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TV Helvetian Girl, who daily braves,
In her light skiff, the tossing waves.
And quits the bosom of the deep
Only to climb the rugged steep 1 —
Say whence that modulated shout I
From Wood-nymph of Diana's throng?
Or does the greeting to a rout
Of giddy Bacchanals belong ?
Jubilant outery I rock and glade
Resounded, — but the voice obey'd
The breath of an Helvetian Maid.

Her beanty dazzles the thick wood;
Her courage anim:ites the flood;
Her steps th' clastic green-sward meets
Returning unreluctanl s\veets;
The mountains (as ye henrd) rejoice
Aloud, saluted by her voice I
Blithe paragon of Alpine grace,
Be as thou art; for through thy veins
The blood of Heroes runs its race I
And nobly wilt thou brook the chains
That, for the virtuous, Life prepares;
The fetters which the Matron wears;
The patriot Mother's weight of anxious
cares I

"Sweet Highland Girll a very shower
Of beanty was thy earthly dower,"
When thou didst flit before mine eyes,
(Jay Vision under sullen skies,
While Hope and Love around thee play'd,
Near the rough falls of Invcrsncyd 17
Have they, who nursed the blossom, seen
No breach of promise in the fruit?
Was joy. in following joy, as keen
As grief can be in griefs pursuit?
When youth had flown did hope still bless
Thy goings, — or the cheerfulness
Of innocence survive to mitigate distress?

But from our course why turn, to tread
A way with shadows overspread ;
Where what we gladliest would believe
Is fear'd as what may most deceive?
Bright Spirit, not with amaranth erown'd
But heath-bells from thy native ground,
Time cannot thin thy flowing hair,
Nor Lake one ray of light from Thee;
For in my Fancy thou dost share
The gift of immortality;
And there shall bloom, with Thee allied,

7 Soe the poem To a Highland Giri, page 1GO.

The Votaress by Lugano's side; And that intrepid Nymph on L'li's steep deseried I


The Youth whose death gave occasion to these elegiac verses was Frederick William Uoddard, 1'rom Boston in North America. He was in his twentieth year, and had resided for some time with a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Geneva for the completion of his education. Accompanied by a fellow-pupil, a native of Scotland, he hud just set out on a Swiss tour when it was bis misfortune to fall in with a friend of mine who was hastening to join onr party. The travellers, after spending a day together on the road from Berne and Solcure, took leave of each other ai night, the young men having intended to proceed directly to Zurich. We ascended the Klghi together; nd separated at an hour and on a spot 'ell suited to the parting of those who 'erc to meet no more. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on ic third succeeding day (tho21st of Angst) Mr. Goddard perished, being overset i .1 boat while erossing tiie lake or Zuich.

Lull'd by the sound of pastoral bells,
Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go,
From the dread summit of the Queen
Of mountains,8 through a deep ravine,
Where, in her holy chapel, dwells
" Our Lady of the Snow."

The sky was blue, the air was mild;
Free were the streams and green the bow-
As if, to rough assanlts unknown, [ers;
The genial spot had civr shown
A countenance that as sweetly smiled, —
The face of summer-hours.

And we were gay, our hearts at ease;
With pleasure dancing through the frame
We journey'd; all we knew of care,—
Our path that straggled hero and there;
Of trouble,— hut the fluttering breeze;
Of Winter, — but a name.

If foresight could have rent the veil
Of three short days,—but hush—no morel
Calm is the grave, and calmer none
Than that to which thy cares are gone,
Thou victim of the storm}' g^Ue;
Asleep on Zurich's shore I

8 The Latin name, n&iina Moiitinm, in Italian Mount Riyhi, siguifies Queen oi mountains.

O GoDDAitD! what art thou ?—a name,—
A sunbeam follow'd by a shade!
Nor more, for anght that time supplies,
The great, th' experienced, anii tin- wise
Too much from this frail Earth we claim,
And therefore are betray'd.

