"But we are pressed by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. "If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own, It is the man of mirth. "My days, my Friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs "And, Matthew, for thy Children dead I'll be a son to thee!" At this he grasped my hand, and said, "Alas! that cannot be." We rose up from the fountain-side; Of the green sheep-track did we glide; And, ere we came to Leonard's-rock, He sang those witty rhymes And the bewildered chimes. LINES Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected. LOUD is the Vale! the Voice is up With which she speaks when storms are gone; A mighty Unison of streams! Of all her Voices, One! Loud is the Vale ;-this inland Depth In peace is roaring like the Sea; Yon star upon the mountain-top Is listening quietly. Sad was I, even to pain deprest, And many thousands now are sad- A Power is passing from the earth That Man, who is from God sent forth, Doth yet again to God return? Such ebb and flow must ever be, Then wherefore should we mourn? 1 Importuna e grave salma.-Michael Angelo. ELEGIAC STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep; Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, U A Picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; A power is gone, which nothing can restore; Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been : The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O'tis a passionate Work-yet wise and well, And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, Housed, in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, GLEN-ALMAIN; OR, THE NARROW GLEN. In this still place, remote from men, Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, And every thing unreconciled ; |