She is speechless, but her eyes Save a Mother and her Child! "Now who is he that bounds with joy Can this be he who hither came O'er whom such thankful tears were shed "Alas! when evil men are strong, No life is good, no pleasure long. The Boy must part from Mosedale's groves, Be turned to heaviness and fear. Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise! Hear it, good man, old in days! Thou tree of covert and of rest For this young Bird that is distrest; "A recreant harp, that sings of fear And heaviness in Clifford's ear! I said, when evil men are strong, No life is good, no pleasure long, A weak and cowardly untruth! Our Clifford was a happy Youth, And thankful through a weary time, That brought him up to manhood's prime. Again he wanders forth at will, And tends a flock from hill to hill: To his side the fallow-deer Came, and rested without fear ; The eagle, lord of land and sea, The pair were servants of his eye In their immortality; And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright, He knew the rocks which Angels haunt He hath kenned them taking wing: Fitter hope, and nobler doom; On the blood of Clifford calls; "Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance, Bear me to the heart of France, Is the longing of the Shield, Tell thy name, thou trembling Field; Field of death, where'er thou be, Groan thou with our victory! Happy day, and mighty hour, When our Shepherd, in his power, Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword, To his ancestors restored Like a reappearing Star, First shall head the flock of war!" Alas! the impassioned minstrel did not know How, by Heaven's grace, this Clifford's heart was framed: How he, long forced in humble walks to go, Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; In him the savage virtue of the Race, Glad were the vales, and every cottage-hearth; The Shepherd-lord was honored more and more; And, ages after he was laid in earth, "The good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore. XXVI. LINES, COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798. FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur.* Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Thoughts of more deep seclusion, and connect *The river is not affected by the tides a few miles above Tintern. |