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With thy own scorn of tyrants they advance,
But truth divine has sanctified their rage,
A silver cross enchased with flowers of France
Their badge, attests the holy fight they wage.

The shrill defiance of the young crusade
Their veteran foes mock as an idle noise;
But unto Faith and Loyalty comes aid
From Heaven, gigantic force to beardless boys.

1843.

In 1843 were written the lines to Grace Darling, two Sonnets, and the Inscription for a monument to Southey.

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WHILE beams of orient light shoot wide and high,

Deep in the vale a little rural Town*

Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own,

That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky,

But, with a less ambitious sympathy,

Hangs o'er its Parent waking to the cares,
Troubles and toils that every day prepares.
So Fancy, to the musing Poet's eye,

Endears that Lingerer. And how blest her sway
(Like influence never may my soul reject)
If the calm Heaven, now to its zenith decked
With glorious forms in numberless array,
To the lone shepherd on the hills disclose
Gleams from a world in which the saints repose.

Jan. 1, 1843.

* Ambleside.-W. W.

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Wordsworth's lines on Grace Darling were printed privately, before they were included in the 1845 edition of his works.

A copy was sent to Mr Dyce, and is preserved in the Dyce Library at South Kensington. Another was sent to Professor Reid (March 27, 1843), with a letter, in which the following occurs: "I threw it off two or three weeks ago, being in a great measure impelled to it by the desire I felt to do justice to the memory of a heroine, whose conduct presented, some time ago, a striking contrast to the inhumanity with which our countrymen, shipwrecked lately upon the French coast, have been treated."-ED.

AMONG the dwellers in the silent fields

The natural heart is touched, and public way
And crowded streets resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by ONE whose very name bespeaks

Favour divine, exalting human love;

Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast,
Known unto few but prized as far as known,

A single Act endears to high and low

Through the whole land—to Manhood, moved in spite
Of the world's freezing cares-to generous Youth-
To Infancy, that lisps her praise—to Age
Whose eye reflects it, glistening through a tear
Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame
Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds
Do no imperishable record find

Save in the rolls of heaven, where hers may live

A theme for angels, when they celebrate

The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth

Has witness'd. Oh that winds and waves could speak Of things which their united power called forth

* Grace Darling was the daughter of William Darling, the lighthouse keeper on Longstone, one of the Farne islands on the Northumbrian coast. On the 7th of September 1838, the Forfarshire steamship was wrecked on these islands. At the instigation of his daughter, and accompanied by her, Darling went out in his lifeboat through the surf, to the wreck, and—by their united strength and daring-rescued the nine survivors.-Ed.

From the pure depths of her humanity!
A Maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call,

Firm and unflinching, as the Lighthouse reared
On the Island-rock, her lonely dwelling-place;
Or like the invincible Rock itself that braves,
Age after age, the hostile elements,

As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.*

All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused, When, as day broke, the Maid, through misty air, Espies far off a Wreck, amid the surf,

Beating on one of those disastrous isles

Half of a Vessel, half-no more; the rest
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,
Or thither thronged for refuge.† With quick glance
Daughter and Sire through optic-glass discern,
Clinging about the remnant of this Ship,
Creatures-how precious in the Maiden's sight!
For whom, belike, the old Man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed

Where every parting agony is hushed,

And hope and fear mix not in further strife.

"But courage, Father! let us out to sea

A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's words,

*St Cuthbert of Durham, born about 635, was first a shepherd boy, then a monk in the monastery of Melrose, and afterwards its prior. He left Melrose for the island monastery of Lindisfarne; but desiring an austerer life than the monastic, he left Lindisfarne, and became an anchorite, in a hut which he built with his own hands, on one of the Farne islands. He was afterwards induced to accept the bishopric of Hexham, but soon exchanged it for the see in his old island home at Lindisfarne, and after two years there resigned his bishopric, returning to his cell in Farne island, where he died in 687. His remains were carried to Durham, and placed within a costly shrine.-ED.

+ Fifty-four persons had perished, before Darling's lifeboat reached the wreck.-ED.

Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith,
Dispel the Father's doubts: nor do they lack
The noble-minded Mother's helping hand

To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheered,
And inwardly sustained by silent prayer

Together they put forth, Father and Child!

Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go-
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent

Here to elude and there surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutually crossed
And shattered, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged,
That woman's fortitude-so tried, so proved-
May brighten more and more!

True to the mark,

They stem the current of that perilous gorge,

Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart,
Though danger, as the Wreck is near'd, becomes
More imminent. Not unseen do they approach;
And rapture, with varieties of fear

Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames
Of those who, in that dauntless energy,
Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturbed
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives
That of the pair-tossed on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life—
One is a Woman, a poor earthly sister,
Or, be the Visitant other than she seems,
A guardian Spirit sent from pitying Heaven,
In woman's shape. But why prolong the tale,
Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced

And difficulty mastered, with resolve

That no one breathing should be left to perish,
This last remainder of the crew are all

Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep

Are safely borne, landed upon the beach,

And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged

Within the sheltering Lighthouse.-Shout, ye Waves!
Send forth a song of triumph. Waves and Winds,

Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith

In Him whose Providence your rage hath served!
Ye screaming Sea-mews, in the concert join!

And would that some immortal Voice-a Voice

Fitly attuned to all that gratitude

Breathes out from floor or couch, through pallid lips
Of the survivors to the clouds might bear-
Blended with praise of that parental love,
Beneath whose watchful eye the Maiden grew
Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,
Though young so wise, though meek so resolute-
Might carry to the clouds and to the stars,

Yea, to celestial Choirs, GRACE DARLING'S name!

INSCRIPTION

FOR A MONUMENT IN CROSTHWAITE CHURCH, IN THE VALE OF KESWICK.

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YE vales and hills whose beauty hither drew

The poet's steps, and fixed them here, on you,

His eyes have closed! And ye, loved books, no more
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore,

To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown,
Adding immortal labours of his own-
Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal

For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal,

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