A LOVE-LORN Maid, at some far-distant time,
Came to this hidden pool, whose depths surpass In crystal clearness Dian's looking-glass;
METHINKS 'twere no unprecedented feat Should some benignant Minister of air Lift, and encircle with a cloudy chair, The One for whom my heart shall ever beat
And, gazing, saw that Rose, which from the prime With tenderest love; or, if a safer seat Derives its name, reflected as the chime
Of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound: The starry treasure from the blue profound She longed to ravish ;-shall she plunge, or climb The humid precipice, and seize the guest Of April, smiling high in upper air? Desperate alternative! what fiend could dare To prompt the thought?-Upon the steep rock's
The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom, Untouched memento of her hapless doom!
Atween his downy wings be furnished, there Would lodge her, and the cherished burden bear O'er hill and valley to this dim retreat! Rough ways my steps have trod ;-too rough and long
For her companionship; here dwells soft ease: With sweets that she partakes not some distaste Mingles, and lurking consciousness of wrong; Languish the flowers; the waters seem to waste Their vocal charm; their sparklings cease to please.
SAD thoughts, avaunt!-partake we their blithe cheer
Who gathered in betimes the unshorn flock To wash the fleece, where haply bands of rock, Checking the stream, make a pool smooth and clear As this we look on. Distant Mountains hear, Hear and repeat, the turmoil that unites Clamour of boys with innocent despites
Of barking dogs, and bleatings from strange fear. And what if Duddon's spotless flood receive Unwelcome mixtures as the uncouth noise Thickens, the pastoral River will forgive
RETURN, Content! for fondly I pursued, Even when a child, the Streams—unheard, unseen; Through tangled woods, impending rocks between ; Or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed The sullen reservoirs whence their bold brood- Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keen, Green as the salt-sea billows, white and green— Poured down the hills, a choral multitude!
Nor have I tracked their course for scanty gains; They taught me random cares and truant joys, That shield from mischief and preserve from stains Vague minds, while men are growing out of boys;
Such wrong; nor need we blame the licensed joys, Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise
Though false to Nature's quiet equipoise: Frank are the sports, the stains are fugitive.
Impetuous thoughts that brook not servile reins.
MID-NOON is past;-upon the sultry mead No zephyr breathes, no cloud its shadow throws: If we advance unstrengthened by repose, Farewell the solace of the vagrant reed! This Nook-with woodbine hung and straggling Tempting recess as ever pilgrim chose, [weed, Half grot, half arbour-proffers to enclose Body and mind, from molestation freed, In narrow compass-narrow as itself: Or if the Fancy, too industrious Elf,
Be loth that we should breathe awhile exempt From new incitements friendly to our task, Here wants not stealthy prospect, that may tempt Loose Idless to forego her wily mask.
FALLEN, and diffused into a shapeless heap, Or quietly self-buried in earth's mould, Is that embattled House, whose massy Keep Flung from yon cliff a shadow large and cold. There dwelt the gay, the bountiful, the bold; Till nightly lamentations, like the sweep Of winds-though winds were silent-struck a deep And lasting terror through that ancient Hold. Its line of Warriors fled ;-they shrunk when tried By ghostly power:-but Time's unsparing hand Hath plucked such foes, like weeds, from out the
And now, if men with men in peace abide, All other strength the weakest may withstand, All worse assaults may safely be defied.
I ROSE while yet the cattle, heat-opprest, Crowded together under rustling trees Brushed by the current of the water-breeze; And for their sakes, and love of all that rest, On Duddon's margin, in the sheltering nest; For all the startled scaly tribes that slink Into his coverts, and each fearless link Of dancing insects forged upon his breast; For these, and hopes and recollections worn Close to the vital seat of human clay; Glad meetings, tender partings, that upstay The drooping mind of absence, by vows sworn In his pure presence near the trysting thorn- I thanked the Leader of my onward way.
THE KIRK of ULPHA to the pilgrim's eye Is welcome as a star, that doth present Its shining forehead through the peaceful rent Of a black cloud diffused o'er half the sky:
Or as a fruitful palm-tree towering high O'er the parched waste beside an Arab's tent; Or the Indian tree whose branches, downward bent, Take root again, a boundless canopy.
How sweet were leisure! could it yield no more Than 'mid that wave-washed Church-yard to recline, From pastoral graves extracting thoughts divine; Or there to pace, and mark the summits hoar Of distant moon-lit mountains faintly shine, Soothed by the unseen River's gentle roar.