We met, while festive mirth ran wild,
Where, from a deep lake's mighty urn,
Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave,
A sea-green river, proud to lave,
With current swift and undeflled,
The towers of old Lucerne.

We parted upon solemn ground
Far-lifted towards th' unfading sky;
But all our thoughts were then of Earth,
That gives to common pleasures birth;
And nothing in our hearts we found
That prompted even a sigh.

Fetch, sympathising Powers of air,
Feteh, ye that post o'er seas and lands,
Herbs moisten'd by Virginian dew,
A most untimely grave to strew,
Whose turf may never know the care
Of kindred human hands I

Belov'd by every gentle Muse

He left his Transatlantic home :

Europe, a realised romance,

Had open'd on his eager glance;

What present bliss! what golden views!

What stores for years to come I

Tho' lodged within no vigorous frame,
His soul her daily tasks renew'd,
Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings
High poised, — or as the wren that sings
In shady places, to proclaim
Her modest gratitude.

Xot vain is sadly-ntterM praise;
The words of truth's memoriu! vow
Are sweet as morning fri:;rrance shod
From flowers'mid Goldal"s ruins8 Lied;
As evening's fondly-lingering rays.
On Kuan's silent brow.

Lamented Youth! to thy cold clay
Fit obsequies the Stranger paid;
And piety shall guard the Stone
Which hath not left the spot unknown
AVhere the wild waves resign'd their prey
And that which marks thy bed."

And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee,
Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;
This tribute from a casual Friend
A uot unwelcome aid may lend,
To feed the tender luxury,
The rising pang to smother."

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I COME, ye little noisy Crew,
Not long your pastime to prevent;
T heard the blessing which to you
Our common Friend and Father sent.
J kiss'd his cheek before he died;
And, when his breath was fled,
i raised, while kneeling by his side,
Tis hand:—it dropp'd like lead.

Your hands, dear Little-ones, do all
That can be done, will never fall
Like his till they are dead.
By night or day blow foul or fair,
Se'er will the best of all your train
Play with the locks of his white hair,
Or stand between his knees again.

Here did he sit confined for hours; Rut he could see the woods and plains, Could hear the wind and mark the showerf

Come streaming down the streaming panes. [mound

Now etreteh'd beneath his grass-green
lie rests a prisoner of the ground.
He loved the breathing air,
lie loved the Sun, bnt if it rise
Or set, to him where now he lies,
Brings not a moment's care.
Alas! what idle words; bnt take
The Dirge which, for our Master's sake
And yours, love prompted me to make.
The rhymes so homely in attire
With learned ears may ill agree,
Hnt chanted by your Orphan Quire
Will make a touching melody.


MoimN.Shepherd.nearthyoldgrey stone;
Thou Angler, by the silent flood;
And mourn when thou art all alone,
Thou Woodman, in the distant wood I

Thou one blind Sailor, rich in joy
Though blind, thy tunes in sadness hum;
And mourn, thou poor half-witted Boy I
Born deaf, and living deaf and dumb.

Thou drooping sick Man, bless the Guide Who check'd or turn'd thy headstrong As he before had sanctified [yonth,

Thy infancy with heavenly trnth.

Te Striplings, light of heart and gay.
Bold settlers on some foreign shore,
Give, when your thoughts are turn'd this
A sigh to him whom we deplore. [way.

For us who here in funeral strain
With one accord our voices raise,
Let sorrow overcharged with pain
Be lost in thankfulness and praise.

And when our hearts shall feel a sting
From ill we meet or good we miss,
May touches of his memory bring
Fond healing, like a mother's kiss. [l708.


Li is,-; time his pulse hath ceased to beat;
Bat benefits, his gift, we trace,
ExpressM in every eye we meet
Hound this dear Vale, his native place.

To stately nail and Cottage rnde
Flow'd Irom his life what still they hold.
Light pleasures, every day, renaw'd;
And blessings half a century old.

