When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!

Dear bosom child we call thee, that dost steep [tames In rich reward all suffering; balm that All anguish; saint that evil thoughts and

aims

'Takest away, and into souls dost creep, Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, I surely not a man ungently made, Call thee worst tyrant by which flesh is crost? Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown, Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed, [most! Still last to come where thou art wanted

THE WILD DUCK'S NEST.

THE imperial consort of the fairy king Owns not a sylvan bower; or gorgeous cell With emerald floored, and with purpureal shell

Ceilinged and roofed; that is so fair a thing As this low structure-for the tasks of spring

[swell

TO THE POET, JOHN DYER,

BARD of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made [bright; That work a living landscape fair and Nor hallowed less with musical delight Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed,

Those southern tracts of Cambria, "deep embayed,

With green hills fenced, with ocean's murmur lulled,"

Though hasty fame hath many a chaplet culled [shade For worthless crowns, while in the pensive Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced, [and still, Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek A grateful few, shall love thy modest lay, Long as the shepherd's bleating flock shall stray

O'er naked Snowdon's wide aërial waste; Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar

Hill!

dwell; [brooding-wing. And spreads in steadfast peace her Words cannot paint the o'ershadowing yew

tree-bough,

THE PUBLICATION OF A CERTAIN POEM.

See Milton's sonnet, beginning "A book was writ of late called Tetrachordon."

"

A BOOK came forth of late, called "Peter Bell;" [good Not negligent the style;-the matter?As aught that song record of Robin Hood; Or Roy, renowned through many a Scottish dell;

But some (who brook these hackneyed themes full well, (blood) Nor heat at Tam o'Shanter's name their

Waxed wroth, and with foul claws, a harpy brood,

On bard and hero clamorously fell. Heed not, wild rover once through heath and glen, [choice, Who mad'st at length the better life thy Heed not such onset! nay, if praise of men To thee appear not an unmeaning voice, Lift up that gray-haired forehead, and rejoice

In the just tribute of thy poet's pen!

appear,

No disproportion in her soul, no strife:
But, when the closer view of wedded life
Hath shown that nothing human can be
clear

From frailty, for that insight may the wife
To her indulgent lord become more dear.

way

strówn

With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone Ever put on ; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud, [groan !" "Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we I seem to mount those steps; the vapours gave

Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have [gone; Pleasing remembrance of a thought foreA lovely beauty in a summer grave!

"WEAK is the will of man, his judgment blind;

Remembrance persecutes, and hope betrays;

Heavy is woe; and joy, for human-kind, A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!" Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days Who wants the glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more-than-reasoning mind, And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays. Imagination is that sacred power, Imagination lofty and refined;

'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of Faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind [shower, Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with His eternal motion make
A sound like thunder-everlastingly.
Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with
me here,
[thought,
If thou appear'st untouched by solemn
Thy nature is not therefore less divine :
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worshipp'st at the temple's inner
shrine,

God being with thee when we know it not.

WHERE lies the land to which yon ship must go?

Festively she puts forth in trim array;
As vigorous as a lark at break of day:
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
What boots the inquiry?-Neither friend
nor foe

She cares for; let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way
Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were
[and there
(From time to time, like pilgrims, here
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something
dark,

rare,

Of the old sea some reverential fear,

Is with me at thy farewell, joyous bark!

WITH ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,

Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why.

A goodly vessel did I then espy Come like a giant from a haven broad; And lustily along the bay she strode, "Her tackling rich, and of apparel high, This ship was nought to me, nor I to her. Yet I pursued her with a lover's look ; This ship to all the rest did I prefer : When will she turn, and whither? She will brook [must stir: No tarrying; where she comes the winds On went she,-and due north her journey took.

THE world is too much with us; late and soon, [powers: Getting and spending, we lay waste our Little we see in nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon !

This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping
⚫ flowers;

For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less
forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

A VOLANT tribe of bards on earth are found,
Who, while the flattering zephyrs round
them play,
[of clay;
Oncoignes of vantage" hang their nests
How quickly from that aery hold unbound,
Dust for oblivion! To the solid ground
Ofnature trusts the mind that builds for aye;
Convinced that there, there only, she can lay
Secure foundations. As the year runs round,
Apart she toils within he chosen ring;
While the stars shine, or while day's purple
eye

Is gently closing with the flowers of spring;
Where even the motion of an angel's wing
Would interrupt the intense tranquillity
Of silent hills, and more than silent sky.

How sweet it is, when mother fancy rocks The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!

An old place, full of many a lovely brood, Tall trees, green arbours, and groundflowers in flocks; [stocks, And wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn Like a bold girl, who plays her agile pranks