Or when the church-clock's knell profound To Time's first step across the bound Of midnight makes reply: Time pressing on with starry crest, - 1828. XLII. THE WISHING-GATE DESTROYED. And the bright landscape too must lie, Bear witness ye who seldom passed What spirit-stirring power it gained Blest is that ground, where, o'er the springs Fame sheds the exulting tear ; Of coming good:- the charm is fled; Which one harsh day has broken. Derived from earth or heaven, To hearts so oft by hope betrayed; Their very wishes wanted aid Which here was freely given? Where, for the love-lorn maiden's wound, Will now so readily be found A balm of expectation? And each day's shallow grief, If still the reckless change we mourn, To harm that might lurk here, And strength to persevere. Not Fortune's slave is Man: our state On wishes just and wise, So taught, so trained, we boldly face Trust in that sovereign law can spread New glory o'er the mountain's head, Fresh beauty through the vale. That truth informing mind and heart, The simplest cottager may part, Ungrieved, with charm and spell; And yet, lost Wishing-gate, to thee The voice of grateful memory Shall bid a kind farewell! XLIII. THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. A Rock there is whose homely front The passing traveller slights; Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, What hideous warfare hath been waged, Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft A lasting link in Nature's chain The flowers, still faithful to the stems, The stems are faithful to the root, That worketh out of view; And to the rock the root adheres In every fibre true. Close clings to earth the living rock, So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads Here closed the meditative strain; But air breathed soft that day, The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, I gave this after-lay. I sang-Let myriads of bright flowers, That love which changed-for wan disease, O'er hopeless dust, for withered age- And turned the thistles of a curse Sin-blighted though we are, we too, Our threescore years and ten. 1831. |