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SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom

The holy time is quiet as a Nun But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun That spot which no vicissitude can find ?

Is sinking down in its tranquillity; Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind- The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea : But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, Even for the least division of an hour,

And doth with his eternal motion make Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

A sound like thunder-everlastingly. To my most grievous loss !—That thought's return Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,

here, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; Thy nature is not therefore less divine: That neither present time, nor years unborn Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. And worship’st at the Temple's inner shrine,

God being with thee when we know it not.




METHought I saw the footsteps of a throne
Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did

Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go ? shroudNor view of who might sit thereon allowed ;

Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,

Festively she puts forth in trim array ;
But all the steps and ground about were strown
With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone

Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?

What boots the inquiry ?-Neither friend nor foe Ever put on; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,

She cares for ; let her travel where she may, “ Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan.”

She finds familiar names, a beaten way Those steps I clomb; the mists before me gave

Ever before her, and a wind to blow,

Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark? Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one

And, almost as it was when ships were rare, Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have (From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone ;

Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,

Of the old Sea some reverential fear, A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!

Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark !

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Even so for me a Vision sanctified

With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, The sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Thy countenance-the still rapture of thy mien- Some lying fast at anchor in the road, When thou, dear Sister! wert become Death's Some veering up and down, one knew not why. No trace of pain or languor could abide [Bride: | A goodly Vessel did I then espy That change :-age on thy brow was smoothed— Come ke a giant from a haven broad; thy cold

And lustily along the bay she strode, Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold Her tackling rich, and of apparel high. A loveliness to living youth denied.

This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her, Oh! if within me hope should e'er decline, Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look; The lamp of faith, lost Friend ! too faintly burn; This Ship to all the rest did I prefer : Then may that heaven-revealing smile of thine, When will she turn, and whither? She will brook The bright assurance, visibly return :

No tarrying; where She comes the winds must And let my spirit in that power divine Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn. On went She, and due north her journey took.

stir :

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The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers :
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 wreathèd horn.

CALVERT ! it must not be unheard by them
Who may respect my name, that I to thee
Owed many years of early liberty.
This care was thine when sickness did condemn
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem-
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray
Where'er I liked ; and finally array
My temples with the Muse’s diadem.
Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth;
If there be aught of pure, or good, or great,
In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays
Of higher mood, which now I meditate ;-
It gladdens me, 0 worthy, short-lived, Youth !
To think how much of this will be thy praise.




A VOLANT Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them

play, On coignes of vantage' hang their nests of clay; How quickly from that aery hold unbound, Dust for oblivion ! To the solid ground Of nature 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 the 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.

Scorn not the Sonnet ; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakspeare unlocked his heart ; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens soothed an exile's grief ;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow : a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet ; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains-alas, too few!



« 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 Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

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 ground-flowers in

flocks ;
And wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks,
Like a bold Girl, who plays her agile pranks
AtWakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks,-
When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and
The crowd beneath her. Verily I think, [mocks
Such place to me is sometimes like a dream
Or map of the whole world : thoughts, link by link,
Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
And leap at once from the delicious stream.

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Higu is our calling, Friend !-Creative Art
(Whether the instrument of words she use,
Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,)
Demands the service of a mind and heart,
Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,
Heroically fashioned to infuse
Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse,
While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
And, oh! when Nature sinks, as oft she may,
Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,
Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,
And in the soul admit of no decay,
Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard !

I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret
Yon slowly-sinking star-immortal Sire
(So might he seem) of all the glittering quire !
Blue ether still surrounds him-yet-and yet ;
But now the horizon's rocky parapet
Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire,
He burns-transmuted to a dusky fire-
Then pays submissively the appointed debt
To the flying moments, and is seen no more.
Angels and gods! We struggle with our fate,
While health, power, glory, from their height

Depressed ; and then extinguished : and our state,
In this, how different, lost Star, from thine,
That no to-morrow shall our beams restore !



From the dark chambers of dejection freed,
Spurning the unprofitable yoke of care,
Rise, Gillies, rise : the gales of youth shall bear
Thy genius forward like a winged steed.
Though bold Bellerophon (s0 Jove decreed
In wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air,
Yet a rich guerdon waits on minds that dare,
If aught be in them of immortal seed,
And reason govern that audacious fight
Which heaven-ward they direct.—Then droop not

Erroneously renewing a sad vow
In the low dell \mid Roslin's faded grove :
A cheerful life is what the Muses love,
A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

I HEARD (alas ! 't was only in a dream)
Strains—which, as sage Antiquity believed,
By waking ears have sometimes been received
Wafted adown the wind from lake or stream;
A most melodious requiem, a supreme
And perfect harmony of notes, achieved
By a fair Swan on drowsy billows heaved,
O'er which her pinions shed a silver gleam.
For is she not the votary of Apollo ?
And knows she not, singing as he inspires,
That bliss awaits her which the ungenial Hollow*
Of the dull earth partakes not, nor desires ?
Mount, tuneful Bird, and join the immortal quires !
She soared—and I awoke, struggling in vain to





Fair Prime of life ! were it enough to gild
With ready sunbeams every straggling shower ;
And, if an unexpected cloud should lower,
Swiftly thereon a rainbow arch to build
For Fancy's errands,-then, from fields half-tilled
Gathering green weeds to mix with poppy flower,
Thee might thy Minions crown, and chant thy

Unpitied by the wise, all censure stilled.
Ah ! show that worthier honours are thy due ;
Fair Prime of life ! arouse the deeper heart ;
Confirm the Spirit glorying to pursue
Some path of steep ascent and lofty aim ;
And, if there be a joy that slights the claim
Of grateful memory, bid that joy depart.

