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"'TIS SAID THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE."
That in fome other way yon fmoke
May mount into the sky!
The clouds pafs on; they from the heavens depart.
I look—the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;
But, when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.
"O, what a weight is in these shades!
It robs my heart of rest.
Thou thrush, that fingest loud-and loud and free,
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder fit,
Or fing another fong, or choose another tree.
"Roll back, sweet rill! back to thy mountain bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chain'd!
For thou doft haunt the air with founds
That cannot be sustain'd;
If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall muft come,
Oh let it then be dumb !—
Be anything, sweet rill, but that which thou art now.
"Thou eglantine, whofe arch so proudly towers (Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale),
Thou one fair fhrub-oh, shed thy flowers,
For thus to fee thee nodding in the air,
To fee thy arch thus ftretch and bend,
Thus rife and thus defcend,
Disturbs me, till the fight is more than I can bear."
The man who makes this feverish complaint
ELION and Offa flourish side by side,
Yet round our fea-girt fhore they rife in crowds:
Our British hill is fairer far: he shrouds
"THE CHILDLESS FATHER."
"Up, Timothy, up, with your staff, and away!
-Of coats and of jackets, grey, scarlet, and green,
The bafin of boxwood, just fix months before,
Now faft up the dell came the noise and the fray,
Old Timothy took up his staff, and he shut,
With a leisurely motion, the door of his hut.
Perhaps to himself at that moment he said,
For the Spot where the Hermitage Stood
ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT-WATER.
This island, guarded from profane approach
-Stranger! this fhapeless heap of ftones and earth
(Long be its moffy covering undisturbed!)
Is reverenced as a veftige of the abode