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Mark the concentred Hazels that enclose
Yon old gray Stone, protected from the ray
Of noontide suns: — - and even the beams that play
And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows,
Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows
Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom,
The very image framing of a Tomb,
In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose
Among the lonely mountains. — Live, ye Trees!
And Thou, gray Stone, the pensive likeness keep
Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep:
For more than Fancy to the influence bends
When solitary Nature condescends
To mimic Time's forlorn humanities.

Dogmatic Teachers, of the snow-white fur!
Ye wrangling Schoolmen, of the scarlet hood !
Who, with a keenness not to be withstood,
Press the point home, - or falter and demur,
Checked in your course by many a teasing burr ;
These natural council-seats your acrid blood
Might cool ; — and, as the Genius of the flood
Stoops willingly to animate and spur
Each lighter function slumbering in the brain,
Yon eddying balls of foam – these arrowy gleams,
That o'er the pavement of the surging streams
Welter and flash — a synod might detain
With subtle speculations, haply vain,
But surely less so than your far-fetched themes !


This, and the two following, were suggested by Mr. W. Westallo

Views of the Caves, etc. in Yorkshire. As the cold aspect of a sunless way

PURE element of waters! wheresoe'er Strikes through the Traveller's frame with deadlier Thou dost forsake thy subterranean haunts, chill,

Green herbs, bright flowers, and berry-bearing plants, Oft as appears a grove, or obvious hill,

Rise into life and in thy train appear : Glistening with unparticipated ray,

And, through the sunny portion of the year, Or shining slope where he must never stray;

Swift insects shine, thy hovering pursuivants : So joys, remembered without wish or will,

And, if thy bounty fail, the forest pants ; Sharpen the keenest edge of present ill,

And hart and hind and hunter with his spear, On the crushed heart a heavier burthen lay.

Languish and droop together. Nor unfelt Just Heaven, contract the compass of my mind

In mans perturbed soul thy sway benign; *To fit proportion with my altered state !

And, haply, far within the marble belt Quench those felicities whose light I find

Of central earth, where tortured Spirits pine Reflected in my bosom all too late!

For grace and goodness lost, thy murmurs melt O be my spirit, like my thraldom, strait;

Their anguish, — and they blend sweet songs And, like mine eyes that stream with sorrow, blind!"






BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
And whom the curious Painter doth pursue
*Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,
And tracks thee dancing down thy water-brakes ;
If wish were mine some type of thee to view,
Thee, - and not thee thyself, I would not do

Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks,
. Channels for tears; no Naiad should'st thou be, –
Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs:
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee
With purer robes than those of Aesh and blood,
And hath bestowed on thee a better good ;
Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.

Was the aim frustrated by force or guile,
When giants scooped from out the rocky ground
-Tier under tier this semicirque profound ?
(Giants the same who built in Erin's isle
That Causeway with incomparable toil !)
O, had this vast theatric structure wound
With finished sweep into a perfect round,
No mightier work had gained the plausive smile
Of all-beholding Phæbus! But, alas,
Vain earth!- false world! – Foundations must be lazd
In Heaven; for, 'mid the wreck of is and was,
Things incomplete and purposes betrayed

* Waters (as Mr. Westall informs us in the letter-press prefixed to his admirable views) are invariably found to flow through these caverns.

Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass
Than noblest objects utterly decayed.



And little could be gained from all that dower
Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell.
Yet did the glowing west in all its power
Salute us;

there stood Indian Citadel,
Temple of Greece, and Minster with its tower
Substantially expressed - a place for bell
Or clock to toll from. Many a tempting Isle,
With Groves that never were imagined, lay
'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye
Of silent rapture; but we felt the while
We should forget them; they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.

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At early dawn, or rather when the air
Glimmiers with fading light, and shadowy Eve
Is busiest to confer and to bereave,
Then, pensive Votary! let thy feet repair
To Gordale-chasm, terrific as the lair
Where the young lions couch ; — for so, by leave
of the propitious hour, thou may'st perceive
The local Deity, with oozy hair
And mineral crown, beside his jagged urn,
Recumbent : Him thou may'st behold, who hides
His lineaments by day, yet there presides,
Teaching the docile waters how to turn;
Or, if need be, impediment to spurn,
And force their passage to the salt-sea tides !


they are of the sky, And from our earthly memory fade away."

