Oh, sorrow and reproach! Have ye to learn, The forfeit life, how lightly life is staked, Let no man write Better to fall, than to have lived to mourn, Had turned away his face, wild Ignorance How had it sunk into thy soul to see, Last curse of all, the ruffian slaves of France How happier thus, in that heroic mood To be remembered, mourned, and honored still!, KESWICK. XIV. THANKSGIVING FOR VICTORY. WRITTEN FOR MUSIC, AND COMPOSED BY SHIELD. GLORY to thee in thine omnipotence, O Lord! who art our shield and our defence, As seemeth best to thine unerring will, The lot of Victory still; Edging sometimes with might the sword unjust, The rightful cause, that so such seeming ill Making the wicked feel thy present power; Almighty God, by whom our strength was given ! KESWICK, 1815. XV. STANZAS WRITTEN IN LADY LONSDALE'S ALBUM, AT LOWTHER CASTLE, OCT. 13, 1821, 1. SOMETIMES in youthful years, When in some ancient ruin I have stood, A melancholy thought hath made me grieve No monuments behind. 2. Not for themselves alone Our fathers lived; nor with a niggard hand Their piles, memorials of the mighty dead, 3. With other feelings now, Lowther! have I beheld thy stately walls, The sun those wide-spread battlements shall crest, And silent years unharming shall go by, Till centuries in their course invest Thy towers with sanctity. 4. But thou the while shalt bear To after-times an old and honored name, Thy Founder's virtuous fame. Fair structure, worthy the triumphant age XVI. STANZAS ADDRESSED TO W. R. TURNER, ESQ., R.A., ON HIS VIEW OF THE LAGO MAGGIORE FROM THE TOWN OF ARONA. [Engraved for the "Keepsake" of 1829.] 1. TURNER, thy pencil brings to mind a day In pleasant fellowship, with wind at will; Joyful, 2. for all things ministered delight, The lake and land, the mountains and the vales; The Alps their snowy summits reared in light, Tempering with gelid breath the summer gales; And verdant shores and woods refreshed the eye, That else had ached beneath that brilliant sky. 3. To that elaborate island were we bound, Look where you will, you cannot choose but see 4. Far off the Borromean saint was seen, Distinct, though distant, o'er his native town, To it the inland sailor lifts his eyes, From the wide lake, when perilous storms arise. 5. But no storm threatened on that summer day; The whole rich scene appeared for joyance made; With many a gliding bark the mere was gay, The fields and groves in all their wealth arrayed: |