TO THE LADY E. B. AND THE HON. MISS P.
Composed in the Grounds of Plass Newidd, near Llangollen,
A STREAM, to mingle with your favorite Dee, Along the VALE OF MEDITATION* flows; So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see In Nature's face the expression of repose; Or haply there some pious hermit chose
To live and die, the peace of heaven his aim; To whom the wild, sequestered region owes, At this late day, its sanctifying name.
GLYN CAFAILLGAROCH, in the Cambrian tongue, In ours, the VALE OF FRIENDSHIP, let this spot Be named; where, faithful to a low-roofed Cot, On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long; Sisters in love, a love allowed to climb, Even on this earth, above the reach of Time!
TO THE TORRENT AT THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE, NORTH WALES,
Of waters issue from a British source,
Or hath not Pindus fed thee, where the band Of Patriots scoop their freedom out, with hand Desperate as thine? Or come the incessant shocks From that young Stream, that smites the throb- bing rocks
Of Viamala? There I seem to stand,
As in life's morn; permitted to behold,
From the dread chasm, woods climbing above woods,
In pomp that fades not; everlasting snows; And skies that ne'er relinquish their repose; Such power possess the family of floods Over the minds of Poets, young or old!
WILD Redbreast! hadst thou at Jemima's lip Pecked, as at mine, thus boldly, Love might say, A half-blown rose had tempted thee to sip
Its glistening dews; but hallowed is the clay Which the Muse warms; and I, whose head is
Am not unworthy of thy fellowship;
Nor could I let one thought, one motion, slip That might thy sylvan confidence betray. For are we not all His without whose care Vouchsafed no sparrow falleth to the ground; Who gives his Angels wings to speed through air,
And rolls the planets through the blue profound? Then peck or perch, fond Flutterer! nor forbear To trust a Poet in still musings bound.
WHEN Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle Like a Form sculptured on a monument Lay couched; on him or his dread bow unbent Some wild Bird oft might settle, and beguile The rigid features of a transient smile, Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent, Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment From his lov'd home, and from heroic toil. And trust that spiritual Creatures round us move, Griefs to allay which Reason cannot heal; Yea, veriest reptiles have sufficed to prove To fettered wretchedness, that no Bastile Is deep enough to exclude the light of love, Though man for brother man has ceased to feel.
WHILE Anna's peers and early playmates tread, In freedom, mountain-turf and river's marge, Or float with music in the festal barge,
Rein the proud steed, or through the dance are led, Her doom it is to press a weary bed,
Till oft her guardian Angel, to some charge
More urgent called, will stretch his wings at large,
And friends too rarely prop the languid head. Yet, helped by Genius, untired comforter, The presence even of a stuffed Owl for her Can cheat the time; sending her fancy out To ivied castles and to moonlight skies, Though he can neither stir a plume, nor shout, Nor veil, with restless film, his staring eyes.
NOT the whole warbling grove in concert heard, When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill Like the first summons, Cuckoo! of thy bill, With its twin notes inseparably paired,
The captive 'mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired, Measuring the periods of his lonely doom, That cry can reach; and to the sick man's room Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared. The lordly eagle-race through hostile search May perish; time may come when never more The wilderness shall hear the lion roar;
But, long as cock shall crow from household perch To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy wing, And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring!
[Miss not the occasion: by the forelock take That subtle Power, the never-halting Time, Lest a mere moment's putting-off should make Mischance almost as heavy as a crime.]
"WAIT, prithee, wait!" this answer Lesbia threw Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed. Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed; But from that bondage when her thoughts were freed
She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew, Whence the poor, unregarded Favorite, true To old affections, had been heard to plead
With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain Of harmony! a shriek of terror, pain,
And self-reproach! for, from aloft, a Kite
and the Dove, which from its ruthless
She could not rescue, perished in her sight!
UNQUIET Childhood here by special grace Forgets her nature, opening like a flower
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