Now is there not good reason to break forth
Into a passionate lament? O Soul!
Short while a Pilgrim in our nether world,
Do thou enjoy the calm empyreal air;
And round this earthly tomb let roses rise,
An everlasting spring! in memory
Of that delightful fragrance which was once,
From thy mild manners, quietly exhaled.
PAUSE, courteous Spirit!
That Thou, with no reluctant voice, for him
Here laid in mortal darkness, wouldst prefer
A prayer to the Redeemer of the world.
This to the Dead by sacred right belongs;
All else is nothing. - Did occasion suit
To tell his worth, the marble of this tomb
Would ill suffice: for Plato's lore sublime,
And all the wisdom of the Stagyrite,
Enriched and beautified his studious mind :
With Archimedes also he conversed
As with a chosen Friend, nor did he leave
Those laureat wreaths ungathered which the Nymphs
Twine on the top of Pindus. — Finally,
Himself above each lower thought uplifting,
His ears he closed to listen to the Song
Which Sion's Kings did consecrate of old;
And fixed his Pindus upon Lebanon.
A blessed Man! who of protracted days
Made not, as thousands do, a vulgar sleep;
But truly did He live his life. - Urbino,
Take pride in him! -
Composed at Grasmere, during a walk, one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected.
LOUD is the Vale! the Voice is up
With which she speaks when storms are gone,
A mighty Unison of streams!
Of all her Voices, One!
Loud is the Vale; - this inland Depth
In peace is roaring like the Sea;
Yon Star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.
Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Importunate and heavy load ! *
The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;
And many thousands now are sad
Wait the fulfilment of their fear;
For he must die who is their stay,
Their glory disappear.
* Importuna e grave salma.
A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the Mighty pass away
What is it more than this,
That Man, who is from God sent forth,
WRITTEN, NOVEMBER 13, 1814, ON A BLANK LEAF IN A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEM "THE EXCURSION," UPON HEARING OF
THE DEATH OF THE LATE VICAR OF KENDAL.
To public notice, with reluctance strong,
Did I deliver this unfinished Song;
Yet for one happy issue ; - and I look
With self-congratulation on the Book
Which pious, learned MURFITT saw and read; -
Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed;
He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart -
Foreboding not how soon he must depart;
Unweeting that to him the joy was given
Which good Men take with them from Earth to Heaven.
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.
I was thy Neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee:
I saw thee every day; and all the while
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.
So pure the sky, so quiet was the air!
So like, so very like, was day to day!
Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there;
It trembled, but it never passed away.
How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep;
No mood, which season takes away, or brings:
I could have fancied that the mighty Deep
Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things.
Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand,
To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,
The lustre, known to neither sea nor land,
But borrowed from the youthful Poet's dream;
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