Sidor som bilder

And, while with all a mother's love

She from the lofty rocks above

Sent forth a cry forlorn,

The Lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer to that plaintive sound.

When he had learnt what thing it was,
That sent this rueful cry; I ween
The Boy recovered heart, and told
The sight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferred their task;
Nor was there wanting other aid -
A Poet, one who loves the brooks

Far better than the sages' books,

By chance had hither strayed;

And there the helpless Lamb he found By those huge rocks encompassed round.

He drew it gently from the pool,

And brought it forth into the light:

The Shepherds met him with his charge,

An unexpected sight!

Into their arms the Lamb they took,

Said they, "He's neither maimed nor scarred."

Then up the steep ascent they hied,
And placed him at his Mother's side;
And gently did the Bard

Those idle Shepherd-boys upbraid,
And bade them better mind their trade.

To II. C.


O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought

The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou faery Voyager! that dost float

In such clear water, that thy Boat
May rather seem

To brood on air than on an earthly stream;
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,
Where earth and heaven do make one imagery;

O blessed Vision! happy Child!
That art so exquisitely wild,

I think of thee with many fears

For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,
Lord of thy house and hospitality;
And Grief, uneasy Lover! never rest
But when she sute within the touch of thee.
O too industrious folly!

O vain and causeless melancholy!
Nature will either end thee quite:

Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right,

A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast Thou to do with sorrow,

Or the injuries of to-morrow?

Thou art a Dew-drop, which the morn brings forth,

Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks;

Or to be trailed along the soiling earth;

A gem that glitters while it lives,
And no forewarning gives;

But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife
Slips in a moment out of life.



From an unpublished Poem.

(This extract is reprinted from "THE FRIEND.")

WISDOM and Spirit of the Universe
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought'
And givest to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! not in vain,

By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
The passions that build up our human soul;
Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man,-
But with high objects, with enduring things,
With life and nature; purifying thus
The elements of feeling and of thought,
And sanctifying by such discipline
Both pain and fear,-until we recognise
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

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Yet at this impressive season, Words which tenderness can speak

From the truths of homely reason, Might exalt the loveliest cheek;

The Pack loud-bellowing, and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle: with the din
Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud;
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron; while the distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars, Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west The orange sky of evening ared away.

Not seldom from the uproar I retired

Into a silent bay, or sportively

Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,

To cut across the reflex of a Star,

Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain: and oftentimes,
When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side
Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still
The rapid line of motion, then at once
Have I, reclining back upon my heels,
Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs
Wheeled by me-even as if the earth had rolled
With visible motion her diurnal round!
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.*

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And, while around it storm as fierce seemed troubling Strong as an eagle with my charge I glided round and earth and air,


I saw, within, the Norman boy kneeling alone in prayer. The wide-spread boughs, for view of door, window, and stair that wound

The child, as if the thunder's voice spake with articu- Gracefully up the gnarled trunk; nor left we unsurveyed late call, The pointed steeple peering forth from the centre of the shade.

Bowed meekly in submissive fear, before the Lord of All;
His lips were moving; and his eyes, upraised to sue for

I lighted-opened with soft touch the chapel's iron door, With soft illumination cheered the dimness of that place. Past softly leading in the boy; and, while from roof to



From floor to roof all round his eyes the child with wonder cast,

Pleasure on pleasure crowded in, each livelier than the last.

How beautiful is holiness!-what wonder if the sight,
Almost as vivid as a dream, produced a dream at night?
It came with sleep and showed the boy, no cherub, not

But the poor ragged thing whose ways my human heart had warmed.

For, deftly framed within the trunk, the sanctuary showed,

Me had the dream equipped with wings, so I took him By light of lamp and precious stones, that glimmered in my arms,

here, there glowed,

And lifted from the grassy floor, stilling his faint alarms,
And bore him high through yielding air my debt of love

Shrine, altar, image, offerings hung in sign of gratitude;
Sight that inspired accordant thoughts and speech I

thus renewed:

to pay,

By giving him for both our sakes, an hour of holiday.

I whispered, Yet a little while, dear child! thou art my own,

To show thee some delightful thing, in country or in


What shall it be? a mirthful throng? or that holy place
and calm

St. Denis, filled with royal tombs, or the Church of
Notre Dame?

"St. Ouen's golden Shrine? Or choose what else would please thee most

Of any wonder Normandy, or all proud France, can boast!"

"My mother," said the boy, "was born near to a blessed
The Chapel Oak of Allonville; good Angel, show it me!"

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On wings, from broad and steadfast poise let loose by "Then offer up thy heart to God in thankfulness and this reply, praise, For Allonville, o'er down and dale, away then did Give to Him prayers, and many thoughts, in thy most we fly; busy days;

O'er town and tower we flew, and fields in May's fresh And in His sight the fragile cross, on thy small hut. verdure drest; will be

The wings they did not flag; the child, though grave, Holy as that which long hath crowned the chapel of was not deprest. this tree;

But who shall show, to waking sense, the gleam of light "Holy as that far seen which crowns the sumptuous Church in Rome

that broke

Forth from his eyes, when first the boy looked down on Where thousands meet to worship God under a mighty that huge oak, dome;

For length of days so much revered, so famous where He sees the bending multitude, he hears the choral it stands rites,

For twofold hallowing - Nature's care, and work of Yet not the less, in children's hymns and lonely prayer, numan hands? delights.

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