Blest work it is of love and innocence,
A Tower of refuge built for the else forlon
Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner,
Struggling for life, into its saving arms!
Spare, too, the human helpers! Do the
stir

'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid t die ?

No; their dread service nerves the heart i warms,

And they are led by noble HILLARY.

XV

BY THE SEASHORE, ISLE OF MAN 1833. 1835

WHY stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine,

With wonder smit by its transparency,
And all-enraptured with its purity?—
Because the unstained, the clear, the crys
talline,

Have ever in them something of benign;
Whether in gem, in water, or in sky,
A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye
Of a young maiden, only not divine.
Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its pals
For beverage drawn as from a mounte
well;

Temptation centres in the liquid Calm;
Our daily raiment seems no obstacle
To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea!
And revelling in long embrace with thee

self-reproach) have chanted elegies vailing his sad fate, when he was laid peaceful earth: for, doubtless, he was frank,

erly in himself devoid of guile; ew not the double-dealing of a smile; raught that makes men's promises a blank,

deadly snare: and He survives to bless e Power that saved him in his strange distress.

XVII

ISLE OF MAN

1833. 1835

D pangs of grief for lenient time too keen,

ief that devouring waves had caused, or guilt

hich they had witnessed-sway the man who built

is Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen,

ought heard, of ocean troubled or serene ? tired Ship-soldier on paternal land,

at o'er the channel holds august command,

he dwelling raised, -a veteran Marine. e, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea

o shun the memory of a listless life hat hung between two callings. May no

strife

lore hurtful here beset him, doomed though free,

elf-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye hrink from the daily sight of earth and sky!

XVIII

¡Y A RETIRED MARINER, H. H. Mrs. Wordsworth's Brother Henry. 1833. 1835

FROM early youth I ploughed the restless Main,

My mind as restless and as apt to change; Through every clime and ocean did I range, In hope at length a competence to gain; For poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.

Year after year I strove, but strove in vain,
And hardships manifold did I endure,
For Fortune on me never deigned to smile;
Yet I at last a resting-place have found,
With just enough life's comforts to procure,
In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle,
A peaceful spot where Nature's gifts
abound;

Then sure I have no reason to complain, Though poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.

XIX

AT BALA-SALA, ISLE OF MAN 1833. 1835

Supposed to be written by a friend (Mr.
Cookson) who died there a few years after.
BROKEN in fortune, but in mind entire
And sound in principle, I seek repose
Where ancient trees this convent-pile en-
close,

In ruin beautiful. When vain desire
Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire
To cast a soul-subduing shade on me,
A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee;
A shade but with some sparks of hea-
venly fire

Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when
I note

The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams

Of sunset ever there, albeit streams Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought,

I thank the silent Monitor, and say "Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!"

XX

TYNWALD HILL
1833. 1835

Mr. Robinson and I walked the greater part of the way from Castle-town to Piel, and stopped some time at Tynwald Hill. One of my companions was an elderly man, who in a muddy way (for he was tipsy) explained and answered, as far as he could, my enquiries about this place and the ceremonies held here. I found more agreeable company in some little children; one of whom, upon my request, re

cited the Lord's Prayer to me, and I helped her to a clearer understanding of it as well as I could; but I was not at all satisfied with my own part; hers was much better done, and I am persuaded that, like other children, she knew more about it than she was able to express, especially to a stranger.

ONCE on the top of Tynwald's formal mound

(Still marked with green turf circles narrowing

Stage above stage) would sit this Island's King,

The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned:

While, compassing the little mount around, Degrees and Orders stood, each under each: Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach

The power is merged, the pomp a grave

has found.

Off with yon cloud, old Snafell! that thine eye

Over three Realms may take its widest range;

And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy, If the whole State must suffer mortal change Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty.

XXI

1833. 1835

DESPOND who will-I heard a voice exclaim,

"Though fierce the assault, and shattered the defence,

It cannot be that Britain's social frame, The glorious work of time and providence, Before a flying season's rash pretence, Should fall; that She, whose virtue put to shame,

When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror's aim,

Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense

The cloud is; but brings that a day of doom To Liberty? Her sun is up the while, That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone:

Then laugh, ye innocent Vales! ye Streams,

XXII

IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE, AILSA CRAG

DURING AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, JULY 17 1833. 1835

