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But, not to overlook what thou may'st know, Farewell !--we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful Thy enemies are neither weak nor few ;
care, And circumspect must be our course, and slow, Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surOr from my purpose ruin may ensue.
round. Dismiss thy followers ;- let them calmly wait Our boat is safely anchored by the shore, Such change in thy estate
And there will safely ride when we are gone ; As I already have in thought devised;
The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door And which, with caution due, may soon be will prosper, though untended and alone : realised."
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none: The Story tells what courses were pursued,
These narrow bounds contain our private store Until king Elidure, with full consent
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon; Of all his peers, before the multitude,
Here are they in our sight-we have no more. Rose,--and, to consummate this just intent, Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell ! Did place upon his brother's head the crown, For two months now in vain we shall be sought; Relinquished by his own;
We leave you here in solitude to dwell Then to his people cried, “Receive your lord, With these our latest gifts of tender thought; Gorbonian's first-born son, your rightful king Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat, restored!”
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
for One to whom ye will be dear; Earth's noblest penitent from bondage freed And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed, Of vice-thenceforth unable to subvert
Our own contrivance, Building, without peer! Or shake his high desert.
-A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred, Long did he reign; and, when he died, the tear whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered, Of universal grief bedewed his honoured bier. With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, Thus was a Brother by a Brother saved ; Will come to you ; to you herself will wed; With whom a crown (temptation that hath set
And love the blessed life that we lead here. Discord in hearts of men till they have braved Dear Spot ! which we have watched with tenTheir nearest kin with deadly purpose met)
der heed, 'Gainst duty weighed, and faithful love, did seem Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms A thing of no esteem;
blown And from this triumph of affection pure, Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, He bore the lasting name of “pious Elidure !” Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own, 1815.
Making all kindness registered and known
Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child inIII.
deed, TO A BUTTERFLY.
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. I've watch'd you now a full half-hour,
And O most constant, yet most fickle Place, Self-poised upon that yellow flower :
That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost And, little Butterfly ! indeed
show I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless !- not frozen seas
To them who look not daily on thy face ; More motionless! and then
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know, What joy awaits you, when the breeze
And say'st, when we forsake thee, “Let them Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
Thou casy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow, This plot of orchard-ground is ours ; And travel with the year at a soft pace. My trees they are, my Sister's flowers , Here rest your wings when they are weary; And this sweet spring, the best beloved and
Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by,
Joy will be flown in its mortality:
Something must stay to tell us of the rest.
Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's
breast Sweet childish days, that were as long Glittered at evening like a starry sky; As twenty days are now.
And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, 1801.
Of which I sang one song that will not die.
O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours ;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain. Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of ground,
fowers, Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers; Of that magnificent temple which doth bound Two burning months let summer overleap, One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare; And; coming back with Her who will be ours, Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep. The loveliest spot that man hath ever found, 1802.
Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried :
Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he STANZAS.
lay, WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S Made, to his ear attentively applied,
A pipe on which the wind would deftly play ;
Glasses he had, that little things display,
The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold,
behold. On his own time here would he float away,
He would entice that other Man to hear
His music, and to view his imagery :
And, sooth, these two were cach to the other
dear : can say
No livelier love in such a place could be: Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, There did they dwell— from earthly labour free, And find elsewhere his business or delight; As happy spirits as were ever seen ; Out of our Valley's limits did he roam :
If but a bird, to keep them company, Full many a time, upon a stormy night, Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween, His voice came to us from the neighbouring As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden. height:
queen. Oft could we see him driving full in view
1802. At mid-day when the sun was shining bright ;
AFTER ACCOMPANYING HER ON A MOUNTAIN When he came back to us, a withered flower,
EXCURSION. Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.
I MET Louisa in the shade, Down would he sit; and without strength or And, having seen that lovely Maid, power
Why should I fear to say
And down the rocks can leap along
She loves her fire, her cottage home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was
In weather rough and bleak; Whenever from our Valley he withdrew;
And, when against the wind she 'strains, For happier soul no living creature has
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains Than he had, being here the long day through,
That sparkle on her cheek.
May sit beneath the walls
1805. With him there often walked in friendly guise,
STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly
And I will dare to tell, As if a blooming face it ought to be ;
But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befel.
When she I loved looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June, here :
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening moon. Sweet heaven forefend ! his was a lawful right;
Upon the moon I fixed my eye, Noisy ha was, and gamesome as a boy ;.
All over the wide lea; His limos would toss about him with delight,
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Like branches when strong winds the trees
Those paths so dear to me. annoy: Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy
And now we reached the orchard-plots To banish listlessness and irksome care ;
And, as we climbed the hill, He would have taught you how you might
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot employ
Came near, and nearer still. Yourself; and many did to him repair,
In one of those sweet dreams I slept. And certes not in vain; he had inventions rare. Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
Then, crouch no more on suppliant knee, On the descending moon.
But scorn with scorn outbrave ; My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
A Briton, even in love, should be Hé raised, and never stopped :
A subject, not a slave! When down behind the cottage-roof,
1826. At once, the bright moon dropped.
TO “O mercy!” to myself I cried,
LOOK at the fate of summer flowers, “If Lucy should be dead!"
