XVI.

AMERICAN TRADITION.

SUCH fruitless questions may not long beguile
Or plague the fancy, 'mid the sculptured shows
Conspicuous yet where Oroonoko flows;

There would the Indian answer with a smile
Aimed at the White Man's ignorance, the while
Of the GREAT WATERS telling how they rose,
Covered the plains, and, wandering where they chose,
Mounted through every intricate defile,

Triumphant. Inundation wide and deep,

O'er which his Fathers urged, to ridge and steep

Else unapproachable, their buoyant way;

And carved, on mural cliff's undreaded side,

Sun, moon, and stars, and beast of chase or prey; Whate'er they sought, shunned, loved, or deified!*

*See Humboldt's Personal Narrative,

XVII.

RETURN.

A DARK plume fetch me from yon blasted Yew,
Perched on whose top the Danish Raven croaks;
Aloft, the imperial Bird of Rome invokes
Departed ages, shedding where he flew

Loose fragments of wild wailing, that bestrew
The clouds, and thrill the chambers of the rocks,
And into silence hush the timorous flocks,

That, calmly couching while the nightly dew
Moistened each fleece, beneath the twinkling stars
Slept amid that lone Camp on Hardknot's height,
Whose Guardians bent the knee to Jove and Mars:
Or, near that mystic Round of Druid frame

Tardily sinking by its proper weight

Deep into patient Earth, from whose smooth breast it came!

XVIII.

SEATHWAITE CHAPEL.

SACRED Religion, "mother of form and fear,"
Dread Arbitress of mutable respect,

New rites ordaining when the old are wrecked,
Or cease to please the fickle worshipper;
If one strong wish may be embosomed here,
Mother of LOVE! for this deep vale, protect
Truth's holy lamp, pure source of bright effect,
Gifted to purge the vapoury atmosphere

That seeks to stifle it; as in those days

When this low Pile a Gospel Teacher knew, Whose good works formed an endless retinue: Such Priest as Chaucer sang in fervent lays; Such as the heaven-taught skill of Herbert drew; And tender Goldsmith crowned with deathless prai

XIX.

TRIBUTARY STREAM.

My frame hath often trembled with delight
When hope presented some far-distant good,
That seemed from heaven descending, like the flood
Of yon pure waters, from their aëry height
Hurrying, with lordly Duddon to unite ;
Who, 'mid a world of images imprest

On the calm depth of his transparent breast,
Appears to cherish most that Torrent white,
The fairest, softest, liveliest of them all!
And seldom hath ear listened to a tune

More lulling than the busy hum of Noon,

Swoln by that voice

- whose murmur musical

Announces to the thirsty fields a boon

Dewy and fresh, till showers again shall fall.

XX.

THE PLAIN OF DONNERDALE.

THE old inventive Poets, had they seen,

Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains, The still repose, the liquid lapse serene,

Transferred to bowers imperishably green,

Had beautified Elysium! But these chains
Will soon be broken

; a rough course remains,

Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien,

Innocuous as a firstling of the flock,

And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky,

Shalt change thy temper; and, with many a shock

Given and received in mutual jeopardy,

Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock,

Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!