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But Shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid;
Lords of the visionary eye whose lid,
Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall !
Ye Gods, thought He, that servile Implement
Obeys a mystical intent !
Your Minister would brush away
The spots that to my soul adhere;
But should she labour night and day,
They will not, cannot disappear;
Whence angry perturbations,—and that look
Which no Philosophy can brook !

Mockery—or model roughly hewn,
And left as if by earthquake strewn,
Or from the Flood escaped :
Altars for Druid service fit ;
(But where no fire was ever lit,
Unless the glow-worm to the skies
Thence offer nightly sacrifice)
Wrinkled Egyptian monument ;
Green moss-grown tower ; or hoary tent;
Tents of a camp that never shall be raised -
On which four thousand years have gazed !



Il-fated Chief! there are whose hopes are built
Upon the ruins of thy glorious name;
Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt,
Pursue thee with their deadly aim !
O matchless perfidy! portentous lust
Of monstrous crime !—that horror-striking blade,
Drawn in defiance of the Gods, hath laid
The noble Syracusan low in dust!
Shudder'd the walls—the marble city wept-
And sylvan places heaved a pensive sigh ;
But in calm peace the appointed Victim slept,
As he had fallen in magnanimity ;
Of spirit too capacious to require
That Destiny her course should change; too just
To his own native greatness to desire
That wretched boon, days lengthened by mistrust.
So were the hopeless troubles, that involved
The soul of Dion, instantly dissolved.
Released from life and cares of princely state,
He left this moral grafted on his Fate;
“ Him only pleasure leads, and peace attends,
Him, only him, the shield of Jove defends,
Whose means are fair and spotless as his ends.'

Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes !
Ye snow-white lambs that trip
Imprisoned ’mid the formal props
Of restless ownership !
Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall
To feed the insatiate Prodigal !
Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and fields,
All that the fertile valley shields ;
Wages of folly-baits of crime,
Of life's uneasy game the stake,
Playthings that keep the eyes awake
Of drowsy, dotard Time ;-
O care ! O guilt !-O vales and plains,
Here, 'mid his own unvexed domains,
A Genius dwells, that can subdue
At once all memory of You -
Most potent when mists veil the sky,
Mists that distort and magnify;
While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze,
Sigh forth their ancient melodies !

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List to those shriller notes !—that march
Perchance was on the blast,
When, through this Height's inverted arch,
Rome's earliest legion passed !
—They saw, adventurously impelled,
And older eyes than theirs beheld,
This block—and yon, whose church-like frame
Gives to this savage Pass its name.
Aspiring Road ! that lov'st to hide
Thy daring in a vapoury bourn,
Not seldom may the hour return
When thou shalt be my guide :
And I (as all men may find cause,
When life is at a weary pause,
And they have panted up the hill
Of duty with reluctant will)
Be thankful, even though tired and faint,
For the rich bounties of constraint ;
Whence oft invigorating transports flow
That choice lacked courage to bestow!


Within the mind strong fancies work,
A deep delight the bosom thrills,
Oft as I pass along the fork
Of these fraternal hills :
Where, save the rugged road, we find
No appanage of human kind,
Nor hint of man ; if stone or rock
Seem not his handy-work to mock
By something cognizably shaped ;


The grove,

My Soul was grateful for delight That wore a threatening brow; A veil is lifted—can she slight The scene that opens now ? Though habitation none appear, The greenness tells, man must be there ; The shelter-that the perspective Is of the clime in which we live; Where Toil pursues his daily round; Where Pity sheds sweet tears—and Love, In woodbine bower or birchen grove, Inflicts his tender wound. - Who comes not hither ne'er shall know How beautiful the world below; Nor can he guess how lightly leaps The brook adown the rocky steeps. Farewell, thou desolate Domain ! Hope, pointing to the cultured plain, Carols like a shepherd-boy ; And who is she ?-Can that be Joy ! Who, with a sunbeam for her guide, Smoothly skims the meadows wide ; While Faith, from yonder opening cloud, To hill and vale proclaims aloud, “ Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked dare, Thy lot, 0 Man, is good, thy portion fair !"


Daughter of Hope ! her favourite Child,
Whom she to young Ambition bore,
When hunter's arrow first defiled

and stained the turf with gore ;
Thee winged Fancy took, and nursed
On broad Euphrates' palmy shore,
And where the mightier Waters burst
From caves of Indian mountains hoar !
She wrapped thee in a panther's skin ;
And Thou, thy favourite food to win,
The flame-eyed eagle oft wouldst scare
From her rock-fortress in mid air,
With infant shout ; and often sweep,
Paired with the ostrich, o'er the plain ;
Or, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleep
Upon the couchant lion's mane !
With rolling years thy strength increased ;
And, far beyond thy native East,
To thee, by varying titles known
As variously thy power was shown,
Did incense-bearing altars rise,
Which caught the blaze of sacrifice,
From suppliants panting for the skies !




KEEP for the Young the impassioned smile
Shed from thy countenance, as I see thee stand
High on that chalky cliff of Briton's Isle,
A slender volume grasping in thy hand-
(Perchance the pages that relate
The various turns of Crusoe's fate)—
Ah, spare the exulting smile,
And drop thy pointing finger bright
As the first flash of beacon light ;
But neither veil thy head in shadows dim,
Nor turn thy face away
From One who, in the evening of his day,
To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn !

What though this ancient Earth be trod No more by step of Demi-god Mounting from glorious deed to deed As thou from clime to clime didst lead; Yet still, the bosom beating high, And the hushed farewell of an eye Where no procrastinating gaze A last infirmity betrays, Prove that thy heaven-descended sway Shall ne'er submit to cold decay. By thy divinity impelled, The Stripling seeks the tented field ; The aspiring Virgin kneels; and, pale With awe, receives the hallowed veil, A soft and tender Heroine Vowed to severer discipline ; Inflamed by thee, the blooming Boy Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy, And of the ocean's dismal breast A play-ground,-or a couch of rest; 'Mid the blank world of snow and ice, Thou to his dangers dost enchain The Chamois-chaser awed in vain By chasm or dizzy precipice ; And hast Thou not with triumph seen How soaring Mortals glide between Or through the clouds, and brave the light With bolder than Icarian flight ?


Bold Spirit ! who art free to rove
Among the starry courts of Jove,
And oft in splendour dost appear
Embodied to poetic eyes,
While traversing this nether sphere,
Where Mortals call thee ENTERPRISE.


How they, in bells of crystal, diven
Where winds and waters cease to strive-
For no unholy visitings,
Among the monsters of the Deep;
And all the sad and precious things
Which there in ghastly silence sleep ?
Or, adverse tides and currents headed,
And breathless calms no longer dreaded,
In never-slackening voyage go
Straight as an arrow from the bow ;
And, slighting sails and scorning oars,
Keep faith with Time on distant shores?

-Within our fearless reach are placed
The secrets of the burning Waste ;
Egyptian tombs unlock their dead,
Nile trembles at his fountain head;
Thou speak’st—and lo! the polar Seas
Unbosom their last mysteries.
—But oh! what transports, what sublime reward,
Won from the world of mind, dost thou prepare
For philosophic Sage ; or high-souled Bard
Who, for thy service trained in lonely woods,
Hath fed on pageants floating through the air,
Or calentured in depth of limpid floods ;
Nor grieves—tho'doomed thro’ silent night to bear
The domination of his glorious themes,
Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams !

Back flows the willing current of my Song:
If to provoke such doom the Impious dare,
Why should it daunt a blameless prayer ?
-Bold Goddess ! range our Youth among ;
Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat
In hearts no longer young ;
Still may a veteran Few have pride
In thoughts whose sternness makes them sweet ;
In fixed resolves by Reason justified ;
That to their object cleave like sleet
Whitening a pine tree's northern side,
When fields are naked far and wide,
And withered leaves, from earth's cold breast
Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can find rest.


But, if such homage thou disdain
As doth with mellowing years agree,
One rarely absent from thy train
More humble favours may obtain
For thy contented Votary.
She, who incites the frolic lambs
In presence of their heedless dams,
And to the solitary fawn
Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph
That wakes the breeze, the sparkling lymph
Doth hurry to the lawn ;
She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy
Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy
Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me;
And vernal mornings opening bright
With views of undefined delight,
And cheerful songs, and suns that shine
On busy days, with thankful nights, be mine.


