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form, and the beauty immediately surrounding it, but also as being overlooked by the eminence of Langdale Pikes as Lake Nemi is by that of Monte Calvo. Since this Epistle was written Loughrigg Tarn has lost much of its beauty by the felling of many natural clumps of wood, relics of the old forest, particularly upon the farm called “The Oaks," from the abundance of that tree which grew there.
It is to be regretted, upon public grounds, that Sir George Beaumont did not carry into effect his intention of constructing here a Summer Retreat in the style I have described ; as his taste would have set an example how buildings, with all the accommodations modern society requires, might be introduced even into the most secluded parts of this country without injuring their native character. The design was not abandoned from failure of inclination on his part, but in consequence of local untowardness which need not be particularised.
GOLD AND SILVER FISHES IN A VASE.
THE soaring lark is blest as proud
When at heaven's gate she sings;
Her flight by vocal wings;
Your silent lives employ
Though haply less than joy.
Yet might your glassy prison seem
A place where joy is known,
Have meanings of their own;
Your motions, glittering Elves !
And peace among yourselves,
Type of a sunny human breast
Is your transparent cell;
No sullen Humours dwell;
That smites this tiny sea,
The loan with usury.
This ever-graceful change,
Within your quiet range.
For mutual pleasure glide;
Are dwarfed, or magnified?
Fays, Genii of gigantic size!
And now, in twilight dim,
In wings of Cherubim,
Whate'er your forms express,
All leads to gentleness.
Your birthright is a fence
Through tyranny of sense.
Are Ye to heaven allied,
Ye mingle, or divide.
For day-dreams soft as e'er beguiled
Day-thoughts while limbs repose;
For moonlight fascinations mild,
Your gift, ere shutters closeAccept, mute Captives! thanks and praise;
And may this tribute prove That gentle admirations raise
Delight resembling love.
SEQUEL TO THE PRECEDING.
Addressed to a friend ; the gold and silver fishes
having been removed to a pool in the pleasure
ground of Rydal Mount. “The liberty of a people consists in being governed
by laws which they have made for themselves, under whatever form it be of government. The liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country. Of this latter we
are here to discourse."--COWLEY. THOSE breathing Tokens of your kind regard, (Suspect not, Anna, that their fate is hard ; Not soon does aught to which mild fancies cling In lonely spots, become a slighted thing ;) Those silent Inmates now no longer share, 5 Nor do they need, our hospitable care, Removed in kindness from their glassy Cell To the fresh waters of a living WellAn elfin pool so sheltered that its rest No winds disturb; the mirror of whose breast Is smooth as clear, save where with dimples
small A fly may settle, or a blossom fall. -There swims, of blazing sun and beating
Fearless (but how obscured !) the golden Power,
And, if not so, what matters beauty gone
While musing here I sit in shadow cool, And watch these mute Companions, in the pool, (Among reflected boughs of leafy trees) By glimpses caught-disporting at their ease, Enlivened, braced, by hardy luxuries, I ask what warrant fixed them (like a spell Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal cell; To wheel with languid motion round and round,
Beautiful, yet in mournful durance bound. Their peace, perhaps, our lightest footfall marred;
50 On their quick sense our sweetest music jarred; And whither could they dart, if seized with
fear? No sheltering stone, no tangled root was near. When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room, They wore away the night in starless gloom; 55 And when the sun first dawned upon the
streams, How faint their portion of his vital beams! Thus, and unable to complain, they fared, While not one joy of ours by them was shared.
Is there a cherished bird (I venture now To snatch a sprig from Chaucer's reverend
brow) Is there a brilliant fondling of the cage, Though sure of plaudits on his costly stage, Though fed with dainties from the snow-white
hand Of a kind mistress, fairest of the land, 65 But gladly would escape; and, if need were, Scatter the colours from the plumes that bear The emancipated captive through blithe air Into strange woods, where he at large may live On best or worst which they and Nature give? The beetle loves his unpretending track, The snail the house he carries on his back; The far-fetched worm with pleasure would
disown The bed we give him, though of softest down; A noble instinct; in all kinds the same, All ranks! What Sovereign, worthy of the
name, If doomed to breathe against his lawful will