Owen Lloyd, the subject of this epitaph, was born at Old Brathay, near Ambleside, and was the son of Charles Lloyd and his wife Sophia (née Pemberton), both of Birmingham, who came to reside in this part of the country soon after their marriage. They had many children, both sons and daughters, of whom the most remarkable was the subject of this epitaph. He was educated under Mr. Dawes, at Ambleside, Dr. Butler, of Shrewsbury, and lastly at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he would have been greatly distinguished as a scholar but for inherited infirmities of bodily constitution, which, from early childhood, affected his mind. His love for the neighbourhood in which he was born, and his sympathy with the habits and characters of the mountain yeomanry, in conjunction with irregular spirits, that unfitted him for facing duties in situations to which he was unaccustomed, induced him to accept the retired curacy of Langdale. How much he was beloved and honoured there, and with what feelings he discharged his duty under the oppression of severe malady, is set forth, though imperfectly, in the epitaph.

BY playful smiles (alas! too oft
A sad heart's sunshine), by a soft
And gentle nature, and a free
Yet modest hand of charity,

Through life was OWEN LLOYD endeared
To young and old; and how revered
Had been that pious spirit, a tide
Of humble mourners testified,
When, after pains dispensed to prove
The measure of God's chastening love,

Written at Rydal Mount. ETHEREAL minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?

Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood

Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home !

ODE

COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING

1826. 1835

This and the following poem originated in the lines "How delicate the leafy veil," etc. - My daughter and I left Rydal Mount upon a tour through our mountains with Mr. and Mrs. Carr in the month of May 1826, and as we were going up the vale of Newlands I was struck with the appearance of the little chapel gleaming through the veil of half-opened leaves; and the feeling which was then conveyed to my mind was expressed in the stanza referred to above. the case of "Liberty" and " Humanity," my first intention was to write only one poem, but subsequently I broke it into two, making additions to each part so as to produce a consistent and appropriate whole.

WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,

As in

Their own mysterious groves.

Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath,
Instinctive homage pay;

Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath
To honour thee, sweet May!
Where cities fanned by thy brisk airs
Behold a smokeless sky,

Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares
To open a bright eye.

And if, on this thy natal morn,

The pole, from which thy name Hath not departed, stands forlorn Of song and dance and game; Still from the village-green a vow Aspires to thee addrest, Wherever peace is on the brow, Or love within the breast.

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Yes! where Love nestles thou canst teari
The soul to love the more;
Hearts also shall thy lessons reach

That never loved before.

Stript is the haughty one of pride,
The bashful freed from fear,
While rising, like the ocean-tide,
In flows the joyous year.

Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse
The service to prolong!

To yon exulting thrush the Muse
Entrusts the imperfect song;
His voice shall chant, in accents clear,
Throughout the live-long day,

Till the first silver star appear,
The sovereignty of May.

TO MAY

1826-34. 1835

THOUGH many suns have risen and set
Since thou, blithe May, wert born,
And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget
Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn;
There are who to a birthday strain
Confine not harp and voice,
But evermore throughout thy reign
Are grateful and rejoice!

Delicious odours! music sweet,
Too sweet to pass away!
Oh for a deathless song to meet
The soul's desire- a lay
That, when a thousand years are told,
Should praise thee, genial Power!
Through summer heat, autumnal cold,
And winter's dreariest hour.

Earth, sea, thy presence feel-nor less,
If yon ethereal blue

With its soft smile the truth express,
The heavens have felt it too.
The inmost heart of man if glad

Partakes a livelier cheer;
And eyes that cannot but be sad
Let fall a brightened tear.

Since thy return, through days and weeks
Of hope that grew by stealth,

How many wan and faded cheeks
Have kindled into health !

The Old, by thee revived, have said,
"Another year is ours;"

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And yet how pleased we wander forth
When May is whispering, "Come!
Choose from the bowers of virgin earth
The happiest for your home;
Heaven's bounteous love through me is
spread

From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves,
Drops on the mouldering turret's head,
And on your turf-clad graves!"

Such greeting heard, away with sighs
For lilies that must fade,
Or "the rathe primrose as it dies
Forsaken" in the shade!

Vernal fruitions and desires

Are linked in endless chase;

While, as one kindly growth retires,
Another takes its place.

And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight;

If expectations newly blown

Have perished in thy sight;

If loves and joys, while up they sprung,
Were caught as in a snare;
Such is the lot of all the young,
However bright and fair.

Lo! Streams that April could not check
Are patient of thy rule;
Gurgling in foamy water-break,
Loitering in glassy pool:
By thee, thee only, could be sent
Such gentle mists as glide,

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Curling with unconfirmed intent,

On that green mountain's side.

How delicate the leafy veil

645

Through which yon house of God Gleams, mid the peace of this deep dale By few but shepherds trod ! And lowly huts, near beaten ways, No sooner stand attired

In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise Peep forth, and are admired.

Season of fancy and of hope,

Permit not for one hour,

A blossom from thy crown to drop,
Nor add to it a flower!
Keep, lovely May, as if by touch
Of self-restraining art,

This modest charm of not too much,
Part seen, imagined part!

"ONCE I COULD HAIL (HOWE'ER SERENE THE SKY)" 1826. 1827

"No faculty yet given me to espy

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The dusky Shape within her arms imbound." Afterwards, when I could not avoid seeing it, I wondered at this, and the more so because, like most children, I had been in the habit of watching the moon through all her changes, and had often continued to gaze at it when at the full, till half blinded.

"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme."

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
Percy's Reliques."

ONCE I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)
The Moon re-entering her monthly round,
No faculty yet given me to espy
The dusky Shape within her arms imbound,
That thin memento of effulgence lost
Which some have named her Predecessor's
ghost.

Young, like the Crescent that above me shone,
Nought I perceived within it dull or dim;
All that appeared was suitable to One
Whose fancy had a thousand fields to
skim;

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To expectations spreading with wild growth, And hope that kept with me her plighted

troth.

Out of a farewell yearning-favoured mo
Than kindred wishes mated suitably
With vain regrets
the Exile would e

sign

This Walk, his loved possession, to the ar Of those pure Minds that reverence Muse.

THE PILLAR OF TRAJAN
1826. 1827

These verses perhaps had better be tra ferred to the class of "Italian Poems." I had observed in the Newspaper, that the Pills Trajan was given as a subject for a prize-pen in English verse. I had a wish perhaps the my son, who was then an undergraduate Oxford, should try his fortune, and I told ha so; but he, not having been accustomed write verse, wisely declined to enter on th task; whereupon I showed him these lines as a proof of what might, without difficulty, done on such a subject.

WHERE towers are crushed, and unfe

bidden weeds

O'er mutilated arches shed their seeds; And temples, doomed to milder change

unfold

A new magnificence that vies with old;
Firm in its pristine majesty hath stood
A votive Column, spared by fire and
flood:

Ex

Ta