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"T is said that to the brow of yon fair hill nelson Two Brothers clomb, and, turning face from face,

i Nor one look more exchanging, grief to still cs Or feed, each planted on that lofty place

A chosen Tree; then, eager to fulfil
Their courses, like two new-born rivers, they
In opposite directions urged their way
Down from the far-seen mount. No blast might kill
Or blight that fond memorial; — the trees grew,
And now entwine their arms; but ne'er again
Embraced those Brothers upon earth's wide plain;
Nor aught of mutual joy or sorrow knew
C'ntil their spirits mingled in the sea
That to itself takes all — Eternity.

CHATSWORTH! thy stately mansion, and the pride
Of thy domain, strange contrast do present
To house and home in many a craggy rent
Of the wild Peak; where new-born waters glide
Through fields whose thrifty Occupants abide
As in a dear and chosen banishment,
With every semblance of entire content;
So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried !
Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth
To pastoral dales, thin set with modest farms,
May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth,
That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms;
And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms
The extremes of favoured life, may honour both.


DESPONDING Father! mark this altered bouge.",
L'ATOUCHED through all severity of cold,

So beautiful of late, with sunshine warmed, Inviolate, whate'er the cottage hearth

Or moist with dews; what more unsightly now, Might need for comfort, or for festal mirth,

Its blossoms shrivelled, and its fruit, if formed, That Pile of Turf is half a century old :

Invisible? yet Spring her genial brow
Yes, Traveller! fifty winters have been told

Knits not o'er that discolouring and decay
Since suddenly the dart of death went forth As false to expectation. Nor fret thou
'Gainst him who raised it, - his last work on earth; At like unlovely process in the May
Thence by his Son more prized than aught which gold of human life: a Stripling's graces blow,
Could purchase—watched, preserved by his own hands, Fade and are shed, that from their timely fall
That, faithful to the Structure, still repair

(Misdeem it not a cankerous change) may grow is waste.—Though crumbling with each breath of air, Rich mellow bearings, that for thanks shall call; In annual renovation thus it stands —

In all men, sinful is it to be slow Rude Mausoleumn! but wrens nestle there,

To hope — in Parents, sinful above all. And red-breasts warble when sweet sounds are rare.

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Hardox! let worthier judges praise the skill
Here by thy pencil shown in truth of lines
And charm of colours; I applaud those signs
Of thought, that give the true poetic thrill;
That unencumbered whole of blank and still,
Sky without cloud ocean without a wave;
And the one Man that laboured to enslave
The World, sole-standing high on the bare hill
Back turned, arms folded, the unapparent face
Tinged, we may fancy, in this dreary place
With light reflected from the invisible sun
Sat like his fortunes; but not set for aye
Like them. The unguilty Power pursues his way,
And before him doth dawn perpetual run.

WHILE poring Antiquarians search the ground
Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer,
Takes fire:– The men that have been reappear;
Romans for travel girt, for business gowned,
And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned,
In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear,
As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that muund
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins,
Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil;
Or a fierce impress issues with its foil
Of tenderness — the Wolf, whose suckling Twins
The unlettered Ploughboy pities when he wins
The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.

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[Painted at Rydal Mount, by W. Pickersgill, Esq. for St. John's

College, Cambridge.]

When human touch, as monkish books attest,
Nor was applied nor could be, Ledbury bells
Broke forth in concert flung adown the dells,
And upward, high as Malvern's cloudy crest;
Sweet tones, and caught by a noble Lady blest
To rapture! Mabel listened at the side
Of her loved Mistress : soon the music died,
And Catherine said, “ Here I set up my rest."
Warned in a dream, the Wanderer long had sought
A home that by such miracle of sound
Must be revealed : she heard it now, or felt
The deep, deep joy of a confiding thought;
And there, a saintly Anchoress, she dwelt
Till she exchanged for heaven that happy ground.

Go, faithful Portrait ! and where long hath knelt
Margaret, the saintly Foundress, take thy place;
And, if Time spare the colours for the grace
Which to the work surpassing skill hath dealt,
Thou, on thy rock reclined, though Kingdoms melt

And States be torn up by the roots, wilt seem
To breathe in rural peace, to hear the stream,
To think and feel as once the Poet felt.
Whate'er thy fate, those features have not grown
Unrecognized through many a household tear,
More prompt more glad to fall than drops of dew
By morning shed around a flower half blown;
Tears of delight, that testified how true
To life thou art, and, in thy truth, how dear !





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Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair ?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant
(As would my deeds have been) with hourly care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendican
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak, though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine;
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know !

If these brief Records, by the Muses' art
Produced as lonely Nature or the strife
That animates the scenes of public life
Inspired, may in thy leisure claim a part;
And if these Transcripts of the private heart
Have gained a sanction from thy falling tears,
Then I repent not: but my soul hath fears
Breathed from eternity; for as a dart
Cleaves the blank air, Life flies: now every day
Is but a glimmering spoke in the swift wheel
Of the revolving week. Away, away,
All fitful cares, all transitory zeal ;
So timely Grace the immortal wing may heal,
And honour rest upon the senseless clay.




Four fiery steeds impatient of the rein
Whirled us o'er sunless ground beneath a sky
As void of sunshine, when, from that wide Plain,
Clear tops of far-off Mountains we descry,
Like a Sierra of cerulean Spain,
All light and lustre. Did no heart reply ?
Yes, there was One; for One, asunder fly
The thousand links of that ethereal chain;
And green vales open out, with grove and field,
And the fair front of many a happy Home;
Such tempting spots as into vision come
While Soldiers, of the weapons that they wield
Weary, and sick of strifeful Christendom,
Gaze on the moon by parting clouds revealed.


eye a Temple, like a cloud
Slowly surmounting some invidious hill,
Rose out of darkness: the bright Work stood still,
And might of its own beauty have been proud,
But it was fashioned and to God was vowed
By Virtues that diffused, in every part,
Spirit divine through forms of human art:
Faith had her arch — her arch, when winds blow loud
Into the consciousness of safety thrilled ;
And Love her towers of dread foundation laid
Under the grave of things; Hoe had her spire
Star-high, and pointing still to something higher ;
Trembling I gazed, but heard a voice—it said,
Hell-gates are powerless Phantoms when we build.

With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek

Pounced, and the dove, which from its ruthless beak From rapture, lying softly on her breast ! .


The most alluring clouds that mount the sky

Owe to a troubled element their forms,

Their hues to sunset. If with raptured eye

We watch their splendour, shall we covet storms, Thovou the bold wings of poesy affect

And wish the lord of day his slow decline The clonds, and wheel around the mountain tops

Would hasten, that such pomp may float on high? Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops

Behold, already they forget to shine, Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt,

Dissolve — and leave to him who gazed a sigh. Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect

Not loth to thank each moment for its boon The lingering dew - there steals along, or stops

Of pure delight, come whensoe'er it may, Watching the least small bird that round her hops,

Peace let us seek, - to steadfast things attune Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect.

Calm expectations, leaving to the gay Her functions are they therefore less divine,

And volatile their love of transient bowers,
Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent
por: Her simplest fancies? Should that fear be thine,

The house that cannot pass away be ours.
Aspiring votary, ere thy hand present
One offering, kneel before her modest shrine,

With brow in penitential sorrow bent!



By art's bold privilege Warrior and War-horse stand II.

On ground yet strewn with their last battle's wreck; A Poet! – He hath put his heart to school,

Let the steed glory while his master's hand Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff

Lies fixed for ages on his conscious neck; Which art bath lodged within his hand — must laugh

But by the chieftain's look, though at his side By precept only, and shed tears by rule.

Hangs that day's treasured sword, how firm a check Thy art be nature; the live current quaff,

Is given to triumph and all human pride! And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool,

Yon trophied mound shrinks to a shadowy speck In fear that else, when critics grave and cool

In his calm presence! Him the mighty deed Have killed him, scorn should write his epitaph.

Elates not, brought far nearer the grave's rest, How does the meadow-flower its bloom unfold ?

As shows that time-worn face, for he such seed Because the lovely little flower is free

Has sown as yields, we trust, the fruit of fame Down to its rool, and, in that freedom, bold;

In Heaven; hence no one blushes for thy name, And so the grandeur of the forest-tree

Conqueror, mid some sad thoughts, divinely blest !
Comes not by casting in a formal mould,
But from its own divine vitality.


