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Lift, and encircle with a cloudy chair,
The One for whom my heart shall ever beat
With teuderest love ;—or, if a safer seat 5

Atween his downy wings be furnished, there
Would lodge her, and the cherished burden

bear O'er hill and valley to this dim retreat! Rough ways my steps have trod;—too rough

and long 9

For her companionship; here dwells soft ease: With sweets that she partakes not some

distaste Mingles, and lurking consciousness of wrong; Languish the flowers; the waters seem to waste Their vocal charm; their sparklings cease to

please.

XXVI.

Return, Content! for fondly I pursued,
Even when a child, the Streams—unheard,

unseen; Through tangled woods, impending rocks

between; Or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed 4 The sullen reservoirs whence their bold brood— Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keeu, Green as the salt-sea billows, white and

green—. 3?oui»d down the hills, a choral multitude! Is or have I tracked their course for scanty

gains; 9

They taught me random cares and truant joys, That shield from mischief and preserve from

stains Vague minds, while men arc growing out of

boys;

Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise Impetuous thoughts that brook not servile

Fallen, and diffused into a shapeless heap,

Or quietly self-buried in earth's mould,

Is that embattled House, whose massy Keep

Flung from yon cliff a shadow large and cold.

There dwelt the gay, the bountiful, the bold; 5

Till nightly lamentations, like the sweep

Of winds—though winds were silent—struck a

deep And lasting terror through that ancient Hold. Its line of Warriors fled ;—they shrunk when

tried 9

By ghostly power :—but Time's unsparing hand Hath plucked such -foes, like weeds, from out

the land;
And now, if men with men in peace abide,
All other strength the weakest may withstand,
All worse assaults'may safely he defied.

XXVIII.
JOURNEY RENEWED.

I Rose while yet the cattle, heat-opprest.
Crowded together under rustling trees
Brushed by the current of the water-hreeae;
And for their sakes, and love of all that rest,
On Duddon's margin, in the sheltering nest; 5
For all the startled scaly tribes that slink
Into his coverts, and each fearless link
Of dancing insects forged upon his breast;
For these, and hopes and recollections worn
Close to the vital seat of human clay; ic

Glad meetings, tender partings, that upstay The drooping mind of absence, by vows sworn In his pure presence near the trysting thorn— I thanked the Leader of my onward way.

No record tells of lance opposed to lance, Horse charging horse, 'mid these retired

domains; Tells that their turf drank purple from the

veins Of heroes, fallen, or struggling to advance, Till doubtful combat issued in a trance 5

Of victory, that struck through heart and reins
Even to the inmost seat of mortal pains,
And lightened o'er the pallid countenance.
Yet, to the loyal and the brave, who lie
In the blank earth, neglected and forlorn, 10
The passing Winds memorial tribute pay;
The Torrents chant their praise, inspiring scorn
Of power usurped; with proclamation high,
And glad acknowledgment, of lawful sway.

XXX.

Who swerves from innocence, who makes

divorce Of that serene companion—a good name, Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame, With doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse: And oft-times he—who, yielding to the force 5 Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end, From chosen comrade turns, or faithful friend— In vain shall rue the broken intercourse. Not so with such as loosely wear the chain 9 That binds them, pleasant River! to thy side:— Through the rough copse wheel thou with hasty

stride;
I choose to saunter o'er the grassy plain,
Sure, when the separation has been tried,
That we, who part in love, shall meet again.

XXXI.

The Kirk Op Ulpha to the pilgrim's eye
Is welcome as a star, that doth present
Its shining forehead through the peaceful rent
Of a black cloud diffused o'er half the sky:
Or as a fruitful palm-tree towering high 5

O'er the parched waste beside an Arab's tent;
Or the Indian tree whose branches, downward

bent, Take root again, a boundless canopy. How sweet were leisure! could it yield no more Than 'mid that wave-washed Church-yard to

recline, 10

Prom pastoral graves extracting thoughts

divine; Or there to pace, and mark the summits hoar Of distant moon-lit mountains faintly shine, Soothed by the unseen River's gentle roar.

XXXII.

Not hurled precipitous from steep to steep; Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands Held; but in radiant progress toward the Deep Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep 5 Sink, and forget their nature—now expands Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands Gliding in silence with unfettered sweep! Beneath an ampler sky a region wide

Is opened round him:—hamlets, towers, and towns, 10

And blue-topped hills, behold him from afar; In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied Spreading his bosom under Kentish downs, With commerce freighted, or triumphant war.

CONCLUSION.

But here no cannon thunders to the gale;
Upon the wave no haughty pendants cast
A crimson splendour: lowly is the mast
That rises here, and humbly spread, the sail;
"While, less disturbed than in the narrow Vale 5
Through which with strange vicissitudes he

passed,
The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast
"Where all his unambitious functions fai1.
And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be

free— The sweets of earth contentedly resigned, 10 And each tumultuous working left behind At seemly distance—to advance like Thee; Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm of mind And soul, to mingle with Eternity!

xxxiv.

AFTER-THOUGHT.

I Tbovght of Thee, my partner and my guide,
As being past away.Vain sympathies!
For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
J see what was, and is, and will abide; 4

Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;

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