V. Neglect me! no, I suffered long From that ill thought; and, being blind, As ever breathed:' and that is true; VI. My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, VII. Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings, All that is left to comfort thee. VIII. Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, Maimed, mangled by inhuman men; Or thou upon a desert thrown Inheritest the lion's den; Or hast been summoned to the deep, IX. I look for ghosts; but none will force X. My apprehensions come in crowds; XI. Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: Some tidings that my woes may end; Betwixt the living One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."-ED. 1807. [This was an overflow from the "Affliction of Margaret," and was excluded as superfluous there, but preserved in the faint hope that it may turn to account by restoring a shy lover to some forsaken damsel. My poetry has been complained of as deficient in interests of this sort,— a charge which the piece beginning, "Lyre! though such power do in thy magic live," will scarcely tend to obviate. The natural imagery of these verses was supplied by frequent, I might say intense, observation of the Rydal torrent. What an animating contrast is the ever-changing aspect of that, and indeed of every one of our mountain brooks, to the monotonous tone and unmitigated fury of such streams among the Alps as are fed all the summer long by glaciers and melting snows. Α traveller observing the exquisite purity of the great rivers, such as the Rhine at Geneva, and the Reuss at Lucerne, when they issue out of their respective lakes, might fancy for a moment that some power in nature produced this beautiful change, with a view to make amends for those Alpine sullyings which the waters exhibit near their fountain heads; but, alas! how soon does that purity depart before the influx of tributary waters that have flowed through cultivated plains and the crowded abodes of men.] THE peace which others seek they find; I only pray to know the worst; O weary struggle ! silent years One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."-ED. [Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Suggested by the conversation of our next neighbour, Margaret Ashburner.] This "next neighbour" is constantly referred to in Miss Wordsworth's Grasmere Journals.-ED. THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold, Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day, Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold, Could we but have been as contented as they. When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I, 'Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand; But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,-we'll die Before he shall go with an inch of the land!' There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers; We could do what we liked with the land, it was ours; But now we are strangers, go early or late; When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's day, A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say, 'What ails you, that you must come creeping to me!' With our pastures about us, we could not be sad; Our comfort was near if we ever were crost; But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had, We slighted them all,—and our birth-right was lost. Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that strain! And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep, Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail; One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."-ED. [The story of this Poem is from the German of Frederica Brun.] I. SEVEN Daughters had Lord Archibald, All children of one mother: You could not say in one short day 1 I could not say 1807. |