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Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home;
The immortal mind craves objects that
endure :
[roam,
These cleave to it; from these it cannot
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.

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allow

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Such transport-though but for a moment's
Not while-to aid the spirit of the place-
The crescent moon clove with its glittering
The clouds, or night-bird sang from shady
prow
[bough,
But in plain daylight:-She too, at my side,
Who, with her heart's experience satisfied,

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, Maintains inviolate its slightest vow!

SEPT. 3, 1803.

Sweet fancy! other gifts must I receive; Proofs of a higher sovereignty I claim; EARTH has not anything to show more Take from her brow the withering flowers fair: [by of eve, [restore: And to that brow life's morning wreath Let her be comprehended in the frame Of these illusions, or they please no more.

Dull would he be of soul who could pass
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This city now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples RECOLLECTION OF THE PORTRAIT OF

lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless

air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;

say, he has not seen any other relique of those dark ages which can pretend to rival it in singularity and dignity of appearance.

KING HENRY VIII. TRINITY LODGE,
CAMBRIDGE.

THE imperial stature, the colossal stride,
Are yet before me; yet do I behold
The broad full visage, chest of amplest
mould,
[pride:

The vestments broidered with barbaric
And lo! a poniard, at the monarch's side,
Hangs ready to be grasped in sympathy

ends,

With the keen threatenings of that fulgent A PARSONAGE IN OXFORDSHIRE, eye, [scried. WHERE holy ground begins, unhallowed Below the white-rimmed bonnet, far deWho trembles now at thy capricious mood? 'Mid those surrounding worthies, haughty king!

We rather think, with grateful mind sedate, How Providence educeth, from the spring Of lawless will, unlooked-for streams of good, [abate. Which neither force shall check nor time

ON THE DEATH OF HIS MAJESTY
GEORGE III.

WARD of the law !-dread shadow of a
king!
[room;
Whose realm had dwindled to one stately
Whose universe was gloom immersed in
gloom,
[fling,
Darkness as thick as life o'er life could
Save haply for some feeble glimmering
Of faith and hope; if thou, by nature's
doom,

Gently hast sunk into the quiet tomb, Why should we bend in grief, to sorrow cling, [flowing tears, When thankfulness were best!-FreshOr, where tears flow not, sigh succeeding sigh,

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FAME tells of groves-from England far away*

Groves that inspire the nightingale to trill And modulate, with subtle reach of skill

Elsewhere unmatched, her ever-varying lay; Such bold report I venture to gainsay : For I have heard the choir of Richmond Hill

Chanting, with indefatigable bill,

found

Is marked by no distinguishable line;
The turf unites, the pathways intertwine;
And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep
tends,
[friends,
Garden, and that domain where kindred,
And neighbours rest together, here con-
[sound
Their several features, mingled like the
Of many waters, or as evening blends
With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub
and flower,
[grave;
And while those lofty poplars gently wave
Waft fragrant greetings to each silent
Their tops, between them comes and goes
a sky

Bright as the glimpses of eternity,
To saints accorded in their mortal hour.

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Strains, that recalled to mind a distant Composed in the grounds of Plass Newidd, near

day; [wood, When, haply under shade of that same And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars Plied steadily between those willowy shores, The sweet-souled poet of The Seasons stood[mood, Listening, and listening long, in rapturous Ye heavenly birds! to your progenitors.

* Wallachia is the country alluded to.

"

Llangollyn, 1824.

A STREAM, to mingle with your favourite
Dee,

Along the Vale of Meditation flows;*
So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased
In nature's face the expression of repose;

to see

* Glyn Myrvr.

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and near,

The poor old man is greater than he seems:
For he hath waking empire, wide as dreams:
An ample sovereignty of eye and ear.
Rich are his walks with supernatural cheer;
The region of his inner spirit teems
With vital sounds and monitory gleams
Of high astonishment and pleasing fear.
He the seven birds hath seen, that never
part,
[rounds,
Seen the Seven Whistlers in their nightly
And counted them: and oftentimes will
start-
[hounds,
For overhead are sweeping Gabriel's
Doomed, with their impious lord, the flying

hart

To chase for ever, on aerial grounds!

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WHILE they, her playmates once, lighthearted tread [marge;

The mountain turf and river's flowery
Or float with music in the festal barge;
Rein the proud steed, or through the dance
are led;

Is Anna doomed to press a weary bed-
Till oft her guardian angel, to some charge
More urgent called, will stretch his wings
at large,
[head.
And friends too rarely prop the languid
Yet genius is no feeble comforter:
The presence even of a stuffed owl for her
Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out
To ivied castles and to moonlight skies,

Though he can neither stir a plume, nor | For steadfast hope the contract to fulfil; shout, [eyes. Yet shall my blessing hover o'er thee still, Nor veil, with restless film, his staring Embodied in the music of this lay, Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain stream* [mother's ear Whose murmur soothed thy languid After her throes, this stream of name more dear

TO THE CUCKOO.

