Urless to Peter's Chair the viewless wind,
Unquiet childhood here by special grace,
Untouched through all severity of cold,
Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away,
Up to the throne of God is borne,
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books,
Up with me! up with me into the clouds,
Urged by Ambition, who with subtlest skill, .
Uttered by whom, or how inspired-designed,

Vallombrosa! I longed in thy shadiest wood,
Vallombrosa-I longed in thy shadiest wood,
Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent,

Wait, prithee, wait! this answer Lesbia threw,
Wanderer! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near,
Wansfell! this Household has a favoured lot,
Ward of the Law !-dread Shadow of a King,
Was it to disenchant, and to undo,
Was the aim frustrated by force or guile,
Watch, and be firm! for, soul-subduing vice,
Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind,
We can endure that He should waste our lands,
Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the air, -
We gaze-nor grieve to think that we must die,
We had a female Passenger who came,
We have not passed into a doleful City,
Well have yon Railway Labourers to THIS ground,
Well may'st thou halt-and gaze with brightening eye,
Well sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains,.

Well worthy to be magnified are they,

Were there, below, a spot of holy ground,

Were there, below, a spot of holy ground,
We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd,
We talked with open heart, and tongue,
We walked along, while bright and red,
What aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in size,
What aspect bore the Man who roved or fled,
What awful perspective! while from our sight,
What beast in wilderness or cultured field,

What beast of chase hath broken from the cover, What crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by,

What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine,

What He-who, 'mid the kindred throng,

What if our numbers barely could defy,

What is good for a bootless bene,

iv 202

What know we of the Blest above,
What lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose,
What mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret,
What need of clamorous bells, or ribands gay,
What sounds are those, Helvellyn, that are heard,
What strong allurement draws, what spirit guides,
What though the Accused, upon his own appeal,
What though the Italian pencil wrought not here,
What way does the Wind come? What way does he go,
What, you are stepping westward ?—Yea,

When Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant cry,
Whence that low voice?-A whisper from the heart, .
When Contemplation, like the night-calm felt,
When, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn,
When first descending from the moorlands,
When haughty expectations prostrate lie,
When here with Carthage Rome to conflict came,
When human touch (as monkish books attest),
When I have borne in memory what has tamed,
When in the antique age of bow and spear,
When, looking on the present face of things,
When Love was born of heavenly line,
When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle,
When Ruth was left half desolate,

When Severn's sweeping flood had overthrown,
When the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch,
When thy great soul was freed from mortal chains,

When, to the attractions of the busy world,

When years of wedded life were as a day,
Where are they now, those wanton Boys,
Where art thou, my beloved Son,

Where be the noisy followers of the game,
Where be the temples which, in Britain's Isle,
Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go,
Where lies the truth? has Man, in wisdom's creed,
Where long and deeply hath been fixed the root,
Where towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds,
Where will they stop, those breathing Powers,
While Anna's peers and early playmates tread,
While beams of orient light shoot wide and high,
While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, .
While from the purpling east departs,
While Merlin paced the Cornish sands,

While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,

While poring Antiquarians search the ground,
While the Poor gather round, till the end of time,
While thus from theme to theme the Historian passed,
Who but hails the sight with pleasure,
Who but is pleased to watch the moon on high,
Who comes-with rapture greeted, and caressed,
Who fancied what a pretty sight,

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he,

Why, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings,

Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle,

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky,

With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Woe to the Crown that doth the Cowl obey,.
Woe to you, Prelates! rioting in ease,

Woman! the Power who left his throne on high,

Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has taken flight,
Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave, .

Ye Apennines! with all your fertile vales,
Ye brood of conscience-Spectres! that frequent,
Ye Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn,
Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth,

Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims,
Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
Yes, if the intensities of hope and fear,
Yes, it was the mountain Echo,

Yes! thou art fair, yet be not moved,

Vol.

Page

viii

155

Yes, though He well may tremble at the sound,

Yet more-round many a Convent's blazing fire,

Ye, too, must fly before a chasing hand,
Ye torrents, foaming down the rocky steeps,
Ye Trees! whose slender roots entwine,
Yet Truth is keenly sought for, and the wind,
Yet, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes,
Ye vales and hills whose beauty hither drew,
You call it, "Love lies bleeding,"- --so you may,
You have heard a Spanish Lady,
YOUNG ENGLAND-What is then become of Old,

TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH