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HAVING BEEN REMOVED TO A POOL IN THE PLEASURE
While musing here I sit in shadow cool,
(Among reflected boughs of leafy trees)
By glimpses caught—disporting at their ease,
Enlivened, braced, by hardy luxuries, (SEQUEL TO THE ABOVE.)
I ask what warrant fixed them (like a spell (ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND; THE GOLD AND SILVER FISHES Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal cell; GROUND OF BYDAL MOUNT.)
To wheel with languid motion round and round,
Beautiful, yet in mournful durance bound. • The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made for themselves, under whatever
Their peace, perhaps, our lightest footfall marred; form it be of government. The liberty of a private man,
On their quick sense our sweetest music jarred; in being master of his own time and actions, as far as And whither could they dart, if seized with fear? may consist with the laws of God and of his country. No sheltering stone, no tangled root was near. Of this latter we are here to discourse.'-COWLEY.
When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room, Those breathing Tokens of your kind regard,
They wore away the night in starless gloom ; (Suspect not, Anna, that their fate is hard ; And, when the sun first dawned upon the streams, Not soon does aught to which mild fancies cling How faint their portion of his vital beams ! In lonely spots, become a slighted thing ;)
Thus, and unable to complain, they fared, Those silent Inmates now no longer share, While not one joy of ours by them was shared. Nor do they need, our hospitable care, Removed in kindness from their glassy Cell
Is there a cherished bird (I venture now To the fresh waters of a living Well
To snatch a sprig from Chaucer's reverend brow) An elfin pool so sheltered that its rest
Is there a brilliant fondling of the cage, No winds disturb; the mirror of whose breast Though sure of plaudits on his costly stage, Is smooth as clear, save where with dimples small Though fed with dainties from the snow-white hand A fly may settle, or a blossom fall.
Of a kind mistress, fairest of the land, -There swims, of blazing sun and beating shower But gladly would escape ; and, if need were, Fearless (but how obscured !) the golden Power, Scatter the colours from the plumes that bear That from his bauble prison used to cast
The emancipated captive through blithe air Gleams by the richest jewel unsurpast;
Into strange woods, where he at large may live And near him, darkling like a sullen Gnome, On best or worst which they and Nature give? The silver Tenant of the crystal dome ;
The beetle loves his unpretending track, Dissevered both from all the mysteries
The snail the house he carries on his back ; Of hue and altering shape that charmed all eyes. The far-fetched worm with pleasure would disown Alas! they pined, they languished while they shone; The bed we give him, though of softest down ; And, if not so, what matters beauty gone
A noble instinct; in all kinds the same, And admiration lost, by change of place
All ranks! What Sovereign, worthy of the name,
For the least boon that freedom can bestow!
But most the Bard is true to inborn right,
Lark of the dawn, and Philomel of night, Swells like the bosom of a man set free;
Exults in freedom, can with rapture vouch A wilderness is rich with liberty.
For the dear blessings of a lowly couch, Roll on, ye spouting whales, who die or keep A natural meal—days, months, from Nature's hand; Your independence in the fathomless Deep! Time, place, and business, all at his command ! Spread, tiny nautilus, the living sail ;
Who bends to happier duties, who more wise Dive, at thy choice, or brave the freshening gale ! Than the industrious Poet, taught to prize, If unreproved the ambitious eagle mount
Above all grandeur, a pure life uncrossed Sunward to seek the daylight in its fount,
By cares in which simplicity is lost ! Bays, gulfs, and ocean’s Indian width, shall be, That life-the flowery path that winds by stealthTill the world perishes, a field for thee !
Which Horace needed for his spirit's health ;
Sighed for, in heart and genius, overcome
And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, Give me the humblest note of those sad strains And humbler growths as moved with one desire Drawn forth by pressure of his gilded chains,
to welcome spring, their best attire, As a chance-sunbeam from his memory fell Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay Upon the Sabine farm he loved so well ;
With his red stalks
sunny day! Or when the prattle of Blandusia’s spring
And, as his tufts of leaves he spreads, content Haunted his ear-he only listening
With a hard bed and scanty nourishment, He proud to please, above all rivals, fit
Mixed with the green, some shine not lacking power To win the palm of gaiety and wit;
To rival summer's brightest scarlet flower; He, doubt not, with involuntary dread,
And flowers they well might seem to passers-by Shrinking from each new favour to be shed, If looked at only with a careless eye; By the world's Ruler, on his honoured head ! Flowers-or a richer produce (did it suit
The season) sprinklings of ripe strawberry fruit. In a deep vision's intellectual scene, Such earnest longings and regrets as keen
But while a thousand pleasures come unsought, Depressed the melancholy Cowley, laid
Why fix upon his wealth or want a thought? Under a fancied yew-tree's luckless shade;
Is the string touched in prelude to a lay A doleful bower for penitential song, Where Man and Muse complained of mutual wrong; when all the world acknowledged elfin sway?
Of pretty fancies that would round him play While Cam's ideal current glided by,
Or does it suit our humour to commend And antique towers nodded their foreheads high,
Poor Robin as a sure and crafty friend, Citadels dear to studious privacy.
Whose practice teaches, spite of names to show But Fortune, who had long been used to sport With this tried Servant of a thankless Court,
Bright colours whether they deceive or no ?Relenting met his wishes; and to you
Nay, we would simply praise the free good-will' The remnant of his days at least was true;
With which, though slighted, he, on naked hill
Or in warm valley, seeks his part to fill; You, whom, though long deserted, he loved best ;
Cheerful alike if bare of flowers as now, You, Muses, books, fields, liberty, and rest !
Or when his tiny gems shall deck his brow: Far happier they who, fixing hope and aim
Yet more, we wish that men by men despised, On the humanities of peaceful fame,
And such as lift their foreheads overprized, Enter betimes with more than martial fire
Should sometimes think, where'er they chance to spy The generous course, aspire, and still aspire ;
This child of Nature's own humility,
nor were the verses ever seen by the Individual for whom And to one purpose cleave, their Being's godlike they were intended. She accompanied her husband, the
Rev. Wm. Fletcher, to India, and died of cholera, at mate!
the age of thirty-two or thirty-three years, on her way
from Shalapore to Bombay, deeply lamented by all who Thus, gifted Friend, but with the placid brow knew her. That woman ne'er should forfeit, keep thy vow; Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast ; and her With modest scorn reject whate'er would blind
great talents would have enabled her to be eminently useful
in the difficult path of life to wbich she had been called. The ethereal eyesight, cramp the winged mind !
The opinion she entertainer of her own performances, Then, with a blessing granted from above
given to the world under her maiden name, Jewsbury, was To every act, word, thought, and look of love, modest and humble, and, indeed, far below their merits; Life's book for Thee may lie unclosed, till age
as is often the case with those who are making trial of Shall with a thankful tear bedrop its latest page
their powers, with a hope to discover what they are best fitted for. In one quality, viz., quickness in the motions of
her mind, she had, within the range of the Author's * There is now, alas! no possibility of the anticipation,
acquaintance, no equal. with which the above Epistle concludes, being realised : * The small wild Geranium known by that name.
Methinks that in my dying hour
Thy song would still be dear, And with a more than earthly power
My passing Spirit cheer.
That happy gleam of vernal eyes,
That o'er thy brow are shed;
I saw; and Fancy sped To scenes Arcadian, whispering, through soft air, Of bliss that grows without a care, And happiness that never flies--(How can it where love never dies ?) Whispering of promise, where no blight Can reach the innocent delight; Where pity, the mind conveyed In pleasure, is the darkest shade That Time, unwrinkled grandsire, flings From his smoothly gliding wings.
Then, little Bird, this boon confer,
Come, and my requiem sing,
These lines are by the Author of the Address to the Wind, &c. published heretofore along with my Poems. The above to a Redbreast are by a deceased female Relative.
Now, dazzling Stranger ! when thou meet'st my
glance, Thy dark Associate ever I discern;
* Bekangs Ghyll-or the dell of Nightshade-in which stands St. Mary's Abbey in Low Furness.
A soul so pitiably forlorn,
Our churches, invariably perhaps, stand east and west,
but why is by few persons exactly known; nor, that the degree of deviation from due east often noticeable in the ancient ones was determined, in each particular case, by the point in the horizon, at which the sun rose upon the day of the saint to whom the church was dedicated These observances of our ancestors, and the causes of them, are the subject of the following
Alas! that such perverted zeal
Then, to her Patron Saint a previous rite