It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove That overhung the road: he there stopped short,
And, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed All that the Priest had said: his early years Were with him:-his long absence, cherished hopes,
And thoughts which had been his an hour before, All pressed on him with such a weight that now This vale, where he had been so happy, seemed A place in which he could not bear to live: So he relinquished all his purposes.
He travelled back to Egremont: and thence, That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest, Reminding him of what had passed between them;
And adding, with a hope to be forgiven, That it was from the weakness of his heart He had not dared to tell him who he was. This done, he went on shipboard, and is now A Seaman, a grey-headed Mariner. 1800.
ARTEGAL AND ELIDURE.
(SEE THE CHRONICLE OF GEOFFREY OF MON- MOUTH AND MILTON'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.) WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle, For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised? Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed! Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore, They sank, delivered o'er
To fatal dissolution; and, I ween,
No vestige then was left that such had ever been. Nathless, a British record (long concealed In old Armorica, whose secret springs No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed The marvellous current of forgotten things; How Brutus came, by oracles impelled,
And Albion's giants quelled,
A brood whom no civility could melt,
She flung her blameless child, Sabrina,-vowing that the stream should bear That name through every age, her hatred to declare.
So speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear By his ungrateful daughters turned adrift. Ye lightnings, hear his voice!--they cannot hear,
Nor can the winds restore his simple gift. But One there is, a Child of nature meek,
Who comes her Sire to seek ; And he, recovering sense, upon her breast Leans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest. There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes, And those that Milton loved in youthful years; The sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes; The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers; Of Arthur,-who, to upper light restored,
With that terrific sword
Which yet he brandishes for future war, Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star!
What wonder, then, if in such ample field Of old tradition, one particular flower Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield, And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour? Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant, While I this flower transplant Into a garden stored with Poesy; Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some weeds be,
That, wanting not wild grace, are from all mischief free!
A KING more worthy of respect and love Than wise Gorbonian ruled not in his day; And grateful Britain prospered far above All neighbouring countries through his righteous
He poured rewards and honours on the good; The oppressor he withstood; And while he served the Gods with reverence due
"Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and
By brave Corineus aided, he subdued, And rooted out the intolerable kind; And this too-long-polluted land imbued With goodly arts and usages refined; Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers,
And pleasure's sumptuous bowers; Whence all the fixed delights of house and home, Friendships that will not break, and love that
O, happy Britain! region all too fair For self-delighting fancy to endure That silence only should inhabit there, Wild beasts, or uncouth savages impure! But, intermingled with the generous seed, Grew many a poisonous weed; Thus fares it still with all that takes its birth From human care, or grows upon the breast of earth.
Hence, and how soon! that war of vengeance waged
By Guendolen against her faithless lord; Till she, in jealous fury unassuaged
Had slain his paramour with ruthless sword: Then, into Severu hideously defiled,
He died, whom Artegal succeeds-his son; But how unworthy of that sire was he! A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun, Was darkened soon by foul iniquity. From crime to crime he mounted, till at length The nobles leagued their strength With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased; And, on the vacant throne, his worthier brother placed.
From realm to realm the humbled Exile went, Suppliant for aid his kingdom to regain; In many a court, and many a warrior's tent, He urged his persevering suit in vain. Him, in whose wretched heart ambition failed, Dire poverty assailed;
And, tired with slights his pride no more could
How changed from him who, born to highest Were this same spear, which in my hand I
Had swayed the royal mace, Flattered and feared, despised yet deified, In Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side! From that wild region where the crownless King Lay in concealment with his scanty train, Supporting life by water from the spring, And such chance food as outlaws can obtain, Unto the few whom he esteems his friends A messenger he sends;
And from their secret loyalty requires Shelter and daily bread, -the sum of his desires. While he the issue waits, at early morn Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear A startling outcry made by hound and horn, From which the tusky wild boar flies in fear; And, scouring toward him o'er the grassy plain,
Behold the hunter train!
He bids his little company advance
The British sceptre, here would I to thee The symbol yield; and would undo this clasp, If it confined the robe of sovereignty. Odious to me the pomp of regal court, And joyless sylvan sport,
While thou art roving, wretched and forlorn, Thy couch the dewy earth, thy roof the forest thorn!"
