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Beneficent as strong;

Pleased in refreshing dews to steep
The little trembling flowers that peep
Thy shelving rocks among.

Hence all who love their country, love
To look on thee-delight to rove
Where they thy voice can hear;
And, to the patriot-warrior's Shade,
Lord of the vale! to Heroes laid
In dust, that voice is dear!

Along thy banks, at dead of night
Sweeps visibly the Wallace Wight;
Or stands, in warlike vest,
Aloft, beneath the moon's pale beam,
A Champion worthy of the stream,
Yon grey tower's living crest!

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Where stood, sublime, Leonidas
Devoted to the tomb.*

And let no Slave his head incline,
Or kneel, before the votive shrine

By Uri's lake, where Tell

Leapt, from his storm-vext boat, to land,†
Heaven's Instrument, for by his hand
That day the Tyrant fell.1

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EFFUSION,

IN THE PLEASURE-GROUND ON THE BANKS OF
THE BRAN, NEAR DUNKELD

Composed 1814.-Published 1827

[I am not aware that this condemnatory effusion was ever seen by the owner of the place. He might be disposed to pay little attention to it; but were it to prove otherwise I should be glad, for the whole exhibition is distressingly puerile.-I. F.]

"The waterfall, by a loud roaring, warned us when we must expect it. We were first, however, conducted into a small apartment, where the Gardener desired us to look at a picture of Ossian, which, while he was telling the history of the young

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Nor deem that it can aught avail

For such to glide with oar or sail

Beneath the piny wood,

Where Tell once drew, by Uri's lake,

His vengeful shafts-prepared to slake
Their thirst in Tyrants' blood!

1820.

* Leonidas, king of Sparta, killed in the heroic defence of the pass of Thermopylæ, B.C. 480.-ED.

On the western side of the bay of Uri, in the lake of Lucerne, is Tell's Platte, where on a ledge of rock stands the chapel-rebuilt in 1880, but said to have been originally built in 1388-on the spot where the Swiss Patriot leapt out of Gessler's boat, and shot the tyrant.-ED.

Artist who executed the work, disappeared, parting in the middle-flying asunder as by the touch of magic-and lo! we are at the entrance of a splendid apartment, which was almost dizzy and alive with waterfalls, that tumbled in all directions; the great cascade, opposite the window, which faced us, being reflected in innumerable mirrors upon the ceiling and against the walls."-Extract from the Journal of my Fellow- Traveller.*

WHAT He—who, mid the kindred throng
Of Heroes that inspired his song,
Doth yet frequent the hill of storms,
The stars dim-twinkling through their forms!
What! Ossian here-a painted Thrall,
Mute fixture on a stuccoed wall;
To serve an unsuspected screen
For show that must not yet be seen;
And, when the moment comes, to part
And vanish by mysterious art;
Head, harp, and body, split asunder,
For ingress to a world of wonder;
A gay saloon, with waters dancing
Upon the sight wherever glancing ;
One loud cascade in front, and lo!
A thousand like it, white as snow--
Streams on the walls, and torrent-foam
As active round the hollow dome,
Illusive cataracts! of their terrors

Not stripped, nor voiceless in the mirrors,
That catch the pageant from the flood
Thundering adown a rocky wood.
What pains to dazzle and confound!
What strife of colour, shape and sound
In this quaint medley, that might seem
Devised out of a sick man's dream!1
Strange scene, fantastic and uneasy

1 The preceding four lines were added in the edition of 1837.

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* See the Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, 1803, by Dorothy Wordsworth, p. 210.-ED.

As ever made a maniac dizzy,
When disenchanted from the mood
That loves on sullen thoughts to brood!

O Nature-in thy changeful visions,
Through all thy most abrupt transitions 1
Smooth, graceful, tender, or sublime—
Ever averse to pantomime,

Thee neither do they know nor us

Thy servants, who can trifle thus ;

Else verily 2 the sober powers

Of rock that frowns, and stream that roars,

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And Names that moulder not away,

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Had wakened some redeeming thought
More worthy of this favoured Spot;
Recalled some feeling-to set free
The Bard from such indignity!

*The Effigies of a valiant Wight
I once beheld, a Templar Knight;
Not prostrate, not like those that rest
On tombs, with palms together prest,
But sculptured out of living stone,
And standing upright and alone,
Both hands with rival energy
Employed in setting his sword free

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* On the banks of the River Nid, near Knaresborough.-W. W. 1827.

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From its dull sheath-stern sentinel
Intent to guard St. Robert's cell;
As if with memory of the affray
Far distant, when, as legends say,
The Monks of Fountain's
From its dear home the Hermit's corse,

thronged to force

That in their keeping it might lie,
To crown their abbey's sanctity.
So had they rushed into the grot
Of sense despised, a world forgot,
And torn him from his loved retreat,
Where altar-stone and rock-hewn seat
Still hint that quiet best is found,
Even by the Living, under ground;
But a bold Knight, the selfish aim
Defeating, put the Monks to shame,
There where you see his Image stand
Bare to the sky, with threatening bran
Which lingering NID is proud to show
Reflected in the pool below.

Thus, like the men of earliest days,
Our sires set forth their grateful praise:
Uncouth the workmanship, and rude!
But, nursed in mountain solitude,
Might some aspiring artist dare
To seize whate'er, through misty air,
A ghost, by glimpses, may present
Of imitable lineament,

And give the phantom an array

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* "The cliffs overhanging the Nid have been hollowed out into numerous cavities, some of which serve as dwellings, walled in front, and some having chimneys carried out at the tops; sometimes with windows and doors let into the rock itself. The most remarkable of these is St. Robert's Chapel, scooped out, and inhabited (it is said) by the same St. Robert, whose cave is farther down the river. An altar has been cut out of the rock, and one or two rude figures carved within this so-called chapel. The figure of an armed man with his sword in his hand is sculptured outside, as if guarding the entrance."-Murray's Yorkshire, p. 240 (edition 1867).-ED.

+ Fountains Abbey, near Studley Royal, in Yorkshire.—ED.

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