Help did she give at need, and joined
The Wharfdale peasants in their prayers.
At length, thus faintly, faintly tied
To earth, she was set free, and died.
Thy soul, exalted Emily,

Maid of the blasted family,

Rose to the God from whom it came ! -In Rylstone Church her mortal frame Was buried by her Mother's side.

Most glorious sunset! and a ray Survives the twilight of this dayIn that fair Creature whom the fields Support, and whom the forest shields; Who, having filled a holy place, Partakes, in her degree, Heaven's grace; And bears a memory and a mind Raised far above the law of kind; Haunting the spots with lonely cheer Which her dear Mistress once held dear: Loves most what Emily loved mostThe enclosure of this church-yard ground; Here wanders like a gliding ghost, And every sabbath here is found; Comes with the people when the bells

Are heard among the moorland dells,
Finds entrance through yon arch, where way
Lies open on the sabbath-day;

Here walks amid the mournful waste
Of prostrate altars, shrines defaced,
And floors encumbered with rich show
Of fret-work imagery laid low.
Paces softly, or makes halt,
By fractured cell, or tomb, or vault;
By plate of monumental brass
Dim-gleaming among weeds and grass,
And sculptured Forms of Warriors brave:
But chiefly by that single grave,
That one sequestered hillock green,
The pensive visitant is seen.
There doth the gentle Creature lie
With those adversities unmoved;
Calm spectacle, by earth and sky
In their benignity approved!
And aye, methinks, this hoary Pile,
Subdued by outrage and decay,
Looks down upon her with a smile,
A gracious smile, that seems to say-
"Thou, thou art not a Child of Time,
But Daughter of the Eternal Prime!"

1. INTRODUCTION.

I, WHO accompanied with faithful pace
Cerulean Duddon from his cloud-fed spring,
And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing
Of mountain-quiet and boon nature's grace;
I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace
Of Liberty, and smote the plausive string
Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing,
Won for herself a lasting resting-place;
Now seek upon the heights of Time the source
Of a HOLY RIVER, on whose banks are found
Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have
crowned

Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force;
And, for delight of him who tracks its course,
Immortal amaranth and palms abound.

II. CONJECTURES.

If there be prophets on whose spirits rest
Past things, revealed like future, they can tell
What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well
Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed
With its first bounty. Wandering through the
west,

Did holy Paul a while in Britain dwell,
And call the Fountain forth by miracle,
And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest?
Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison
doors

Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarred?
Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores
Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe
Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard
The precious Current they had taught to flow?

As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring
Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning,
Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight,
Portending ruin to each baletul rite
That, in the lapse of ages, hath crept o'er
Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore.
Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines
blight

His transports? wither his heroic strains?
But all shall be fulfilled;-the Julian spear
A way first opened; and, with Roman chains,
The tidings come of Jesus crucified;
They come-they spread-the weak, the suffer-
ing, hear;
Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.

IV.

DRUIDICAL EXCOMMUNICATION.

MERCY and Love have met thee on thy road,
Thou wretched Outcast, from the gift of fire
And food cut off by sacerdotal ire,
From every sympathy that Man bestowed!
Yet shall it claim our reverence, that to God,
Ancient of days! that to the eternal Sire,
These jealous Ministers of law aspire,
As to the one sole fount whence wisdom flowed,
Justice, and order. Tremblingly escaped
As if with prescience of the coming storm,
That intimation when the stars were shaped;
And still, 'mid yon thick woods, the primal truth
Glimmers through many a superstitious form
That fills the Soul with unavailing ruth.

TEMPTATIONS FROM ROMAN REFINEMENTS.

WATCH, and be firm! for soul-subduing vice,
Heart-killing luxury, on your steps await.
Fair houses, baths, and banquets delicate,
And temples flashing, bright as polar ice,
Their radiance through the woods-may yet
suffice

To sap your hardy virtue, and abate
Your love of him upon whose forehead sate
The crown of thorns; whose life-blood flowed,
the price

Of your redemption. Shun the insidious arts That Rome provides, less dreading from her frown

Than from her wily praise, her peaceful gown, Language, and letters ;-these, though fondly

viewed

As humanising graces, are but parts And instruments of deadliest servitude!

