XXXVI.

Upon the heath or craggy crest he'd stand, His unshorn white hair waving in the wind; A Druid ghost, return'd at heaven's command, The recluse seem'd-alien from human kind; Time, and death's summons, brought relief at last, His weary spirit, heavenward soaring-pass'd.

XXXVII.

And Whitbeck matrons tell,

Thro' each revolving age; The hapless fate that fell

On Richard's pilgrimage.

To warn the maids from follies that betray,

Relate the tragic end of Whitbeck's Queen of May.

A DREAM.

I,

The moon, in majesty of light,

Was sailing thro' unclouded skies, Upon a clear October night,

When nature in soft slumber lies:

The distant swell of Derwent's reveling stream, Sublimely soothing, raised the poet's dream.

II.

Old Cocker pour'd the limpid wave
Into her sister's ample bed;
Their mingled streams united lave

The fertile banks of vallies spread

Around the antique Castle's lofty walls,
Scarr'd and defac'd by Cromwell's hostile balls.

III.

On such a night I love to range

Alone, thro' nature's varied scenes,
And muse upon the fates that change
This rolling orb, so vast and strange :

To glance with awe, and unpretending eye,
To him who guides the worlds beyond our sky.

H.

IV.

Creation's boundless scheme no mind
Of man can fathom; still we gaze,
In wonder and delight, to find

Objects that elevate and raise

The humble mind to worship and adore
A God, that rules and reigns for evermore.

N.

Along the Hay, whose lofty brow

A wide extending view commands; High hills afar, and valleys low,

Deep woods, and cultivated lands; Below old Isell spreads sequester'd groves, Rude cliffs, and rocky steeps, where reynard roves.

VI.

O'er this green height I wander'd on,

Till Armathwaite's distant mansion rose, Where Luna's silvery gleaming shone

O'er fringy tips of woodland shaws,

That over-hang, in strange fantastic forms,
The lake's smooth bosom, undisturb'd by storms.

VII.

Armathwaite, a northern windsor, claims
The palm of varying beauty's pride;
And Derwent flows, a northern Thames,
Thro' fruitful vallies, stretching wide:
Old oaks extend their venerable shades,
And deer, in droves, repose among the glades.

VIII.

To this secluded home of peace
The gentle spirit may retire,

And find all earthly sorrows cease,

Amid the scenes that here inspire Hopes of a heavenly home of future bliss, So sweetly imaged transiently in this.

IX.

Now turn'd, where Dunthwaite's snug abode,
And florid meadow lands display

Variety along the road,

That cheer and charm you on the way To Isell's ancient dreary pile, that rears Grey storied battlements of other years.

X.

Surrounded by embowering trees,

And wash'd by Derwent's passing wave,
That murmurs plaintive symphonies,
Inspiring thoughts sublimely grave,
As the old church you indistinctly view,
Obscur'd by weeping elms, and solemn yew.

XI.

Hewthwaite I pass to Wood Hall's vill,

Perch'd like a ringdove's airy nest,

Upon a sloping flowery hill,

Peeping, like antiquarian's crest,

Over expanding holms and tufted trees,

Where gamboling dryades wander where they please.

XII.

And fairy elves, at midnight hours,
Hold revels round by Adam Gill;

Where Derwent Bank's tall modern towers
Lour over ruin'd old Hames Hill,

And

peer upon the Castle rising nigh, In the deep valley, on the admiring eye.

XIII.

And paused the poet at the gate,

Where trophys of arms, and shields of old Carv'd on the wall, all frown'd like fate, Rudely deform'd by time-and told Of Percies, Lucies, Umfrevills-and tell Of Nevells, Moultens-all a long farewell.

XIV.

Moon-struck, inert, he weeping stood
Before these ravages of time;

Relics of ancient noble blood,

Once regnant thro' this northern clime, Then sought his couch, in melancholy mood, Where rest might doleful images exclude.

XV.

Soon stretch'd upon his pallet bed,

And sleep had clos'd his weary eyes;

Yet over his distemper'd head