O true of heart, of spirit gay I
Thy faults, where not already gone
From memory, prolong their stay
For charity's sweet sake alone.

Such solace find we for our loss;
And what beyond this thought we crnva
Comes in the promise from the Cross,
Shining upon thy happy grave.'


Oommnnder of the East India
Ship the Earl of Abergaucnny, in which hs
perilihed by calamitous shipwreck, Feb. o(A,

The Sheep-boy whistled lond, and, lol
That instant, startled by the shock,
The Buzzard mounted from the rock
Deliberate and slow:
Lord of the air, he took his flight;
O, could he on that woful night
Have lent his wing, my Brother dear,
For one poor moment's space to Thee,
And all who struggled with the Sea,
When safety was so near!

Thus in the weakness of my heart

I spoke, (bnt let that pang be still,)

When rising from the rock at will,

I saw the Bird depart.

And let me calmly bless the Power

That meets me in this unknown Flower,

Affecting type of him I mourn I

With calmness suffer and believe,

And grieve, and know that I must grieve,

Not cheerless, though forlorn.

Here did we stop; and here look'd round
While each into himself descends,1
For that last thought of parting Friends
That is not to bo found.

l The subject of this piece is the same as of The Two April Morninrls and Thi F untain. See pages I46 and l47.

2 The point is two or three yards below the ontlet of Grisdale tarn on a footroad by which a horse may pass to I'atcrdole; a ridge of Hclvellyn on the lef\ and the summit of Fairflcld on the rigtt — Author's Notes, l843.

Hidden was Grasmore Vale friv.u sight,
Our home nnil his, his heart's delight,
His quiet heart's selected home.
I!ut time before him melts away,
And he hath feeling of a day
Of blessedness to come.

Full soon in sorrow did I weep,

Tanght that the mutual hope was dust, —

In sorrow, but for higher trust,

How miserably deep I

All vanish'd in a single word,

A breath, a sound, and scareely heard.

Sea— Ship—drown'd — Shipwreck—so it


The meek, the brave, the good, was gone;
He who had been our living John
Was nothing but a name.

That was indeed a parting! O,

Glad am I, glad that it is past!

For there were some on whom it cast

Unutterable woe.

But they as well as I have gains; —

From many a humble source, to pains

Like these, there comes a mild release;

Even here I feel it, even this Plants

Is in its beanty ministrant

To comfort and to peace.

He would have loved thy modest grace,
Meek Flower I To Him I would have said,
" It grows upon its native bed
Beside our Parting-place;
There, cleaving to the ground, it lies
With multitude of purple eyes,
Spangling a cushion green like moss;
But we will see it, joyful tide!
Some da}', to see it in its pride,
The mountain will we eross."

Brother and friend, if verse of mine
Have power to make thy virtues known,
Here let a monumental Stone
Stand, — saered as a Shrine;
And to the few who pass this way,
Traveller or Shepherd, let it say,

3 The pHnt alluded to is the Moss Campion. This most beantiful plant is scarce in England, though it is found in great abundance upon the mountains of Scotlan'l. The ilrst specimen 1 ever saw of it, in its native bed, was singularly fine, the tuft or cushion being at least eight inches in diameter, ana the root -voportionubly thick.

Long as these mighty rocks endure, —
O, do not Thou too fondly brood,
Although deserving of all good,
On any earthly hope, however pure I *

[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 I the Voice is up With which she speaks when storms are A mighty unison of streams I [gone,

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,
Impdrtunate 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,

A Power is passing from the Earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the great and good depart
What is it more than this, —

That Man, who is from God sent forth,
Doth yet again to God return ? —

4 The poet repeatedly celebrates the virtues and the sad death of his brother John. In a letter to his friend Sir George Beanmont, dated March 12, ISO.% he makes the following reflections, started by that event: "Why have we sympathies that make the best of us so afraid of inflicting pain and sorrow, which yet we see dealt about so lavishly by the supreme Governor? Why should our notions of right tov\'ards each other, and to all sentient beings within our influence, differ so vyidely from what appears to be His notion and rule, if everything were to end heret Would it not be blasphemy to say that, upon the supposition of tiie think, ing prmciple being destrolled by death, however inferiorwe may be to the Cause and Ruler of things, we have more "f love in our nature than He has ? The thought is monstrous; and yet how to get rid of it, except upon the supposition of another and a better wortd, 1 do not see. As to my departed brother, who Icadsour minds at present to these reflections, he walked all his life pure among many impure."

