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Kindly emotion tending to console

And reconcile; and both with young and old
Exalt the sense of thoughtful gratitude
For benefits that still survive, by faith
In progress, under laws divine, maintained.
Rydal Mount, March, 26, 1842.

XIV.

TO A CHILD.

WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM.

SMALL service is true service while it lasts.
Of humblest Friends, bright Creature! scorn

not one;

The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun. 1834.

XV.
LINES

WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF THE COUNTESS OF
LONSDALE, NOV. 5, 1834.

LADY! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard,
Among the Favoured, favoured not the least)
Left, 'mid the Records of this Book inscribed,
Deliberate traces, registers of thought
And feeling, suited to the place and time
That gave them birth :-months passed, and
still this hand,

That had not been too timid to imprint
Words which the virtues of thy Lord inspired,
Was yet not bold enough to write of Thee.
And why that scrupulous reserve? In sooth
The blameless cause lay in the Theme itself.
Flowers are there many that delight to strive
With the sharp wind, and seem to court the
shower,

Yet are by nature careless of the sun

Whether he shine on them or not; and some,
Where'er he moves along the unclouded sky,
Turn a broad front full on his flattering beams:
Others do rather from their notice shrink,
Loving the dewy shade,-a humble band,
Modest and sweet, a progeny of earth,
Congenial with thy mind and character,
High-born Augusta!

Thus, Lady, is retiredness a veil
That, while it only spreads a softening charm
O'er features looked at by discerning eyes,
Hides half their beauty from the common gaze;
And thus, even on the exposed and breezy hiil
Of lofty station, female goodness walks,
When side by side with lunar gentleness,
As in a cloister. Yet the grateful Poor
(Such the immunities of low estate,
Plain Nature's enviable privilege,

Her sacred recompence for many wants)
Open their hearts before Thee, pouring out
All that they think and feel, with tears of joy,
And benedictions not unheard in heaven:
And friend in the ear of friend, where speech is
free

To follow truth, is eloquent as they.

Then let the Book receive in these prompt

lines

A just memorial; and thine eyes consent
To read that they who mark thy course behold
A life declining with the golden light

Of summer, in the season of sere leaves;
See cheerfulness undamped by stealing Time;
See studied kindness flow with easy stream.
Illustrated with inborn courtesy;
And an habitual disregard of self
Balanced by vigilance for others' weal.

And shall the Verse not tell of lighter gifts
With these ennobling attributes conjoined
And blended, in peculiar harmony,
By Youth's surviving spirit? What agile grace!
A nymph-like liberty, in nymph-like form,
Beheld with wonder; whether floor or path
Thou tread; or sweep-borne on the managed
steed-

Fleet as the shadows, over down or field,
Driven by strong winds at play among the
clouds.

Yet one word more-one farewell word-a
wish

Which came, but it has passed into a prayer-
That, as thy sun in brightness is declining,
So-at an hour yet distant for their sakes
Whose tender love, here faltering on the way
Of a diviner love, will be forgiven-
So may
it set in peace, to rise again

Witness Towers, and Groves!
And Thou, wild Stream, that giv'st the For everlasting glory won by faith.

honoured name

Of Lowther to this ancient Line, bear witness From thy most secret haunts; and ye Parterres,

Which She is pleased and proud to call her

own,

Witness how oft upon my noble Friend
Mute offerings, tribute from an inward sense
Of admiration and respectful love,

Have waited-till the affections could no more
Endure that silence, and broke out in song,
Snatches of music taken up and dropt
Like those self-solacing, those under, notes
Trilled by the red breast, when autumnal leaves
Are thin upon the bough. Mine, only mine,
The pleasure was, and no one heard the praise,
Checked, in the moment of its issue, checked
And reprehended, by a fancied blush
From the pure qualities that called it forth.
Thus Virtue lives debarred from Virtue's
meed ;

XVI.

GRACE DARLING.
AMONG the dwellers in the silent fields
The natural heart is touched, and public way
And crowded street resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by ONE whose very name bespeaks
Favour divine, exalting human love;
Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's
coast,

Known unto few but prized as far as known,
A single Act endears to high and low
Through the whole land-to Manhood, moved
in spite

Of the world's freezing cares-to generous
Youth-

To Infancy, that lisps her praise-to Age
Whose eye reflects it, glistening through a tear
Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame
Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds
Do no imperishable record find

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Save in the rolls of heaven, where hers may live
A theme for angels, when they celebrate
The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth
Has witness'd. Oh! that winds and waves

could speak
Of things which their united power called forth
From the pure depths of her humanity!
A Maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call,
Firm and unflinching, as the Lighthouse reared
On the Island-rock, her lonely dwelling-place;
Or like the invincible Rock itself that braves,
Age aiter age, the hostile elements,
As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.

