XI.

THE FAERY CHASM.

No fiction was it of the antique age:

A sky-blue stone, within this sunless cleft,
Is of the very foot-marks unbereft

Which tiny Elves impressed ; — on that smooth stage
Dancing with all their brilliant equipage

Of some sweet babe, flower stolen, and coarse weed left

For the distracted mother to assuage

Her grief with, as she might! - But, where, oh! where Is traceable a vestige of the notes

That ruled those dances wild in character?

- Deep underground? — Or in the upper air, On the shrill wind of midnight? or where floats O'er twilight fields the autumnal gossamer?

XII.

HINTS FOR THE FANCY.

ON, loitering Muse-The swift Stream chides us—on ! Albeit his deep-worn channel doth immure

Objects immense pourtrayed in miniature,

Wild shapes for many a strange comparison !
Niagaras, Alpine passes, and anon

Abodes of Naiads, calm abysses pure,

Bright liquid mansions, fashioned to endure

When the broad Oak drops, a leafless skeleton,
And the solidities of mortal pride,

Palace and Tower, are crumbled into dust!

The Bard who walks with Duddon for his guide,

Shall find such toys of Fancy thickly set:

Turn from the sight, enamoured Muse

--

we must;

And, if thou canst, leave them without regret!

XIII.

OPEN PROSPECT.

HAIL to the fields with Dwellings sprinkled o'er, And one small hamlet, under a green hill,

Clustered with barn and byer, and spouting mill!

A glance suffices;

should we wish for more,

Gay June would scorn us; but when bleak winds roar Through the stiff lance-like shoots of pollard ash, Dread swell of sound! loud as the gusts that lash The matted forests of Ontario's shore

By wasteful steel unsmitten, then would I

Turn into port, — and, reckless of the gale,

Reckless of angry Duddon sweeping by,

While the warm hearth exalts the mantling ale,
Laugh with the generous household heartily,

At all the merry pranks of Donnerdale !

XIV.

O MOUNTAIN Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot
Are privileged Inmates of deep solitude;
Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude
A field or two of brighter green, or plot
Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot
Of stationary sunshine:- thou hast viewed
These only, Duddon! with their paths renewed
By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not.
Thee hath some awful spirit impelled to leave,
Utterly to desert, the haunts of men,
Though simple thy companions were and few;
And through this wilderness a passage cleave
Attended but by thy own voice, save when
The Clouds and Fowls of the air thy way pursue!

XV.

FROM this deep chasm-where quivering sunbeams play

Upon its loftiest crags mine

eyes

behold

A gloomy NICHE, capacious, blank, and cold;
A concave free from shrubs and mosses grey;

In semblance fresh, as if, with dire affray,
Some Statue, placed amid these regions old
For tutelary service, thence had rolled,
Startling the flight of timid Yesterday!
Was it by mortals sculptured?-weary slaves
Of slow endeavour! or abruptly cast
Into rude shape by fire, with roaring blast
Tempestuously let loose from central caves?
Or fashioned by the turbulence of waves,
Then, when o'er highest hills the Deluge past?