And be not slow a stately growth to rear
Of pillars, branching off from year to year,
Till they have learned to frame a darksome
aisle ;-

That may recall to mind that awful Pile Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead,

In the last sanctity of fame is laid.

Painter sleep

Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep,

Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private

tear:

Hence, on my patrimonial grounds, have I Raised this frail tribute to his memory; From youth a zealous follower of the Art That he professed; attached to him in heart;

Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died.

IV.

IN THE WALL OF THE HOUSE (AN OUT-HOUSE), ON THE ISLAND AT GRAS

MERE.

RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained
Proportions more harmonious, and ap-
proached

To closer fellowship with ideal grace.
But take it in good part-alas! the poor
Vitruvius of our village had no help
From the great City; never, upon leaves
Of red Morocco folio saw displayed,
In long succession, pre-existing ghosts
Of Beauties yet unborn-the rustic Lodge
Antique, and Cottage with veranda graced,
Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove,

TON.

BENEATH Yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound,

Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest ground

Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy view,

The vied Ruins of forlorn GRACE DIEU! Erst a religious House, which day and night With hymns resounded, and the chanted

rite:

mitage.

Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here

The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind.

And hither does one Poet sometimes row His pinnance, a small vagrant barge, uppiled

With plenteous store of heath and withered fern,

(A lading which he with his sickle cuts,

On this commodious Seat! for much remains

Of hard ascent before thou reach the top
Of this huge Eminence,-from blackness
named,

And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land,
A favored spot of tournament and war!
But thee may no such boisterous visitants
Molest; may gentle breezes fan thy brow;
And neither cloud conceal, nor misty air
Bedim, the grand terraqueous spectacle,
From centre to circumference, unveiled!
Know, if thou grudge not to prolong thy
rest,

That on the summit whither thou art bound
A geographic Laborer pitched his tent,
With books supplied and instruments of
art,

To measure height and distance; lonely task,

Week after week pursued!-To him was given

Full many a glimpse (but sparingly bestowed

On timid man) of Nature's processes
Upon the exalted hills. He made report
That once, while there he plied his studious
work

Within that canvas dwelling, colors. lines, And the whole surface of the out-spread map,

Became invisible; for all around

Than the rude embryo of a little Dome
Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built
Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle.
But, as it chanced, Sir William having
learned

That from the shore a full-grown man might wade,

And make himself a freeman of this spot
At any hour he chose, the prudent Knight
Desisted, and the quarry and the mound
Are monuments of his unfinished task.
The block on which these lines are traced,
perhaps,

Was once selected as the corner-stone
Of that intended Pile, which would have
been

Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill,

So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush,
And other little builders who dwell here,
Had wondered at the work. But blame him
not,

For old Sir William was a gentle Knight,
Bred in this vale, to which he appertained
With all his ancestry. Then peace to him,
And for the outrage which he had devised
Entire forgiveness !-But if thou art one
On fire with thy impatience to become
An inmate of these mountains,-if, dis
turbed

By beautiful conceptions, thou hast hewn
Out of the quiet rock the elements
Of thy trim Mans on destined soon to blaze
in snow-white splendor,--think again; and,

taught

X.

INSCRIPTIONS SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND IN AND NEAR A HERMIt's cell

1818. 1.

HOPES what are they?-Beads of morning
Stung on slender blades of grass,
Or a spider's web adorning
In a straight and treacherous pass.
What are fears but voices airy?
Whispering harm where harm is not;
And deluding the unwary
Till the fatal bolt is shot!

What is glory? in the socket
See how dying tapers fare!
What is pride?--a whizzing rocket
That would emulate a star.

What is friendship?-do not trust her,
Nor the vows which she has made:
Diamonds dart their brightest lustre
From a palsy-shaken.head.

What is truth?-a staff rejected;
Duty?-an unwelcome clog;
Joy?-a moon by fits reflected
In a swamp or watery bog;

Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the Traveller's eye it shone :
He hath hailed it re-appearing-
And as quickly it is gone;
Such is Joy-as quickly hidden
And by sullen weeds forbidden
Or mis-shapen to the sight,
To resume its native light.

What is youth ?-a dancing billow,
(Winds behind, and rocks before!)
Age?-a drooping, tottering willow
On a flat and lazy shore.

What is peace?-when pain is over,
And love ceases to rebel,
Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing-knell !

Give voice to what my hand shall trace,
And fear not lest an idle sound
O words unsuited to the place
Disturb its solitude profound

I saw this Rock, while vernal air
Blew softly o'er the russet heath,
Uphold a Monument as fair
As church or abbey furr.isheth.

Unsullied did it meet the day,
Like marble, white, like ether, pure;
As if, beneath, some hero lay,
Honored with costliest sepulture.

My fancy kindled as I gazed;
And, ever as the sun shone forth,
The flattered structure glistened, blazed,
And seemed the proudest thing on earth.

But frost had reared the gorgeous Pile
Unsound as those which Fortune builds-
To undermine with secret guile,
Sapped by the very beam that gilds.

And, while I gazed, with sudden shock
Fell the whole Fabric to the ground;
And naked left this dripping Rock,
With shapeless ruin spread around!

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove
To the confiding Bark untrue
And, if she trust the stars above,
They can be treacherous too.

The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It pronused to detend.

But Thou art true, incarnate Lord,
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;
Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word
No change can falsify!

I bent before thy gracious throne,
And asked for peace on supplant knee;
And peace was given,-nor peace alone,
But faith sublimed to ecstasy!

XV

FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT-WATER.

IF thou in the dear love of some one Friend

That sheltered him, a self secluded Man,
After long exercise in social cares
And offices humane, intent to adore
The Deity, with undistracted mind,
And meditate on everlasting things,
In utter solitude. But he had left

A Fellow-laborer, whom the good Man loved

As his own soul. And, when with eye upraised

To heaven he knelt before the crucifix, While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced Along the beach of this small isle and thought

Of his Companion, he would pray that both (Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) Might die in the same moment. Nor in

vain

So prayed he:-as our chronicles report,

XVI.

ON THE BANKS OF A ROCKY STREAM. BEHOLD an emblem of our human mind Crowded with thoughts that need a settled home,

Yet, like to eddying balls of foam
Within this whirlpool, they each other

chase

Round and round, and neither find
An outlet nor a resting-place!
Stranger! if such disquietude be thine,
Fall on thy knees and sue for help divine.

THE PRIORESS' TALE. "Call up him who left half told The story of Cambuscan bold" In the following Poem no further deviation from the original has been made than was necessary for the fluent reading and instant understanding of the Author. so much, however, is the language altered since Chaucer's time, especially in pronunciation, that much! was to be removed, and its place supplied with as little incongruity as possible. The ancient accent has been retained in a few conjunctions, as also and alwày, from a conviction that such sprinklings of antiquity would be admitted, by persons of taste, to have a graceful accordance with the subject. The fierce bigotry of the Prioress forms a fine back-ground for her tender-hearted sympathies with the Mother and

Child; and the mode in which the story is told amply atones for the extravagance of the miracle.

I.

"OLORD, our Lord! how wondrously," (quoth she)

"Thy name in this large world is spread abroad!

For not alone by men of dignity

Thy worship is performed and precious laud;

But by the mouths of children, gracious God!

Thy goodness is set forth; they when they

lie