Then Artegal thus spake: "I only sought Within this realm a place of safe retreat; Beware of rousing an ambitious thought; Beware of kindling hopes, for me unmeet! Thou art reputed wise, but in my mind Art pitiably blind:
Full soon this generous purpose thou may'st rue, When that which has been done no wishes can
Who, when a crown is fixed upon his head, With seeming unconcern and steady counte- Would balance claim with claim, and right with
The royal Elidure, who leads the chase,
But thou-I know not how inspired, how led
Hath checked his foaming courser :-can it be ! Wouldst change the course of things in all men's
Methinks that I should recognise that face, Though much disguised by long adversity! He gazed rejoicing, and again he gazed, Confounded and amazed-
"It is the king, my brother!" and, by sound Of his own voice confirmed, he leaps upon the
And this for one who cannot imitate
Thy virtue, who may hate:
For, if, by such strange sacrifice restored, He reign, thou still must be his king and sovereign lord ;
Lifted in magnanimity above
Long, strict, and tender was the embrace he Aught that my feeble nature could perform,
"By heavenly Powers conducted, we have met; -O Brother! to my knowledge lost so long, But neither lost to love, nor to regret, Nor to my wishes lost;-forgive the wrong, (Such it may seem) if I thy crown have borne, Thy royal mantle worn:
I was their natural guardian; and 'tis just That now I should restore what hath been held in trust."
A while the astonished Artegal stood mute, Then thus exclaimed: "To me, of titles shorn, And stripped of power! me, feeble, destitute, To me a kingdom! spare the bitter scorn: If justice ruled the breast of foreign kings,
Then, on the wide-spread wings Of war, had I returned to claim my right; This will I here avow, not dreading thy despite." "I do not blame thee," Elidure replied; "But, if my looks did with my words agree, I should at once be trusted, not defied, And thou from all disquietude be free. May the unsullied Goddess of the chase, Who to this blessed place
At this blest moment led me, if I speak With insincere intent, on me her vengeance wreak!
Or even conceive; surpassing me in love Far as in power the eagle doth the worm: I, Brother! only should be king in name, And govern to my shame;
A shadow in a hated land, while all Of glad or willing service to thy share would fall."
"Believe it not," said Elidure; "respect Awaits on virtuous life, and ever most Attends on goodness with dominion decked, Which stands the universal empire's boast; This can thy own experience testify:
Nor shall thy foes deny
But, not to overlook what thou may'st know, Thy enemies are neither weak nor few: And circumspect must be our course, and slow, Or from my purpose ruin may ensue. Dismiss thy followers;-let them calmly wait Such change in thy estate As I already have in thought devised; And which, with caution due, may soon be realised."
The Story tells what courses were pursued, Until king Elidure, with full consent Of all his peers, before the multitude, Rose, and, to consummate this just intent, Did place upon his brother's head the crown, Relinquished by his own; Then to his people cried, "Receive your lord, Gorbonian's first-born son, your rightful king
The people answered with a loud acclaim: Yet more ;-heart-smitten by the heroic deed, The reinstated Artegal became Earth's noblest penitent; from bondage freed Of vice-thenceforth unable to subvert
Or shake his high desert.
Long did he reign; and, when he died, the tear Of universal grief bedewed his honoured bier. Thus was a Brother by a Brother saved; With whom a crown (temptation that hath set Discord in hearts of men till they have braved Their nearest kin with deadly purpose met) 'Gainst duty weighed, and faithful love, did seem A thing of no esteem;
And from this triumph of affection pure, He bore the lasting name of "pious Elidure!" 1815.
TO A BUTTERFLY.
I'VE watch'd you now a full half-hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower: And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless !-not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers, Here rest your wings when they are weary; Here lodge as in a sanctuary! Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days, when we were young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. 1801.
FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountainground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair Of that magnificent temple which doth bound One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare; Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair, The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell!-we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.
Our boat is safely anchored by the shore, And there will safely ride when we are gone; The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door Will prosper, though untended and alone: Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none: These narrow bounds contain our private store Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon; Here are they in our sight-we have no more. Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell For two months now in vain we shall be sought; We leave you here in solitude to dwell With these our latest gifts of tender thought; Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat, Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell! Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought, And placed together near our rocky Well. We go for One to whom ye will be dear; And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed, Our own contrivance, Building without peer! -A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred, Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered, With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, Will come to you; to you herself will wed; And love the blessed life that we lead here. Dear Spot! which we have watched with ten- der heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own, Making all kindness registered and known Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. And O most constant, yet most fickle Place, That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on thy face; Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know, And say'st, when we forsake thee, "Let them go!"
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow, And travel with the year at a soft pace. Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by, And this sweet spring, the best beloved and
Joy will be flown in its mortality: Something must stay to tell us of the rest. Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's
Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried: Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay,
WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S Made, to his ear attentively applied,
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.
