« PreviousContinue »
Intended more particularly for the Perusal of those who may have happened to be enamoured of some beautiful Place of Retreat, in the Country of the Lakes. Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye —The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook, Its own small pasture, almost its own sky! But covet not the Abode;—forbear to sigh, As many do, repining while they look; Intruders — who would tear from Nature's book This precious leaf with harsh impiety. Think what the Home must be if it were thine, Even thine, though few thy wants!—Roof, window, door, The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, The roses to the porch which they entwine: Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day On which it should be touched, would melt, and melt away.
“BELoved Vale "I said, “when I shall con
PELion and Ossa flourish side by side,
THERE is a little unpretending Rill
HER only Pilot the soft breeze, the Boat
The fairest, brightest hues of ether fade;
* See the vision of Mirza, in the Spectator.
O GENTLE Sleep! do they belong to thee,
A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by,
UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE,
PAINTED BY SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART.
PRAISED be the Art whose subtle power could stay
Yon Cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape;
Which stopped that Band of Travellers on their way, * Ere they were lost within the shady wood;
And showed the Bark upon the glassy flood
For ever anchored in her sheltering Bay. mas: Soul-soothing Art! which Morning, Noon-tide, Even,
Do serve with all their changeful pageantry;
"War, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings
, Aagging notes that with each other jar ?
If the poor Harp distempered music yields
AERIAL Rock — whose solitary brow
Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED THE
PUBLICATION OF A CERTAIN POEM. THE Imperial Consort of the Fairy King
See Millon's Sonnet, beginning Owns not a sylvan bower; or gorgeous cell
"A Book was writ of late, called "Tetrachordon.'" With emerald floored, and with purpureal shell
A Book came forth of late, called “ Peter Bell;" Ceilinged and roofed ; that is so fair a thing
Not negligent the style; – the matter ? --- good As this low Structure for the tasks of Spring
As aught that song records of Robin Hood; Prepared by one who loves the buoyant swell
Or Roy, renowned through many a Scottish dell; Of the brisk waves, yet here consents to dwell;
But some (who brook these hacknied themes full well, And spreads in steadfast peace her brooding wing.
Nor heat, at Tam o' Shanter's name, their blood) Words cannot paint the o'ershadowing yew-tree bough, Waxed wroth, and with foul claws, a harpy brood, And dimly-gleaming Nest, - a hollow crown
On Bard and Hero clamorously fell. Of golden leaves inlaid with silver down,
Heed not, wild Rover once through heath and glen, Fine as the Mother's softest plumes allow:
Who madest at length the better life thy choice, I gaze - and almost wish to lay aside
Heed not such onset! nay, if praise of men
To thee appear not an unmeaning voice,
COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE VALLEYS OF WESTBard of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made
MORELAND, ON EASTER SUNDAY, That work a living landscape fair and bright; With each recurrence of this glorious morn Nor hallowed less with musical delight
That saw the Saviour in his human frame Than those soft scenes through which thy Childhood Rise from the dead, erewhile the Cottage-darne strayed,
Put on fresh raiment - till that hour unworn :
and powerful minds, hearts meek and still, These humble props disdained not ! 0 A grateful few, shall love thy modest Lay,
Sad may I be who heard your sabbath chime Long as the Shepherd's bleating flock shall stray When Art's abused inventions were unknown; O'er naked Snowdon's wide aerial waste;
Kind Nature's various wealth was all your own; Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar Hill ! And benefits were weighed in Reason's scales !
A CERTU Grier, thou hast lost an ever-ready Friend,
Mer froward mood, and softliest reprehend;
More efficaciously than aught that flows
COMPOSED ON THE EVE OF THE MARRIAGE OF A
FRIEND IN THE VALE OF GRASMERE.
XXIII. -TO 8. H.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO. Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread; YES! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, by My nerves from no such murmur shrink, – tho' near, And I be undeluded, unbetrayed ; soft as the Dorhawk's to a distant ear,
For if of our affections none find grace cox When twilight shades bedim the mountain's head.
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made She who was feigned to spin our vital thread
The world which we inhabit? Better plea Might smile, O Lady! on a task once dear
Love cannot have, than that in Joving thee To household virtues. Venerable Art,
Glory to that eternal Peace is paid, Torn from the Poor! yet will kind Heaven protect Who such divinity to thee imparts own, not left without a guiding chart,
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts. uc ! Rulers, trusting with undue respect
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies To proud discoveries of the Intellect,
With beauty, which is varying every hour;
But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
DECAY OF PIETY.
FROM THE SAME.
No mortal object did these eyes behold
Orr have I seen, ere Time had ploughed my cheek
And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
FROM THE SAME.
TO THE SUPREME BEING.
The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed,
SURPRISED by joy — impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent Tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find ? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Hlave I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss? — That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
I. METHOUGHT I saw the footsteps of a throne Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed ; But all the steps and ground about were strown With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone Ever put on; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,
Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan." I seemed to mount those steps; the vapours gave Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone; A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!
EVEN so for me a Vision sanctified
It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder - everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear'st untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not."
WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go: Festively she puts forth in trim array; As vigorous as a Lark at break of day: Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow? What boots the inquiry?- Neither friend nor foe She cares for; let her travel where she may, She finds familiar names, a beaten way Ever before her, and a wind to blow. Yet, still I ask, what Haven is her mark? And, almost as it was when ships were rare, (From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark, Of the old Sea some reverential fear, Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!
* [In the same spirit Coleridge speaks of " the sacred light of Childhood." if Friend,'III, p. 46.-H. R.)