IX.

SONNET.

WHY should we weep or mourn, Angelic boy,
For such thou wert ere from our sight removed,
Holy, and ever dutiful-beloved

From day to day with never-ceasing joy,
And hopes as dear as could the heart employ
In aught to earth pertaining? Death has proved
His might, nor less his mercy, as behoved—
Death conscious that he only could destroy
The bodily frame. That beauty is laid low
To moulder in a far-off field of Rome;

But Heaven is now, blest Child, thy Spirit's home:
When such divine communion, which we know,
Is felt, thy Roman-burial place will be

Surely a sweet remembrancer of Thee.

1846.

X.

LINES

Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected.

LOUD is the Vale! the Voice is up

With which she speaks when storms are gone,

A mighty unison of streams!

Of all her Voices, One!

Loud is the Vale;-this inland Depth
In peace is roaring like the Sea;
Yon star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.

Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Importunate and heavy load *!

The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;

And many

thousands now are sad-
Wait the fulfilment of their fear;
For he must die who is their stay,
Their glory disappear.

A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the great and good depart
What is it more than this—

That Man, who is from God sent forth,
Doth yet again to God return ?—
Such ebb and flow must ever be,
Then wherefore should we mourn ?

* Importuna e grave salma.

MICHAEL ANGELO.

1806.

ΧΙ

INVOCATION TO THE EARTH.

FEBRUARY, 1816.

[COMPOSED immediately after the "Thanksgiving Ode," to which it may be considered as a second part.]

I.

"REST, rest, perturbed Earth!

O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!" A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind: "From regions where no evil thing has birth I come-thy stains to wash away,

Thy cherished fetters to unbind,

And open thy sad eyes upon a milder day.

The Heavens are thronged with martyrs that have risen From out thy noisome prison;

The penal caverns groan

With tens of thousands rent from off the tree
Of hopeful life,-by battle's whirlwind blown
Into the deserts of Eternity.

Unpitied havoc! Victims unlamented!

But not on high, where madness is resented,
And murder causes some sad tears to flow,
Though, from the widely-sweeping blow,

The choirs of Angels spread, triumphantly augmented.

II.

"False Parent of Mankind!
Obdurate, proud, and blind,

I sprinkle thee with soft celestial dews,
Thy lost, maternal heart to re-infuse!

Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my wings, Upon the act a blessing I implore,

Of which the rivers in their secret springs,

The rivers stained so oft with human gore,
Are conscious ;—may the like return no more!
May Discord-for a Seraph's care

Shall be attended with a bolder prayer—
May she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss
These mortal spheres above,

Be chained for ever to the black abyss!
And thou, O rescued Earth, by peace and love,
And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!"
The Spirit ended his mysterious rite,

And the

pure vision closed in darkness infinite.

XII.

LINES

WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF IN A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEM

66

"" THE EXCURSION, UPON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF THE

LATE VICAR OF KENDAL.

To public notice, with reluctance strong,
Did I deliver this unfinished Song;
Yet for one happy issue;—and I look
With self-congratulation on the Book

Which pious, learned, MURFITT saw and read;—
Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed;

He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart-
Foreboding not how soon he must depart;

Unweeting that to him the joy was given

Which good men take with them from earth to heaven.

XIII.

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

(ADDRESSED TO SIR G. H. B. UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER-IN-LAW.) 1824.

[ON Mrs. Fermor. This lady had been a widow long before I knew her. Her husband was of the family of the lady celebrated in the "Rape of the Lock," and was, I believe, a Roman Catholic. The sorrow which his death caused her was fearful in its character as described in this poem, but was subdued in course of time by the strength of her religious faith. I have been, for many weeks at a time, an inmate with her at Coleorton Hall, as were also Mrs. Wordsworth and my Sister. The truth in the sketch of her character here given was acknowledged with gratitude by her nearest relatives. She was eloquent in conversation, energetic upon public matters, open in respect to those, but slow to communicate her personal feelings; upon these she never touched in her intercourse with me, so that I could not regard myself as her confidential friend, and was accordingly surprised when I learnt she had left me a legacy of £100, as a token of her esteem. See, in further illustration the second stanza inscribed upon her Cenotaph in Coleorton church.]

O FOR a dirge! But why complain ?
Ask rather a triumphal strain
When FERMOR's race is run;
A garland of immortal boughs

To twine around the Christian's brows,
Whose glorious work is done.

We pay a high and holy debt;
No tears of passionate regret
Shall stain this votive lay;

Ill-worthy, Beaumont! were the grief

That flings itself on wild relief

When Saints have passed away.