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For thurteen hours he ran a desperate race;
“From Town to Town from Tower to 'Tower, And in my simple mind we cannot tell
The Red Rose is a gladsome flower,
She lifts her head for endless spring,
For everlasting blossoming : Lulled by the Fountain in the summer-tide;
Both Roses flourish, Red and White, This water was perhaps the first he drank
In love and sisterly delight When he had wandered from his mother's side.
The two that were at strife are blended,
And all old troubles now are ended. In April here beneath the scented thorn
Joy! Joy to both! but most to her He heard the birds their morning carols sing;
Who is the Flower of Lancaster ! And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born
Behold her how She smiles to-day Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.
On this great throng, this bright array!
Fair greeting doth she send to all Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade;
From every corner of the Hall; The sun on drearier Hollow never shone ;
But, chiefly from above the Board So will it be, as I have often said,
Where sits in state our rightful Lord, Till Trees, and Stones, and Fountain, all are gone."
A Clifford to his own restored! "Gray-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well;
“They came with banner, spear, and shield ; Small difference lies between thy creed and mine:
And it was proved in Bosworth-field. This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell;
Not long the Avenger wàs withstood —
Earth helped him with the cry of blood :* His death was mourned by sympathy divine.
St George was for us, and the might The Being, that is in the clouds and air,
Of blessed Angels crowned the right. That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Loud voice the Land has uttered forth, Maintains a deep and reverential care
We loudest in the faithful North: For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.
Our Fields rejoice, our Mountains ring,
Our Streams proclaim a welcoming: The Pleasure-house is dust :— behind, before,
Our Strong-abodes and Castles see This is no common waste, no common gloom;
The glory of their loyalty. But Nature, in due course of time, once more
“How glad is Skipton at this hour – Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.
written with much spirit, elegance, and harmony; and have
Though she is but a lonely Tower!
To vacancy and silence left; She leaves these objects to a slow decay,
Of all her guardian sons bereft; That what we are, and have been, may be known;
Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page or Groom : But, at the coming of the milder day,
We have them at the feast of Brough'm. These monuments shall all be overgrown.
How glad Pendragon — though the sleep
Of years be on her! She shall reap One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,
A taste of this great pleasure, viewing Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals, As in a dream her own renewing. Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem
Beside her little humble Stream;
They both are happy at this hour,
Though each is but a lonely Tower:
But here is perfect joy and pride
For one fair house by Emont's side,
To see her Master and to cheer
Him, and his Lady Mother dear!
Sir John Beaumont (brother to the Dramatist), whose poems are
deservedly been reprinted lately in Chalmer's Collection * See Note.
TO THE ESTATES AND HONOURS OF HIS ANCESTORS.
"Oh! it was a time forlorn
-Yonder is a Man in sight me Yonder is a House — but where?
No, they must not enter there.
“Now who is he that bounds with joy On Carrock's side, a Shepherd Boy ? No thoughts bath he but thoughts that pass Light as the wind along the grass. Can this be lie who hither came In secret, like a smothered flame ! O'er whom such thankful tears were shed For shelter and a poor Man's bread! God loves the Child; and God hath willed That those dear words should be fulfilled, The Lady's words, when forced away The last she to her Babe did say, "My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest I may not be; but rest thee, rest, For lowly Shepherd's life is best!'
- Again he wanders forth at will,
* Alas! when evil men are strong
"A recreant Harp, that sings of fear
* It is imagined by the people of the country that there are two immortal Fish, inhabitants of this Tarn, which lies in the mountains not far from Threlkeld. - Blencathara, mentioned before, is the old and proper name of the mountain vulgarly called Saddle-back.
+ The martial character of the Cliffords is well known to the readers of English history; but it may not be improper here to say, by way of comment on these lines and what follows, that besides several others who perished in the same manner, the four immediate Progenitors of the Person in whose hearing this is supposed to be spoken, all died in the Field.
Like a re-appearing Star,
To the last point of vision, and beyond, Like a glory from afar,
Mount, daring Warbler! that love-prompted strain, First shall head the Flock of War !"
('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: Alas! the fervent harper did not know
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home! In him the savage virtue of the Race, Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead: Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place The wisdom which adversity had bred.
*This, and the Extract, page 80, and the first Piece of this
Class, are from the unpublished Poem of which some account
It is no Spirit who from Heaven hath flown,
And is descending on his embassy ; Glad were the Vales, and every cottage hearth; Nor Traveller gone from Earth the Heavens to esp!! The Shepherd Lord was honoured more and more; 'T is Ilesperus — there he stands with glittering crown And, ages after he was laid in earth,
First admonition that the sun is down, “ The Good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore. For yet it is broad daylight! clouds pass by ;
A few are near him still — and now the sky.