The morning of the eclipse was exquisitely beautiful while we passed the Crag as described in the Sonnet. On the deck of the steamboat were several persons of the poor and labouring class, and I could not but be struck by the cheerful talk with each other, while not one of them seemed to notice the magnificent objects with which we were surrounded; and even the

phenomenon of the eclipse attracted but litt of their attention. Was it right not to regres this? They appeared to me, however, so muc alive in their own minds to their own concerts that I could not look upon it as a misfortune that they had little perception for such pleasures as cannot be cultivated without ease and leisure. Yet if one surveys life in all its duties and relations, such ease and leisure not be found so enviable a privilege as it may at first appear. Natural Philosophy, Painting and Poetry, and refined taste, are no dou great acquisitions to society; but among who dedicate themselves to such pursuits it is to be feared that few are as happy, and as esistent in the management of their lives, as the class of persons who at that time led me in this course of reflection. I do not mean by this to be understood to derogate from intellectus. pursuits, for that would be monstrous: I say? in deep gratitude for this compensation to thes whose cares are limited to the necessities a

those

daily life. Among them, self-tormentors, & numerous in the higher classes of society, ar

rare.

SINCE risen from ocean, ocean to defy, Appeared the crag of Ailsa, ne'er did mor With gleaming lights more gracefully ade His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead! high:

Now, faintly darkening with the sun' eclipse,

Still is he seen, in lone sublimity, Towering above the sea and little ships: For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing br. Each for her haven; with her freight it

Care, Pleasure, or Grief, and Toil that selda. looks

Into the secret of to-morrow's fare; Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books,

What need, then, of these finished Strains?
Away with counterfeit Remains!
An abbey in its lone recess,

A temple of the wilderness,

Wrecks though they be, announce with feeling

The majesty of honest dealing.
Spirit of Ossian! if imbound

In language thou may'st yet be found,
If aught (intrusted to the pen

Or floating on the tongues of men,
Albeit shattered and impaired)
Subsist thy dignity to guard,
In concert with memorial claim

20

Of old grey stone, and high-born name
That cleaves to rock or pillared cave
Where moans the blast, or beats the wave,
Let Truth, stern arbitress of all,
Interpret that Original,

And for presumptuous wrongs atone;—
Authentic words be given, or none !
Time is not blind; — yet He, who spares
Pyramid pointing to the stars,
Hath preyed with ruthless appetite
On all that marked the primal flight
Of the poetic ecstasy
Into the land of mystery.
No tongue is able to rehearse

One measure, Orpheus! of thy verse;
Musæus, stationed with his lyre
Supreme among the Elysian quire,
Is, for the dwellers upon earth,
Mute as a lark ere morning's birth.
Why grieve for these, though past away
The music, and extinct the lay?
When thousands, by severer doom,
Full early to the silent tomb

Have sunk, at Nature's call; or strayed
From hope and promise, self-betrayed;
The garland withering on their brows;
Stung with remorse for broken vows;
Frantic- else how might they rejoice?
And friendless, by their own sad choice!
Hail, Bards of mightier grasp! on you
I chiefly call, the chosen Few,

Who cast not off the acknowledged guide,
Who faltered not, nor turned aside;
Whose lofty genius could survive
Privation, under sorrow thrive;
In whom the fiery Muse revered
The symbol of a snow-white beard,

30

40

50

60

Bedewed with meditative tears
Dropped from the lenient cloud of years.
Brothers in soul! though distant times
Produced you nursed in various climes,
Ye, when the orb of life had waned,
A plenitude of love retained:
Hence, while in you each sad regret
By corresponding hope was met,
Ye lingered among human kind,
Sweet voices for the passing wind,
Departing sunbeams, loth to stop,
Though smiling on the last hill top!
Such to the tender-hearted maid
Even ere her joys begin to fade;
Such, haply, to the rugged chief
By fortune crushed, or tamed by grief;
Appears, on Morven's lonely shore,
Dim-gleaming through imperfect lore,
The Son of Fingal; such was blind
Mæonides of ampler mind;
Such Milton, to the fountain head
Of glory by Urania led!

XXVII

CAVE OF STAFFA
1833. 1835

WE saw, but surely, in the motley crowd.
Not One of us has felt the far-famed sight
How could we feel it? each the other's blight,
Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud.
O for those motions only that invite
The Ghost of Fingal to his tuneful Cave
By the breeze entered, and wave after wave
Softly embosoming the timid light!
And by one Votary who at will might stand
Gazing and take into his mind and heart,
With undistracted reverence, the effect
Of those proportions where the almighty
hand

That made the worlds, the sovereign Archi tect,

Has deigned to work as if with human Art!

XXVIII

CAVE OF STAFFA

AFTER THE CROWD HAD DEPARTED 1833. 1835

THANKS for the lessons of this Spot-t school

For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign