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And woodland pleasures,—the resounding Tending to the darksome hollows horn,
Where the frosts of winter lie. The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare.
He who governs the creation, So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
In his providence, assigned And not a voice was idle: with the din
Such a gradual declination Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ;
To the life of human kind. The leafless trees and every icy crag
Yet we mark it not ;-fruits redden, Tinkled like iron; while far-distant hills
Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown, Into the tumult sent an alien sound
And the heart is loth to deaden
Hopes that she so long hath known.
Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden!
And when thy decline shall come,
Let not flowers, or boughs fruit-laden, Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous
Hide the knowledge of thy doom. throng,
Now, even now, ere wrapped in slumber, To cut across the reflex of a star;
Fix thine eyes upon the sea Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed
That absorbs time, space, and number; Upon the glassy plain : and oftentimes,
Look thou to Eternity! When we had given our bodies to the wind, Follow thou the flowing river And all the shadowy banks on either side
On whose breast are thither borne Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning All deceived, and each deceiver, still
Through the gates of night and morn; The rapid line of motion, then at once
Through the year's successive portals ; Have I, reclining back upon my heels,
Through the bounds which many a star Stopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs
Marks, not mindless of frail mortals, Wheeled by me--even as if the earth had rolled When his light returns from far. With visible motion her diurnal round!
Thus when thou with Time hast travelled Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,
Toward the mighty gulf of things, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched
And the mazy stream unravelled Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.
With thy best imaginings; 1799.
Think, if thou on beauty leanest,
Think how pitiful that stay,
Did not virtue give the meanest
Charins superior to decay.
Duty, like a strict preceptor,
Sometinics frowns, or seems to frown; Let us quit the leafy arbour,
Choose her thistle for thy sceptre, And the torrent murmuring by ;
While youth's roses are thy crown. For the sun is in his harbour,
Grasp it,-if thou shrink and tremble, Weary of the open sky.
Fairest damsel of the green, Evening now unbinds the fetters
Thou wilt lack the only symbol Fashioned by the glowing light ;
That proclaims a genuine queen ; All that breathe are thankful debtors
And ensures those palms of honour To the harbinger of night.
Which selected spirits wear, Yet by some grave thoughts attended
Bending low before the Donor, Eve renews her calm career ;
Lord of heaven's unchanging year! For the day that now is ended,
1817 Is the longest of the year. Dora! sport, as now thou sportest,
THE NORMAN BOY.
High on a broad unfertile tract of forest-skirted Who would check the happy feeling
Down, That inspires the linnet's song?
Nor kept by Nature for herself, nor made by Who would stop the swallow, wheeling
man his own, On her pinions swift and strong?
From home and company remote and every Yet at this impressive season,
Served, tending a few sheep and goats, a Words which tenderness can speak
ragged Norman Boy. From the truths of homely reason Might exalt the loveliest cheek;
Him never saw I, nor the spot; but from an
English Dame, And, while shades to shades succeeding
Stranger to me and yet my friend, a simple Steal the landscape from the sight,
notice came, I would urge this moral pleading,
With suit that I would speak in verse of that Last forerunner of “Good night!"
sequestered child SUMMER ebbs ;-cach day that follows Whom, one bleak winter's day, she inet upon Is a reflux from on high,
the drcary Wild.
His flock, along the woodland's edge with relics The Child, as if the thunder's voice spake with sprinkled o'er
articulate call, Of last night's snow, beneath a sky threatening Bowed meekly in submissive fear, before the the fall of more,
Lord of All; Where tufts of herbage tempted each, were His lips were moving; and his eyes, upraised busy at their feed,
to sue for grace, And the poor Boy was busier still, with work of With soft illumination cheered the dimness of anxious heed
that place. There was he, where of branches rent and How beautiful is holiness!- what wonder if the withered and decayed,
sight, For covert from the keen north wind, his hands Almost as vivid as a dream, produced a dream a hut had made.
at night? A tiny tenement, forsooth, and frail, as needs It came with sleep and showed the Boy, no must be
cherub, not transformed, A thing of such materials framed, by a builder But the poor ragged Thing whose ways my such as he.
human heart had warmed. The hut stood finished by his pains, nor seem- Me had the dream equipped with wings, so I ingly lacked aught
took him in my arms, That skill or means of his could add, but the And lifted from the grassy floor, stilling his architect had wrought
faint alarms, Some limber twigs into à Cross, well-shaped And bore him high through yielding air my with fingers nice,
debt of love to pay, To be engrafted on the top of his small edifice. By giving him, for both our sakes, an hour of That Cross he now was fastening there, as the
holiday. surest power and best
I whispered, “Yet a little while, dear Child ! For supplying all deficiencies, all wants of the
thou art my own, rude nest
To show thee some delightful thing, in country In which, from burning heat, or tempest driving or in town. far and wide,
What shall it be ? a mirthful throng? or that The innocent Boy, else shelterless, his lonely holy place and calm head must hide.
St Denis, filled with royal tombs, or the Church
of Notre Dame? That Cross belike he also raised as a standard for the true
“St Ouen's golden Shrine? Or choose what And faithful service of his heart in the worst else would please thee most that might ensue
Of any wonder, Normandy, or all proud France, Of hardship and distressful fear, amid the can boast!” houseless waste
“My Mother," said the Boy, was born near Where he, in his poor self so weak, by Provi- to a blessèd Tree, dence was placed.
The Chapel Oak of Allonville; good Angel, --Here, Lady! might I cease ; but nay, let
show it me!" 1 us before we part
On wings, from broad and stedfast poise let With this dear holy shepherd-boy breathe a loose by this reply, prayer of earnest heart,
For Allonville, o'er down and dale, away then That unto him, where'er shall lie his life's ap- did we fly; pointed way,
O'er town and tower we flew, and fields in The Cross, fixed in his soul, may prove an all- May's fresh verdure drest; sufficing stay.
The wings they did not flag; the Child, though
grave, was not deprest.
But who shall show, to waking sense, the gleam THE POET'S DREAM.
of light that broke
Forth from his eyes, when first the Boy looked SEQUEL TO THE NORMAN BOY.
down on that huge oak, Just as those final words were penned, the sun
For length of days so much revered, so famous broke out in power,
where it stands And gladdened all things; but, as chanced, For twofold hallowing - Nature's care, and within that very hour,
work of human hands? Air blackened, thunder growled, fire flashed Strong as an Eagle with my charge I glided from clouds that hid the sky,
round and round And, for the Subject of my Verse, I heaved a The wide-spread boughs, for view of door, pensive sigh.
window, and stair that wound Nor could my heart by second thoughts from Gracefully up the gnarled trunk ; nor left we heaviness be cleared,
unsurveyed For bodied forth before my eyes the cross- The pointed steeple peering forth from the crowned hut appeared ;
centre of the shade. And, while around it storm as fierce seemed I lighted-opened with soft touch the chapel's troubling earth and air,
iron door, I saw, within, the Norman Boy kneeling alone Past softly, leading in the Boy; and, while in prayer.
from roof to floor
From floor to roof all round his eyes the Child Alas the dream, to thee, poor Boy! to thee with wonder cast,
from whom it flowed, Pleasure on pleasure crowded in, each livelier Was nothing, scarcely can be aught, yet 'twas than the last.
bounteously bestowed, For, deftly framed within the trunk, the sanc
If I may dare to cherish hope that gentle eyes
will read tuary showed, By light of lamp and precious stones, that glim- Not loth, and listening Little-ones, heartmered here, there glowed,
touched, their fancies feed. Shrine, Altar, Image, Offerings hung in sign of
gratitude ; Sight that inspired accordant thoughts; and
XX. speech I thus renewed :
THE WESTMORELAND GIRL, “Hither the Afflicted come, as thou hast heard
TO MY GRANDCHILDREN. thy Mother say,
PART I. And, kneeling, supplication make to our Lady de la Paix ;
Seek who will delight in fable, What mournful sighs have here been heard,
I shall tell you truth. A Lamb and, when the voice was stopt
Leapt from this steep bank to follow By sudden pangs, what bitter tears have on
'Cross the brook its thoughtless dam. this pavement dropt !
Far and wide on hill and valley
Rain had fallen, unceasing rain, "Poor Shepherd of the naked Down, a fa
And the bleating mother's Young-one voured lot is thine,
Struggled with the flood in vain : Far happier lot, dear Boy, than brings full many to this shrine ;
But, as chanced, a Cottage-maiden From body pains and pains of soul thou needest (Ten years scarcely had she told) no release,
Seeing, plunged into the torrent, Thy hours as they flow on are spent, if not in Clasped the Lamb and kept her hold. joy, in peace.
Whirled adown the rocky channel, “Then offer thy heart to God in thankfulness
Sinking, rising, on they go, up
Peace and rest, as seems, before them Give to Him prayers, and many thoughts, in
Only in the lake below. thy most busy days;
Oh ! it was a frightful current And in His sight the fragile Cross, on thy small Whose fierce wrath the Girl had braved; hut, will be
Clap your hands with joy, my Hearers, Holy as that which_long hath crowned the Shout in triumph, both are saved ; Chapel of this Tree ;
Saved by courage that with danger “Holy as that far seen which crowns the sump
Grew, by strength the gift of love, tuous Church in Rome
And belike a guardian angel Where thousands meet to worship God under a
Came with succour from above. mighty Dome ; He sees the bending multitude, he hears the
choral rites, Yet not the less, in children's hymns and lonely Now, to a maturer Audience, prayer, delights.