If the whole weight of what we think and feel,
Save only far as thought and feeling blend
With action, were as nothing, patriot Friend !
From thy remonstrance would be no appeal ;
But to promote and fortify the weal
Of our own Being is her paramount end ;
A truth which they alone shall comprehend
Who shun the mischief which they cannot heal.
Peace in these feverish times is sovereign bliss :
Here, with no thirst but what the stream can slake,
And startled only by the rustling brake,
Cool air I breathe ; while the unincumbered Mind,
By some weak aims at services assigned
To gentle Natures, thanks not Heaven amiss.

* See the Phædon of Plato, by which this Sonnet was suggested.

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Not Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell
Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change,
Nor Duty struggling with afflictions strange-
Not these alone inspire the tuneful shell ;
But where untroubled peace and concord dwell,
There also is the Muse not loth to range,
Watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange,
Skyward ascending from a woody dell.
Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour,
And sage content, and placid melancholy;
She loves to gaze upon a crystal river-
Diaphanous because it travels slowly;
Soft is the music that would charm for ever;
The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.

they are of the sky,

And from our earthly memory fade away.'
THOSE words were uttered as in pensive mood
We turned, departing from that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed !
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable as a dream of night;
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home :
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.

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MARK the concentred hazels that enclose

SEPTEMBER, 1815. Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields, Of noontide suns:-and even the beams that play

With ripening harvest prodigally fair, And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air, Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom,

His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields The very image framing of a Tomb,

Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware; In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose And whispers to the silent birds, “Prepare Among the lonely mountains.—Live, ye trees !

Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields.” And thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep


who under kindlier laws belong
Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep: To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry
For more than Fancy to the influence bends

Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky, When solitary Nature condescends

Announce a season potent to renew,
To mimic Time's forlorn humanities.

Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,
And nobler cares than listless summer knew.

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How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright
Dark and more dark the shades of evening fell ; The effluence from yon distant mountain's head,
The wished-for point was reached - but at an hour | Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can
When little could be gained from that rich dower shed,
Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell. Shines like another sun-on mortal sight
Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night,
Salute us; there stood Indian citadel,

And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread, Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower

If so he might, yon mountain's glittering headSubstantially expressed-a place for bell

Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight Or clock to toll from! Many a tempting isle, Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing, With groves that never were imagined, lay Unswept, unstained? Nor shall the aérial Powers 'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure, Of silent rapture; but we felt the while

White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure, We should forget them; they are of the sky, Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring And from our earthly memory fade away.

Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.





One who was suffering tumult in his soul
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,

LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove Went forth_his course surrendering to the care

While I was shaping beds for winter flowers ; Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl

While I was planting green unfading bowers, Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;

And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove, While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear And sheltering wall; and still, as Fancy wove The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,

The dream, to time and nature's blended powers And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl I gave this paradise for winter hours, As if the sun were not. He raised his eye

A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove. Soul-smitten ; for, that instant, did appear

Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines, Large space (mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky, Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom An azure disc-shield of Tranquillity;

Or high gladness you shall hither bring; Invisible, unlooked-for, minister

And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines Of providential goodness ever nigh!

Be gracious as the music and the bloom
And all the mighty ravishment of spring.




Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend [they There is a pleasure in poetic pains
Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,

Which only Poets know ;—'t was rightly said ;
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day, Whom could the Muses else allure to tread
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, way-lay Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains ?
The rising sun, and on the plains descend; When happiest Fancy has inspired the strains,
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend How oft the malice of one luckless word
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May Pursues the Enthusiast to the social board,
Shall soon behold this border thickly set

Haunts him belated on the silent plains ! With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear, On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers; At last, of hindrance and obscurity, Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,

Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn;
Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, Bright, speckless, as a softly-moulded tear
And pensive monitor of fleeting years !

The moment it has left the virgin's eye,
Or rain-drop lingering on the pointed thorn.




With a selection from the Poems of Anne, Connters of Winchilrea;

and extraits of similar character from other Writers; transcribed

by a female friend. LADY! I rifled a Parnassian Cave

The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said, (But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore; “ Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!”. And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave And penetrated all with tender light, The azure brooks, where Dian joys to lave She cast away, and showed her fulgent head Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore Uncovered; dazzling the Beholder's sight Dim shades—for reliques, upon Lethe's shore, As if to vindicate her beauty's right, Cast up at random by the sullen wave.

Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagèd. To female hands the treasures were resigned; Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside, And lo this Work !-a grotto bright and clear Went floating from her, darkening as it went; From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind | And a huge mass, to bury or to hide, May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere; Approached this glory of the firmament; Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined

Who meekly yields, and is obscured-content To holy musing, it may enter here.

With one calm triumph of a modest pride.

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