La the class entitled "Musings," in Mr. Southey's Minor Pies, one upon his own miniature Picture, taken in Childtxd and another upon a landscape painted by Gaspar Poussin. 19 possible that every word of the above verses, though

⚫lar in subject, might have been written had the author been quainted with those beautiful effusions of poetic sentiBut, for his own satisfaction, he must be allowed thus ly to acknowledge the pleasure those two poems of his Fread have given him, and the grateful influence they have

his mind as often as he reads them, or thinks of them.*

MEMORY.

A PEN-to register; a key-
That winds through secret wards;

Are well assigned 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;

That smooths foregone distress, the lines

Of lingering care subdues,
Long-vanished 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
T'pon a soothing scene,

Age steal to his allotted nook,
Contented and serene;

See Note.

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.

ODE TO DUTY.

STERN Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a Light to guide, a Rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth :*
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:

Long may the kindly impulse last!

But Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!

Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed ;

Yet find that other strength, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred

The task, in smoother walks to stray;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought:

Me this unchartered freedom tires;

I feel the weight of chance-desires :

My hopes no more must change their name,

I long for a repose that ever is the same.

† See Note.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we any thing so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:

Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And Fragrance in thy footing treads;

Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;

And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;

And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!*

EVENING VOLUNTARIES.

1.

CALM is the fragrant air, and loth to lose
Day's grateful warmth, though moist with falling dews.
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;
Look up a second time, and, one by one,
You mark them twinkling out with silvery light,
And wonder how they could elude the sight.
The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers,
Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers,
But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers:
Nor does the Village Church-clock's iron tone
The time's and season's influence disown;
Nine beats distinctly to each other bound
In drowsy sequence; how unlike the sound
That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear
On fireside Listeners, doubting what they hear!
The Shepherd, bent on rising with the sun,
Had closed his door before the day was done,
And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep,
And join his little Children in their sleep.
The Bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade,
Flits and reflits along the close arcade;
Far-hoard the Dor-hawk chases the white Moth
With burring note, which Industry and Sloth
Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both.
Wheels and the tread of hoofs are heard no more
One Boat there was, but it will touch the shore
With the next dipping of its slackened oar;
Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay
Might give to serious thought a moment's sway
As a last token of Man's toilsome day!

* See Note.

II.

NoT in the lucid intervals of life
That come but as a curse to Party-strife;
Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh
Of languor puts his rosy garland by;
Not in the breathing-times of that poor Slave
Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon's cave,
Is Nature felt, or can be; nor do words,
Which practised Talent readily affords,
Prove that her hand has touched responsive chorus
Nor has her gentle beauty power to move
With genuine rapture and with fervent love
The soul of Genius, if he dares to take
Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake
Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent
Of all the truly Great and all the Innocent.
But who is innocent? By grace divine,
Not otherwise, O Nature! we are thine,
Through good and evil thine, in just degree
Of rational and manly sympathy.

To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing,
And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing,
Add every charm the Universe can show
Through every change its aspects undergo,
Care may be respited, but not repealed;
No perfect cure grows on that bounded field.
Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace,
If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease,
Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance,
Come not to speed the Soul's deliverance;
To the distempered Intellect refuse
His gracious help, or give what we abuse.

III.

(BY THE SIDE OF RYDAL MERE)

THE Linnet's warble, sinking towards a close,
Hints to the Thrush 't is time for their repose;
The shrill-voiced Thrush is heedless, and again
The Monitor revives his own sweet strain;
But both will soon be mastered, and the copse
Be left as silent as the mountain-tops,
Ere some commanding Star dismiss to rest
The throng of Rooks, that now, from twig or nest,
(After a steady flight on home-bound wings,
And a last game of mazy hoverings
Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise
Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.

O Nightingale! Who ever heard thy song
Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong
That listening sense is pardonably cheated
Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted.
Surely, from fairest spots of favoured lands,
Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands,

V.

beat of deepening darkness here would be, a fresh morning for new harmony;

lays as prompt would hail the dawn of night; she has both beautiful and bright,

the East kindles with the full moon's light.

anderer by spring with gradual progress led, y profoundly felt as widely spread; sing, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear,

the soldier's trumpet-wearied ear; welcome wouldst thou be to this green Vale ter than Tempe! Yet, sweet Nightingale!

the warm breeze that bears thee on alight 1, and stay thy migratory flight;

thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount, all complain, or call thee to account? sest, happiest, of our kind are they

at ever walk content with Nature's way, od's goodness measuring bounty as it may;

whom the gravest thought of what they miss, lastening the fulness of a present bliss, >th that wholesome office satisfied,

unrepining sadness is allied Cankful bosoms to a modest pride.