Which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song : 1799.
And, grieved for their brief date, confess that
Measured by what we are and ought to be, VIII.
Measured by all that, trembling, we foresee, She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Is not so long! Beside the springs of Dove,
If human Life do pass away, A Maid whom there were none to praise
Perishing yet more swiftly than the flower, And very few to love :
If we are creatures of a winter's day; A violet by a mossy stone
What space hath Virgin's beauty to disclose Half hidden from the eye!
Her sweets, and triumph o'er the breathing rose? -Fair as a star, when only one
Not even an hour !
The deepest grove whose foliage hid
Could not the entrance of this thought forbid : But she is in her grave, and, oh,
O be thou wise as they, soul-gifted Maid ! The difference to me!
Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade, 1790.
So soon be lost.
“To draw, out of the object of his eyes,”
The while on thee they gaze in simple truth, I TRAVELLED among unknown men,
Hues more exalted, a refined Form, In lands beyond the sea;
That dreads not age, nor suffers from the worm, Nor, England ! did I know till then
And never dies. What love ļ bore to thee.
1824. 'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
The peace which others seek they find ; Among thy mountains did I feel
The heaviest storms not longest last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
When will my sentence be reversed ?
I only pray to know the worst ;
And wish as if my heart would burst.
Tell seemingly no doubtful tale ; 1799.
And yet they leave it short, and fears
My calmest faith escapes not pain ;
And, feeling that the hope is vain,
I think that he will come again.
"Tis said, that some have died for love : Immoveable by generous sighs,
And here and there a church-yard grave is found
In the cold north's unhallowed ground, She glories in a train
Because the wretched man himself had slain Who drag, beneath our native skies,
His love was such a grievous pain. An oriental chain.
And there is ne whom I five years have known; Pine not like them with arms across,
He dwells alone Forgetting in thy care
Upon Helvellyn's side : How the fast-rooted trees can toss
He loved- the pretty Barbara died ; Their branches in mid air.
And thus he makes his moan : The humblest rivulet will take
Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid
When thus his moan he made : Its own wild liberties; And, every day, the imprisoned lake "Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak! Is flowing in the breeze.
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie.
LET other bards of angels sing,
Bright suns without a spot;
Rejoice that thou art not!
So, Mary, let it be
With what thou art to me.
Whose veil is unremoved
And the lover is beloved. 1824.
That in some other way yon smoke
heart. O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, That murmur once so dear, when will it cease ? Your sound my heart of rest bereaves, It robs my heart of peace. Thou Thrush, that singest loud--and loud and
free, Into yon row of willows flit, Upon that alder sit ; Or sing another song, or choose another tree. Roll back, sweet Rill ! back to thy mountain
bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained ! For thou dost haunt the air with sounds That cannot be sustained ; If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough Headlong yon waterfall must come, Oh let it then be dumb ! Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou
XVI. Yes! thou art fair, yet be not moved
To scorn the declaration, That sometimes I in thee have loved
My fancy's own creation. Imagination needs must stir ;
Dear Maid, this truth believe, Minds that have nothing to confer
Find little to perceive.
To feed my heart's devotion,
In sky, air, earth, and ocean.
A COMPLAINT. THERE is a change—and I am poor; Your love hath been, nor long ago, A fountain at my fond heart's door, Whose only business was to flow; And flow it did ; not taking heed Of its own bounty, or my need. What happy moments did I count ! Blest was I then all bliss above ! Now, for that consecrated fount Of murmuring, sparkling, living love, What have I ? shall I dare to tell ? A comfortless and hidden well. A well of love-it may be deepI trust it is,--and never dry : What matter? if the waters sleep In silence and obscurity. -Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor. 1806,
How rich that forehead's calm expanse !
Their sanctity revealing ! 1824.
XVIII. WHAT heavenly smiles ! O Lady mine Through my very heart they shine ; And, if my brow gives back their light, Do thou look gladly on the sight; As the clear Moon with modest pride
Beholds her own bright beams Feiccted from the mountain's side And from the headlong streams.
TO O DEARER far than light and life are dear, Full oft our human foresight I deplore ; Trembling, through my unworthiness, with fear That friends, by death disjoined, may meet no
more! Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control, Mix with the day, and cross the hour of rest; While all the future, for thy purer soul, With “sober certainties of love is blest. That sigh of thine, not meant for human ear, Tells that these words thy humbleness offend; Yet bear me up--else faltering in the rear Of a steep march : support me to the end. Peace settles where the intellect is meek, And Love is dutiful in thought and deed; Through Thee communion with that Love I
seek: The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds
the Creed. 1824.
IX. Farewell desire of human aid, Which abject mortals vainly court. By friends deceived, by foes betrayed, Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport ; Nought but the world-redeeming Cross Is able to supply my loss, My burthen to support.
X. Hark! the death-note of the year Sounded by the castle-clock ! From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear Stole forth, unsettled by the shock ; But oft the woods renewed their green, Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen Reposed upon the block ! 1817.
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. [When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is
unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work "Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem.]
BEFORE I see another day, Oh let my body die away!