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VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK COMB,
CUMBERLAND.

THIS height a ministering angel might select:
For from the summit of BLACK COMB (dread name
Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range
Of unobstructed prospect may be seen

That British ground commands:-low dusky tracts,
Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian Hills
To the south-west, a multitudinous show;

And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these,
The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth

To Teviot's stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde ;-
Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth
Gigantic mountains rough with crags; beneath,
Right at the imperial station's western base,
Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched
Far into silent regions blue and pale ;-
And visibly engirding Mona's Isle

That, as we left the plain, before our sight
Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly,
(Above the convex of the watery globe)
Into clear view the cultured fields that streak
Its habitable shores; but now appears

A dwindled object, and submits to lie

At the spectator's feet.-Yon azure ridge,

Is it a perishable cloud? Or there

Do we behold the frame of Erin's coast?
Land sometimes by the roving shepherd swain
(Like the bright confines of another world)
Not doubtfully perceived.-Look homeward now!
In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene
The spectacle, how pure !-Of Nature's works,
In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea,
A revelation infinite it seems;

Display august of man's inheritance,
Of Britain's calm felicity and power.

NUTTING.

-IT seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days which cannot die ;
When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand, and turn'd my steps
Towards the distant woods, a figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal dame.

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Motley accoutrement of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth.
More ragged than need was. Among the woods,
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way
Until, at length, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,
A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet,-or beneath the trees I sat
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blessed
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.-
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam,
And with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,
Even then, when from the bower I turned away
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest maiden! move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods.

SHE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament

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