"CHANGE me, some God, into that breathing rose!"
The love-sick Stripling fancifully sighs,
The envied flower beholding, as it lies
On Laura's breast, in exquisite repose;

Or he would pass into her Bird, that throws
The darts of song from out its wiry cage;
Earaptured,—could he for himself engage
The thousandth part of what the Nymph bestows,
And what the little careless Innocent

graciously receives. Too daring choice!
There are whose calmer mind it would content
To be an unculled floweret of the glen,
Fearless of plough and scythe; or darkling wren,
Tat tunes on Duddon's banks her slender voice.

X.

THE SAME SUBJECT.

NOT so that Pair whose youthful spirits dance
With prompt emotion, urging them to pass;
A sweet confusion checks the Shepherd-lass;
Blushing she eyes the dizzy flood askance,
To stop ashamed too timid to advance;
She ventures once again-another pause!
His outstretched hand He tauntingly withdraws-
She sues for help with piteous utterance!
Chidden she chides again; the thrilling touch
Both feel when he renews the wished-for aid:
Ah! if their fluttering hearts should stir too much,
Should beat too strongly, both may be betrayed.
The frolic Loves, who, from yon high rock, see
The struggle, clap their wings for victory!

VIII.

WHAT aspect bore the Man who roved or fled,
First of his tribe, to this dark dell—who first
In this pellucid Current slaked his thirst?

What hopes came with him? what designs were spread
Along his path! His unprotected bed

What dreams encompassed? Was the intruder nursed
Is badeons usages, and rites accursed,

That thinned the living and disturbed the dead?
V roce replies; the earth, the air is mute;

And Toa, blue Streamlet, murmuring yield'st no more
Tan a soft record that, whatever fruit

of grace thou might'st witness heretofore, function was to heal and to restore,

To soothe and cleanse, not madden and pollute!

IX.

THE STEPPING-STONES.

Ta struggling Rill insensibly is grown
lato a Brook of loud and stately march,
Cred ever and anon by plank and arch;
And, for like use, lo! what might seem a zone
Chosen for ornament; stone matched with stone

In stodied symmetry, with interspace
For the clear waters to pursue their race

⚫See Note.

XII.

HINTS FOR THE FANCY.

ON, loitering Muse-The swift stream chides us-on!
Albeit his deep-worn channel doth immure
Objects immense portrayed in miniature.
Wild shapes for many a strange comparison:
Niagaras, Alpine passes, and anon

HAIL to the fields-with Dwellings sprinkled o'er,
And one small hamlet, under a green hill,
Clustered with barn and byre, and spouting mill!
A glance suffices; should we wish for more,
Gay June would scorn us; but when bleak winds roar
Through the stiff lance-like shoots of pollard ash,
Dread swell of sound! loud as the gusts that lash
The matted forests of Ontario's shore
By wasteful steel unsmitten, then would I
Turn into port,—and, reckless of the gale,
Reckless of angry Duddon sweeping by,
While the warm hearth exalts the mantling ale,
Laugh with the generous household heartily,
At all the merry pranks of Donnerdale!

XVI.

AMERICAN TRADITION.

SUCH fruitless questions may not long beguile
Or plague the fancy, 'mid the sculptured shows
Conspicuous yet where Oroonoko flows;
There would the Indian answer with a smile
Aimed at the White Man's ignorance the while,
Of the GREAT WATERS telling how they rose,
Covered the plains, and, wandering where they chose
Mounted through every intricate defile,
Triumphant. Inundation wide and deep,

O'er which his Fathers urged, to ridge and steep
Else unapproachable, their buoyant way;
And carved, on mural cliff's undreaded side,
Sun, moon, and stars, and beast of chase or prey;
Whate'er they sought, shunned, loved, or deified!"**

XIV.

O MOUNTAIN Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot
Are privileged Inmates of deep solitude;
Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude
A field or two of brighter green, or plot
Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot
Of stationary sunshine:- thou hast viewed
These only, Duddon! with their paths renewed
By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not.
Thee hath some awful Spirit impelled to leave,
Utterly to desert, the haunts of men,
Though simple thy companions were and few;
And through this wilderness a passage cleave
Attended but by thy own voice, save when
The Clouds and Fowls of the air thy way pursue!

