Not vain is sadly-utter'd praise;
The words of truth's memorial vow
Are sweet as morning fragrance shed
From flowers 'mid GOLDAU's ruins bred;
As evening's fondly-lingering rays,
On RIGHI's silent brow.

Lamented Youth! to thy cold clay
Fit obsequies the Stranger paid;
And piety shall guard the Stone
Which hath not left the spot unknown
Where the wild waves resign'd their prey
And that which marks thy bed.10

And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee,
Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;
This tribute from a casual Friend
A not unwelcome aid may lend,
To feed the tender luxury,
The rising pang to smother."

9 Goldau is one of the villages desolated by the fall of part of the mountain Rossberg.

10 The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of a Swiss gentleman, Mr. Keller, who performed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the liv. ing. He had a handsome mural monument erected in the church of Küsnacht, recording the death of the young American, and also set an inscription on the shore of the lake, pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the

waves.

11 The persuasion here expressed was not groundless. The first human consolation that the afflicted Mother felt was derived from this tribute to her son's memory; a fact which the author learned, at his own residence, from her Daughter, who visited Europe some years afterwards.

ADDRESS TO THE SCHOLARS OF THE
VILLAGE SCHOOL OF

I COME, ye little noisy Crew,
Not long your pastime to prevent;
I heard the blessing which to you
Our common Friend and Father sent.
I kiss'd his cheek before he died;
And, when his breath was fled,
i raised, while kneeling by his side,
His hand:- it dropp'd like lead.

Your hands, dear Little-ones, do all
That can be done, will never fall
Like his till they are dead.
By night or day blow foul or fair,
Ne'er will the best of all your train
Play with the locks of his white hair,
Or stand between his knees again.

Here did he sit confined for hours;
But he could see the woods and plains,
Could hear thewind and mark the showers

He rests a prisoner of the ground.
He loved the breathing air,

He loved the Sun, but if it rise

Or set, to him where now he lies,
Brings not a moment's care.
Alas! what idle words; but take
The Dirge which, for our Master's sake
And yours, love prompted me to make.
The rhymes so homely in attire
With learned ears may ill agree,
But chanted by your Orphan Quire
Will make a touching melody.

And blessings half a century old.

O true of heart, of spirit gay!
Thy faults, where not already gone
From memory, prolong their stay
For charity's sweet sake alone.

Such solace find we for our loss;
And what beyond this thought we crave
Comes in the promise from the Cross,
Shining upon thy happy grave.1

DIRGE.

MOURN,Shepherd,near thy old grey stone;
Thou Angler, by the silent flood;
And mourn when thou art all alone,
Thou Woodman, in the distant wood!

Thou one blind Sailor, rich in joy
Though blind, thy tunes in sadness hum;
And mourn, thou poor half-witted Boy!
Born deaf, and living deaf and dumb.
Thou drooping sick Man, bless the Guide
Who check'd or turn'd thy headstrong
[youth,

As he before had sanctified
Thy infancy with heavenly truth.

Ye Striplings, light of heart and gay,
Bold settlers on some foreign shore,
Give, when your thoughts are turn'd this
A sigh to him whom we deplore. [way,

For us who here in funeral strain With one accord our voices raise, Let sorrow overcharged with pain Be lost in thankfulness and praise.

And when our hearts shall feel a sting
From ill we meet or good we miss,
May touches of his memory bring
Fond healing, like a mother's kiss. [1798.

BY THE SIDE OF THE GRAVE SOME

YEARS AFTER.

IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, JOHN WORDSWORTH,

Commander of the East India Company's Ship the Earl of Abergavenny, in which he · perished by calamitous shipwreck, Feb. 5th, 1805.

THE Sheep-boy whistled loud, and, lo!
That instant, startled by the shock,
The Buzzard mounted from the rock

Deliberate and slow:

Lord of the air, he took his flight;
O, could he on that woful night
Have lent his wing, my Brother dear,
For one poor moment's space to Thee,
And all who struggled with the Sea,
When safety was so near!

Thus in the weakness of my heart
I spoke, (but let that pang be still,)
When rising from the rock at will,
I saw the Bird depart.

And let me calmly bless the Power
That meets me in this unknown Flower,
Affecting type of him I mourn!

With calmness suffer and believe,
And grieve, and know that I must grieve,
Not cheerless, though forlorn.

Here did we stop; and here look'd round
While each into himself descends,2
For that last thought of parting Friends
That is not to be found.