O most ambitious Star! thy Presence brough
A startling recollection to my mind
Of the distinguished few among mankind,
Who dare to step beyond their natural race,
As thou seem'st now to do: – nor was a thought
Denied that even I might one day trace Unsolicited reply
Some ground not mine ; and, strong her strength above, To a babbling wanderer sent;
My Soul, an Apparition in the place, Like her ordinary cry,
Tread there, with steps that no one shall reprove ! Like but oh, how different! Hears not also mortal Life ? Hear not we, unthinking Creatures Slaves of Folly, Love, or Strife,
FRENCH REVOLUTION, Voices of two different Natures ?
AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COMMENCELENT." Have not We too ? — yes, we have
REPRINTED FROM "THE FRIEND." Answers, and we know not whence.
On! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! Echoes from beyond the grave,
For mighty were the Auxiliars, which then stood Recognised intelligence!
Upon our side, we who were strong in love ! Often as thy inward ear
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, Catches such rebounds, beware,
But to be young was very heaven !- Oh! times, Listen, ponder, hold them dear;
In which the mengre, stale, forbidding ways
Of custom, law, and stature, took at once
When most intent on making of herself
A prime Enchantress
to assist the work ETHEREAL Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky !
Which then was going forward in her name! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth, Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye The beauty wore of promise — that which sets Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still!
he preface to the EXCURSION.
How beautiful! yet none knows why
This ever-graceful change,
Within your quiet range.
For mutual pleasure glide;
Are dwarfed, or magnified ?
(als at some moment might not be un felt
Among the bowers of paradise itself)
Were roused, and lively Nature rapt away!
Al powers of swiftness, subtilty and strength
Among the grandest objects of the sense,
As if they had within some lurking right
Ikad fitted their own thoughts, schemers more inild, met bot And in the region of their peaceful selves;
Now was it that both found, the Meek and Lofty fit Dhid both find helpers to their heart's desire,
And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish;
Fays — Genii of gigantic size —
And now, in twilight dim, Clustering like constellated Eyes
In wings of Cherubim, When they abate their fiery glare:
Whate'er your forms express, Whate'er ye seem, whate'er ye are,
All leads to gentleness.
Cold though your nature be, 't is pure;
Your birthright is a fence
Through tyranny of sense.
Are ye to Heaven allied,
Ye mingle, or divide.
GOLD AND SILVER FISHES,
IN A VASE.
For day-dreams soft as e'er beguiled
Day-thoughts while limbs repose ; For moonlight fascinations mild
Your gift, ere shutters close; Accept, mute Captives! thanks and praise ;
And may this tribute prove That gentle admirations raise
Delight resembling love.
The soaring Lark is blest as proud,
When at Heaven's gate she sings;
Her fight by vocal wings;
Your silent lives employ
Though haply less than joy."
A place where joy is known,
Have meanings of their own;
Your motions, glittering Elves !
And peace among yourselves.
Is your transparent Cell;
No sullen humours dwell;
That smites this tiny sea,
(SEQUEL TO THE ABOVE.)
[ Addressed to a Friend; the Gold and Silver Fishes having been removed to a pool in the pleasure-ground of Rydal Mount.)
“ The liberty of a people consists in being governed by lazus which they have made for themselves, under whatever form i be of government, The liberty of a private man, in being mas ter of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his countrey. Of this latter we are here to discourse."-COWLEY.
Your scaly panoplies repay
The loan with usury.
THOSE breathing Tokens of your kind regard,
Those silent Inmates now no longer share,
While musing here I sit in shadow cool, And watch these mute Companions, in the pool, Among reflected boughs of leafy trees, By glimpses caught—disporting at their ease— Enlivened, braced, by hardy luxuries, I ask what warrant fixed them (like a spell Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal Cell; To wheel with languid motion round and round, Beautiful, yet in a mournful durance bound. Their peace, perhaps, our lightest footfall marred; On their quick sense our sweetest music jarred; And whither could they dart, if seized with fear ! No sheltering stone, no tangled root was near. When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room They wore away the night in starless gloom And, when the sun first dawned upon the streams, How faint their portion of his vital beams! Thus, and unable to complain, they fared, While not one joy of ours by them was shared.
Which Horace needed for his spirit's health;
In a deep vision's intellectual scene, Such earnest longings and regrets as keen Depressed the melancholy Cowley, laid Under a fancied yew-tree's luckless shade;