No record tells of lance opposed to lance, Horse charging horse, 'mid these retired domains; Tells that their turf drank purple from the veins Of heroes, fallen, or struggling to advance, Till doubtful combat issued in a trance Of victory, that struck through heart and reins Even to the inmost seat of mortal pains, And lightened o'er the pallid countenance. Yet, to the loyal and the brave, who lie In the blank earth, neglected and forlorn, The passing Winds memorial tribute pay; The Torrents chant their praise, inspiring scorn Of power usurped; with proclamation high, And glad acknowledgment, of lawful sway.
Nor hurled precipitous from steep to steep; Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands Held; but in radiant progress toward the Deep Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep Sink, and forget their nature-now expands Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands Gliding in silence with unfettered sweep! Beneath an ampler sky a region wide
Is opened round him:-hamlets, towers, and towns, And blue-topped hills, behold him from afar; In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied Spreading his bosom under Kentish downs, With commerce freighted, or triumphant war.
WHO swerves from innocence, who makes divorce Of that serene companion-a good name, Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame, With doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse : And oft-times he-who, yielding to the force Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end, From chosen comrade turns, or faithful friend— In vain shall rue the broken intercourse. Not so with such as loosely wear the chain That binds them, pleasant River! to thy side:- Through the rough copse wheel thou with hasty stride;
I choose to saunter o'er the grassy plain, Sure, when the separation has been tried, That we, who part in love, shall meet again.
BUT here no cannon thunders to the gale; Upon the wave no haughty pendants cast A crimson splendour: lowly is the mast That rises here, and humbly spread, the sail; While, less disturbed than in the narrow Vale Through which with strange vicissitudes he passed, The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast Where all his unambitious functions fail. And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be free- The sweets of earth contentedly resigned, And each tumultuous working left behind At seemly distance-to advance like Thee; Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm of mind And soul, to mingle with Eternity!
DURING the Summer of 1807, I visited, for the first time, the beautiful country that surrounds Bolton Priory, in Yorkshire; and the Poem of the WHITE DOE, founded upon a Tradition connected with that place, was composed at the close of the same year.
IN trellised shed with clustering roses gay, And, MARY! oft beside our blazing fire, When years of wedded life were as a day Whose current answers to the heart's desire, Did we together read in Spenser's Lay How Una, sad of soul-in sad attire, The gentle Una, of celestial birth,
To seek her Knight went wandering o'er the earth.
Ah, then, Beloved! pleasing was the smart, And the tear precious in compassion shed For Her, who, pierced by sorrow's thrilling dart, Did meekly bear the pang unmerited; Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart
The milk-white Lamb which in a line she led,- And faithful, loyal in her innocence, Like the brave Lion slain in her defence.
Notes could we hear as of a faery shell
Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught; Free Fancy prized each specious miracle, And all its finer inspiration caught; Till in the bosom of our rustic Cell, We by a lamentable change were taught That bliss with mortal Man may not abide :' How nearly joy and sorrow are allied!
For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow, For us the voice of melody was mute. -But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow, And give the timid herbage leave to shoot,
Heaven's breathing influence failed not to bestow A timely promise of unlooked-for fruit, Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content From blossoms wild of fancies innocent.
It soothed us-it beguiled us-then, to hear Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell; And griefs whose aery motion comes not near The pangs that tempt the Spirit to rebel : Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer, High over hill and low adown the dell Again we wandered, willing to partake All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake.
Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Where anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep, Is tempered and allayed by sympathies Aloft ascending, and descending deep, Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest-trees Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep
Of the sharp winds;-fair Creatures!-to whom Heaven A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given.
This tragic Story cheered us; for it speaks Of female patience winning firm repose; And, of the recompense that conscience seeks,
A bright, encouraging, example shows;
Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks, Needful amid life's ordinary woes;-
Hence, not for them unfitted who would bles
A happy hour with holier happiness.
They that deny a God, destroy Man's nobility: for certainly Man is of kinn to the Beast by his Body; and if he be not of kinn to God by his Spirit, he is a base ignoble Creature. It destroys likewise Magnanimity, and the raising of humane Nature: for take an example of a Dogg, and mark what a generosity and courage he will put on, when he finds himself maintained by a Man, who to him is instead of a God, or Melior Natura. Which courage is manifestly such, as that Creature without that confidence of a better Nature than his own could never attain. So Man, when he resteth and assureth himself Divine protection upon and favour, gathereth a force and faith which human Nature in itself could not obtain.'
FROM Bolton's old monastic tower The bells ring loud with gladsome power; The sun shines bright; the fields are gay With people in their best array Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf, Along the banks of crystal Wharf, Through the Vale retired and lowly, Trooping to that summons holy. And, up among the moorlands, see What sprinklings of blithe company! Of lasses and of shepherd grooms, That down the steep hills force their way, Like cattle through the budded brooms; Path, or no path, what care they? And thus in joyous mood they hie To Bolton's mouldering Priory.
