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SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN
The forest huge of ancient Caledon
[On the roadside between Penrith and Appleby, there stands a pillar with the following inscription :
• This pillar was erected, in the year 1656, by Anne Countess Dowager of Pembroke, &c. for a memorial of her last parting with her pious mother, Margaret Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on the 2d of April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of 41. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2d day of April for ever, upon the stone table placed hard
by. Laus Deo!'] While the Poor gather round, till the end of time May this bright flower of Charity display Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day; Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime Lovelier-transplanted from heaven's purest clime! *Charity never faileth :' on that creed, More than on written testament or deed, The pious Lady built with hope sublime. Alms on this stone to be dealt out, for ever! • Laus Deo.' Many a Stranger passing by Has with that Parting mixed a filial sigh, Blest its humane Memorial's fond endeavour; And, fastening on those lines an eye tear-glazed, Has ended, though no Clerk, with ‘God be praised !'
HART'S-HORN TREE, NEAR PENRITH. HERE stood an Oak, that long had borne affixed To his huge trunk, or, with more subtle art, Among its withering topmost branches mixed, The palmy antlers of a hunted Hart, Whom the Dog Hercules pursued—his part Each desperately sustaining, till at last Both sank and died, the life-veins of the chased And chaser bursting here with one dire smart. Mutual the victory, mutual the defeat ! High was the trophy hung with pitiless pride; Say, rather, with that generous sympathy That wants not, even in rudest breasts, a seat; And, for this feeling's sake, let no one chide Verse that would guard thy memory, Hart'S-HORN
ROMAN ANTIQUITIES. (FROM THE ROMAN STATION AT OLD PENRITH.) How profitless the relics that we cull, Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome, Unless they chasten fancies that presume Too high, or idle agitations lull ! Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full, To have no seat for thought were better doom, Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull Of him who gloried in its nodding plume. Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they? Our fond regrets tenacious in their grasp? The Sage's theory? the Poet's lay ?Mere Fibulæ without a robe to clasp; Obsolete lamps, whose light no time recals; Urns without ashes, tearless lacrymals !
FANCY AND TRADITION.
The Lovers took within this ancient grove
FOR THE FOREGOING POEMS.
No more: the end is sudden and abrupt, Abrupt—as without preconceived design Was the beginning; yet the several Lays Have moved in order, to each other bound
* See Note.
By a continuous and acknowledged tie
Whence, as a current from its fountain-head,
ON A HIGH PART OF THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND
Wheels and the tread of hoofs are heard no more;
One boat there was, but it will touch the shore Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose
With the next dipping of its slackened oar; Day's grateful warmth, tho’ moist with falling dews.
Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay, Look for the stars, you 'll say that there are none;
Might give to serious thought a moment's sway,
As a last token of man's toilsome day!
Easter Sunday, April 7.
THE AUTHOR'S SIXTY-THIRD BIRTH-DAY.
The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire,
Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams, Had closed his door before the day was done, Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams. And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep, Look round ;-of all the clouds not one is moving ; And joins his little children in their sleep.
'Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving. The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade, Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky, Flits and reflits along the close arcade ;
The boundless plain of waters seems to lie :The busy dor-hawk chases the white moth
Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er With burring note, which Industry and Sloth The grass-crowned headland that conceals the Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both.
shore ? A stream is heard- I see it not, but know
No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea, By its soft music whence the waters flow:
Whispering how meek and gentle he can be !
Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke On British waters with that look benign?
Ye mariners, that plough your onward way,
May silent thanks at least to God be given
With a full heart; our thoughts are heard in For the brief course that must for me remain ;
Not in the lucid intervals of life
That come but as a curse to party-strife; Glad to expand; and, for a season, free
Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee!
Of languor puts his rosy garland by ;
Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords ; (BY THE SEA-SIDE.)
Nor has her gentle beauty power to move The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, With genuine rapture and with fervent love And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; The soul of Genius, if he dare to take Air slumbers-wave with wave no longer strives, Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake; Only a heaving of the deep survives,
Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent A tell-tale motion ! soon will it be laid,
Of all the truly great and all the innocent.
But who is innocent? By grace divine,
Not otherwise, 0 Nature ! we are thine, Such is the prospect far as sight can range, Through good and evil thine, in just degree The soothing recompence, the welcome change. Of rational and manly sympathy. Where now the ships that drove before the blast, To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing, Threatened by angry breakers as they passed ; And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing, And by a train of flying clouds bemocked;
Add every charm the Universe can show Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked
Through every change its aspects undergo-
His gracious help, or give what we abuse.
(BY THE SIDE OF RYDAL MERE.)
Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose; And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise
The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and again With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies.
The monitor revives his own sweet strain ; Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine, But both will soon be mastered, and the copse Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine Be left as silent as the mountain-tops,
Ere some commanding star dismiss to rest And has restored to view its tender green, The throng of rooks, that now, from twig or nest, That, while the sun rode high, was lost beneath (After a steady flight on home-bound wings,
their dazzling sheen. And a last game of mazy hoverings
-An emblem this of what the sober Hour Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise Can do for minds disposed to feel its power ! Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.
Thus oft, when we in vain have wish'd away
The petty pleasures of the garish day,
(Unbashful dwarfs each glittering at his post) That listening sense is pardonably cheated
And leaves the disencumbered spirit free
'Tis well—but what are helps of time and place, This hour of deepening darkness here would be
When wisdom stands in need of nature's grace ; As a fresh morning for new harmony ;
Why do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend, And lays as prompt would hail the dawn of Night: Like Angels from their bowers, our virtues to beA dawn she has both beautiful and bright,
friend; When the East kindles with the full moon's light; If yet To-morrow, unbelied, may say, Not like the rising sun's impatient glow
“I come to open out, for fresh display, Dazzling the mountains, but an overflow
The elastic vanities of yesterday?" Of solemn splendour, in mutation slow.
Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led,
The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill,
Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge—the Mere
Grave Creature !-whether, while the moon
In classic ages men perceived a soul Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl ! Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove ; And, near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove, His Eagle’s favourite perch, while round him sate The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate, Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side :Hark to that second larum !-far and wide The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied.
Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,
(This Impromptu appeared, many years ago, among the
Author's poems, from which, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. It is reprinted, at the request of the Friend in whose presence the lines were thrown off.]
The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and trees ;
Who would go parading'
No sound is uttered,,but a deep
COMPOSED UPON AN EVENING OF EXTRAORDINARY
SPLENDOUR AND BEAUTY.
Had this effulgence disappeared
And, if there be whom broken ties