Such ebb and flow must ever be,

Then wherefore should we mourn? [1806.


(Addresseed to Sir O. H. B. upon the death

of his Sister-in-law.) O For a dirge 1 But why complain ? Ass lather a trinmphal strain Vr'hcu FEBMOii's race is run; A garland of immortal boughs To ! wine around the Christian's brows, Whose glorious work is done.

We pay a high and holy debt;

No tears of passionate regret

Shall stain this votive lay:

111-worthy, Beanmont I were the grief

That flings itself on wild relief

When . ','i iiilh have pass'd away.

Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel,

For ever covetous to feel,

And impotent to bearl

Such once was hers, — to think and think

On scver'd love, and only sink

From anguish to despair!

I!ut nature to its inmost part
Faith had refined; and to her heart
A peaceful eradle given:
Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest
Within a brecze-fann'd rose's breast
Till it exhales to Heaven.

Was ever Spirit that could bend

So graciously? — that could descend,

Another's need to suit,

So promptly from her lofty throne? —

In works of love, in these alone,

llow restless, how minute 1

1'ale was her hue; yet mortal cheek
Ne'er kindled with a livelier streak
When aught had suffer'd wrong, —
When anght that breathes had felt a


Such look th' Oppressor might confound,
However proud and strong.

But hush'd be every thought that springs
From out the bitterness of things;
Hor quiet is secure:
No thorns can pieree her tender feet,
Whose life was, like the violet, sweet,
As climbing jasmine, pure;

As snowdrop on an infant's grave,

Or lily heaving with the wave

That feeds it and defends;

As Vesper, ere the star hath kiss'd

The mountain-top, or breathed the mist

That from the vale ascends.

Thou takest not away, O Death!
Thou strikest, — absence perisheth,
Indifference is no more;
The future brightens on our sight;
For on the past hath fallen a light
That tempts us to adore.5 [1924.


When first, descending from the moor


I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide
Along a bare and open valley,
The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide."

When last along its banks I wander'd,
Thro' groves that had begun to shed
Their golden leaves upon the pathways,
My steps the Border-minstrel led.'

The mighty Minstrel breathes no longci,
'Mid mouldering ruins low he lies;'
And death upon the braes of Yarrow
Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes:»

6 This lady [Mrs. Frances Fci-mor] had been a widow long before 1 knew her. Her husband was of the family of the lady celebrated in The Rape uf the J.ock. The sorrow which his death cansed her was fearful in its character as deseribed in this poem, but was subdued in courso of time by the strength of her religious faith. I have been, for many weeks lit a time, an inmate with her at Coleortou Hall, as were also Mrs. Wordsworth and my 6ister. The truth in the sketch of her character here given was acknowledged with gratitude by her nearest relatives. She was eloquent in conversation, energetic upon public matters, open in respect to those,butslowto communicate her personal feelings; upon these she never touched in her intercourse with me, so that I could not regard myself as her confidential friend, and was'accordingly surprised when I leimit she had lell me a legacy of £100 as a token of her esteem. — Author's A'.i'.es, 184:i.

6 Alluding to the occasion of the poem yarrow Visited. See page Ki5

7 Alluding to the occasion of the poem Yurroio Revisited. See page 1<>7, note 10.

8 Sir Walter Scott died Sept. 21,1SB.

9 James Hogg, long and widely-distinguished at " the Ettrick Shepherd,* died in November, 1835.

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