XVIII. SEATHWAITE CHAPEL. SACRED Religion! 'mother of form and fear,' New rites ordaining when the old are wrecked, Mother of Love! (that name best suits thee here) And tender Goldsmith crowned with deathless praise ! See Note. XIX. TRIBUTARY STREAM. My frame hath often trembled with delight On the calm depth of his transparent breast, More lulling than the busy hum of Noon, Swoln by that voice-whose murmur musical Dewy and fresh, till showers again snall fall. XX. THE PLAIN OF DONNERDALE. THE old inventive Poets, had they seen, 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! XXI. WHENCE that low voice ?-A whisper from the heart, Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart By Duddon's side; once more do we unite, From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall XXII. TRADITION. A LOVE-LORN Maid, at some far-distant time, And, gazing, saw that Rose, which from the prime Of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound : The starry treasure from the blue profound She longed to ravish ;-shall she plunge, or climb Of April, smiling high in upper air? Desperate alternative! what fiend could dare To prompt the thought ?-Upon the steep rock's breast The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom, Untouched memento of her hapless doom! |