IX. DISSENSIONS.

THAT heresies should strike (if truth be scanned
Presumptuously) their roots both wide and deep,
Is natural as dreams to feverish sleep.
Lo! Discord at the altar dares to stand
Uplifting toward high Heaven her fiery brand,
A cherished Priestess of the new-baptized!
But chastisement shall follow peace despised.
The Pictish cloud darkens the enervate land
By Rome abandoned; vain are suppliant cries,
And prayers that would undo her forced farc-
well;

For she returns not.-Awed by her own knell,
She casts the Britons upon strange Allies,
Soon to become more dreaded enemies
Than heartless misery called them to repel.

NOR wants the cause the panic-striking aid
Of hallelujahs tost from hill to hill-
For instant victory. But Heaven's high will
Permits a second and a darker shade
The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains:
Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed,
O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed
like fountains;

Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid
By men yet scarcely conscious of a care
For other monuments than those of Earth;
Who, as the fields and woods have given them
birth,

Will build their savage fortunes only there;
Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth
Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they

were.

A BRIGHT-HAIRED company of youthful slaves,
Beautiful strangers, stand within the pale
Of a sad market, ranged for public sale,
Where Tiber's stream the immortal City laves :
ANGLI by name; and not an ANGEL waves
His wing who could seem lovelier to man's eye
Than they appear to holy Gregory :
Who, having learnt that name, salvation craves
For Them, and for their Land. The earnest
Sire,

His questions urging, feels, in slender ties
Of chiming sound, commanding sympathies;
DE-IRIANS he would save them from God's
IRE;

Subjects of Saxon ELLA-they shall sing
Glad HALLE-lujahs to the eternal King!

XIV.

GLAD TIDINGS.

FOR ever hallowed be this morning fair,
Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye
tread,

And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead
Of martial banner, in procession bear;
The Cross preceding Him who floats in air,
The pictured Saviour!-By Augustin led,
They come-and onward travel without dread,
Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer-
Sung for themselves, and those whom they
would free!

Rich conquest waits them :-the tempestuous

sea

Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high And heeded not the voice of clashing swords, These good men humble by a few bare words, And calm with fear of God's divinity.

XV. PAULINUS.

BUT, to remote Northumbria's royal Hall,
Where thoughtful Edwin, tutored in the school
Of sorrow, still maintains a heathen rule,
Who comes with functions apostolical?
Mark him, of shoulders curved, and stature tall,
Black hair, and vivid eye, and meagre cheek,
His prominent feature like an eagle's beak;
A Man whose aspect doth at once appal
And strike with reverence. The Monarch leans
Toward the pure truths this Delegate propounds,
Repeatedly his own deep mind he sounds
With careful hesitation, then convenes
A synod of his Councillors :-give ear,
And what a pensive Sage doth utter, hear!

XVI.

PERSUASION.

"MAN'S life is like a Sparrow, mighty King! That-while at banquet with your Chiefs you sit

Housed near a blazing fire-is seen to flit

Safe from the wintry tempest. Fluttering, Here did it enter; there, on hasty wing, Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold; But whence it came we know not, nor behold Whither it goes. Even such, that transient Thing,

The human Soul; not utterly unknown While in the Body lodged, her warm abode; But from what world She came, what woe or weal

On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown;

This mystery if the Stranger can reveal,
His be a welcome cordially bestowed!"

XVII.

CONVERSION.

PROMPT transformation works the novel Lore;
The Council closed, the Priest in full career
To desecrate the Fane which heretofore
Rides forth, an armèd man, and hurls a spear
He served in folly. Woden falls, and Thor
Is overturned the mace, in battle heaved
(So might they dream) till victory was achieved,
Drops, and the God himself is seen no more.
Temple and Altar sink, to hide their shame
Amid oblivious weeds. "O come to me,
Ye heavy laden!' such the inviting voice
Heard near fresh streams; and thousands, who
rejoice

In the new Rite-the pledge of sanctity,
Shall, by regenerate life, the promise claim.

XVIII.

APOLOGY.

NOR Scorn the aid which Fancy oft doth lend
The Soul's eternal interests to promote:
Death, darkness, danger, are our natural lot;
And evil Spirits may our walk attend
For aught the wisest know or comprehend;
Then be good Spirits free to breathe a note
Of elevation; let their odours float
Around these Converts; and their glories blend,
The midnight stars outshining, or the blaze
Of the noon-day. Nor doubt that golden cords
Of good works, mingling with the visions, raise
The Soul to purer worlds: and who the line
Shall draw, the limits of the power define,
That even imperfect faith to man affords?