All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused,

When, as day broke, the Maid, through misty

air,

Espies far off a Wreck, amid the surf,
Beating on one of those disastrous isles-
Half of a Vessel, half-no more; the rest
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,
Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick
glance

Daughter and Sire through optic-glass discern,
Clinging about the remnant of this Ship,
Creatures-how precious in the Maiden's sight!

For whom, belike, the old Man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed
Where every parting agony is hushed,
And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
"But courage, Father! let us out to sea-
A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's
words,

Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith,
Dispel the Father's doubts: nor do they lack
The noble-minded Mother's helping hand
To launch the boat; and with her blessing
cheered,

And inwardly sustained by silent prayer
Together they put forth, Father and Child!
Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go-
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent

Here to elude and there surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutually crossed
And shattered, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and pro-
longed,

That woman's fortitude-so tried, so proved-
May brighten more and more!

True to the mark, They stem the current of that perilous gorge, Their arms still strengthening with the

strengthening heart,

Though danger, as the Wreck is near'd, be

comes

More imminent. Not unseen do they approach;

And rapture, with varieties of fear
Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames
Of those who, in that dauntless energy,
Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturbed
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives
That of the pair-tossed on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dving, life-
One is a Woman, a poor earthly sister,
Or, be the Visitant other than she seems,
A guardian Spirit sent from pitving Heaven.
In woman's shape. But why prolong the tale,

Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced
And difficulty mastered, with resolve
That no one breathing should be left to perish,
This last remainder of the crew are all
Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep
Are safely borne, landed upon the beach,
And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged
Within the sheltering Lighthouse. -Shout, ye
Waves!

Send forth a song of triumph. Waves and
Winds,

Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith

In Him whose Providence your rage hath

served!

Ye screaming Sea-mews, in the concert join!

And would that some immortal Voice-a Voice
Fitly attuned to all that gratitude

Breathes out from floor or couch, through
Of the survivors to the clouds might bear—
pallid lips
Blended with praise of that parental love,
Beneath whose watchful eye the Maiden grew
Though young so wise, though meek so
Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,

resolute

Might carry to the clouds and to the stars,

Yea, to celestial Choirs, GRACE DARLING'S name!

1842.

XVII.

THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE.

PART I.

ENOUGH of rose-bud lips, and eyes
Like harebells bathed in dew,
Of cheek that with carnation vies
And veins of violet hue;

Earth wants not beauty that may scorn

A likening to frail flowers;

Yea, to the stars, if they were born
For seasons and for hours.

Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred,
Stepped One at dead of night,

Whom such high beauty could not guard
From meditated blight;

By stealth she passed, and fled as fast
As doth the hunted fawn,

Nor stopped, till in the dappling east
Appeared unwelcome dawn.

Seven days she lurked in brake and field,
Seven nights her course renewed,
Sustained by what her scrip might yield,
Or berries of the wood;

At length, in darkness travelling on,
When lowly doors were shut,
The haven of her hope she won,

Her Foster-mother's hut.

"To put your love to dangerous proof
I come," said she, "from far;
For I have left my Father's roof,
In terror of the Czar.'
No answer did the Matron give,
No second look she cast,
But hung upon the Fugitive,
Embracing and embraced.
She led the Lady to a seat

Beside the glimmering fire,

Bathed duteously her wayworn feet,
Prevented each desire :-

The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed,
And on that simple bed,

Where she in childhood had reposed,
Now rests her weary head.

When she, whose couch had been the sod,
Whose curtain, pine or thorn,
Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God,
Who comforts the forlorn ;
While over her the Matron bent

Sleep sealed her eyes, and stole
Feeling from limbs with travel spent,
And trouble from the soul.
Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn,
And soon again was dight
In those unworthy vestments worn
Through long and perilous flight;
And "O beloved Nurse," she said,

My thanks with silent tears

Have unto Heaven and You been paid:
Now listen to my fears!

"Have you forgot"-and here she smiled"The babbling flatteries

You lavished on me when a child
Disporting round your knees?
I was your lambkin, and your bird,
Your star, your gem, your flower;
Light words, that were more lightly heard
In many a cloudless hour!

