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XLIV

TROUBLES OF CHARLES THE FIRST

1821 1822

EVEN Such the contrast that, where'er we move,
To the mind's eye Religion doth present;
Now with her own deep quietness content;
Then, like the mountain, thundering from above
Against the ancient pine-trees of the grove

And the Land's humblest comforts. Now her mood
Recalls the transformation of the flood,

Whose rage the gentle skies in vain reprove;
Earth cannot check. O terrible excess

Of headstrong will! Can this be Piety?

No some fierce Maniac hath usurped her name; And scourges England struggling to be free:

Her peace destroyed! her hopes a wilderness!

Her blessings cursed her glory turned to shame!

XLV 65

LAUD

1821 1822

PREJUDGED by foes determined not to spare,
An old weak Man for vengeance thrown aside,
Laud, "in the painful art of dying" tried,
(Like a poor bird entangled in a snare
Whose heart still flutters, though his wings forbear
To stir in useless struggle) hath relied

On hope that conscious innocence supplied,
And in his prison breathes celestial air.

Why tarries then thy chariot? Wherefore, stay,
O Death! the ensanguined yet triumphant wheels,
Which thou prepar'st, full often, to convey
(What time a State with madding faction reels)
The Saint or Patriot to the world that heals
All wounds, all perturbations doth allay?

XLVI

AFFLICTIONS OF ENGLAND

1821 1822

HARP! could'st thou venture, on thy boldest string,
The faintest note to echo which the blast

Caught from the hand of Moses às it passed
O'er Sinai's top, or from the Shepherd king,
Early awake, by Siloa's brook, to sing

Of dread Jehovah; then, should wood and waste
Hear also of that name, and mercy cast
Off to the mountains, like a covering

Of which the Lord was weary. Weep, oh! weep,
Weep with the good, beholding King and Priest
Despised by that stern God to whom they raise
Their suppliant hands; but holy is the feast
He keepeth; like the firmament his ways:
His statutes like the chambers of the deep.

PART III

FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE PRESENT TIMES

1821

1822

When I came to this part of the series I had the dream described in this Sonnet. The figure was that of my daughter, and the whole passed exactly as here represented. The Sonnet was composed on the middle road leading from Grasmere to Ambleside: it was begun as I left the last house of the vale, and finished, word for word as it now stands, before I came in view of Rydal. I wish I could say the same of the five or six hundred I have written: most of them were frequently retouched in the course of composition, and, not a few, laboriously.

I have only further to observe that the intended Church which prompted these Sonnets was erected on Coleorton Moor towards the centre of a very populous parish between three and four miles from Ashby-de-la-Zouch, on the road to Loughborough, and has proved, I believe, a great benefit to the neighbourhood.

I

I SAW the figure of a lovely Maid
Seated alone beneath a darksome tree,
Whose fondly-overhanging canopy

Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade.
No Spirit was she; that my heart betrayed,
For she was one I loved exceedingly;

But while I gazed in tender reverie

(Or was it sleep that with my Fancy played?) The bright corporeal presence — form and face Remaining still distinct grew thin and rare,

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Like sunny mist; — at length the golden hair,

--

Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace Each with the other in a lingering race

Of dissolution, melted into air.

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