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In which, through many seasons, from the Blank ocean and mere sky, support that world
mood Removed, and the affections of the world, which with the lofty sanctifies the low: He dwelt in solitude.—But he had left Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, A Fellow - labourer, whom the good Man
we know, loved
Are a substantial world, both pure and good : As his own soul. And, when within his Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh
and blood, Alone he knelt before the Crucifix
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. While o'er the Lake the cataract of Lodore There do I find a never-failing store Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced Of personal themes, and such as I love best; Along the beach of his small isle and thought Matter wherein right voluble I am: Of his Companion, he would pray that both Two will I mention, dearer than the rest : (Now that their earthly duties were fulfill'd) The gentle Lady, married to the Moor; Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain And heavenly Una with her milk - white So prayed he:-as our Chronicles report,
Lamb. Though here the Hermit numbered his last
day, Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved Friend, Nor can I not believe but that hereby Those holy Men both died in the same hour. Great gains are mine: for thus I live
remote From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought, Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie.
Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I THE POET'S LIFE.
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and I am not One who much or oft delight
joyous thought: To season my fireside with personal talk,
And thus from day to day my little Boat of Friends, who live' within an easy walk, Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. Or Neighbours, daily, weekly, iņ my sight: Blessings be with them—and eternal praise, And, for my chance - acquaintance, Ladies Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares,
The Poets, who on earth have made us Heirs Sons, Mothers, Maidens withering on the of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays !
Oh! might my name be numbered among These all wear out of me, like Forms, with
Then gladly would I end my mortal days. Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast
THE FORCE OF PRAYER;
OR THE FOUNDING OF BOLTON-PRIOBY. Or kettle, whispering its faint andersong. "Yet life,” you say, “is life; we have seen with these dark words begins my Tale;
“What is good for a bootless bene?” And with a living pleasure we describe;
And their meaning is : whence can comfort And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe
spring The languid mind into activity.
When Prayer is of no avail ? Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and
glee, Are fostered by the comment and the gibe !" "What is good for a bootless bene?” Even be it so: yet still among your tribe, The Falconer to the Lady said ; Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank And she made answer: "Endless Sorrow! ”
For she knew that her Son was dead.
not me! Children are blest, and powerful; their world
lies More justly balanced ; partly at their feet, She knew it by the Falconer's words, And part far from them:-sweetest melodies and from the look of the Falconer's eye,
And from the love which was in her soul Are those that are by distance made more
For her youthful Romilly.
--Young Romilly through Barden Woods
Is ranging high and low;
And the Pair have reached that fearful chasm, And the Lady prayed in heaviness
That looked not for relief;
But slowly did her succour come, With rocks on either side.
And a patience to her grief.
This Striding-place is called The STRID,
Oh! there is never sorrow of heart
And hither is young Romilly come,
OF IMMORTALITY FRON RECOLLECTIONS OP BARLY
CHILDHOOD. He sprang in glee,--for what cared he That the River was strong and the rocks Tubre was a time when meadow, grove, and were steep?
stream, -But the Greyhound in the leash hung back, The earth, and every common sight, And checked him in his leap.
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has been of yore;The Boy is in the arms of Wharf,
Turn wheresoe'er I may, And strangled by a merciless force ;
By night or day, For never more was young Romilly seen
The things which I have seen I now can Till he rose a lifeless Corse!
see no more.
Now there is stillness in the Vale,
The Rainbow comes and goes,
The Moon doth with delight
Are beautiful and fair;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
If for a Lover the Lady wept,
She weeps not for the wedding-day
He was a Tree that stood alone,
Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song,
As to the tabor's sound,
And I again am strong,
Land and sea
And with the heart of May
Thon Child of Joy
thou happy Shepherd-Boy!
Long, long in darkness did she sit,
The stately Priory was reared ;
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
And this hath now his heart, Ye to each other make; I see
And unto this he frames his song: The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
Then will he fit his tongue My heart is at your festival,
To dialogues of business, love, or strife; My head hath it's coronal,
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
This sweet May-morning, Filling from time to time his humorous stage
That Life brings with her in her Equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy Soul's immensity;
That, deaf and silent, readst the eternal deep, Doth the same tale repeat: Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find ;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light, And not in utter nakedness, A place of thought where we in waiting lie ; But trailing clouds of glory do we come Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
From God, who is our home: of heaven-born freedom, on thy Being's Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
height, Shades of the prison-house begin to close Why with such earnest pains dost thou Upon the growing Boy,
provoke But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, The Years to bring the inevitable yoke, He sees it in his joy;
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? The Youth, who daily farther from the East Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
freight, And by the vision splendid And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Is on his way attended ;
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live, Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
That nature yet remembers Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
What was so fugitive! And, even with something of a Mother's mind, The thought of our past years in me doth And no unworthy aim,
breed The homely Nurse doth all she can Perpetual benedictions: not indeed To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Forget the glories he hath known, Delight and liberty, the simple creed And that imperial palace whence he came. of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his
breast:Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
Not for these I raise A four years' Darling of a pigmy size!