"The blossom you so fondly praised
Is come to bitter fruit;

A mighty One upon me gazed;
I spurned his lawless suit,

And must be hidden from his wrath:
You, Foster-father dear,

Will guide me in my forward path;
I may not tarry here!

"I cannot bring to utter woe
Your proved fidelity."-

"Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so! For you we both would die."

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"Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned
And cheek embrowned by art;
Yet, being inwardly unstained,
With courage will depart."
But whither would you, could
A poor Man's counsel take;
The Holy Virgin gives to me
A thought for your dear sake;
Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace,
And soon shall you be led
Forth to a safe abiding-place,
Where never foot doth tread."

PART II.

THE dwelling of this faithful pair
In a straggling village stood,
For One who breathed unquiet air
A dangerous neighbourhood;
But wide around lay forest ground
With thickets rough and blind;
And pine-trees made a heavy shade
Impervious to the wind.

And there, sequestered from the sight,
Was spread a treacherous swamp,
On which the noonday sun shed light
As from a lonely lamp;

And midway in the unsafe morass,

A single Island rose

Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass
Adorned, and shady boughs.

The Woodman knew, for such the craft
This Russian vassal plied,

That never fowler's gun, nor shaf
Of archer, there was tried;
A sanctuary seemed the spot
From all intrusion free;
And there he planned an artful Cot
For perfect secrecy.

With earnest pains unchecked by dread
Of Power's far-stretching hand,
The bold good Man his labour sped,
At nature's pure command;
Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren,
While, in a hollow nook,

She moulds her sight-eluding den
Above a murmuring brook.

His task accomplished to his mind,.
The twain ere break of day

Creep forth, and through the forest wind
Their solitary way;

Few words they speak, nor dare to slack Their pace from mile to mile,

Till they have crossed the quaking marsh,
And reached the lonely Isle.

The sun above the pine-trees showed
A bright and cheerful face;
And Ina looked for her abode,

The promised hiding-place;

She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled; No threshold could be seen,

Nor roof, nor window ;-all seemed wild
As it had ever been.

Advancing, you might guess an hour,
The front with such nice care
Is masked, "if house it be or bower,"
But in they entered are;

As shaggy as were wall and roof
With branches intertwined,

So smooth was all within, air-proof,
And delicately lined:

And hearth was there, and maple dish,
And cups in seemly rows,

And couch-all ready to a wish

For nurture or repose;

And Heaven doth to her virtue grant

That here she may abide

In solitude, with every want

By cautious love supplied.

No queen, before a shouting crowd,
Led on in bridal state,

E'er struggled with a heart so proud,
Entering her palace gate;
Rejoiced to bid the world farewell,
No saintly anchoress
E'er took possession of her cell
With deeper thankfulness.
"Father of all, upon thy care

And mercy am I thrown;

Be thou my safeguard!"-such her prayer
When she was left alone,
Kneeling amid the wilderness
When joy had passed away,
And smiles, fond efforts of distress
To hide what they betray!

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The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen, Diffused through form and face, Resolves devotedly serene;

That monumental grace

Of Faith, which doth all passions tame
That Reason should control;
And shows in the untrembling frame
A statue of the soul.

PART III.

'Tis sung in ancient minstrelsy
That Phoebus wont to wear
The leaves of any pleasant tree
Around his golden hair;

Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit

Of his imperious love,

At her own prayer transformed, took root,

A laurel in the grove.

Then did the Penitent adorn

His brow with laurel green ;

And 'mid his bright locks never shorn
No meaner leaf was seen

And poets sage, through every age,
About their temples wound

The bay; and conquerors thanked the Gods,
With laurel chaplets crowned.

Into the mists of fabling Time

So far runs back the praise

Of Beauty, that disdains to climb
Along forbidden ways;

That scorns temptation; power defies
Where mutual love is not;

And to the tomb for rescue flies
When life would be a blot.

To this fair Votaress, a fate

More mild doth Heaven ordain

Upon her Island desolate;

And words, not breathed in vain, Might tell what intercourse she found,

Her silence to endear;

What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground
Sent forth her peace to cheer.

To one mute Presence, above all,
Her soothed affections clung,

A picture on the cabin wall

By Russian usage hung

The Mother-maid, whose countenance bright
With love abridged the day;
And, communed with by taper light,
Chased spectral fears away.

And oft, as either Guardian came,
The joy in that retreat

Might any common friendship shame,
So high their hearts would beat;
And to the lone Recluse, whate'er
They brought, each visiting
Was like the crowding of the year
With a new burst of spring.

