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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,
When giants scooped from out the rocky ground,
Tier under tier, this semicirque profound?
(Giants—the same who built in Erin's isle
That Causeway with incomparable toil!)— 5
0, had this vast theatric structure wound
With finished sweep into a perfect round,
No mightier work had gained the plausive smile
Of all-beholding Phoebus! But, alas,
Vain earth! false world! Foundations must
be laid . 10

In Heaven; for, 'mid the wreck of is and Was,
Things incomplete and purposes betrayed
Make sadder transits o'er thought's optic glass
Than noblest objects utterly decayed.




At early dawn, or rather when the air
Glimmers with fading light, and shadowy Eve
Is busiest to confer and to bereave;
Then, pensive Votary! let thy feet repair
To Gordale-chasm, terrific as the lair 5

Where the young lions couch; for so, by leave
Of the propitious hour, thou may'st perceive
The local Deity, with oozy hair

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,
Teaching the docile waters how to turn,
Or (if need be) impediment to spurn,
And force their passage to the salt-sea tides!


SEPTEMBER 3, 1802.1

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
Produced as lonely Nature or the strife
That animates the scenes of public life2

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;
And if these Transcripts of the private heart 5
Have gained a sanction from thy falling tears;
Then I repent not. But my soul hath fears
Breathed from eternity; for, as a dart
Cleaves the blank air, Life flies: now every

Is but a glimmering spoke in the swift wheel 10
Of the revolving week. Away, away,
All fitful cares, all transitory zeal!
So timely Grace the immortal wing may heal,
And honour rest upon the senseless clay.

1827. (?)



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!

1812. (?)

OXFORD, MAY 30, 1820.

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

tooth: 5

Yet, 0 ye spires of Oxford! domes and towers!
Gardens and groves! your presence overpowers
The soberness of reason; till, in sooth,
Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange
I slight my own beloved Cam, to range 10

Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet;
Pace the long avenue, or glide adown
The stream-like windings of that glorious

An eager Novice robed in fluttering gown!


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

bough; S

But in plain daylight:—She, too, at my side,
"Who, with her heart's experience satisfied,
Maintains inviolate its slightest vow!
Sweet Fancy! other gifts must I receive;
Proofs of a higher sovereignty I claim; io

Take from her brow the withering flowers of eve,
And to that brow life's morning wreath restore;
Let her be comprehended in the frame
Of these illusions, or they please no more.



The imperial Stature, the colossal stride,
Are yet before me; yet do I behold
The broad full visage, chest of amplest mould,
The vestments 'broidered with barbaric pride:
And lo! a poniard, at the Monarch's side, 5
Hangs ready to be grasped in sympathy
With the keen threatenings of that fulgent eye,
Below the white-rimmed bonnet, far-descried.
Who trembles now at thy capricious mood \
'Mid those surrounding Worthies, haughty
King, 10

We rather think, with grateful mind sedate,
How Providence educeth, from the spring
Of lawless will, unlooked-for streams of good,
Which neither force shall check nor time abate!

1827. (?)


Ward of the Law !—dread Shadow of a King!
Whose realm had dwindled to one stately room;
Whose universe was gloom immersed in gloom,
Darkness as thick as life o'er life could fling,
Save haply for some feeble glimmering 5

Of Faith and Hope—if thou, by nature's doom,
Gently hast sunk into the quiet tomb,
Why should we bend in grief, to sorrow cling,
When thankfulness were best ?—Fresh-flowing

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