126

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

But hushed be every thought that springs
From out the bitterness of things;

Her quiet is secure;

No thorns can pierce her tender feet,
Whose life was, like the violet, sweet,
As climbing jasmine, pure-

As snowdrop on an infant's grave,
Or lily heaving with the wave
That feeds it and defends;

As Vesper, ere the star hath kissed

The mountain top, or breathed the mist
That from the vale ascends.

Thou takest not away, O Death !
Thou strikest absence perisheth,
Indifference is no more;

The future brightens on our sight;

For on the past hath fallen a light
That tempts us to adore.

1

1843.

Thou strik'st-and

1827.

In a letter from Mrs Wordsworth to Lady Beaumont, dated "Rydal Mount, Feb. 25," she says:

“We are all much moved by the manner in which Miss Wills has received the verses,-particularly Wm., who feels himself more than rewarded for the labour I cannot call it of the composition-for the tribute was poured forth with a deep stream of fervour that was something beyond labour, and it has required very little correction. In one instance a single word in the "Address to Sir George" is changed since we sent the copy, viz: 'graciously' for 'courteously,' as being a word of more dignity."

The following inscription was "copied from the Churchyard of Claynes, Sept. 14, 1826," by Dorothy Wordsworth, in a MS. book containing numerous epitaphs on tombstones. and inscriptions on rural monuments in cathedrals and churches, in the various parts of the country.

CENOTAPH.

Sacred

To the memory of Frances Fermor,
Relict of Henry Fermor, Esqre.,
Of Fritwell, in the County of Oxford,
And eldest Daughter of the late
John Willes, Esqre., of Astrop, in the county
Of Northamptonshire, who departed this life,
Dec. 5th, 1824, aged 68 years.

I am the way, the truth, and
The life. Whoso cometh to me

I will in no wise cast out.

-ED.

127

CENOTAPH.

In affectionate remembrance of Frances Fermor, whose remains are deposited in the church of Claines, near Worcester, this stone is erected by her sister, Dame Margaret, wife of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., who, feeling not less than the love of a brother for the deceased, commends this memorial to the care of his heirs and successors in the possession of this place.

[See "Elegiac Stanzas. (Addressed to Sir G. H. B., upon the death of his sister-in-law.)"]

But if the pensive gloom

Of fond regret be still thy choice,
Exalt thy spirit, hear the voice

Of Jesus from her tomb!

'I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH, and the LIFE.'

In the letter to Lady Beaumont, referred to in the notes, the title of this poem is "Inscription in the Church of Coleorton," and a footnote is added, "Say, to the left of the vista, within the thicket, below the churchyard wall.-M. W."

Mrs Wordsworth also says, "To fit the lines, intended for an urn, for a Monument, W. has altered the closing stanza, which (though they are not what he would have produced had he first cast them with a view to the Church) he hopes you will not disapprove.”—ED.

IV.

EPITAPH

IN THE CHAPEL-YARD OF LANGDALE, WESTMORELAND.

[OWEN LLOYD, the subject of this epitaph, was born at Old Brathay, near Ambleside, and was the son of Charles Lloyd and his wife Sophia (née Pemberton), both of Birmingham, who came to reside in this part of the country, soon after their marriage. They had many children, both sons and daughters, of whom the most remarkable was the subject of this epitaph. He was educated under Mr Dawes, at Ambleside, Dr Butler, of Shrewsbury, and lastly at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he would have been greatly distinguished as a scholar but for inherited infirmities of bodily constitution, which, from early childhood, affected his mind. His love for the neighbourhood in which he was born, and his sympathy with the habits and characters of the mountain yeomanry, in conjunction with irregular spirits, that unfitted him for facing duties in situations to which he was unaccustomed, induced him to accept the retired curacy of Langdale. How much he was beloved and honoured there, and with what feelings he discharged his duty under the oppression of severe malady, is set forth, though imperfectly, in the epitaph.]

By playful smiles, (alas! too oft
A sad heart's sunshine) by a soft
And gentle nature, and a free
Yet modest hand of charity,

EPITAPH.

Through life was OWEN LLOYD endeared
To young and old; and how revered
Had been that pious spirit, a tide
Of humble mourners testified,

When, after pains dispensed to prove

The measure of God's chastening love,

Here, brought from far, his corse found rest,-
Fulfilment of his own request;-

Urged less for this Yew's shade, though he
Planted with such fond hope the tree;
Less for the love of stream and rock,
Dear as they were, than that his Flock,
When they no more their Pastor's voice
Could hear to guide them in their choice
Through good and evil, help might have,
Admonished, from his silent grave,
Of righteousness, of sins forgiven,

For peace on earth and bliss in heaven.

129

This commemorative epitaph to the Rev. Owen Lloyd is carved on the headstone over his grave in the churchyard at the small hamlet of Chapel Stile, Great Langdale, Westmoreland.-Ed.

130

THE PILLAR OF TRAJAN.

1825.

Three Poems were written in 1825, The Pillar of Trajan, The Parrot and the Wren, and the lines To a Skylark.

[These verses perhaps had better be transferred to the class of "Italian Poems." I had observed in the newspaper, that the Pillar of Trajan was given as a subject for a prize-poem in English verse. I had a wish perhaps that my son, who was then an undergraduate at Oxford, should try his fortune, and I told him so; but he, not having been accustomed to write verse, wisely declined to enter on the task; whereupon I showed him these lines as a proof of what might, without difficulty, be done on such a subject.]

WHERE towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds

O'er mutilated arches shed their seeds;

And temples, doomed to milder change, unfold

A new magnificence that vies with old;
Firm in its pristine majesty hath stood

A votive Column, spared by fire and flood:-
And, though the passions of man's fretful race
Have never ceased to eddy round its base,
Not injured more by touch of meddling hands
Than a lone obelisk, 'mid Nubian sands,
Or aught in Syrian deserts left to save
From death the memory of the good and brave.
Historic figures round the shaft embost
Ascend, with lineaments in air not lost:
Still as he turns, the charmed spectator sees
Group winding after group with dream-like ease,