But, when she of her Parents thought,
The pang was hard to bear;
And, if with all things not enwrought,
That trouble still is near.

Before her flight she had not dared

Their constancy to prove,

Too much the heroic Daughter feared
The weakness of their love.

Dark is the past to them, and dark
The future still must be,

Till pitying Saints conduct her bark
Into a safer sea-

Or gentle Nature close her eyes
And set her Spirit free
From the altar of this sacrifice,
In vestal purity.

Yet, when above the forest-glooms
The white swans southward passed,
High as the pitch of their swift plumes
Her fancy rode the blast;

And bore her toward the fields of France
Her Father's native land,
To mingle in the rustic dance,
The happiest of the band!

Of those beloved fields she oft
Had heard her Father tell

In phrase that now with echoes soft
Haunted her lonely cell;

She saw the hereditary bowers,

She heard the ancestral stream; The Kremlin and its haughty towers Forgotten like a dream!

PART IV.

THE ever-changing moon had traced
Twelve times her monthly round,
When through the unfrequented Waste
Was heard a startling sound;

A shout thrice sent from one who chased
At speed a wounded deer,

Bounding through branches interlaced,
And where the wood was clear.

The fainting creature took the marsh,
And toward the Island fled,

While plovers screamed with tumult harsh
Above his antlered head;

This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear,
Shrunk to her citadel;

The desperate deer rushed on, and near-
The tangled covert fell.

Across the marsh, the game in view,

The Hunter followed fast,
For paused, till o'er the stag he blew
A death-proclaiming blast;
Then, resting on her upright mind,
Came forth the Maid-"In me
Behold," she said, "a stricken Hind
Pursued by destiny!

"From your deportment, Sir! I deem
That you have worn a sword,
And will not hold in light esteem
A suffering woman's word;
There is my covert, there perchance
I might have lain concealed,
My fortunes hid, my countenance
Not even to you revealed.

"Tears might be shed, and I might pray, Crouching and terrified,

That what has been unveiled to-day,
You would in mystery hide;

But I will not defile with dust

The knee that bends to adore
The God in heaven;-attend, be just;
This ask I, and no more!

"I speak not of the winter's cold,
For summer's heat exchanged,
While I have lodged in this rough hold,
From social life estranged;

Nor yet of trouble and alarms:
High Heaven is my defence;
And every season has soft arms
For injured Innocence.

"From Moscow to the Wilderness
It was my choice to come,
Lest virtue should be harbourless,
And honour want a home;
And happy were I, if the Czar
Retain his lawless will,

To end life here like this poor deer,
Or a lamb on a green hill."

"Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried,
"From Gallic parents sprung,
Whose vanishing was rumoured wide
Sad theme for every tongue;
Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest?
You, Lady, forced to wear
These rude habiliments, and rest
Your head in this dark lair!

But wonder, pity, soon were quelled;
And in her face and mien
The soul's pure brightness he beheld
Without a veil between :

He loved, he hoped,-a holy flame
Kindled 'mid rapturous tears;
The passion of a moment came
As on the wings of years.
"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
Exclaimed he; "righteous Heaven,
Preparing your deliverance,

To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words and deeds
Is stormy and self-willed;

But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,
His violence is stilled.

"Leave open to my wish the course,
And I to her will go;

From that humane and heavenly source,
Good, only good, can flow.'

Faint sanction given, the Cavalier
Was eager to depart

Though question followed question, dear
To the Maiden's filial heart.

Light was his step,-his hopes, more light
Kept pace with his desires;

And the fifth morning gave him sight
Of Moscow's glittering spires.
He sued:-heart-smitten by the wrong,
To the lorn Fugitive

The Emperor sent a pledge as strong
As sovereign power could give.
O more than mighty change! If e'er
Amazement rose to pain,

And joy's excess produced a fear

Of something void and vain;

'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned So long the lost as dead,

Beheld their only Child returned,

The household floor to tread. Soon gratitude gave way to love Within the Maiden's breast: Delivered and Deliverer move

In bridal garments drest

Meek Catherine had her own reward;
The Czar bestowed a dower :
And universal Moscow shared
The triumph of that hour.

Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast
Was held with costly state;

And there, 'mid many a noble guest,
The Foster-parents sate;
Encouraged by the imperial eye,
They shrank not into shade;

Great was their bliss, the honour high
To them and nature paid!

1830,

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