NOT the whole warbling grove in concert heard [can thrill When sunshine follows shower, the breast Like the first summons, cuckoo! of thy bill,

With its twin notes inseparably paired. The captive, 'mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired,

Measuring the periods of his lonely doom, That cry can reach; and to the sick man's

room

Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared, [search The lordly eagle-race through hostile May perish; time may come when never

more

The wilderness shall hear the lion roar ; But long as cock shall crow from household perch [thy wing, To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed And thy erratic voice be faithful to the spring!

THE INFANT M-M

UNQUIET childhood here by special grace Forgets her nature, opening like a flower That neither feeds nor wastes its vital power In painful struggles. Months each other chase, [trace And nought untunes that infant's voice; a Of fretful temper sullies not her cheek; Prompt, lively, self-sufficing, yet so meek That one enrapt with gazing on her face, (Which even the placid innocence of death Could scarcely make more placid, heaven • more bright,)

Might learn to picture, for the eye of faith, The virgin, as she shone with kindred light; A nursling couched upon her mother's knee,

Beneath some shady palm of Galilee.

TO ROTHA Q~

ROTHA, my spiritual child! this head was

gray

When at the sacred font for thee I stood; Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood,

And shalt become thy own sufficient stay:

Since thou dost hear it,-a memorial theme
For others; for thy future self a spell
To summon fancies out of time's dark cell.

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IN my mind's eye a temple, like a cloud Slowly surmounting some invidious hill, Rose out of darkness: the bright work stood still, [proud,

And might of its own beauty have been But it was fashioned and to God was vowed

By virtues that diffused, in every part, Spirit divine through forms of human art: Faith had her arch-her arch when winds blow loud,

Into the consciousness of safety thrilled; And Love her towers of dread foundation laid [spire Under the grave of things; Hope had her Star-high, and pointing still to something higher; [said, Trembling I gazed, but heard a voice--it Hell gates are powerless phantoms when we build.

*The river Rotha, that flows into Windermere Too late, I feel, sweet orphan! was the day [from the lakes of Grasmere and Rydal.

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DEPARTURE FROM THE VALE OF Then why these lingering steps? A bright

GRASMERE.

AUGUST 1803.

THE gentlest shade that walked Elysian
plains

Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains;
Even for the tenants of the zone that lies
Beyond the stars, celestial paradise,

adieu,

For a brief absence, proves that love is true;
Ne'er can the way be irksome or forlorn,
That winds into itself, for sweet return.

TO THE SONS OF BURNS,

FATHER.

Methinks 'twould heighten joy, to overleap AFTER VISITING THE GRAVE OF THEIR
At will the crystal battlements, and peep
Into some other region, though less fair,
To see how things are made and managed
there;

[bold Change for the worse might please, incursion Into the tracts of darkness and of cold; O'er Limbo lake with aëry flight to steer, And on the verge of Chaos hang in fear. Such animation often do I find, [mind, Power in my breast, wings growing in my Then, when some rock or hill is overpast, Perchance without one look behind me cast, Some barrier with which nature, from the birth

[earth. Of things, has fenced this fairest spot on Oh, pleasant transit, Grasmere ! to resign Such happy fields, abodes so calm as thine; Not like an outcast with himself at strife:

The slave of business, time, or care for life.
But moved by choice; or, if constrained in
part,

Yet still with nature's freedom at the heart;
To cull contentment upon wildest shores,
And luxuries extract from bleakest moors;
With prompt embrace all beauty to infold,
And having rights in all that we behold.

"The poet's grave is in a corner of the churchyard. We looked at it with melancholy and painful reflections, repeating to each other his own verses, 'Is there a man whose judgment clear,' etc.'-Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-Traveller.

'MID crowded obelisks and urns,

I sought the untimely grave of Burns;
Sons of the bard, my heart still mourns

With sorrow true;

And more would grieve, but that it turns
Trembling to you!

Through twilight shades of good and ill
Ye now are panting up life's hill,
And more than common strength and skill
If ye would give the better will
Must ye display,

Its lawful sway.

Hath nature strung your nerves to bear
Intemperance with less harm, beware!
But if the poet's wit ye share,

Like him can speed
The social hour-for tenfold care
There will be need.

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