Let me speak of this brave Child “God for his service needeth not proud work
Left among her native mountains
With wild Nature to run wild. of human skill; They please him best who labour most to do in
So, unwatched by love maternal, peace his will :
Mother's care no more her guide, So let us strive to live, and to our Spirits will
Fared this little bright-eyed Orphan be given
Even while at her father's side. Such wings as, when our Saviour calls, shall Spare your blame, -remembrance makes bear us up to heaven.
him The Boy no answer made by words, but, so
Loth to rule by strict command ; earnest was his look,
Still upon his cheek are living
Touches of her infant hand, Sleep fled, and with it fied the dream-recorded in this book,
Dear caresses given in pity, Lest all that passed should melt away in silence Sympathy that soothed his grief, from my mind,
As the dying mother witnessed As visions still more bright have done, and left
To her thankful mind's relief. no trace behind.
Time passed on; the Child was happy, But oh! that Country-man of thine, whose eye,
Like a Spirit of air she moved, loved Child, can see
Wayward, yet by all who knew her A pledge of endless bliss in acts of early piety,
For her tender heart beloved, In verse, which to thy ear might come, would Scarcely less than sacred passions, treat this simple theme,
Bred in house, in grove, and field, Nor leave untold our happy flight in that ad
Link her with the inferior creatures, venturous dream.
Urge her powers their rights to shield.
Anglers, bent on reckless pastime,
Nor will fail the like to render Learn how she can feel alike
When his corse is laid in earth. Both for tiny harmless minnow
What then wants the Child to temper, And the fierce and sharp-toothed pike.
In her breast, unruly fire, Merciful protectress, kindling
To control the froward impulse
And restrain the vague desire ?
Easily a pious training
And a stedfast outward power Listen yet awhile ;- with patience
Would supplant the weeds and cherish, Hear the homely truths I tell,
In their stead, each opening flower. She in Grasmere's old church-steeple
Thus the searless Lamb-deliv'rer, Tolled this day the passing-bell.
Woman-grown, meek-hearted, sage, Yes, the wild Girl of the mountains
May become a blest example To their echoes gave the sound,
For her sex, of every age. Notice punctual as the minute,
Watchful as a wheeling cagle, Warning solemn and profound.
Constant as a soaring lark, She, fulfilling her sire's office,
Should the country need a heroine,
She might prove our Maid of Arc.
Leave that thought ; and here be uttered
Prayer that Grace divine may raise When his spirit was departed
Her humane courageous spirit On that service she went forth ;
Up to heaven, thro' peaceful ways
Among the mountains, and he in his heart
Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas. “These Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds
Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard must live
Of caves and trees :--and, when the regular A profitable life : some glance along,
wind Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
Between the tropics filled the steady sail, And they were butterflies to wheel about
And blew with the same breath through days Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise,
and weeks, Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Lengthening invisibly its weary Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours Will look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Of tiresome indolence, would often hang Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze ; Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.
And, while the broad blue wave and sparkling But, for that moping Son of Idleness;
foam Why can he tarry yonder?-In our church-yard Flashed round him images and hues that Is neither epitaph nor monument,
wrought Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread And a few natural graves.
In union with the employment of his heart,
He, thus by feverish passion overcome,
To Jane, his wife, Even with the organs of his bodily eye, Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale.
Below him, in the bosom of the deep, It was a July evening; and he sate
Saw mountains ; saw the forms of sheep that Upon the long stone-seat beneath the caves
grazed Of his old cottage,-as it chanced, that day, On verdant hills, with dwellings among trees, Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone
And shepherds clad in the same country grey His wife sate near him, teasing matted wool, Which he himself had worn. While, froin the twin cards toothed with
And now, at last, glittering wire, He fed the spindle of his youngest child,
From perils manifold, with some small wealth Who, in the open air, with due accord
Acquired by traffic ʼmid the Indian Isles, Of busy hands and back-and-forward steps,
To his paternal home he is returned,
With a determined purpose to resume Her large round wheel was turning. Towards The life he had lived there ; both for the sake
the field In which the Parish Chapel stood alone,
Of many darling pleasures, and the love
Which to an only brother he has borne Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall, While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent When, whether it blew foul or fair, they two
In all his hardships, since that happy time Many a long look of wonder: and at last, Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white
ridge – They were the last of all their race: and now,
Were brother-shepherds on their native hills. Of carded wool which the old man had piled
When Leonard had approached his home, his He laid his implements with gentle care,
heart Each in the other locked ; and, down the path Failed in him; and, not venturing to enquire That from his cottage to the church-yard led,
Tidings of one so long and dearly loved,
He to the solitary church-yard turned ;
Another grave,-near which a full half-hour And perilous waters; with the mariners He had remained; but, as he gazed, there grew A fellow-mariner ;-and so had fared
Such a confusion in his memory, Through twenty scasons; but he had been That he began to doubt; and even to hope reared
That he had seen this heap of turf before,