Life with yon lambs, like day, is just begun,

Yet nature seems to them a heavenly guide.
(Miss not the occasion: by the forelock take

Does joy approach ? they meet the coming tide ;
That subtle Power, the never halting Time,

And sullenness avoid, as now they shun
Lest a mere moment's putting off should make
Mischance almost as heavy as a crime.]

Pale twilight's lingering glooms, - and in the sun

Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied;

Or gambol — each with his shadow at his side, "Wart, prithee, wait!" this answer Lesbia threw

Varying its shape wherever he may run. 1 Porth to her dove, and took no further heed,

As they from turf yet hoar with sleepy dew Her eye was busy, while her fingers few

All turn, and court the shining and the green, Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed;

Where herbs look up, and opening flowers are seen; | But from that bondage when her thoughits were freed

Why to God's goodness cannot we be true, She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew,

And so, His gifts and promises between, Whence the poor unregarded favourite, true

Feed to the last on pleasures ever new ?
To old affections, had been heard to plead

Lo! where she stands fixed in a saint-like trance,
One upward hand, as if she needed rest

Porced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain
Ulf harmony!-a shriek of terror, pain,
And self-reproach! for, from aloit, a kite

She could not reseue, perished in her sight!


Nor wants her eyeball an ethereal glance;

20 *

But not the less — nay more — that countenance, And in a moment charmed my cares to rest.
While thus illumined, tells of painful strife

Yes, I will forth, bold bird ! and front the blast,
For a sick heart made weary of this life

That we may sing together, if thou wilt,
By love, long crossed with adverse circumstance. So loud, so clear, my partner through life's day,

Would she were now as when she hoped to pass Mute in her nest love-chosen, if not love-built
At God's appointed hour to them who tread

Like thine, shall gladden, as in seasons past, Heaven's sapphire pavement, yet breathed well content, Thrilled by loose snatches of the social lay. Well pleased, her foot should print earth's common RYDAL MOUNT, 1838.

grass, Lived thankful for day's light, for daily bread, For health, and time in obvious duty spent.


'T is he whose yester-evening's high disdain

Beat back the roaring storm – but how subdued

Does the hour's drowsy weight his glee restram? All praise the likeness by thy skill portrayed;

Or, like the nightingale, her joyous vein But 't is a fruitless task to paint for me,

Pleased to renounce, does this dear thrush attune Who, yielding not to changes time has made,

His voice to suit the temper of yon moon By the habitual light of memory see

Doubly depressed, setting, and in her wane! Eyes unbedimmed, see bloom that cannot fade,

Rise, tardy sun! and let the songster prove And smiles that from their birth-place ne'er shall flee

(The balance trembling between night and morn Into the land where ghosts and phantoms be;

No longer) with what ecstasy upborne And, seeing this, own nothing in its stead.

He can pour forth his spirit. In heaven above, Couldst thou go back into far-distant years,

And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Or share with me, fond thought! that inward eye,

Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
Then, and then only, painter! could thy art
The visual powers of nature satisfy,
Which hold, whate'er to common sight appears,
Their sovereign empire in a faithful heart.

Oh what a wreck! how changed in mien and speech :

Yet - though dread Powers, that work in mystery,


Entanglings of the brain; though shadows stretch Though I beheld at first with blank surprise

O'er the chilled heart-reflect; far, far within This work, I now have gazed on it so long

Hers is a holy being, freed from sin. I see its truth with unreluctant eyes;

She is not what she seems, a forlorn wretch, O, my beloved! I have done thee wrong,

But delegated Spirits comfort fetch Conscious of blessedness, but, whence it sprung,

To her from heights that reason may not win. Ever too heedless, as I now perceive:

Like children, she is privileged to hold Morn into noon did pass, noon into eve,

Divine communion; both do live and move, And the old day was welcome as the young,

Whate'er to shallow faith their ways unfold, As welcome, and as beautiful - in sooth

Inly illumined by Heaven's pitying love; More beautiful, as being a thing more holy:

Love pitying innocence not long to last,
Thanks to thy virtues, to the eternal youth

In them - in her our sins and sorrows past.
Of all thy goodness, never melancholy;
To thy large heart and humble mind, that cast
Into one vision, future, present, past.

