And caught the fragrance which the sundry flowers, Fed by the stream with soft perpetual showers, Plenteously yielded to the vagrant breeze. There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness; The trembling eyebright showed her sapphire blue,* The thyme her purple, like the blush of even; And, if the breath of some to no caress Invited, forth they peeped so fair to view, All kinds alike seemed favourites of Heaven.
Without restraint. How swiftly have they flown, Succeeding-still succeeding! Here the Child Puts, when the high-swoln Flood runs fierce and wild, His budding courage to the proof; - and here Declining Manhood learns to note the sly And sure encroachments of infirmity,
Thinking how fast time runs, life's end how near!
"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; Enraptured, could he for himself engage The thousandth part of what the Nymph bestows, And what the little careless Innocent Ungraciously 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, That tunes on Duddon's banks her slender voice.
NOT so that Pair whose youthtuì 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!
Abodes of Naiads, calm abysses pure, Bright liquid mansions, fashioned to endure When the broad Oak drops, a leafless skeleton, And the solidities of mortal pride,
Palace and Tower, are crumbled into dust!
The Bard who walks with Duddon for his guide, Shall find such toys of Fancy thickly set: Turn from the sight, enamoured Muse—we must; And, if thou canst, leave them without regret!
Was it by mortals sculptured? — weary slaves Of slow endeavour! or abruptly cast Into rude shape by fire, with roaring blast Tempestuously let loose from central caves? Or fashioned by the turbulence of waves, Then, when o'er highest hills the Deluge passed?
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!
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!
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,f 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 it came!
Mother of LOVE! for this deep vale, protect Truth's holy lamp, pure source of bright effect, Gifted to purge the vapoury atmosphere That seeks to stifle it; -as in those days When this low Pile* a Gospel Teacher knew, Whose good works formed an endless retinue: Such Priest as Chaucer sang in fervent lays; Such 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!
My frame hath often trembled with delight When hope presented some far-distant good, That seemed from heaven descending, like the flood Of yon pure waters, from their aëry height Hurrying, with lordly Duddon to unite; Who, 'mid a world of images imprest
On the calm depth of his transparent breast, Appears to cherish most that Torrent white, The fairest, softest, liveliest of them all! And seldom hath ear listened to a tune More lulling than the busy hum of Noon, Swoln by that voice- - whose murmur musical Announces to the thirsty fields a boon Dewy and fresh, till showers again shall fall.
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.
This Nook, with woodbine hung and straggling weed, | Flung from yon cliff a shadow large and cold.—
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 deep And lasting terror through that ancient Hold. Its line of Warriors fled; — they shrunk when tried By ghostly power: - but Time's unsparing hand Hath plucked such foes, like weeds, from out the land And now, if men with men in peace abide, All other strength the weakest may withstand, All worse assaults may safely be defied.
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.
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.
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 scorn Of power usurped with proclamation high, And glad acknowledgment of lawful sway.
FALLEN, and diffused into a shapeless heap,
Or quietly self-buried in earth's mould,
Is tha embattled House, whose massy Keep
WHO swerves from innocence, who makes divorce Of that serene companion -a good name, Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame,
With doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse: And oft-times he, who, yielding to the force Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end, From chosen comrade turns, or faithful friend, In vain shall rue the broken intercourse. Not so with such as loosely wear the chain That binds them, pleasant River! to thy side:- Through the rough copse wheel Thou with hasty stride, I choose to saunter o'er the grassy plain, Sure, when the separation has been tried, That we, who part in love, shall meet again.
THE KIRK of ULPHA to the Pilgrim's eye Is welcome as a Star, that doth present
Its shining forehead through the peaceful rent Of a black cloud diffused o'er half the sky: Or as a fruitful palm-tree towering high O'er the parched waste beside an Arab's tent; Or the Indian tree whose branches, downward bent, Take root again, a boundless canopy.
How sweet were leisure! could it yield no more Than 'mid that wave-washed Church-yard to recline, From pastoral graves extracting thoughts divine; Or there to pace, and mark the summits hoar Of distant moon-lit mountains faintly shine, Soothed by the unseen River's gentle roar.
The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast Where all his unambitious functions fail. And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be free, The sweets of earth contentedly resigned, And each tumultuous working left behind At seemly distance, to advance like Thee, Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm of mind And soul, to mingle with Eternity.
AFTER THOUGHT.
I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away. - Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
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.*
Nor hurled precipitous from steep to steep; Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands Held; but in radiant progress tow'rd the Deep Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep Sink, and forget their nature; - now expands Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands Gliding in silence with unfettered sweep! Beneath an ampler sky a region wide
Is opened round him:- hamlets, towers, and towns, And blue-topped hills, behold him from afar; In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied, Spreading his bosom under Kentish Downs, With Commerce freighted, or triumphant War.
But here no cannon thunders to the gale; Upon the wave no haughty pendants cast A crimson splendour; lowly is the mast That rises here, and humbly spread the sail; While, less disturbed than in the narrow Vale Through which with strange vicissitudes he passed,
A POET, whose works are not yet known as they deserve to be, thus enters upon his description of the "Ruins of Rome:"
Flames on the ruins in the purer air Towering aloft;"
"The setting Sun displays
Ilis 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 classcal reader.
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