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These words were uttered as in pensive mood

We turned, departing from that solemn sight: XXIII.

A contrast and reproach to gross delight, TRE MONUMENT COMMONLY CALLED LONG MEG AND And life’s unspiritual pleasures daily wooed !

HER DAUGHTERS, NEAR THE RIVER EDEN.* But now upon this thought I cannot brood; A weight of awe not easy to be borne

It is unstable as a dream of night; Pell suddenly upon my Spirit -cast

Nor will I praise a Cloud, however bright, From the dread bosom of the unknown past,

Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food. When first I saw that Sisterhood forlorn;

Grove, Isle, with every shape of sky-built dome, And Her, whose massy strength and stature scorn

Though clad in colours beautiful and pure, The

Find in the heart of man no natural home : of years — pre-eminent, and placed Apart - to overlook the circle vast.

The immortal Mind craves objects that endure: Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn

These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam, While she dispels the cumbrous shades of night;

Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure. Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud, At whose behest uprose on British ground Thy Progeny; in hieroglyphic round

some have deemed, the infinite, The inviolable God, that tames the proud !


SEPT. 3, 1803.

Earth has not any thing to show more fair : COMPOSED AFTER A JOURNEY ACROSS THE HAM- Dull would he be of soul who could pass by BLETON HILLS, YORKSHIRE.

A sight so touching in its majesty: Dars and more dark the shades of evening fell;

This City now doth like a garment wear The wished-for point was reached, but late the hour;

The beauty of the morning ; silent, ba re,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lic en The Danghters of Long Meg, placed in a perfect circle eighty Open unto the fields, and to the sky; se on diameter, are seventy-two in number, and their height All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. la frorn three feet to so many yards above ground; a little way Never did sun more beautifully steep let high. When the Author first saw this Monument, as he In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; came upon it by surprise, he might over-rate its importance as in object; but, though it will not bear a comparison with Stone. The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep henge , he must sayhas not other Relique of those

And all that mighty heart is lying still !

to reach can pretend to rival in singularity and light Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;


OXFORD, MAY 30, 1820.

Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth ! In whose collegiate shelter England's Flowers Expand – enjoying through their vernal hours The air of liberty, the light of truth; Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth, Yet, Oye Spires of Oxford ! Domes and Towers ! Gardens and Groves! your presence overpowers The soberness of Reason ; till, in sooth, Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange, I slight my own beloved Cam, to range Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet ; Pace the long avenue, or glide adown The stream-like windings of that glorious street, - An eager Novice robed in fluttering gown!


OXFORD, MAY 30, 1820. SHAME on this faithless heart! that could allow Such transport - though but for a moment's space; Not while — to aid the spirit of the place – The crescent moon clove with its glittering prow The clouds, or night-bird sang from shady bough, But in plain daylight:- She, too, at my side, Who, with her heart's experience satisfied, Maintains inviolate its slightest vow! Sweet Fancy! other gifts must I receive; Proofs of a higher sovereignty I claim; Take from her brow the withering flowers of eve, And that brow Life's morning wreath restore; Let her be comprehended in the frame Of these illusions, or they please no more.




The imperial Stature, the colossal stride, Are yet before me; yet do I behold The broad full visage, chest of amplest mould, The vestments 'broidered with barbaric pride: And lo! a poniard, at the Monarch's side, Hangs ready to be grasped in sympathy With the keen threatenings of that fulgent eye, Below the white-rimmed bonnet, far descried. Who trembles now at thy capricious mood ? 'Mid those surrounding worthies, haughty King, We rather think, with grateful mind sedate, How Providence educeth, from the spring Of lawless will, unlooked-for streams of good, Which neither force shall check, nor time abate !


WARD of the Law!- dread Shadow of a King!
Whose realm had dwindled to one stately room;
Whose universe was gloom immersed in gloom,
Darkness as thick as Life o'er Life could fling,
Save haply for some feeble glimmering
Of Faith and Hope; if thou, by nature's doom,
Gently hast sunk into the quiet tomb,
Why should we bend in grief, to sorrow cling,
When thankfulness were best?- Fresh-flowing tean
Or, where tears flow not, sigh succeeding sigh,
Yield to such after-thought the sole reply
Which justly it can claim. The Nation hears
In this deep knell — silent for threescore years,
An unexampled voice of awful memory !


JUNE, 1820. Fame tells of Groves — from England far away – *Groves that inspire the Nightingale to trill And modulate, with subtle reach of skill Elsewhere unmatched, her ever-varying lay; Such bold report I venture to gainsay; For I have heard the choir of Richmond hill Chanting, with indefatigable bill, Strains that recalled to mind a distant day; When, haply under shade of that same wood, And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars Plied steadily between those willowy shores, The sweet-souled Poet of the Seasons stood – Listening, and listening long, in rapturous mood, Ye heavenly Birds! to your Progenitors,

WHERE holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
Is marked by no distinguishable line ;
The turf unites, the pathways intertwine ;
And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep tends,
Garden, and that domain where Kindred, Friends,
And Neighbours rest together, here confound
Their several features, mingled like the sound
Of many waters, or as evening blends
With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub and' flower,
Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave;
And while those lofty Poplars gently wave
Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky
Bright as the glimpses of Eternity,
To Saints accorded in their mortal hour.

* Wallachia is the country alluded to.
+ See Note, 23. p. 324.







*gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name."

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Through shattered galleries, 'mid roofless halls,
Wandering with timid footstep oft betrayed,

The Stranger sighs, nor scruples to upbraid
- Old Time, though He, gentlest among the Thralls

Of Destiny, upon these wounds hath laid
Ilis lenient touches, soft as light that falls,
From the wan Moon, upon the Towers and Walls,

Light deepening the profoundest sleep of shade.
<!-- Relic of Kings! Wreck of forgotten wars,
sitten To winds abandoned and the prying stars,

Time loves Thee! at his call the Seasons twine ThakurLuxuriant wreaths around thy forehead hoar; rice: And, though past pomp no changes can restore,

A soothing recompense, his gift, is Thine!

Though narrow be that Old Man's cares, and near,
The poor Old Man is greater than he seems :
For he hath waking empire, wide as dreams;
An ample sovereignty of eye and ear.
Rich are his walks with supernatural cheer;
The region of his inner spirit teems
With vital sounds and monitory gleams
Of high astonishment and pleasing fear.
He the seven birds hath seen, that never part,
Seen the SEVEN Whistlers in their nightly rounds,
And counted them: and oftentimes will start-
For overhead are sweeping GABRIEL'S HOUNDS,
Doomed, with their impious Lord, the flying Hart
To chase for ever, on aërial grounds!

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A STREAM to mingle with your favourite Dee,
Along the VALE OF MEDITATION* flows;
So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see
1. Nature's face the expression of repose ;
De haply there some pious Hermit chose
To live and die, the peace of Heaven his aim;
To whom the wild sequestered region owes,
At this late day, its sanctifying name.
GLYN CAFAILLGAROCH, in the Cambrian tongue,
In ours the Vale of Friendship, let this spot
Be named; where, faithful to a low-roofed Cot,
On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long;
Sisters in love - a love allowed to climb,
Even on this earth, above the reach of Time!

STRANGE visitation ! at Jemima's lip
Thus hadst thou pecked, wild Redbreast! Love mign

A half-blown rose had tempted thee to sip
Its glistening dews; but hallowed is the clay
Which the Musc warms; and I, whose head is gray,
Am not unworthy of thy fellowship;
Nor could I let one thought — one motion - slir
That might thy sylvan confidence betray.
For are we not all His without whose care
Vouchsafed no sparrow falleth to the ground?
Who gives his Angels wings to speed through air,
And rolls the planets through the blue profound;
Then peck or perch, fond Flutterer! nor forbear
To trust a Poet in still vision bound.