WITHIN Our happy Castle there dwelt One Whom without blame I may not overlook; For never sun on living creature shone Who more devout enjoyment with us took: Here on his hours he hung as on a book, On his own time here would he float away, As doth a fly upon a summer brook; But go to-morrow, or belike to-day,
A pipe on which the wind would deftly play; Glasses he had, that little things display, The beetle panoplied in gems and gold, A mailed angel on a battle-day;
The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold, And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
He would entice that other Man to hear His music, and to view his imagery:
Seek for him, he is fled; and whither none And, sooth, these two were each to the other
Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, And find elsewhere his business or delight; Out of our Valley's limits did he roam: Full many a time, upon a stormy night, His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:
Oft could we see him driving full in view At mid-day when the sun was shining bright; What ill was on him, what he had to do, A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew. Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man When he came back to us, a withered flower,- Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan. Down would he sit; and without strength or
Look at the common grass from hour to hour: And oftentimes, how long I fear to say, Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower, Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay; And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.
Great wonder to our gentle tribe it was Whenever from our Valley he withdrew; For happier soul no living creature has Than he had, being here the long day through. Some thought he was a lover, and did woo: Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong:
But verse was what he had been wedded to; And his own mind did like a tempest strong Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight
With him there often walked in friendly guise, Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree, A noticeable Man with large grey eyes, And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly As if a blooming face it ought to be; Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear, Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy; Profound his forehead was, though not severe; Yet some did think that he had little business here:
Sweet heaven forefend his was a lawful right; Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy; His limbs would toss about him with delight, Like branches when strong winds the trees
I MET Louisa in the shade,
And, having seen that lovely Maid, Why should I fear to say
That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong, And down the rocks can leap along Like rivulets in May?
She loves her fire, her cottage home; Yet o'er the moorland will she roam In weather rough and bleak; And, when against the wind she strains, Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains That sparkle on her cheek.
Take all that's mine "beneath the moon," If I with her but half a noon
May sit beneath the walls
Of some old cave, or mossy nook,
When up she winds along the brook
To hunt the waterfalls.
STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell,
But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befel.
When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening moon.
Upon the moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea:
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Those paths so dear to me.
And now we reached the orchard-plot; And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near, and nearer still.
In one of those sweet dreams I slept. Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept On the descending moon.
My horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped: When down behind the cottage-roof, At once, the bright moon dropped.
What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a Lover's head!
"O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!"
SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
-Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ;
But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!
I TRAVELLED among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more.
Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed.
ERE with cold beads of midnight dew Had mingled tears of thine,
I grieved, fond Youth! that thou shouldst sue To haughty Geraldine.
Immoveable by generous sighs, She glories in a train
Who drag, beneath our native skies, An oriental chain.
Pine not like them with arms across, Forgetting in thy care
How the fast-rooted trees can toss Their branches in mid air. The humblest rivulet will take Its own wild liberties:
And, every day, the ipmiisoned lake Is flowing in the breeze,
Then, crouch no more on suppliant knee,
But scorn with scorn outbrave; A Briton, even in love, should be A subject, not a slave !
Look at the fate of summer flowers, Which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song: And, grieved for their brief date, confess that
Measured by what we are and ought to be, Measured by all that, trembling, we foresee, Is not so long!
If human Life do pass away,
Perishing yet more swiftly than the flower, If we are creatures of a winter's day; What space hath Virgin's beauty to disclose Her sweets, and triumph o'er the breathing rose? Not even an hour!
The deepest grove whose foliage hid The happiest lovers Arcady might boast Could not the entrance of this thought forbid : O be thou wise as they, soul-gifted Maid! Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade, So soon be lost.
Then shall love teach some virtuous Youth "To draw, out of the object of his eyes," The while on thee they gaze in simple truth, Hues more exalted, a refinèd Form," That dreads not age, nor suffers from the worm, And never dies.
THE peace which others seek they find; The heaviest storms not longest last; Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind An amnesty for what is past; When will my sentence be reversed? And wish as if my heart would burst. I only pray to know the worst ; O weary struggle ! silent years Tell seemingly no doubtful tale; And yet they leave it short, and fears And hopes are strong and will prevail. My calmest faith escapes not pain; And, feeling that the hope is vain, I think that he will come again.
"Tis said, that some have died for love: And here and there a church-yard grave is found In the cold north's unhallowed ground, Because the wretched man himself had sla His love was such a grievous pain.
And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone
Upon Helvellyn's side:
He loved the pretty Barbara died; And thus he makes his moan:
Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid When thus his moan he made:
"Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak! Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
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