II So do not let me wear to-night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! 1806. (?) XV. THE WILD DUCK'S NEST. THE imperial Consort of the Fairy-king Words cannot paint the o'ershadowing yewtree bough, And dimly-gleaming Nest, a hollow crown 10 WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort 5 To reverend watching of each still report brook ΙΟ Fairer than life itself, in this sweet Book, nook Of his full bosom, gladsome Piety! 1819. (?) XVII. TO THE POET, JOHN DYER. BARD of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made That work a living landscape fair and bright; Nor hallowed less with musical delight Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed, Those southern tracts of Cambria, "deep embayed, 5 With green hills fenced, with ocean's murmur Though hasty Fame hath many a chaplet culled For worthless brows, while in the pensive shade Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced, Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek and still, ΙΟ A grateful few, shall love thy modest Lay, Long as the shepherd's bleating flock shall stray O'er naked Snowdon's wide aërial waste; 1811. (?) XVIII. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED THE See Milton's Sonnet, beginning, "A Book was writ of late called Tetrachordon.' ووو A BOOK came forth of late, called PETER BELL; 5 Nor heat, at Tam o'Shanter's name, their blood) Waxed wroth, and with foul claws, a harpy brood, On Bard and Hero clamorously fell. Heed not, wild Rover once through heath and glen, 9 Who mad'st at length the better life thy choice, 1820. XIX. GRIEF, thou hast lost an ever ready friend Now that the cottage Spinning-wheel is mute; And Care-a comforter that best could suit Her froward mood, and softliest reprehend; And Love-a charmer's voice, that used to lend, 5 More efficaciously than aught that flows From harp or lute, kind influence to compose The throbbing pulse-else troubled without end: Even Joy could tell, Joy craving truce and rest From her own overflow, what power sedate 10 XX. 1819. (?) TO S. H. EXCUSE is needless when with love sincere Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread; My nerves from no such murmur shrink,—tho' near, Soft as the Dorhawk's to a distant ear, 5 When twilight shades darken the mountain's head. Even She who toils to spin our vital thread protect Its own; though Rulers, with undue respect, And proud discoveries of the intellect, 10 1827. (?) XXI. COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE VALLEYS OF WESTMORE- WITH each recurrence of this glorious morn Rise from the dead, erewhile the Cottage-dame ΤΟ Sad may I be who heard your sabbath chime When Art's abused inventions were unknown; Kind Nature's various wealth was all your own; And benefits were weighed in Reason's scales! 1819. (?) XXII. DECAY OF PIETY. OFT have I seen, ere Time had ploughed my cheek, Matrons and Sires-who, punctual to the call Of their loved Church, on fast or festival Through the long year the House of Prayer would seek: 5 By Christmas snows, by visitation bleak Alas! even then they seemed like fleecy clouds won Their pensive light from a departed sun! 1827. (?) |