Or blight that fond memorial;—the trees grew, Nor aught of mutual joy or sorrow knew XXIII. FILIAL PIETY. 1829. (?) On the Wayside between Preston and Liverpool. UNTOUCHED through all severity of cold; Inviolate, whate'er the cottage hearth Might need for comfort, or for festal mirth ; That Pile of Turf is half a century old : Yes, Traveller! fifty winters have been told Since suddenly the dart of death went forth 'Gainst him who raised it,-his last work on earth: 5 Thence has it, with the Son, so strong a hold In annual renovation thus it stands Rude Mausoleum! but wrens nestle there, And red-breasts warble when sweet sounds are rare. XXIV. 1828. (?) TO THE AUTHOR'S PORTRAIT. Painted at Rydal Mount, by W. Pickersgill, Esq., for St. John's College, Cambridge. Go, faithful Portrait! and where long hath knelt Margaret, the saintly Foundress, take thy place; And, if Time spare the colours for the grace Which to the work surpassing skill hath dealt, Thou, on thy rock reclined, though kingdoms melt 5 And states be torn up by the roots, wilt seem By morning shed around a flower half-blown; XXV. 9 WHY art thou silent! Is thy love a plant II A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, Be left more desolate, more dreary cold Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine— Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know! 1835. (?) XXVI. TO B. R. HAYDON, ON SEEING HIS PICTURE OF HAYDON! let worthier judges praise the skill. ΙΟ Back turned, arms folded, the unapparent face way, And before him doth dawn perpetual run. XXVII. June 11, 1831. A POET!-He hath put his heart to school, Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff Which Art hath lodged within his hand-must laugh By precept only, and shed tears by rule. Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff, 5 Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold; 10 And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree 1842. (?) XXVIII. THE most alluring clouds that mount the sky Behold, already they forget to shine, 5 10 XXIX. ON A PORTRAIT OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON UPON THE FIELD OF WATERLOO, BY HAYDON. By Art's bold privilege Warrior and War-horse stand On ground yet strewn with their last battle's wreck; Let the Steed glory while his Master's hand Is given to triumph and all human pride! Yon trophied Mound shrinks to a shadowy speck In his calm presence! Him the mighty deed Elates not, brought far nearer the grave's rest, 10 As shows that time-worn face, for he such seed Has sown as yields, we trust, the fruit of fame In Heaven; hence no one blushes for thy name, Conqueror, 'mid some sad thoughts, divinely blest! Aug. 31, 1840. XXX. COMPOSED ON A MAY MORNING, 1838. LIFE with yon Lambs, like day, is just begun, Yet Nature seems to them a heavenly guide. Does joy approach? they meet the coming tide; And sullenness avoid, as now they shun Pale twilight's lingering glooms,-and in the sun 5 Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied; seen; Why to God's goodness cannot We be true, II XXXI. Lo! where she stands fixed in a saint-like trance, One upward hand, as if she needed rest |