THE RIVER EDEN, CUMBERLAND.

DEN! till now thy beauty had I viewed

By glimpses only, and confess with shame
That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood,
Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name:

Yet fetched from Paradise that honour came,
Rightfully borne; for Nature gives thee flowers
That have no rivals among British bowers;
And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame.
Measuring thy course, fair Stream! at length I pay
To my life's neighbour dues of neighbourhood;
But I have traced thee on thy winding way
With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained-
For things far off we toil, while many a good
Not sought, because too near, is never gained.

URPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind

I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom

But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,

That spot which no vicissitude can find?

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind

But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss?-That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;

That neither present time nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side,
And the glad Muse at liberty to note

All that to each is precious, as we float
Gently along; regardless who shall chide

If the heavens smile, and leave us free to glide,

Happy Associates breathing air remote

From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse,
Why have I crowded this small bark with you.

And others of your kind, ideal crew!

While here sits One whose brightness owes its hues

To flesh and blood; no Goddess from above,

No fleeting Spirit, but my own true Love?

ITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Some lying fast at anchor in the road,

Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly Vessel did I then espy

Come like a giant from a haven broad;

And lustily along the bay she strode,

Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.

This Ship was naught to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look;

This ship to all the rest did I prefer:

When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where She comes the winds must stir:
On went She, and due north her journey took.

W

HERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?
Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,

Festively she puts forth in trim array;

Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?

What boots the inquiry?- Neither friend nor foe

She cares for; let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way
Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were rare,
(From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there.
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,
Of the old Sea some reverential fear,

Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!

OLE listener, Duddon! to the Breeze that played
With thy clear voice, I caught the fitful sound.
Wafted o'er sullen moss and craggy mound-
Unfruitful solitudes, that seemed to upbraid
The sun in heaven!-but now, to form a shade
For Thee, green alders have together wound
Their foliage; ashes flung their arms around;
And birch-trees risen in silver colonnade.
And thou hast also tempted here to rise,
'Mid sheltering pines, this Cottage rude and gray;
Whose ruddy children, by the mother's eyes
Carelessly watched, sport through the summer day,
Thy pleased Associates:-light as endless May
On infant bosoms lonely Nature lies.

HAT aspect bore the Man who roved or fled,

WHAT

First of his tribe, to this dark dell-who first

In this pellucid Current slaked his thirst?

What hopes came with him? what designs were spread Along his path? His unprotected bed

What dreams encompassed? Was the intruder nursed In hideous usages, and rites accursed,

That thinned the living and disturbed the dead?

No voice replies;-both air and earth are mute;

And Thou, blue Streamlet, murmuring yield'st no more

Than a soft record, that, whatever fruit

Of ignorance thou mightst witness heretofore,

Thy function was to heal and to restore,

To soothe and cleanse, not madden and pollute!