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XV.

ON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY, ISLE OF MAN.

'Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori.'

THE feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn,
Even when they rose to check or to repel
Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well
Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn
Just limits; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn
This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence;
Blest work it is of love and innocence,

A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn.
Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner,
Struggling for life, into its saving arms!
Spare, too, the human helpers! Do they stir
'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid to die?
No; their dread service nerves the heart it warms,
And they are led by noble HILLARY*.

XVI.

BY THE SEA-SHORE, ISLE OF MAN.

WHY stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine,
With wonder smit by its transparency,

And all-enraptured with its purity?—

Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline,

* See Note.

Have ever in them something of benign;
Whether in gem, in water, or in sky,
A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye
Of a young maiden, only not divine.

Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm
For beverage drawn as from a mountain-well;
Temptation centres in the liquid Calm;
Our daily raiment seems no obstacle
To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea!
And revelling in long embrace with thee*.

XVII.

ISLE OF MAN.

[My son William is here the person alluded to as saving the life of the youth, and the circumstances were as mentioned in the Sonnet.]

A YOUTH too certain of his power to wade

On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea,

To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee
Leapt from this rock, and but for timely aid.

He, by the alluring element betrayed,

Had perished. Then might Sea-nymphs (and with sighs Of self-reproach) have chanted elegies

Bewailing his sad fate, when he was laid

* The sea-water on the coast of the Isle of Man is singularly pure and

beautiful.

VOL. IV.

M

In peaceful earth: for, doubtless, he was frank,
Utterly in himself devoid of guile;

Knew not the double-dealing of a smile;

Nor aught that makes men's promises a blank,
Or deadly snare: and He survives to bless
The Power that saved him in his strange distress.

XVIII.

ISLE OF MAN.

DID pangs of grief for lenient time too keen,
Grief that devouring waves had caused, or guilt
Which they had witnessed-sway the man who built
This Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen,
Nought heard, of ocean troubled or serene?
A tired Ship-soldier on paternal land,
That o'er the channel holds august command,
The dwelling raised,—a veteran Marine.

He, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea
To shun the memory of a listless life

That hung between two callings. May no strife
More hurtful here beset him, doomed though free,
Self-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye
Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky!

XIX.

BY A RETIRED MARINER. H. H.

[MRS. WORDSWORTH's Brother, Henry.]

FROM early youth I ploughed the restless Main,
My mind as restless and as apt to change;
Through every clime and ocean did I range,
In hope at length a competence to gain;
For poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.
Year after year I strove, but strove in vain,
And hardships manifold did I endure,
For Fortune on me never deigned to smile;
Yet I at last a resting-place have found,
With just enough life's comforts to procure,
In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle,
A peaceful spot where Nature's gifts abound;
Then sure I have no reason to complain,
Though poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.

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[SUPPOSED to be written by a friend (Mr. Cookson) who died there a few years after.]

BROKEN in fortune, but in mind entire
And sound in principle, I seek repose

Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose",
In ruin beautiful. When vain desire

* Rushen Abbey.

Intrudes on peace, I

pray the eternal Sire

To cast a soul-subduing shade on me,

A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee;

A shade-but with some sparks of heavenly fire
Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when I note
The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams
Of sunset ever there, albeit streams

Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought,
I thank the silent Monitor, and say

"Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!

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XXI.

TYNWALD HILL.

[MR. ROBINSON and I walked the greater part of the way from Castle-town to Piel, and stopped some time at Tynwald Hill. One of my companions was an elderly man who, in a muddy way (for he was tipsy,) explained and answered, as far as he could, my enquiries about this place and the ceremonies held here. I found more agreeable company in some little children; one of whom, upon my request, recited the Lord's Prayer to me, and I helped her to a clearer understanding of it as well as I could; but I was not at all satisfied with my own part; hers was much better done, and I am persuaded that, like other children, she knew more about it than she was able to express, especially to a stranger.]

ONCE on the top of Tynwald's formal mound
(Still marked with green turf circles narrowing
Stage above stage) would sit this Island's King,
The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned;

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