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The People answered with a loud acclaim:
Yet more; -heart-smitten by the heroic deed,
The reinstated Artegal became
Earli's noblest penitent; from bondage freed
Of vice - thenceforth unable to subvert

Or shake his high desert.*
Long did he reign; and, when he died, the tear
Of universal grief bedewed his honoured bier.

Thus was a Brother by a Brother saved;
With whom a crown (temptation that hath set
Discord in hearts of men till they have braved
Their nearest kin with deadly purpose met)
'Gainst duty weighed, and faithful love, did seem

A thing of no esteem;
And, from this triumph of affection pure,
He bore the lasting name of “pious Elidure !"

FAREWELL LINES. • High bliss is only for a higher state,' But, surely, if severe afflictions borne With patience merit the reward of peace, Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good, Sought by a wise though late exchange, and here With bounteous hand beneath a cottage roof To you accorded, never be withdrawn, Nor for the world's best promises renounced. Most soothing was it for a welcome friend, Fresh from the crowded city, to behold That lonely union, privacy so deep, Such calm employments, such entire content. So when the rain is over, the storm laid, A pair of herons oft-times have I seen, Upon a rocky islet, side by side, Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease; And so, when night with grateful gloom had fallen, Two glow-worms in such nearness that they shared, As seemed, their soft self-satisfying light, Each with the other on the dewy ground, Where He that made them blesses their repose. When wandering among lakes and hills I note, Once more, those creatures thus by nature paired, And guarded in their tranquil state of life, Even as your happy presence to my mind Their union brought, will they repay the debt, And send a thankful spirit back to you, With hope that we, dear friends! shall meet again.


I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed,

How motionless !-- not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of Orchard-ground is ours,
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary !
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song;
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.



FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent Temple which doth bound
One side of our whole Vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet Garden-orchard, eminently fair,
The loveliest spot that Man hath ever found,
Farewell !—we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.

Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And safely will she ride when we are gone;
The flowering shrubs that decorate our door
Will prosper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none:
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon ;
Here are they in our sight — we have no more.

Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
For two months now in vain we shall be sought;
We leave you here in solitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought;
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewelt!
Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought,
And placed together near our rocky Well.

We go for One to whom ye will be dear,
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, Building without peer!
- A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer,
Will come to you,

to you herself will wed, And lo

sed life that we lead here.


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Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed, | Oft did we see him driving full in view
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown

At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, What ill was on him, what he had to do,
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own,

A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.
Making all kindness registered and known;

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this man
Thou for our sakes, though Nature's Child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,

When he came back to us, a withered flower,er i Mast taken gifts which thou dost little need.

Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.
Down would he sit; and without strength or power

Look at the common grass from hour to hour:
And ( most constant, yet most fickle Place,

And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,
Tbat hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on thy face;

Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,

Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay;
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,

And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.
And sayest, when we forsake thee, “ Let them go!"
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race

Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,

Whenever from our Valley he withdrew;
And travel with the year at a soft pace.

For happier soul no living creature has

Than he had, being here the long day through
Help us to tell her tales of years gone by,

Some thought he was a lover, and did woo:
L And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best; Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong.
Joy will be down in its mortality;

But Verse was what he had been wedded to;
Something must stay to tell us of the rest.

And his own mind did like a tempest strong
Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along

Glittered at evening like a starry sky;
ti ke And in this Bush our Sparrow built her nest,

With him there often walked in friendly guise,
Of which I sang one song that will not die.

Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree,

A noticeable man with large gray eyes, is O happy Garden ! whose seclusion deep

And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly * Hath been so friendly to industrious hours,

As if a blooming face it ought to be;
And to soft slambers, that did gently steep

Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers,

Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy;
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;

Profound his forehead was, though not severe;
Two burning months let summer overleap,

Yet some did think that he had little business here.
And, coming back with Her who will be ours,

Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right;
Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy;
His limbs would toss about him with delight

Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy.

Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy

To banish listlessness and irksome care;

He would have taught you how you might employ

Yourself; and many did to him repair,-
l'ituix our happy Castle there dwelt One

And certes not in vain; he had inventions rare.
Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried :
Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay,
Made – to his ear attentively applied -
A pipe on which the wind would deftly play;
Glasses he had, that little things display,
The beetle panoplied in gems and gold,
A mailed angel on a battle day;
The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold,
And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.


Inw thy bosom we again shall creep.

Whorn without blame I may not overlook;
Por never sun on living creature shone
Who more devout enjoyment with us took :
Here on his hours he hung as on a book ;
On his own time here would he float away,
As doth a fly upon a summer brook ;

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go to-morrow or belike to-day-
Biek for him,-be is fled; and whither none can say.

Thos often would he leave our peaceful home,
And find elsewhere his business or delight ;
Out of our Valley's limits did he roam :
Poll many a tine, upon a stormy night,
His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:

He would entice that other Man to hear
His music, and to view his imagery:
And, sooth, these two did love each other dear,
As far as love in such a place could be;

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“O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves,
When will that dying murmur be supprest !
Your sound my heart of peace bereaves,
It robs my heart of rest.
Thou Thrush, that singest loud - and loud and free,
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit;
Or sing another song, or choose another tree,

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Look at the fate of summer Flowers,
Which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song :
And, grieved for their brief date, confess that ours,
Measured by what we are and ought to be,
Measured by all that, trembling, we foresee,

Is not so long!
If human Life do pass away,
Perishing yet more swiftly than the Flower,
Whose frail existence is but of a day;

space hath Virgin's Beauty to disclose Her sweets, and triumph o'er the breathing Rose ?

Not even an hour!

“Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chained !
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
That cannot be sustained;
If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bouga
Headlong yon waterfall must come,
Oh, let it then be dumb! -
Be any thing, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now

The deepest grove whose foliage hid
The happiest Lovers Arcady might boast,
Could not the entrance of this thought forbid :
O be thou wise as they, soul-gifted Maid !
Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade,

So soon be lost.

“Thou Eglantine, whose arch so proudly towers
(Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale)
Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
And stir not in the gale,
For thus to see thee nodding in the air,
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend,
Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear."

Then shall Love teach some virtuous Youth "To draw, out of the Object of his eyes," The whilst on Thee they gaze in simple truth, Hues more exalted, “ a refined Form," That dreads not age, nor suffers from the worm,

And never dies.

The man who makes this feverish complaint Is one of giant stature, who could dance Equipped from head to foot in iron mail. Ah, gentle Love! if ever thought was thine To store up kindred hours for me, thy face Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk Within the sound of Emma's voice, or know Such happiness as I have known to-day.


*T is said, that some have died for love: And here and there a church-yard grave is found In the cold North's unhallowed ground, Because the wretched Man himself had slain, His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon lielvellyn's side :

The peace which others seek they find;
The heaviest storms not longest last ;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
An amnesty for what is past;
When will my sentence be reversed?
I only pray to know the worst ;
And wish as if my heart would burst.


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