What would they there?-Full fifty years That sumptuous Pile, with all its peers, Too harshly hath been doomed to taste The bitterness of wrong and waste: Its courts are ravaged; but the tower Is standing with a voice of power,
That ancient voice which wont to call To mass or some high festival; And in the shattered fabric's heart Remaineth one protected part; A Chapel, like a wild-bird's nest, Closely embowered and trimly drest; And thither young and old repair, This Sabbath-day, for praise and prayer.
Fast the church-yard fills;-anon Look again, and they all are gone; The cluster round the porch, and the folk Who sate in the shade of the Prior's Oak! And scarcely have they disappeared Ere the prelusive hymn is heard :— With one consent the people rejoice, Filling the church with a lofty voice! They sing a service which they feel: For 'tis the sunrise now of zeal; Of a pure faith the vernal prime— In great Eliza's golden time.
A moment ends the fervent din, And all is hushed, without and within; For though the priest, more tranquilly, Recites the holy liturgy,
The only voice which you can hear
Is the river murmuring near.
-When soft!--the dusky trees between, And down the path through the open green, Where is no living thing to be seen; And through yon gateway, where is found, Beneath the arch with ivy bound, Free entrance to the church-yard ground— Comes gliding in with lovely gleam, Comes gliding in serene and slow, Soft and silent as a dream, A solitary Doe!
White she is as lily of June,
Aud beauteous as the silver moon When out of sight the clouds are driven And she is left alone in heaven; Or like a ship some gentle day In sunshine sailing far away,
A glittering ship, that hath the plain Of ocean for her own domain.
Lie silent in your graves, ye dead! Lie quiet in your church-yard bed! Ye living, tend your holy cares;
Ye multitude, pursue your prayers; And blame not me if my heart and sight Are occupied with one delight! "Tis a work for sabbath hours If I with this bright Creature go: Whether she be of forest bowers, From the bowers of earth below; Or a Spirit for one day given,
A pledge of grace from purest heaven.
What harmonious pensive changes Wait upon her as she ranges Round and through this Pile of state Overthrown and desolate! Now a step or two her way Leads through space of open day, Where the enamoured sunny light Brightens her that was so bright; Now doth a delicate shadow fall, Falls upon her like a breath, From some lofty arch or wall, As she passes underneath: Now some gloomy nook partakes Of the glory that she makes,- High-ribbed vault of stone, or cell, With perfect cunning framed as well Of stone, and ivy, and the spread Of the elder's bushy head; Some jealous and forbidding cell, That doth the living stars repel,
And where no flower hath leave to dwell.
The presence of this wandering Doe Fills many a damp obscure recess With lustre of a saintly show;
And, reappearing, she no less
Sheds on the flowers that round her blow
A more than sunny liveliness. But say, among these holy places, Which thus assiduously she paces, Comes she with a votary's task, Rite to perform, or boon to ask?
Fair Pilgrim! harbours she a sense Of sorrow, or of reverence? Can she be grieved for quire or shrine, Crushed as if by wrath divine? For what survives of house where God Was worshipped, or where Man abode; For old magnificence undone ;
Or for the gentler work begun By Nature, softening and concealing, And busy with a hand of healing? Mourns she for lordly chamber's hearth That to the sapling ash gives birth; For dormitory's length laid bare Where the wild rose blossoms fair; Or altar, whence the cross was rent, Now rich with mossy ornament? -She sees a warrior carved in stone, Among the thick weeds, stretched alone; A warrior, with his shield of pride Cleaving humbly to his side, And hands in resignation prest, Palm to palm, on his tranquil breast; As little she regards the sight As a common creature might: If she be doomed to inward care, Or service, it must lie elsewhere. -But hers are eyes serenely bright, And on she moves-with pace how light! Nor spares to stoop her head, and taste The dewy turf with flowers bestrown; And thus she fares, until at last Beside the ridge of a grassy grave In quietness she lays her down; Gentle as a weary wave
Sinks, when the summer breeze hath died,
Against an anchored vessel's side;
Even so, without distress, doth she Lie down in peace, and lovingly.
The day is placid in its going, To a lingering motion bound, Like the crystal stream now flowing With its softest summer sound: So the balmy minutes pass, While this radiant Creature lies Couched upon the dewy grass, Pensively with downcast eyes. —But now again the people raise With awful cheer a voice of praise; It is the last, the parting song; And from the temple forth they throng, And quickly spread themselves abroad, While each pursues his several road. But some-a variegated band
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