If there be movements in the Patriot's soul,
From source still deeper, and of higher worth,
'Tis thine the quickening impulse to control,
And in due season send the mandate forth ;
Thy call a prostrate Nation can restore,
When but a single Mind resolves to crouch no




Dread Minister of wrath !
Who to their destined punishment dost urge But thou, O Goddess ! in thy favourite Isle
The Pharaohs of the earth, the men of hardened (Freedom's impregnable redoubt,

The wide earth's store-house fenced about
Not unassisted by the flattering stars,

With breakers roaring to the gales Thou strew'st temptation o'er the path

That stretch a thousand thousand sails)
When they in pomp depart

Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile ! -
With trampling horses and refulgent cars, Thy impulse is the life of Fame ;
Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge ;

Glad Hope would almost cease to be
Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands ; If torn from thy society ;
Or caught amid a whirl of desert sands

And Love, when worthiest of his name,
An Army now, and now a living hill

Is proud to walk the earth with Thee !
That a brief while heaves with convulsive throes-
Then all is still ;
Or, to forget their madness and their woes,
Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows !

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Or survey their bright dominions
In the gorgeous colours drest
Flung from off the purple pinions,
Evening spreads throughout the west !

Thine are all the coral fountains
Warbling in each sparry vault
Of the untrodden lunar mountains ;
Listen to their songs !--or halt,

To Niphates' top invited,
Whither spiteful Satan steered ;
Or descend where the ark alighted,
When the green earth re-appeared ;

Mark how the feathered tenants of the flood,
With grace of motion that might scarcely seem
Inferior to angelical, prolong
Their curious pastime! shaping in mid air
(And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars
High as the level of the mountain-tops)
A circuit ampler than the lake beneath-
Their own domain ; but ever, while intent
On tracing and retracing that large round,
Their jubilant activity evolves
Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro,
Upward and downward, progress intricate
Yet unperplexed, as if one spirit swayed
Their indefatigable flight. 'Tis donem
Ten times, or more, I fancied it had ceased;
But lo! the vanished company again
Ascending ; they approach–I hear their wings
Faint, faint at first; and then an eager sound
Past in a moment, and as faint again!
They tempt the sun to sport amid their plumes;

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They tempt the water, or the gleaming ice,
To show them a fair image ; 'tis themselves,
Their own fair forms, upon the glimmering plain,
Painted more soft and fair as they descend
Almost to touch ;—then up again aloft,

Up with a sally and a flash of speed,
As if they scorned both resting place and rest !

Those silver clouds collected round the sun
His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less
To overshade than multiply his beams
By soft reflection-grateful to the sky,

To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK COMB.

Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy This Height a ministering Angel might select : More ample than the time-dismantled Oak For from the summit of Black Comb (dread name Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired Derived from clouds and storms !) the amplest range In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords Of unobstructed prospect may be seen

Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use That British ground commands :—-low dusky tracts, Was fashioned; whether by the hand of Art, Where Trent is nursed, far southward ! Cambrian That eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought hills

On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs To the south-west, a multitudinous show;

In languor; or, by Nature, for repose And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase. The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight To Tiviots stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde :- Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves, Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth Approach ;-and, thus invited, crown with rest Gigantic mountains rough with crags; beneath, The noon-tide hour : though truly some there are Right at the imperial station's western base Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched This venerable Tree; for, when the wind Far into silent regions blue and pale ;

Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound And visibly engirding Mona's Isle

(Above the general roar of woods and crags) That, as we left the plain, before our sight Distinctly heard from far--a doleful note ! Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly

As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed) (Above the convex of the watery globe)

The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed Into clear view the cultured fields that streak Some bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved, Her habitable shores, but now appears

By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost A dwindled object, and submits to lie

Haunts the old trunk; lamenting deeds of which At the spectator's feet.-Yon azure ridge, The flowery ground is conscious. But no wind Is it a perishable cloud? Or there

Sweeps now along this elevated ridge; Do we behold the line of Erin's coast?

Not even a zephyr stirs ;—the obnoxious Tree Land sometimes by the roving shepherd-swain Is mute; and, in his silence, would look down, (Like the bright confines of another world) O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills, Not doubtfully perceived.—Look homeward now! On thy reclining form with more delight In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene

Than his coevals in the sheltered vale The spectacle, how pure !—Of Nature's works, Seem to participate, the whilst they view In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea,

Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads A revelation infinite it seems;

Vividly pictured in some glassy pool, Display august of man's inheritance,

That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying

stream! Of Britain's calm felicity and power!



Black Comb stands at the southern extremity of Cumberland : its base covers a much greater extent of ground than any other mountain in those parts; and, from its situation, the summit commands a more extensive view than any other point in Britain.

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