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INTENDED FOR A STONE IN THE GROUNDS OF RYDAL MOUNT.

In these fair Vales hath many a Tree

At Wordsworth's suit been spared ;
And from the Builder's hand this Stone,
For some rude beauty of its own,

Was rescued by the Bard:
To let it rest in peace; and here

(Heaven knows how soon) the tender-hearted May heave a gentle sigh for him,

As one of the departed.

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

SMALL service is true service while it lasts ;

Of Friends, however humble, scorn not one: The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,

Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun.

INCIDENT AT BRUGÈS.

In Brugès town is many a street

Whence busy life hath fled ; Where, without hurry, noiseless feet,

The grass-grown pavement tread.
There heard we, halting in the shade

Flung from a Convent-tower,
A harp that tuneful prelude made

To a voice of thrilling power.

The measure, simple truth to tell,

Was fit for some gay throng; Though from the same grim turret fell The shadow and the

song When silent were both voice and chords

The strain seemed doubly dear, Yet sad as sweet, for English words

Had fallen upon the ear.

It was a breezy hour of eve;

And pinnacle and spire Quivered and seemed almost to heave,

Clothed with innocuous fire;
But where we stood, the setting sun

Showed little of his state;
And, if the glory reached the Nun,

'Twas through an iron grate.

Not always is the heart unwise,

Nor pity idly born,
If even a passing Stranger sighs

For them who do not mourn.
Sad is thy doom, self-solaced dove,

Captive, whoe'er thou be!
Oh! what is beauty, what is love,

And opening life to thee ?

Such feeling pressed upon my soul,

A feeling sanctified
By one soft trickling tear that stole

From the Maiden at my side ;

Less tribute could she

pay

than this, Borne gaily o'er the sea, Fresh from the beauty and the bliss

Of English liberty ?

A JEWISH FAMILY.

(IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR, UPON THE RHINE.)

Genius of Raphael ! if thy wings

Might bear thee to this glen,
With faithful memory left of things

To pencil dear and pen,
Thou wouldst forego the neighbouring Rhine,

And all his majesty,
A studious forehead to incline

O’er this poor family.

The Mother - her thou must have seen,

In spirit, ere she came
To dwell these rifted rocks between,

Or found no earth a name;
An image, too, of that sweet Boy,

Thy inspirations give:
Of playfulness, and love, and joy,

Predestined here to live.

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