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Measuring the periods of his lonely doom, That cry can reach; and to the sick man's room Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared. The lordly eagle-race through hostile search May perish; time may come when never more The wilderness shall hear the lion roar; 11

But, long as cock shall crow from household

perch To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy

wing, And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring!

1827. (?)

xv.

TO .

"Miss not the occasion: by the forelock take
That subtle Power, the never-halting Time,
Lest a mere moment's putting-off should make
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 5

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 10

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!

1835. (?)

XVI.
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 5

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) 10

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.

1827. (?)

XVII.
TO , IN HEE SEVENTIETH YEAH.

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 nieet'st
my sight, 5

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 io

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.

1827. (?)

XVIII.
TO ROTHA Q .

Kotha, 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;
Tet shall my blessing hover o'er thee still,
Embodied in the music of this Lay,
Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain

Stream1
Whose murmur soothed thy languid Mother's

ear 10

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 cel1.

1827. (?)

1 Jhe river Rotha, that flows into Windermere from the Lakes of Grasmere and Kyda1.

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.

1829. (?) xx.

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, 5
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, Maximins,
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

1835. V)

XXI.

1830.

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, 1 o 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

both.

XXII.

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

face,
Nor one look more exchanging, grief to still
Or feed, each planted on that lofty place
A chosen Tree; then, eager to fulfil 5

Their courses, like two new-born rivers, they
In opposite directions urged their way
Down from the far-seen mount. No blast

might kill

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