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INTENT on gathering wool from hedge and brake Yon busy Little-ones rejoice that soon


poor old Dame will bless them for the boon: Great is their glee while flake they add to flake With rival earnestness; far other strife Than will hereafter move them, if they make Pastime their idol, give their day of life

To pleasure snatched for reckless pleasure's sake. Can pomp and show allay one heart-born grief? Pains which the World inflicts can she requite? Not for an interval however brief;

The silent thoughts that search for stedfast light, Love from her depths, and Duty in her might, And Faith-these only yield secure relief.

March 8th, 1842.


A PLEA FOR AUTHORS, MAY 1838. FAILING impartial measure to dispense To every suitor, Equity is lame; And social Justice, stript of reverence For natural rights, a mockery and a shame; Law but a servile dupe of false pretence, If, guarding grossest things from common claim Now and for ever, She, to works that came From mind and spirit, grudge a short-lived fence. "What! lengthened privilege, a lineal tie, For Books!" Yes, heartless Ones, or be it proved That 'tis a fault in Us to have lived and loved Like others, with like temporal hopes to die; No public harm that Genius from her course Be turned; and streams of truth dried up, even at their source!



Closing the Volume of Sonnets published in 1838. SERVING no haughty Muse, my hands have here Disposed some cultured Flowerets (drawn from spots Where they bloomed singly, or in scattered knots), Each kind in several beds of one parterre ; Both to allure the casual Loiterer, And that, so placed, my Nurslings may requite Studious regard with opportune delight, Nor be unthanked, unless I fondly err. But metaphor dismissed, and thanks apart, Reader, farewell! My last words let them beIf in this book Fancy and Truth agree; If simple Nature trained by careful Art Through It have won a passage to thy heart; Grant me thy love, I crave no other fee!



After the perusal of his Theophilus Anglicanus, recently published, ENLIGHTENED Teacher, gladly from thy hand Have I received this proof of pains bestowed By Thee to guide thy Pupils on the road That, in our native isle, and every land, The Church, when trusting in divine command And in her Catholic attributes, hath trod: O may these lessons be with profit scanned To thy heart's wish, thy labour blest by God! So the bright faces of the young and gay Shall look more bright-the happy, happier still; Catch, in the pauses of their keenest play, Motions of thought which elevate the will And, like the Spire that from your classic Hill Points heavenward, indicate the end and way. Rydal Mount, Dec. 11, 1843.


TO THE PLANET VENUS. Upon its approximation (as an Evening Star) to the Earth Jan. 1838. WHAT strong allurement draws, what spirit guides, Thee, Vesper! brightening still, as if the nearer Thou com'st to man's abode the spot grew dearer Night after night? True is it Nature hides Her treasures less and less.-Man now presides In power, where once he trembled in his weakness; Science advances with gigantic strides ;

But are we aught enriched in love and meekness! Aught dost thou see, bright Star! of pure and wise More than in humbler times graced human story; That makes our hearts more apt to sympathise With heaven, our souls more fit for future glory, When earth shall vanish from our closing eyes, Ere we lie down in our last dormitory?


WANSFELL!* this Household has a favoured lot,
Living with liberty on thee to gaze,
To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her rays,
Or when along thy breast serenely float
Evening's angelic clouds. Yet ne'er a note
Hath sounded (shame upon the Bard!) thy praise
For all that thou, as if from heaven, hast brought
Of glory lavished on our quiet days.
Bountiful Son of Earth! when we are gone
From every object dear to mortal sight,
As soon we shall be, may these words attest
How oft, to elevate our spirits, shone
Thy visionary majesties of light,

How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest.

Dec. 24, 1842.

*The Hill that rises to the south-east, above Ambleside.



Who scorns a false utilitarian lure
Mid his paternal fields at random thrown?

WHILE beams of orient light shoot wide and high, Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from Orrest-head

Deep in the vale a little rural Town*

Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own,
That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky,

Bot, with a less ambitious sympathy,
Hangs o'er its Parent waking to the cares
Troubles and toils that every day prepares.
So Fancy, to the musing Poet's eye,
Endears that Lingerer. And how blest her sway
Like influence never may my soul reject)
If the calm Heaven, now to its zenith decked
With glorious forms in numberless array,
To the lone shepherd on the hills disclose
Gems from a world in which the saints repose.

Jun 1, 1843.