XVII. RETURN.

A DARK plume fetch me from yon blasted Yew,
Perched on whose top the Danish Raven croaks;
Aloft, the imperial Bird of Rome invokes
Departed ages, shedding where he flew
Loose fragments of wild wailing, that bestrew
The clouds, and thrill the chambers of the rocks,
And into silence hush the timorous flocks,
That, calmly couching while the nightly dew
Moistened each fleece, beneath the twinkling stars
Slept amid that lone Camp on Hardknot's height,t
Whose Guardians bent the knee to Jove and Mars:
Or, near that mystic Round of Druid frame
Tardily sinking by its proper weight

Deep into patient Earth, from whose smooth breast a

came!

XV.

FROM this deep chasm-where quivering sunbeams play

Upon its loftiest crags- mine eyes behold
A gloomy NICHE, capacious, blank, and cold;
A concave free from shrubs and mosses gray;
In semblance fresh, as if, with dire affray,
Some statue, placed amid these regions old
For tutelary service, thence had rolled,
Startling the flight of timid Yesterday!

XVIII.

SEATHWAITE CHAPEL. SACRED Religion, "mother of form and fear," Dread Arbitress of mutable respect, New rites ordaining when the old are wrecked, Or cease to please the fickle worshipper; If one strong wish may be embosomed here,

See Humboldt's Personal Narrative. + See Note.

Werner of Love! for this deep vale, protect
Tr's holy lamp, pure source of bright effect,
And to purge the vapoury atmosphere
Tat seeks to stifle it; -as in those days

Veen this low Pile* a Gospel Teacher knew,
Wee good works formed an endless retinue:
Si Priest as Chaucer sang in fervent lays;
Sch as the heaven-taught skill of Herbert drew;
And tender Goldsmith crowned with deathless praise!

Some who had early mandates to depart,
Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart,
By Duddon's side; once more do we unite,
Once more beneath the kind Earth's tranquil light;
And smothered joys into new being start.
From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall
Of Time, breaks forth triumphant Memory;
Her glistening tresses bound, yet light and free
As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall
On gales that breathe too gently to recall
Aught of the fading year's inclemency!

XIX.

TRIBUTARY STREAM.

My frame hath often trembled with delight
When hope presented some far-distant good,

at seemed from heaven descending, like the flood of yon pure waters, from their aëry height Herrying, with lordly Duddon to unite; Wha, mid a world of images imprest

On the calm depth of his transparent breast,

Aars to cherish most that Torrent white,
The fairest, softest, liveliest of them all!
Ard seldom hath ear listened to a tune
Yulling than the busy hum of Noon,
Sen by that voice- whose murmur musical
Awances to the thirsty fields a boon

lway and fresh, till showers again shall fall.

XXII. TRADITION.

A LOVELORN Maid, at some far-distant time,
Came to this hidden pool, whose depths surpass

In crystal clearness Dian's looking-glass;

And, gazing, saw that Rose, which from the prime
Derives its name, reflected as the chime

Of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound:
The starry treasure from the blue profound
She longed to ravish; - shall she plunge, or climb
The humid precipice, and seize the guest

Of April, smiling high in upper air?

Desperate alternative! what fiend could dare

To prompt the thought? - Upon the steep rock's breast
The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom,
Untouched memento of her hapless doom!

XX.

THE PLAIN OF DONNERDALE.

Teld inventive Poets, had they seen,

rather felt, the entrancement that detains Tw waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains, The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, Terred to bowers imperishably green, Fad beautified Elysium! But these chains

woon be broken;-a rough course remains, En as the past; where Thou, of placid mien, Iars as a firstling of the flock,

And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky,
al change thy temper; and, with many a shock
Given and received in mutual jeopardy,
Tree, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock,
Tg her frantic thyrsus wide and high!

XXIII.

SHEEP-WASHING.

SAD thoughts, avaunt! — the fervour of the year,
Poured on the fleece-encumbered flock, invites

To laving currents for prelusive rites

Duly performed before the Dalesmen shear

Their panting charge. The distant Mountains hear, Hear and repeat, the turmoil that unites

Clamour of boys with innocent despites

Of barking dogs, and bleatings from strange fear.
Meanwhile, if Duddon's spotless breast receive
Unwelcome mixtures as the uncouth noise
Thickens, the pastoral River will forgive

Such wrong; nor need we blame the licensed joys,
Though false to Nature's quiet equipoise:
Frank are the sports, the stains are fugitive.

