WRITTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF IN "THE COMPLETE ANGLER" 1819. 1819

WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport,

Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign!

Whose pen,
the mysteries of the rod and line
Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort
To reverend watching of each still report
That Nature utters from her rural shrine.
Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline,
He found the longest summer day too short,
To his loved pastime given by sedgy Lee,
Or down the tempting maze of Shawford
brook

Fairer than life itself, in this sweet Book,
The cowslip-bank and shady willow-tree;
And the fresh meads where flowed, from
every nook

Of his full bosom, gladsome Piety!

CAPTIVITY - MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

1819. 1819

"As the cold aspect of a sunless way Strikes through the Traveller's frame with deadlier chill,

Oft as appears a grove, or obvious hill,
Glistening with unparticipated ray,
Or shining slope where he must never stray;
So joys, remembered without wish or will
Sharpen the keenest edge of present ill,
On the crushed heart a heavier burthen lay.
Just Heaven, contract the compass of my
mind

To fit proportion with my altered state!
Quench those felicities whose light I find
Reflected in my bosom all too late! -
O be my spirit, like my thraldom, strait;
And, like mine eyes that stream with sor-
row, blind!"

TO A SNOWDROP
1819. 1819

LONE Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they

But hardier far, once more I see thee bend
Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by
day,

Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay

The rising sun, and on the plains descend; Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blueeyed May

Shall soon behold this border thickly set With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers; Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring,

And pensive monitor of fleeting years!

ON SEEING A TUFT OF SNOWDROPS IN A STORM

1819. 1820

WHEN haughty expectations prostrate lie, And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing, Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring Mature release, in fair society

Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try; Like these frail snowdrops that together cling,

And nod their helmets, smitten by the wing Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by. Observe the faithful flowers! if small to

great

May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand

The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate; And so the bright immortal Theban band, Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command,

Might overwhelm, but could not separate!

I could write a treatise of lamentation upon the changes brought about among the cottages of Westmoreland by the silence of the spinningwheel. During long winter nights and wet days, the wheel upon which wool was spun gave employment to a great part of a family. The old man, however infirm, was able to card the wool, as he sate in the corner by the fireside; and often, when a boy, have I admired the cylinders of carded wool which were softly

laid upon each other by his side. Two wheels

were often at work on the same floor; and others of the family, chiefly little children, were occupied in teasing and cleaning the wool to fit it for the hand of the carder. So that all, except the smallest infants, were contributing to mutual support. Such was the employment that prevailed in the pastoral vales. Where wool was not at hand, in the small rural towns, the wheel for spinning flax was almost in as constant use, if knitting was not preferred; which latter occupation has the advantage (in some cases disadvantage) that, not being of necessity stationary, it allowed of gossiping about from house to house, which good housewives reckoned an idle thing.

GRIEF, thou hast lost an ever-ready friend Now that the cottage Spinning-wheel is mute;

And Care a comforter that best could suit

Her froward mood, and softliest reprehend; And Love a charmer's voice, that used to lend,

More efficaciously than aught that flows From harp or lute, kind influence to compose

The throbbing pulse - else troubled without end:

Even Joy could tell, Joy craving truce and

rest

From her own overflow, what power sedate
On those revolving motions did await
Assiduously to soothe her aching breast;
And, to a point of just relief, abate
The mantling triumphs of a day too blest.

Suggested in front of Rydal Mount, the rocky parapet being the summit of Loughrigg Fell opposite. Not once only, but a hundred times, have the feelings of this Sonnet been awakened by the same objects seen from the same place.

I WATCH, and long have watched, with calm regret

Yon slowly-sinking star immortal Sire (So might he seem) of all the glittering quire!

Blue ether still surrounds him—yet— and yet;

But now the horizon's rocky parapet

Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire,

Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid
This venerable Tree; for, when the wind
Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking
sound

(Above the general roar of woods and crags)

Distinctly heard from far - —a doleful note! As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed)

The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed Some bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved, By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost Haunts the old trunk; lamenting deeds of

which

For that from turbulence and heat
Proceeds, from some uneasy seat
In nature's struggling frame,
Some region of impatient life:
And jealousy, and quivering strife,
Therein a portion claim.

This, this is holy; - while I hear
These vespers of another year,
This hymn of thanks and praise,
My spirit seems to mount above
The anxieties of human love,
And earth's precarious days.

But list! though winter storms be nigh,
Unchecked is that soft harmony:

There lives Who can provide

For all his creatures; and in Him,
Even like the radiant Seraphim,

These choristers confide.

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DEPARTING Summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.

No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.

Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:

Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!

Yet will I temperately rejoice;

Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;

Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion's feverish dreams.

For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;

But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.

Not such the initiatory strains Committed to the silent plains In Britain's earliest dawn:

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Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale, While all-too-daringly the veil

Of nature was withdrawn !

Nor such the spirit-stirring note When the live chords Alcæus smote, Inflamed by sense of wrong;

Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.

And not unhallowed was the page
By winged Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit;

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