Is my mind's eye a Temple, like a cloud
Sewly surmounting some invidious hill,
Kose out of darkness: the bright Work stood still;
And might of its own beauty have been proud,
but it was fashioned and to God was vowed
by Virtues that diffused, in every part,
Sent divine through forms of human art:

Fara had her arch-her arch, when winds blow loud,
In the consciousness of safety thrilled;
And Love her towers of dread foundation laid
Under the grave of things; Hope had her spire
Scar-ingh, and pointing still to something higher;
Trening I gazed, but heard a voice-it said,
*Hell-gates are powerless Phantoms when we build."



Isten no nook of English ground secure

From rash assault !+ Schemes of retirement sown in youth, and mid the busy world kept pure

As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown, |_ Must perish ;—how can they this blight endure? Asi mast he too the ruthless change bemoan

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• The degree and kind of attachment which many of the permanry feel to their small inheritances can scarcely be verd. Near the house of one of them stands a magI sort one, which a neighbour of the owner advised him a fel! for profit's sake. "Fell it!" exclaimed the yeoman,

I had rather fall on my knees and worship it." It happens, I be.ee, that the intended railway would pass through Sa Litle property, and I hope that an apology for the sower il sot be thought necessary by one who enters 130 tõe strength of the feeling.

Given to the pausing traveller's rapturous glance:
Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance

Of nature; and, if human hearts be dead,
Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your strong
And constant voice, protest against the wrong.
October 12th, 1844.


PROUD were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old,
Your patriot sons, to stem invasive war,
Intrenched your brows; ye gloried in each scar:
Now, for your shame, a Power, the Thirst of Gold,
That rules o'er Britain like a baneful star,
Wills that your peace, your beauty, shall be sold,
And clear way made for her triumphal car
Through the beloved retreats your arms enfold!
Heard YE that Whistle? As her long-linked Train
Swept onwards, did the vision cross your view?
Yes, ye were startled;—and, in balance true,
Weighing the mischief with the promised gain,
Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on you
To share the passion of a just disdain.



HERE, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing,
Man left this Structure to become Time's prey
A soothing spirit follows in the way
That Nature takes, her counter-work pursuing.
See how her Ivy clasps the sacred Ruin
Fall to prevent or beautify decay;

And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay,
The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing!
Thanks to the place, blessings upon the hour;
Even as I speak the rising Sun's first smile
Gleams on the grass-crowned top of yon tall Tower
Whose cawing occupants with joy proclaim
Prescriptive title to the shattered pile

Where, Cavendish, thine seems nothing but a name!



WELL have yon Railway Labourers to THIS ground Withdrawn for noontide rest. They sit, they walk Among the Ruins, but no idle talk

Is heard; to grave demeanour all are bound; And from one voice a Hymn with tuneful sound Hallows once more the long-deserted Quire

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THE gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains
Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains;
Even for the tenants of the zone that lies
Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise,
Methinks 'twould heighten joy, to overleap
At will the crystal battlements, and peep
Into some other region, though less fair,

To see how things are made and managed there.
Change for the worse might please, incursion bold
Into the tracts of darkness and of cold;
O'er Limbo lake with aëry flight to steer,
And on the verge of Chaos hang in fear.
Such animation often do I find,

Power in my breast, wings growing in my mind,
Then, when some rock or hill is overpast,
Perchance without one look behind me cast,
Some barrier with which Nature, from the birth
Of things, has fenced this fairest spot on earth.
O pleasant transit, Grasmere! to resign
Such happy fields, abodes so calm as thine;
Not like an outcast with himself at strife;
The slave of business, time, or care for life,
But moved by choice; or, if constrained in part,
Yet still with Nature's freedom at the heart ;-
To cull contentment upon wildest shores,
And luxuries extract from bleakest moors;
With prompt embrace all beauty to enfold,
And having rights in all that we behold.

Then why these lingering steps?-A bright adieu,

For a brief absence, proves that love is true;
Ne'er can the way be irksome or forlorn
That winds into itself for sweet return.





I SHIVER, Spirit fierce and bold,
At thought of what I now behold:
As vapours breathed from dungeons cold
Strike pleasure dead,

So sadness comes from out the mould
Where Burns is laid.

And have I then thy bones so near,
And thou forbidden to appear?
As if it were thyself that's here
I shrink with pain;

And both my wishes and my fear
Alike are vain.

Off weight—nor press on weight!—away Dark thoughts!-they came, but not to stay; With chastened feelings would I pay

The tribute due

To him, and aught that hides his clay
From mortal view.

Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth
He sang, his genius glinted' forth,
Rose like a star that touching earth,
For so it seems,

Doth glorify its humble birth

With matchless beams.

The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow,
The struggling heart, where be they now!-
Full soon the Aspirant of the plough,

The prompt, the brave,

Slept, with the obscurest, in the low
And silent grave.

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