Tempting recess as ever pilgrim chose,

Half grot, half arbour, proffers to enclose
Body and mind from molestation freed,
In narrow compass-narrow as itself:

Or if the fancy, too industrious Elf,

Be loth that we should breathe awhile exempt
From new incitements friendly to our task,
There wants not stealthy prospect, that may tempt
Loose Idless to forego her wily mask.

There dwelt the gay, the bountiful, the bold,
Till nightly lamentations, like the sweep
Of winds-though winds were silent, struck a de
And lasting terror through that ancient Hold.
Its line of Warriors fled; - they shrunk when trie
By ghostly power:- - but Time's unsparing hand
Hath plucked such foes, like weeds, from out the la
And now,
if men with men in peace abide,
All other strength the weakest may withstand,
All worse assaults may safely be defied.

XXV.

XXVIII

JOURNEY RENEWED.

I ROSE while yet the cattle, heat-opprest,
Crowded together under rustling trees,
Brushed by the current of the water-breeze;
And for their sakes, and love of all that rest,
On Duddon's margin, in the sheltering nest;
For all the startled scaly tribes that slink
Into his coverts, and each fearless link
Of dancing insects forged upon his breast;
For these, and hopes and recollections worn
Close to the vital seat of human clay;
Glad meetings-tender partings—that upstay
The drooping mind of absence, by vows sworn
In his pure presence near the trysting thorn;
I thanked the Leader of my onward way.

XXVI.

RETURN, Content! for fondly I pursued,

Even when a child, the Streams- unheard, unseen;
Through tangled woods, impending rocks between;
Or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed
The sullen reservoirs whence their bold brood,
Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keen,
Green as the salt-sea billows, white and green,
Poured down the hills, a choral multitude!
Nor have I tracked their course for scanty gains;
They taught me random cares and truant joys,
That shield from mischief and preserve from stains
Vague minds, while men are growing out of boys;
Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise
Impetuous thoughts that brook not servile reins.

XXIX.

No record tells of lance opposed to lance,
Horse charging horse, 'mid these retired domains;
Tells that their turf drank purple from the veins
Of heroes fallen, or struggling to advance,
Till doubtful combat issued in a trance
Of victory, that struck through heart and reins,
Even to the inmost seat of mortal pains,
And lightened o'er the pallid countenance.
Yet, to the loyal and the brave, who lie
In the blank earth, neglected and forlorn,
The passing Winds memorial tribute pay;
The Torrents chant their praise, inspiring scoru
Of power usurped with proclamation high,
And glad acknowledgment of lawful sway.

Fat KIRK of ULPHA to the Pilgrim's eye
seine as a Star, that doth present
ting forehead through the peaceful rent
a Mack cloud diffused o'er half the sky:
Or a fruitful palm-tree towering high

the parched waste beside an Arab's tent;
Indian tree whose branches, downward bent,

"a fort again, a boundless canopy.

13 et were leisure! could it yield no more Ta'ad that wave-washed Church-yard to recline, Pris pastoral graves extracting thoughts divine; De here to pace, and mark the summits hoar fcatant moon-lit mountains faintly shine, Sed by the unseen River's gentle roar.

Still glides the Stream, and shall not cease to glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied

The elements, must vanish; - be it so!

Enough, if something from our hands have power

To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as tow'rd the silent tomb we go,

Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,

We feel that we are greater than we know.*

POSTSCRIPT.

A POET, whose works are not yet known as they deserve to be, thus enters upon his description of the "Ruins of Rome:"

"The rising Sun

Flames on the ruins in the purer air Towering aloft;"

and ends thus

"The setting Sun displays

His visible great round, between yon towers,

As through two shady cliffs."

Mr. Crowe, in his excellent loco-descriptive Poem, "Lewesdon Hill," is still more expeditious, finishing the whole on a May-morning, before breakfast.

"To-morrow for severer thought, but now

To breakfast, and keep festival to-day." No one believes, or is desired to believe, that these Poems were actually composed within such limits of time; nor was there any reason why a prose statement should acquaint the Reader with the plain fact, to the disturbance of poetic credibility. But, in the present case, I am compelled to mention, that the above series of Sonnets was the growth of many years; - the one which stands the 14th was the first produced; and

*"And feel that I am happier than I know."- MILTON.

The allusion to the Greek Poet will be obvious to the classical reader.