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How art thou named? In search of what strange land

From what hage height, descending? Can such force

When Philoctetes in the Lemnian Isle Of waters issue from a British source,

Lay couched; upon that breathless Monument, Or hath not Pindus fed Thee, where the band

On him, or on his fearful bow unbent, Of Patriots scoop their freedom out, with hand

Some wild Bird oft might settle and beguile
Desperate as thine? Or come the incessant shocks

The rigid features of a transient smile,
From that young Stream, that snites the throbbing rocks Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent,
Of Vinmala? There I seem to stand,

Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment
As in Life's Mor; permitted to behold,

From home affections, and heroic toil. frorn the dread chasm, woods climbing above woods ; In pornp that fades not; everlasting snows;

Nor doubt that spiritnal Creatures round us move,

Griefs to allay that Reason cannot heal;
And skies that ne'er relinquish their repose;
Such power possess the Family of floods

And very Reptiles have sufficed to prove
Over the minds of Poets, young or old !

To fettered Wretchedness, that no Bastile

Is deep enough to exclude the light of love, 'Glyn Myrvr.

Though Man for Brother Man has ceased to feel.


While they, who once were Anna's Playmates, tread
The mountain turf and river's flowery marge;
Or float with music in the festal barge;
Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are led;
Her doom it is to press a weary bed
Till oft her guardian Angel, to some Charge
More urgent called, will stretch his wings at large,
And Friends too rarely prop the languid head.
Yet Genius is no feeble comforter:
The presence even of a stuffed Owl for her
Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out
To ivied castles and to moonlight skies,
Though he can neither stir a plume, nor shout;
Nor veil, with restless film, his staring eyes.

Rotha, my Spiritual Child! this head was gray
When at the sacred Font for Thee I stood;
Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood
And shalt become thy own sufficient stay:
Too late, I feel, sweet Orphan! was the day
For steadfast hope the contract to fulfil ;
Yet shall my blessing hover o'er thee still,
Embodied in the music of this Lay,
Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain Stream'
Whose murmur soothed thy languid Mother's ear
After her throes, this Stream of name more dear
Since thou dost bear it, - a memorial theme
For others; for thy future self a spell
To summon fancies out of Time's dark cell.



Not the whole warbling grove in concert heard
When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill
Like the first summons, Cuckoo ! of thy bill,
With its twin notes inseparably paired.
'The Captive ʼmid damp vaults unsunned, unaired,
Measuring the periods of his lonely doom,
That cry can reach; and to the sick man's room
Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared.
The lordly Eagle-race through hostile search
May porish; time may come when never more
The wilderness shall hear the Lion roar;
But, long as Cock shall crow from household perch
To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy wing,
And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring !

Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright,
Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined
By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind
To something purer and more exquisite
Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st my sight
When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek,
Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white,
And head that droops because the soul is meek,
Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare ;
That Child of Winter, prompting thoughts that climb
From desolation toward the genial prime;
Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air,
And filling more and more with crystal light
As pensive Evening deepens into night.

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“MISERRIMUS !” and neither name nor date,
Prayer, text, or symbol, graven upon the stone;
Nought but that word assigned to the unknown,
That solitary word — to separate
From all, and cast a cloud around the fate
Of him who lies beneath. Most wretched one,
Who chose his Epitaph? Himself alone
Could thus have dared the grave to agitate,
And claim, among the dead, this awful crown;
Nor doubt that He marked also for his own,
Close to these cloistral steps a burial-place,

UNQUIET Childhood here by special grace
Forgets her nature, opening like a flower
That neither feeds nor wastes its vital power
In painful struggles. Months each other chase,
And nought untunes that Infant's voice; a trace
Of fretful temper sullies not her cheek;
Prompt, lively, self-sufficing, yet so meek
That one enrapt with gazing on her face
(Which even the placid innocence of Death
Could scarcely make more placid, Heaven more bright)
Might learn to picture, for the eye of faith,
The Virgin, as she shone with kindred light;
A Nursling couched upon her Mother's knee,
Beneath some shady Palm of Galilee.

every foot might fall with heavier tread, Trampling upon his vileness. Stranger, pass Softly!— To save the contrite, Jesus bled.

* The River Rotha, that flows into Windermere from the Lakes of Grası


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