IV.

as a cloud is yon blue Ridge - the mere ere firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear, In motionless; and, to the gazer's eye, bener than Ocean, in the immensity Xts vague mountains and unreal sky! Mt. from the process in that still retreat, to minuter changes at our feet; rve how dewy Twilight has withdrawn De crowd of daisies from the shaven lawn, A has restored to view its tender green,

Fut, while the sun rode high, was lost beneath their dazzling sheen.

-43 emblem this of what the sober Hour

do for minds disposed to feel its power! Toft, when we in vain have wished away

П

petty pleasures of the garish day, Ws Eve shuts up the whole usurping host hful dwarfs each glittering at his post) Aut leaves the disencumbered spirit free assume a staid simplicity.

well-but what are helps of time and place, W wisdom stands in need of nature's grace; do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend, La Arge's from their bowers, our virtues to befriend;

Torrow, unbelied, may say, Lee to open out, for fresh display, The elastic vanities of yesterday!"

THE leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill,
And sky that danced among those leaves, are still;
Rest smooths the way for sleep; in field and bower
Soft shades and dews have shed their blended power
On drooping eyelid and the closing flower;
Sound is there none at which the faintest heart
Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start;
Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream
Pierces the ethereal vault; and 'mid the gleam
Of unsubstantial imagery - the dream,
From the hushed vale's realities, transferred
To the still lake, the imaginative Bird
Seems, 'inid inverted mountains, not unheard.

Grave Creature! whether, while the moon shines bright
On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight,
Thou art discovered in a roofless tower,

Rising from what may once have been a Lady's bower:
Or spied where thou sit'st moping in thy mew
At the dim centre of a churchyard yew;

Or, from a rifted crag or ivy tod

Deep in a forest, thy secure abode,

Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout,
A puzzling notice of thy whereabout;

May the night never come, the day be seen,
When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien!
In classic ages men perceived a soul
Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl!
Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove;
And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove,
His Eagle's favourite perch, while round him sate
The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate,
Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side-
Hark to that second larum! far and wide
The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied.

VI.

THE Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire,
Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire,
Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams,
Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams.
Look round; - of all the clouds not one is moving
'Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving.
Silent, and steadfast as the vaulted sky,
The boundless plain of waters seems to lie:-
Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er
The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore!
No: 't is the earth-voice of the mighty sea,
Whispering how meek and gentle he can be!

Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke Offenders, dost put off the gracious look,

VII.

(BY THE SEA SIDE.)

THE sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest,
And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest;
Air slumbers wave with wave no longer strives,
Only a heaving of the deep survives,
A tell-tale motion! soon will it be laid,
And by the tide alone the water swayed.
Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild
Of light with shade in beauty reconciled
Such is the prospect far as sight can range,
The soothing recompense, the welcome change.
Where now the ships that drove before the blast,
Threatened by angry breakers as they passed;
And by a train of flying clouds bemocked;
Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked
As on a bed of Death? Some lodge in peace,
Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease;
And some, too heedless of past danger, court
Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port;
But near, or hanging sea and sky between,
Not one of all those winged Powers is seen,
Seen in her course nor 'mid this quiet heard;
Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred
By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise,
Soft in its temper as those vesper lays
Sung to the virgin while accordant oars
Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores;

A sea-born service through the mountains felt,
Till into one loved vision all things melt:

Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound

The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound;
And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise
With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies.
Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine,
Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine
On British waters with that look benign?
Ye mariners, that plough your onward way,
Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay,

May silent thanks at least to God be given

VIII.

[The former of the two following Pieces appeared, years ago, among the Author's poems, from which, in quent editions, it was excluded. It is here reprinted, request of a friend who was present when the liner thrown off as an impromptu.

