BURNS, AFTER VISITING THE GRAVE OF THEIR

FATHER.

1 This piece, as also several of those that follow, grew out of the tour that the poet and his sister made through Scotland in 1803. In a note-on the piece, the author has the following: "We talked of Burns, 'MID crowded obelisks and urns and of the prospect he must have had, perhaps from his own door, of Skiddaw I sought th' untimely grave of Burns: and his companions; indulging ourselves .n the fancy that we might have been personally known to each other, and he have looked upon those objects with more pleasure for our sakes."

Sons of the Bard, my heart still mourns

With sorrow true;

And more would grieve, but that it turns
Trembling to you.

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