INTENT on gathering wool from hedge and brake

Yon busy little-ones rejoice that soon

A poor old dame will bless them for the boon:
Hark! 't is the thrush, undaunted, undeprest,

Great is their glee while flake they add to flake By twilight premature of cloud and rain ;

With rival earnestness; far other strife Nor does that roaring wind deaden his strain

Than will hereafter move them, if they make
Who carols thinking of his love and nest,

Pastime their idol, give their day of life
And seems, as more incited, still more blest.
Thanks; thou hast snapped a fire-side prisoner's chain, Can pomp and show allay one heart-born grief

To pleasure snatched for reckless pleasure's sake. Exulting warbler! eased a fretted brain,

Pains which the world inflicts can she requite ?


feziing; which had been forced too often upon my own Of wonder, I have watched this sea-side town,



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Muganine, in favour of the principle of Sergeant Tallourd's From the pier's head, musing, and with increase
Cornght Bill, precedes me in the public expression of this
aand, by remembering how few descendants of men emi. Under the white cliff's battlemented crown,

ya Yot for an interval however brief;

“Of culture, even to feel or understand Dhe silent thoughts that search for stedfast light, “My simplest lay that to their memory el, cLove from her depthis, and duty in her might,

May cling. - Hard fate which haply may not be, ter Log And faith – these only yield secure relief.

• Did justice mould the statutes of the land.

“ A book time-cherished and an honoured name March 86A, 1842

“ Are high rewards; but bound they nature's claim

“Or reason's? No. — Hopes spun in timid line XIV.

“ From out the bosom of a modest home,

“ Extend through unambitious years to come, DISCOURSE was deemed man's noblest attribute,

u My careless little one for thee and thine!"

May 23d.
And written words the glory of his hand;
Then followed printing with enlarged command

XVII. ska For thought — dominion vast and absolute

TO TAE REV. CHRISTOPHER WORDSWORTH, D. D. - For spreading truth, and making love expand.

MASTER OF HARROW SCHOOL, prose and verse sunk into disrepute box-Must lacquey a dumb art that best can suit

After the perusal of his Theophilus Anglicanus, recently published. The taste of this once intellectual land.

ENLIGHTENED teacher, gladly from thy hand lingenA backward movement surely have we here,

Have I received this proof of pains bestowed From inanhood — back to childhood; for the age

By thee to guide thy pupils on the road Back towards caverned life's first rude career.

That, in our native isle, and every land, Avaunt this vile abuse of pictured page!

The Church, when trusting in divine command Must eyes be all in all, the tongue and ear

And in her Catholic attributes, hath trod : Nothing? Heaven keep us from a lower stage.

O may these lessons be with profit scanned

To thy heart's wish, thy labour blest by God! be

So the bright faces of the young and gay

Shall look more bright — the happy, happier still;

Catch, in the pauses of their keenest play,

Motions of thought which elevate the will
Falling impartial measure to dispense

And, like the spire that from your classic hill T'o every suitor, equity is lame;

Points heavenward, indicate the end and way.

Rydal Mount, Dec. 11, 1813.
And social justice, stript of reverence
For natural rights, a mockery and a shame;
law but a servile dupe of false pretence,

Hi guarding grossest things from common claim
Now and for ever, she, to works that came
From mind and spirit, grudge a short-lived fence.

Upon its approximation (as an Evening Star) to the Earth, Jan. 1838 *** What: lengthened privilege, a lineal tie,

What strong allurement draws, what spirit guides, For Books!" Yes, heartless ones, or be it proved

Thee, Vesper! brightening still, as if the nearer That 't is a fault in us to have lived and loved

Thou com'st to man's abode the spot grew dearer Like others, with like temporal hopes to die;

Night after night? True is it nature hides Nu public harm that genius from her course

Her treasures less and less. — Man now presides
Be turmed; and streams of truth dried up, even at their In power, where once he trembled in his weakness;

Science advances with gigantic strides;
But are we aught enriched in love and meekness ?

Aught dost thou see, bright star! of pure and wise

More than in humbler times graced human story; A POET TO HIS GRANDCHILD.

That makes our hearts more apt to sympathise (SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING.)

With heaven, our souls more fit for future glory, Sox of my buried son! while thus thy hand

When earth shall vanish from our closing eyes, * 1x clasping mine, it saddens me to think

Ere we lie down in our last dormitory? "llow want may press thee down, and with thee sink Thy children, left unfit, through vain demand *

XIX. * The author of an animated article, printed in the Law




Dent in literature are even known to exist.

Hushed to a depth of more than sabbath peace:

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