Yet more; around those Churches gathered Towns Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns; Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold Her scales with even hand, and culture mould The heart to pity, train the mind in care For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear. Nor dost thou fail, through abject love of ease, Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes, To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.、
Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors, And to green meadows changed the swampy shores? Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful
Made room where wolf and boar were used to range? Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains
Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains? The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please, For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees!
But all availed not; by a mandate given
Through lawless will, the Brotherhood was driven Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low In Reformation's sweeping overthrow.
But now once more the local Heart revives, The inextinguishable Spirit strives.
O may that Power who hushed the stormy seas, And cleared a way for the first Votaries, Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees!
Alas! the Genius of our age from Schools
Less humble draws her lessons, aims, and rules. To Prowess guided by her insight keen Matter and Spirit are as one machine; Boastful Idolatress of formal skill,
She in her own would merge the Eternal will: Better, if Reason's triumphs match with these, Her flight before the bold credulities
That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.*
IN THE CHANNEL, BETWEEN THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND AND THE ISLE OF MAN.
RANGING the heights of Scawfell or Black-comb, In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause, And strive to fathom the mysterious laws By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom, On Mona settle, and the shapes assume Of all her peaks and ridges. What he draws From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause, He will take with him to the silent tomb. Or, by his fire, a child upon his knee, Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory
* See Excursion, Seventh Part; and Ecclesiastical Sketches, Second Part, near the beginning.
That satisfies the simple and the meek,
Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak To cope with Sages undevoutly free.
AT SEA OFF THE ISLE OF MAN.
BOLD words affirmed, in days when faith was strong And doubts and scruples seldom teased the brain, That no adventurer's bark had power to gain These shores if he approached them bent on wrong; For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main,
Mists rose to hide the Land,—that search, though
And eager, might be still pursued in vain. O Fancy, what an age was that for song! That age, when not by laws inanimate, As men believed, the waters were impelled, The air controlled, the stars their courses held; But element and orb on acts did wait
Of Powers endued with visible form, instinct With will, and to their work by passion linked.
DESIRE we past illusions to recall?
To reinstate wild Fancy, would we hide
Truths whose thick veil Science has drawn aside?
No, - let this Age, high as she may install
In her esteem the thirst that wrought man's fall, The universe is infinitely wide;
And conquering Reason, if self-glorified,
Can nowhere move uncrossed by some new wall Or gulf of mystery, which thou alone,
Imaginative Faith! canst overleap,
In progress toward the fount of Love, the
Of Power whose ministers the records keep Of periods fixed, and laws established, less Flesh to exalt than prove its nothingness.
ON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY, ISLE OF MAN.
"Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori."
THE feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn, Even when they rose to check or to repel Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn Just limits; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence; Blest work it is of love and innocence, A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn. Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner, Struggling for life, into its saving arms! Spare, too, the human helpers! Do they stir 'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid to die?
No; their dread service nerves the heart it warms, And they are led by noble HILLARY.*
BY THE SEA-SHORE, ISLE OF MAN.
WHY stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine, With wonder smit by its transparency,
And all enraptured with its purity?
Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline, Have ever in them something of benign ; Whether in gem, in water, or in sky,
A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye Of a young maiden, only not divine. Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm For beverage drawn as from a mountain well. Temptation centres in the liquid Calm ; Our daily raiment seems no obstacle To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea! And revelling in long embrace with thee.†
† The sea-water on the coast of the Isle of Man is singularly pure and beautiful.
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