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I see its truth with unreluctant eyes;
O, my Beloved? I have done thee wrong,
Conscious of blessedness, but, whence it
sprung,

Ever too heedless, as I now perceive :
Morn into noon did pass, noon into eve,
And the old day was welcome as the young,
As welcome, and as beautiful-in sooth
More beautiful, as being a thing more holy:
Thanks to thy virtues, to the eternal youth
Of all thy goodness, never melancholy;
To thy large heart and humble mind, that

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Who carols thinking of his Love and nest, And seems, as more incited, still more blest. Thanks; thou hast snapped a fire-side Prisoner's chain,

Exulting Warbler! eased a fretted brain, And in a moment charmed my cares to rest.

Yes, I will forth, bold Bird! and front the blast,

That we may sing together, if thou wilt, So loud, so clear, my Partner through life's day,

Mute in her nest love-chosen, if not lovebuilt

Like thine, shall gladden, as in seasons past,

Thrilled by loose snatches of the social Lay. Rydal Mount, 1838.

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Faith had her arch-her arch, when winds Swept onwards, did the vision cross your blow loud,

Into the consciousness of safety thrilled; And love her towers of dread foundation laid

Under the grave of things; Hope had her spire

Star high, and pointing still to something higher;

Trembling I gazed, but heard a voice-it

said

"Hell-gates are powerless Phantoms when we build."

XLV.

view?

Yes, ye were startled;—and, in balance true, Weighing the mischief with the promised gain,

Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on

you

To share the passion of a just disdain.

XLVII.

AT FURNESS ABBEY.

HERE, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing,

Man left this Structure to become Time's prey,

ON THE PROJECTED KENDAL AND WIN- A soothing Spirit follows in the way
That Nature takes, her counter-work pursu

DERMERE RAILWAY.

Is then no nook of English ground secure From rash assault? Schemes of retirement

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WELL have yon Railway Laborers to THIS ground

Withdrawn for noontide rest. They sit, they walk

Among the Ruins, but no idle talk

Is heard; to grave demeanor all are bound; And from one voice a Hymn with tuneful sound

Hallows once more the long-deserted Quire And thrills the old sepulchral earth, around. Others look up, and with fixed eyes admire That wide-spanned arch, wondering how it was raised,

To keep, so high in air, its strength and grace:

All seem to feel the spirit of the place,
And by the general reverence God is praised:
Profane Despoilers, stand ye not reproved,
While thus these simple-hearted men are
moved?

June 21st, 1845.

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Then, when some rock or hill is overpast, Perchance without one look behind me cast,

Some barrier with which Nature, from the birth

Of things, has fenced this fairest spot on earth.

O pleasant transit, Grasmere! to resign Such happy fields, abodes so calm as thine: Not like an outcast with himself at strife; The slave of business, time, or care for life, But moved by choice; or, if constrained in part,

Yet still with Nature's freedom at the

heart;

To cull contentment upon wildest shores, And luxuries extract from bleakest moors; With prompt embrace all beauty to enfold, And having rights in all that we behold.

Then why these lingering steps?-A bright adieu,

For a brief absence, proves that love is true; Ne'er can the way be irksome or forlorn That winds into itself for sweet return.

II.

AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS.

1803.

SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH.

I SHIVER, Spirit fierce and bold,
At thought of what I now behold:
As vapors breathed from dungeons cold
Strike pleasure dead,

So sadness comes from out the mould
Where Burns is laid.

And have I then thy bones so near
And thou forbidden to appear?
As if it were thyself that's here

I shrink with pain;

And both my wishes and my fear
Alike are vain.

Off weight-nor press on weight!-away With chastened feelings would I pay Dark thoughts !-they came, but not to stay:

The tribute due

To him, and aught that hides his clay

From mortal view.

Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth
He sang, his genius "glinted" forth,
Rose like a star that touching earth,

For so it seems,
Doth glorify its humble birth

With matchless beams.

The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow, The struggling heart, where be they now?Full soon the Aspirant of the plough,

The prompt, the brave,

Slept, with the obscurest, in the low
And silent grave.

I mourned with thousands, but as one
More deeply grieved, for He was gone
Whose light I hailed when first it shone,
And showed my youth

How Verse may build a princely throne
On humble truth.

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