XIX.

PRIMITIVE SAXON CLERGY.

How beautiful your presence, how benign,
Servants of God! who not a thought will share
With the vain world; who, outwardly as bare
That the firm soul is clothed with fruit divine!
As winter trees, yield no fallacious sign
Such Priest, when service worthy of his care
Has called him forth to breathe the common air,
Might seem a saintly Image from its shrine
The Apparition; evil thoughts are stayed
Descended:-happy are the eyes that meet
At his approach, and low-bowed necks entreat
A benediction from his voice or hand;
Whence grace, through which the heart can
understand,

And vows, that bind the will, in silence made.

xx.

OTHER INFLUENCES.

Ан, when the Body, round which in love we clung,

Is chilled by death, does mutual service fail?

SAXON MONASTERIES, AND LIGHTS AND SHADES
OF THE RELIGION.

By such examples moved to unbought pains,
Eager to build the quiet Fortresses
The people work like congregated bees;
Where Piety, as they believe, obtains
From Heaven a general blessing; timely rains
Or needful sunshine; prosperous enterprise,
Justice and peace:-bold faith! yet also rise
The sacred Structures for less doubtful gains.
The Sensual think with reverence of the palms
Which the chaste Votaries seek, beyond the
grave;

If penance be redeemable, thence alms

side

A bead-roll, in his hand a clasped book,

Or staff more harmless than a shepherd's crook,
The war-worn Chieftain quits the world-to hide
His thin autumnal locks where Monks abide
In cloistered privacy. But not to dwell
In soft repose he comes. Within his cell,
Round the decaying trunk of human pride,
At morn, and eve, and midnight's silent hour,
Do penitential cogitations cling;
Like ivy, round some ancient elm, they twine
In grisly folds and strictures serpentine;
Yet, while they strangle, a fair growth they
bring,

For recompence-their own perennial bower.

XXII. CONTINUed.

METHINKS that to some vacant hermitage
My feet would rather turn- to some dry nook
Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook
Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to
stage,

Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;
Thence creeping under sylvan arches cool,
Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage
Would elevate my dreams. A beechen bowl,
A maple dish, my furniture should be:
Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting owl
My night-watch: nor should e'er the crested

fowl

From thorp or vill his matins sound for me, Tired of the world and all its industry.

XXIII. REPROOF.

BUT what if One, through grove or flowery mead,

Indulging thus at will the creeping feet
Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet
Thy hovering Shade, O venerable Bede!
The saint, the scholar, from a circle freed
Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat

Of learning, where thou heard'st the billows beat
On a wild coast, rough monitors to feed
Perpetual industry. Sublime Recluse!
The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt
Imposed on human kind, must first forget
Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use

And if full oft the Sanctuary save
Lives black with guilt, ferocity it calms.

XXV.

MISSIONS AND TRAVELS.

NOT sedentary all: there are who roam
To scatter seeds of life on barbarous shores;
Or quit with zealous step their knee-worn floors
To seek the general mart of Christendom;
Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come
To their beloved cells :-or shall we say
That, like the Red-cross Knight, they urge
their way,

To lead in memorable triumph home
Truth, their immortal Una? Babylon,
Learned and wise, hath perished utterly,
Nor leaves her Speech one word to aid the sigh
That would lament her ;-Memphis, Tyre, are

BEHOLD a pupil of the monkish gown,
The pious ALFRED, King to Justice dear!
Lord of the harp and liberating spear;
Mirror of Princes! Indigent Renown
Might range the starry ether for a crown
Equal to his deserts, who, like the year,
Pours forth his bounty, like the day doth cheer,
And awes like night with mercy-tempered frown.
Ease from this noble miser of his time
No moment steals; pain narrows not his cares.
Though small his kingdom as a spark or gem,
Of Alfred boasts remote Jerusalem,

And Christian India, through her wide-spread clime,

In sacred converse gifts with Alfred shares.

XXVII.

HIS DESCENDANTS.

WHEN thy great soul was freed from mortal chains,

Fell on thy tomb; but emulative power Darling of England! many a bitter shower Flowed in thy line through undegenerate veins. The Race of Alfred covet glorious pains

He expired dictating the last words of a translation of St John's Gospel.