For printing the latter, some reason should be given s word of it is original: it is simply a fine stanza of Ak connected with a still finer from Beattie, by a couplet of son. This practice, in which the author sometimes indulg linking together, in his own mind, favourite passages fre ferent authors, seems in itself unobjectionable: but, a publishing such compilations might lead to confusion in i ture, he should deem himself inexcusable in giving thes men, were it not from a hope that it might open to o harmless source of private gratification.]

THE sun has long been set,

The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet

Among the bushes and trees; There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the Cuckoo's sovereign ery Fills all the hollow of the sky.

Who would "go parading"
In London, "and masquerading,"
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses,
On such a night as this is?

IX.

THRONED in the Sun's descending car What Power unseen diffuses far

This tenderness of mind?

What Genius smiles on yonder flood! What God in whispers from the wood Bids every thought be kind?

O ever pleasing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good,
Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;
My haunt the hollow cliff whose Pine

Waves o'er the gloomy stream; Whence the scared Owl on pinions gray

Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away

To more profound repose!

X.

COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SHORE.

tschief cleaves to unsubdued regret,
focy nickens by vague hopes beset;
aal projects on the spirit prey,
fness wishes eat the heart away,

Sur knows; he best, whose lot is cast
Le relentless sea that holds him fast
cance dependent, and the fickle star
power, through long and melancholy war.
aits, in sight of foreign shores,

y think on old familiar doors,

the loved in childhood, and ancestral floors;
ed about along a waste of foam,
tate on that delightful home

with the dear betrothed was to come; e and was, and is, yet meets the eye er but in the world of memory;

a dream recalled, whose smoothest range ed by knowledge, or by dread, of change, not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep ng too bright for breathing man to keep. the virtues which that perilous life acts from Nature's elemental strife; wicome glory won in battles fought bravely as the foe was keenly sought. Leach gallant Captain and his crew mperious sympathy is due,

as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play be mate sea in this unruffled bay;

as will promptly flow from every breast, good men disappointed in the quest *th and power and honours, long for rest; kas ng known the splendours of success, fer the obscurities of happiness.

XL

#scent-moon, the Star of Love,

res of evening, as ye there are seen bat a span of sky between —

eak one of you, my doubts remove,

the attendant Page and which the Queen?

XII.

TO THE MOON.

KEPHED BY THE SEA-SIDE, ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND.)

R! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near man life's unsettled atmosphere; ➤ with night and silence to partake,

it seem, the cares of them that wake; ugh the cottage-lattice softly peeping,

from harm the humblest of the sleeping; pleasure once encompassed those sweet names 1. get in thy behalf the poet claims,

An idolizing dreamer as of yore!

I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore Sole sitting, only can to thoughts attend

That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND;

So call thee for heaven's grace through thee made known

By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon's light
Abates the perils of a stormy night;

And for less obvious benefits, that find

Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and mind;
Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime;
And veteran ranging round from clime to clime,
Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins,
And wounds and weakness oft his labour's sole remain.

The aspiring mountains and the winding streams,
Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams;
A look of thine the wilderness pervades,
And penetrates the forest's inmost shades;
Thou, chequering peaceably the minster's gloom,
Guid'st the pale mourner to the lost one's tomb;
Canst reach the prisoner to his grated cell
Welcome, though silent and intangible! -
And lives there one, of all that come and go
On the great waters toiling to and fro,
One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour
Enthroned aloft in undisputed power,

Or crossed by vapoury streaks and clouds that move,
Catching the lustre they in part reprove -
Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway

To call up thoughts that shun the glare of day,
And make the serious happier than the gay?

Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly bright Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, To fiercer mood the phrenzy-stricken brain, Let me a compensating faith maintain; That there's a sensitive, a tender, part Which thou canst touch in every human heart, For healing and composure. But, as least And mightiest billows ever have confessed Thy domination; as the whole vast sea Feels through her lowest depths thy sovereignty; So shines that countenance with especial grace On them who urge the keel her plains to trace Furrowing its way right onward. The most ruda, Cut off from home and country, may have stood Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye, Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer, With some internal lights to memory dear, Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest, Gentle awakenings, visitations meek; A kindly influence whereof few will speak, Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek.

And when thy beauty in the shadowy cave Is hidden, buried in its monthly grave;