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XXIII.

"they are of the sky,

And from our earthly memory fade away."

These words were uttered in a pensive mood,
Mine eyes yet lingering on that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable, and deserts me quite:
Nor will I praise a Cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
The Grove, the sky-built Temple, and the Dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.

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Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord!
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please,
And love of havoc (for with such disease
Fame taxes him) that he could send forth word
To level with the dust a noble horde,
A brotherhood of venerable Trees,
Leaving an ancient Dome, and Towers like these,
Beggared and outraged! — Many hearts deplored
The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain
The Traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze
On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed:
For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,
And the green silent pastures, yet remain.

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TO THE LADY MARY LOWTHER.

With a selectionfrom the Poems of Anne, Countess of Winchelsea; and extracts of similar character from other writers; the whole transcribed by a female friend.

Lady! I rifled a Parnassian Cave

(But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore;

And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store

Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave

The azure brooks where Dian joys to lave

Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore

Dim shades — for reliques, upon Lethe's shore,

Cast up at random by the sullen wave.

To female hands the treasures were resigned;

And lo this work! — a grotto bright and clear

From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind

May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere;

Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined

To holy musing, it may enter here.

XXVI.

ON SEEING A TUFT OF SNOWDROPS IN A STORM.

When haughty expectations prostrate lie,

And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing,

Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring

Mature release, in fair society

Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try;

Like these frail snow-drops that together cling,

And nod their helmets smitten by the wing

Of many a furious whirlblast sweeping by.

Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great

May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand

The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate;

And so the bright immortal Theban band,

Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command,

Might overwhelm, but could not separate!

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XXVII.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO.

Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,

And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;

For if of our affections none find grace

In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made

The world which we inhabit? Better plea

Love cannot have, than that in loving thee

Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,

Who such Divinity to thee imparts

As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.

His hope is treacherous only whose loves dies

Withbeauty, which is varying every hour:

But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power

Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,

That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

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