1 The subject of this piece is the same as of The Two April Mornings and The Funtain. See pages 146 and 147.

2 The point is two or three yards be

But benefits, his gift, we trace,

Express'd in every eye we meet

Round this dear Vale, his native place.

road by which a horse may pass to Paterdale; a ridge of Helvellyn on the left and the summit of Fairfield on the right. Author's Notes, 1843.

Long as these mighty rocks endure,~
O, do not Thou too fondly brood,
Although deserving of all good,
On any earthly hope, however pure!
[180

[Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected.]

LOUD is the Vale! the Voice is up
With which she speaks when storms are
A mighty unison of streams! [gone,
Of all her Voices, One!

Loud is the Vale; - this inland Depth
In peace is roaring like the Sea;
Yon star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.

Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Impórtunate and heavy load!
The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;

And many thousands now are sad, -
Wait the fulfilment of their fear;
For he must die who is their stay,
Their glory disappear.

A Power is passing from the Earth To breathless Nature's dark abyss; But when the great and good depart What is it more than this,—

That Man, who is from God sent forth, Doth yet again to God return? —

4 The poet repeatedly celebrates the virtues and the sad death of his brother John. In a letter to his friend Sir George Beaumont, dated March 12, 1805, he makes the following reflections, started by that event: "Why have we sympathies that make the best of us so afraid of inflicting pain and sorrow, which yet we see dealt about so lavishly by the supreme Governor? Why should our notions of right towards each other, and to all sentient beings within our influence, differ 80 widely from what appears to be His notion and rule, if everything were to end here? Would it not be blasphemy to say that, upon the supposition of the think. ing principle being destroyed by death, how. ever inferior we may be to the Cause and Ruler of things, we have more of love in our nature than He has? The thought is monstrous; and yet how to get rid of it, except upon the supposition of another and a better world, I do not sce. my departed brother, who leads our mind at present to these reflections, he walked all his life pure among many impure."

As to

Such ebb and flow must ever be,

As snowdrop on an infant's grave,

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

of his Sister-in-law.)

O FOR a dirge! But why complain?
Ask rather a triumphal strain
When FERMOR'S race is run;
À garland of immortal boughs

To twine around the Christian's brows,
Whose glorious work is done.

We pay a high and holy debt;
No tears of passionate regret
Shall stain this votive lay:
Ill-worthy, Beaumont! were the grief
That flings itself on wild relief
When Saints have pass'd away.

Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel,
For ever covetous to feel,

And impotent to bear!

WHEN first, descending from the moor lands,

I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide
Along a bare and open valley,
The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.

When last along its banks I wander'd,
Thro' groves that had begun to shed

On sever'd love, and only sink From anguish to despair!

But nature to its inmost part
Faith had refined; and to her heart
A peaceful cradle given:
Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest
Within a breeze-fann'd rose's breast
Till it exhales to Heaven.

Was ever Spirit that could bend
So graciously? - that could descend,
Another's need to suit,

So promptly from her lofty throne?
In works of love, in these alone,
How restless, how minute!

My steps the Border-minstrel led."
The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,
'Mid mouldering ruins low he lies; 8
And death upon the braes of Yarrow
Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes: "

5 This lady [Mrs. Frances Fermor] had been a widow long before I knew her. Her husband was of the family of the lady celebrated in The Rape of the Lock. The sorrow which his death caused her was fearful in its character as described in this poem, but was subdued in course of time by the strength of her religious faith. I have been, for many weeks at a time, an inmate with her at Coleorton Hall, as were also Mrs. Wordsworth and my sister. The truth in the sketch of her character here given was acknowl. edged with gratitude by her nearest relatives. She was eloquent in conversation, energetic upon public matters, open in respect to those, but slow to communicate her personal feelings; upon these she

wound;

me, so that I could not regard myself as her confidential friend, and was accord.

However proud and strong.

But hush'd be every thought that springs
From out the bitterness of things;
Her quiet is secure:

No thorns can pierce her tender feet,
Whose life was, like the violet, sweet,
As climbing jasmine, pure;

left me a legacy of £100 as a token of her esteem.-Author's Notes, 1843.

6 Alluding to the occasion of the poem Yarrow Visited. See page 165

7 Alluding to the occasion of the poem Yarrow Revisited. See page 167, note 10. 8 Sir Walter Scott died Sept. 21, 1832. 9 James Hogg, long and widely-dis tinguished at the Ettrick Shepherd," died in November, 1835.