The song of thanks and praise ;
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
To perish never;
THE MORNING OF THE DAY APPOINTED
Nor Man nor Boy,
JANUARY 18, 1816.
Hail, universal Source of pure delight! Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
Which brought us hither; On hearts howe'er insensible or rude,
Can in a moment travel thither,- Whether thy orient visitations smite And see the Children sport upon the shore, The haughty towers where monarchs dwell; And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Or thou, impartial Sun, with presence bright
Cheerst the low threshold of the peasant's
cell! Then, sing ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous In naked splendour, clear from mist or haze,
-Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky song!
Or cloud approaching to divert the rays, And let the young Lambs bound
Which even in deepest winter testify
Thy power and majesty,
Well does thine aspect usher in this Day;
As aptly suits therewith that timid pace, What though the radiance which was once That bind thee to the path which God ordains
Framed in subjection to the chains so bright
That thou shalt trace, Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Till, with thc heavens and earth, thou pass of splendour in the grass, of glory in the Nor less the stillness of these frosty plains,
Their utter stillness,--and the silent grace We will grieve not, rather find
of yon etherial summits white with snow, Strength in what remains behind, In the primal sympathy
Whose tranquil pomp, and spotless purity,
Report of storms gone by
To us who tread below,
Do with the service of this Day accord.
-Divinest object, which the uplifted eye In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Thou, who upon yon snow-clad heights hast
Meek splendour, nor forgetst' the humble And oh ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and
Thou who dost warm Earth's universal Think not of any severing of our loves !
mould, Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; And for thy bounty wert not unadored I only have relinquished one delight
By pious men of old ; To live beneath your more habitual sway. Once more, heart-cheering Sun, I bid thec I love the Brooks which down their channels
Bright be thy course to-day, let not this Even more than when I tripped lightly as
'promise fail! they ; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet ;
'Mid the deep quiet of this morning-hour The Clouds that gather round the setting sun all nature seems to hear me while I speak, Do take a sober colouring from an eye By feelings urged, that do not vainly seek That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Apt language, ready as the tunefal notes Another race hath been, and other palms That stream in blithe succession from the of birds in leafy bower,
How dreadful the dominion of the Impure ! Warbling a farewell to å vernal shower. Why should the song be tardy to proclaim There is a radiant but a short-lived flame That less than power unbounded could not That burns for Poets in the dawning East;
tame And oft my soul hath kindled at the same, That Soul of Evil - which, from Hell let When the captivity of sleep had ceased ;
loose, But he who fixed immovably the frame Had filled the astonished world with such Of the round world, and built, by laws as
As boundless patience only could endure?
But the foundation of our nature shakes, The current of this matin-song; And with an infinite pain the spirit aches, That deeper far it lies
When desolated countries, towns on fire, Than aught dependant on the fickle skies.
Are but the avowed attire of warfare waged with desperate mind Against the life of virtue in mankind;
Assaulting without ruth Have we not conquered ?-By the vengeful
The citadels of truth; sword?
While the old forest of civility Ah no, by dint of Magnanimity;
Is doomed to perish, to the last fair tree. That curbed the baser passions, and left
free A loyal band to follow their liege Lord, A crouching purpose—a distracted will — Clear-sighted Honour—and his staid Com- Opposed to hopes that battened upon scorn,
And to desires whose ever-waxing horn Along a track of most unnatural years, Not all the light of earthly power could fill; In execution of heroic deeds;
Opposed to dark, deep plots of patient skill, Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads And the celerities of lawless force Of morning-dew upon the untrodden meads, Which, spurning God, had flung away Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres.
remorseWho to the murmur of an earthly string What could they gain but shadows of redress?
Of Britain's acts would sing, -So bad proceeded propagating worse;
He with enraptured voice will tell And discipline was passion's dire excess. of One whose spirit no reverse could quell; Widens the fatal web—its lines extend, of One that 'mid the failing never failed : And deadlier poisons in the chalice blendWho paints how Britain struggled and pre- When will your trials teach you to be wise?
-0 prostrate Lands, consult your agonies ! Shall represent her labouring with an eye
of circumspect humanity;
And with the Guilt the Shame is fled,
And with the Guilt and Shame the Woe Firm as a rock in stationary fight;
hath vanished, In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam; Shaking the dust and ashes from her head ! Fierce as a flood-gate bursting in the night -No more, these lingerings of distress To rouse the wicked from their giddy Sully the Jimpid stream of thankfulness.
So seemly as the radiant vest of Joy?
In prompt obedience to spontaneous mea-
sures That can belong to human story!
of glory--and felicity-and love, At which they only shall arrive
Surrendering the whole heart to sacred pleaWho through the abyss of weakness
sures ? dive: The very humblest are too proud of heart: And one brief day is rightly set apart Land of our fathers! precious unto me To Him who lifteth up and layeth low; Since the first joys of thinking infancy; Por that Almighty God to whom we owe, When of thy gallant chivalry I read, Say not that we have vanquished—but that And hugged the volume on my sleepless we survive.