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Measuring the periods of his lonely doom,
perch To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy
wing, And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring!
TO “ .
Mischance almost as heavy as a crime." “Wait, prithee, wait!” this answer Lesbia
threw Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed. Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed ; But from that bondage when her thoughts were
freed She rose, and toward the close-shut casement
drew, Whence the poor unregarded Favourite, true To old affections, had been heard to plead With flapping wing for entrance. What a
shriek Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a
strain Of harmony!—a shriek of terror, pain,
And self-reproach! for, from aloft, a Kite Pounced,--and the Dove, which from its ruth.
less beak She could not rescue, perished in her sight!
THE INFANT M-- M—-. UNQUIET Childhood here by special grace Forgets her nature, opening like a flower That neither feeds nor wastes its vital power In painful struggles. Months each other chase, And nought untunes that Infant's voice; no
trace Of fretful temper sullies her pure cheek; Prompt, lively, self sufficing, yet so meek That one enrapt with gazing on her face (Which even the placid innocence of death Could scarcely make more placid, heaven more
bright) Might learn to picture, for the eye of faith, The Virgin, as she shone with kindred light; A nursling couched upon her mother's knee, Beneath some shady palm of Galilee.
TO ---, IN HER SEVENTIETH YEAR. Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright, Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind To something purer and more exquisite Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st
my sight, When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek, Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming
white. And head that droops because the soul is
meek, Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare ; That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb
10 From desolation toward the genial prime; Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air, And filling more and more with crystal light As pensive Evening deepens into night.
TO ROTHA -ROTHA, my Spiritual Child! this head was grey When at the sacred font for thee I stood ; Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood, And shalt become thy own sufficient stay: Too late, I feel, sweet Orphan ! was the day 5 For stedfast hope the contract to fulfil ; Yet shall my blessing hover o'er thee still, Embodied in the music of this Lay, Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain
Stream Whose murmur soothed thy languid Mother's
ear After her throes, this Stream of name more
dear Since thou dost bear it,—a memorial theme For others; for thy future self, a spell To summon fancies out of Time's dark cell.
1827. (?) I The river Rotha, that flows into Windermere from the Lakes of Grasmere and Rydal.
XIX. A GRAVE-STONE UPON THE FLOOR IN THE CLOISTERS
OF WORCESTER CATHEDRAL. “ MISERRIMUS !” and neither name nor date, Prayer, text, or symbol, graven upon the stone; Nought but that word assigned to the unknown, That solitary word—to separate From all, and cast a cloud around the fate 5 Of him who lies beneath. Most wretched one, Who chose his epitaph ?-Himself alone Could thus have dared the grave to agitate, And claim, among the dead, this awful crown; Nor doubt that He marked also for his own 10 Close to these cloistral steps a burial-place, . That every foot might fall with heavier tread, Trampling upon his vileness. Stranger, pass Softly!—To save the contrite, Jesus bled.
ROMAN ANTIQUITIES DISCOVERED AT BISHOPSTONE,
HEREFORDSHIRE. WHILE poring Antiquarians search the ground Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer, Takes fire :-The men that have been reappear; Romans for travel girt, for business gowned; And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned, s In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear, As if its hues were of the passing year, Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that
mound Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximing, Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil: 10 Or a fierce impress issues with its foil Of tenderness—the Wolf, whose suckling Twins The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.
CHATSWORTH! thy stately mansion, and the
pride Of thy domain, strange contrast do present To house and home in many a craggy rent Of the wild Peak; where new-born waters
glide Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide 5 As in a dear and chosen banishment, With every semblance of entire content; So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried ! Yet He whose heart in childhood gave her troth To pastoral dales, thin-set with modest farms, 10 May learn, if judgment strengthen with his
growth, That, not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms; And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms The extremes of favoured life, may honour
A TRADITION OF OKER HILL IN DARLEY DALE,
DERBYSHIRE. 'Tis said that to the brow of yon fair hill Two Brothers clomb, and, turning face from
Nor one look more exchanging, grief to still