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For grace and goodness lost, thy murmurs melt Their anguish,—and they blend sweet songs with thine.1
Was the aim frustrated by force or guile,
In Heaven; for, 'mid the wreck of is and Was,
At early dawn, or rather when the air
Where the young lions couch; for so, by leave
1 Waters (as Mr. Westall informs us in the letterpress prefixed to his admirable views) are invariably found to flow through these caverns.
And mineral crown, beside his jagged urn, Recumbent: Him thou may'st behold, who hides io
His lineaments by day, yet there presides,
COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE,
Earth has not any thing to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, 5
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; 10
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
If these brief Records, by the Muses' art
1 In fact, July 31, 1802.—Ed.
2 This lino aliudes to Sonnets which will be found in another Class.
Inspired, may in thy leisure claim a part;
Though the bold wings of Poesy affect
The clouds, and wheel around the mountain
tops Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers
deckt, Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect 5 The lingering dew—there steals along, or stops "Watching the least small bird that round her
hops, Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect. Her functions are they therefore less divine, Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent 1 o Her simplest fancies? Should that fear be
thine, Aspiring Votary, ere thy hand present One offering, kneel before her modest shrine, With brow in penitential sorrow bent!
Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth!
In whose collegiate shelter England's Flowers
Expand, enjoying through their vernal hours
The air of liberty, the light of truth;
Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing
Yet, 0 ye spires of Oxford! domes and towers!
Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet;
OXFORD, MAY 30, 1820.
Shame on this faithless heart! that could allow Such transport, though but for a moment's
space; Not while—to aid the spirit of the place— The crescent moon clove with its glittering prow The clouds, or night-bird sang from shady
But in plain daylight:—She, too, at my side,
Take from her brow the withering flowers of eve,
RECOLLECTION OF THE PORTRAIT OF KING HENRY
The imperial Stature, the colossal stride,
We rather think, with grateful mind sedate,
ON THE DEATH OF HIS MAJESTY (GEORGE THE THIRD.)
Ward of the Law !—dread Shadow of a King!
Of Faith and Hope—if thou, by nature's doom,