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Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Importunate and heavy load!!
The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;

And many thousands now are sad -
Wait the fulfilment of their fear;
For he must die who is their stay,
Their glory disappear.

Not without heavy grief of heart did He,
On whom the duty fell (for at that time
The Father sojourned in a distant Land),
Deposit in the hollow of this Tomb
A Brother's Child, most tenderly beloved !
Francesco was the name the Youth had borne,
Pozzobonnelli his illustrious House ;
And, when beneath this stone the Corse was laid,

of all Savona streamed with tears.
Alas! the twentieth April of his life
llad scarcely flowered : and at this early time,
By genuine virtue he inspired a hope
That greatly chcered his Country: to his Kia
lle promised comfort; and the flattering thoughts
llis Friends had in their fondness entertained, ·
Ile suffered not to languisha or decay.
Now is there not good reason to break forth
loco a passionate Jament?-0 Soul!
Short while a Pilgrim in our pether world,
Do thou enjoy the calm empyreal air;
And round this earthly tomb let roses rise,
An everlasting spring! in memory
Of that delightful fragrance which was once,
From thy mild manners, quietly exhaled.

A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the Mighty pass away
What is it more than this,

That Man, who is from God sent forth,
Doth yet again to God return ?-
Such ebb aud flow must ever be;
Then wherefore should we mourn?


Wrliten, November 13, 1814, on a blank leaf le a copy of the sa

thor's Poem • The Excursion," upon bearing of the death of late vicar of Kendal.

Pause, courteous Spirit!—Balbi supplicates
That Thou, with no reluctant voice, for him
llere laid in mortal darkness, wouldst prefer
A prayer to the Redeemer of the world.
This to the Dead by sacred right belongs ;
All else is nothing.–Did occasion suit
To tell his worth, the marble of this tomb
Would ill suflice : for Plato's lore sublime,
And all the wisdom of the Stagyrite,
Enriched and beautified his studious mind :
With Archimedes also he conversed
As with a chosen Friend, nor did he leave
Those laureat wreaths ungathered which the Nymphs
Twine on the top of Pindus.-Finally,
Himself above each lower thought uplifting,
llis ears he closed to listen to the Song
Which Sion's Kings did consecrate of old;
And fixed his Pindus upon Lebanon.
A blessed Man! who of protracted days
Made not, as thousands do, a vulgar sleep;
But truly did He live his life.-Urbino,
Take pride in him !-O Passenger, farewell!

To public notice, with reluctance strong,
Did I deliver this unfinished Song;
Yet for one happy issue ;-and I look
With self-congratulation on the Book
Which pious, learned MurFitr saw and read ;-
Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed ;
He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart-
Foreboding not how soon he must depart;
Unweeting that to him the joy was given
Which goed Men take with them from Earth to flearen i




I was thy Neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee :
I saw thee every day; and all the while
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.

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So pure the sky, so quiet was the air; Composed at Grasmere, during a walk, ono Evening, after a stormy So like, so very like, was day to day!

day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolu- Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there;
tion of Mr fox was hourly expected.

It trembled, but it never passed away.
Loup is the Vale! the Voice is up
With which she speaks when storms are gone,

How perfect was the calm! it seemed po sleep;
A mighty Unison of streams!

No mood, which season takes away, or brings : Of all her Voices, One!

I could have fancied that the mighty Deep

Was even the gentlest of all gentie Things.
Loud is the Vale;—this inland Depth
In peace is roaring like the Sea;

Ah! then, if mine had been the Painter's band,
Yon Star upon the mountain-top

To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, Is listening quietly.

The lustre, known to neither sea nor land,
'In justice to the Autbor, I subjoin the original.

But borrowed from the youthful Poet's dream;
e degli amici
Non lasciava languire i bei, easieri.

'Imporiona e grave salma.-M.CATEL Ancaso.

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Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young Lambs bound

As to the labor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong:
The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep,
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,

And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the beart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday ;-

Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy

Shepherd Boy!

A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind :

From regions where no evil thing has birth I come-thy stains to wash away, Thy cherished fellers to upbind, To open thy sad eyes upon a milder day. The Heavens are thronged with martyrs that have risen

From out thy noisome prison;

The penal caverns groan
With tens of thousands rent from off the tree
Of hopeful life,—by Battle's whirlwind blown
Into the deserts of Eternity.

« Unpitied havoc! Victims unlamented !
But not on high, where madoess is resented,
And murder causes some sad tears to flow,
Though, from the widely-sweeping blow,
The choirs of Angels spread, triuinphantly augmented.

« False Parent of Mankind!

Obdurate, proud, and blind,
I sprinkle thee with soft celestial dews,
Thy lost maternal heart to re-infuse !
Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my wings,
['pon the act a blessing I implore,
Of which the rivers in their secret springs,
The rivers stained so oft with liuman core,
Are conscious ; -may the like return no more!
May Discord- for a Serapli's care
Shall be attended with a bolder prayer-
May she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss

These morlal spheres above,
Be chained for ever to the black abyss!
And thou, O rescued Earth, by peace and love,
Aud merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!»

The Spirit eoded his mystcrious rite,
And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite.

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call

Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ;
My heart is at your festival,

My head bath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel I feel it all.

Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While the Earth herself is adorning,

This sweet May-morning,
And the Children are pulling,

On every side,
Jo a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his mother's arm :

I liear, I hear, with joy I hear!

-- But there's a Tree, of many one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone :

The Pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?




The Child is Fatber of the lan,
And I could wish my days to bo
Bound each to each by natural piety.

See puge 15.

THERE was a time when meadow, grove,

and stream, The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seement

Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath beeu of yore;

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can sce no more.

The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,

The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting :
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home : Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the ligbt, and whence it flows,

lle sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the East

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,

And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind,

And no unworthy aim,

The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, lier Jumate Man,

Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came.

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six-years' Darling of a pigmy size!
Sce where mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his Mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his Father's eyes!
Sce, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;

A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;

And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song :

Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,

And with new joy and pride
The little Actor cops another part;
Filling from time to time his « humorous stage»
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with ber in her equipage;

As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.

Fallings from us, vanishings;

Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
fligh instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised :

But for those first affections,

Those shadowy recollections,

Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the beiog
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,

To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,

Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!

Hence, in a season of calm weather,

Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea

Which brought us hither,

Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie

Thy Soul's immensity; Thou best Philosophier, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,

Michey Prophet! Scer blest!

On wliom thosc truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy Being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The Years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young Lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the Mag!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind,
In the primal sympathy
Which liaving been must ever be,

In the soothing thoughts ihat spring
Out of human suffering.

In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.

O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doch live,
That nature yet remembers

What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction : not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast :-

Not for these I raisc

The song of thanks and praise;
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,

And 0 ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Think not of any severing of our loves !
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your miglit;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day

Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie 100 deep for tears.

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