Unpitied havoc! Victims unlamented! The choirs of Angels spread, triumphantly augmented. II "False Parent of Mankind! Obdurate, proud, and blind, I sprinkle thee with soft celestial dews, Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my wings, Of which the rivers in their secret springs, The rivers stained so oft with human gore, Are conscious;-may the like return no more! Shall be attended with a bolder prayer— Be chained for ever to the black abyss! The Spirit ended his mysterious rite, And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite, 20 30 XII 1816 WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF IN A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEM 'THE EXCURSION,' UPON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF THE LATE VICAR OF KENDAL 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, MURFITT saw and read ; Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed; He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart- Which good men take with them from earth to heaven. Nov. 13, 1814 9 XIII ELEGIAC STANZAS (ADDRESSED TO SIR G. H. B. UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER-IN-LAW) FOR a dirge! But why complain? Ask rather a triumphal strain When FERMOR's race is run ; A garland of immortal boughs To twine around the Christian's brows, We pay a high and holy debt; Ill-worthy, Beaumont ! were the grief Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel, And impotent to bear! Such once was hers-to think and think On severed love, and only sink From anguish to despair! But nature to its inmost part Faith had refined; and to her heart A peaceful cradle given : Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest Was ever Spirit that could bend So promptly from her lofty throne?— Pale was her hue; yet mortal cheek When aught had suffered wrong, When aught that breathes had felt a wound; But hushed be every thought that springs Her quiet is secure; No thorns can pierce her tender feet, As snowdrop on an infant's grave, As Vesper, ere the star hath kissed The mountain top, or breathed the mist Thou takest not away, O Death! The future brightens on our sight; Probably Dec. 1824 40 50 XIV ELEGIAC MUSINGS IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT OF THE LATE SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART. In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument bearing an Inscription which, in deference to the earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:-'Enter not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!'' WITH copious eulogy in prose or rhyme WIT Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time, Alas, how feebly! but our feelings rise And still we struggle when a good man dies. Such offering BEAUMONT dreaded and forbade, A spirit meek in self-abasement clad. Yet here at least, though few have numbered days That sense, the bland philosophy of life, Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife; ΤΟ Those rare accomplishments, and varied powers, That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed ;- 20 30 Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head; While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien, More than theatric force to Shakspeare's scene ;— If thou hast heard me-if thy Spirit know Aught of these bowers and whence their pleasures flow; Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's dream- 40 That said, 'Let praise be mute where I am laid'; The holier deprecation, given in trust Yet have we found how slowly genuine grief From silent admiration wins relief. Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up. Within these groves, where still are flitting by 50 Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh, Shall stand a votive Tablet, haply free, When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee! If sculptured emblems of our mortal doom Recall not there the wisdom of the Tomb, Green ivy risen from out the cheerful earth Will fringe the lettered stone; and herbs spring forth, Whose fragrance, by soft dews and rain unbound, Shall penetrate the heart without a wound; While truth and love their purposes fulfil, Commemorating genius, talent, skill, 60 That could not lie concealed where Thou wert known; Nov. 1830 XV WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF O a good Man of most dear memory Tr This Stone is sacred. Here he lies apart From the great city where he first drew breath, By duty chained. Not seldom did those tasks And poured out truth in works by thoughtful love ΙΟ 20 20 30 |