Wherever fruits are gathered, and where'er The upturned soil receives the hopeful seed- While the Sun rules, and cross the shades of night- arrow hath pursued its flight! The eyes of good men thankfully give heed, And in its sparkling progress read How virtue triumphs, from her bondage freed!
Tyrants exult to hear of kingdoms won, And slaves are pleased to learn that mighty feats are done; Even the proud realm, from whose distracted borders
This messenger of good was launched in air, France, conquered France, amid her wild disorders,
Feels, and hereafter shall the truth declare, Receive the triumph destined to thy Hand! That she too lacks not reason to rejoice, All States have glorified themselves ;—their | And utter England's name with sadly
Bear through the world these tidings of delight!
Hours, Days and Months, have born them in the sight
Of mortals, travelling faster than the shower, That landward stretches from the sea, The morning's splendors to devour; But this appearance scattered extasy,- And heart-sick Europe blessed the healing
Preserve, O Lord! within our hearts The memory of thy favour, That else insensibly departs, And loses its sweet savour! Lodge it within us!-As the power of light Lives inexhaustibly in precious gems, Fixed on the front of Eastern diadems, So shine our thankfulness for ever bright! What offering, what transcendant monument Shall our sincerity to Thee present? -Not works of hands; but trophies that may reach, To highest Heaven-the labour of the soul: That builds, as thy unerring precepts teach, Upon the inward victories of each, Her hope of lasting glory for the whole. -Yet might it well become that City now, Into whose breast the tides of grandeur flow, To whom all persecuted men retreat; If a new temple lifts its votive brow Upon the shore of silver Thames-to greet The peaceful guest advancing from afar? Bright be the distant fabric, as a star Fresh risen and beautiful within! - there
Dependance infinite, proportion just; A pile that grace approves, and time can trust. But if the valiant of this land
Lo, Justice triumphs ! Earth is freed! In reverential modesty demand,
Such glad assurance suddenly went forth-That all observance, due to them, be paid It pierced the caverns of the sluggish Where their serene progenitors are laid; Kings, warriors, high-souled poets, saintlike sages,
It found no barrier on the ridge
Of Andes-frozen gulphs became its bridge- The vast Pacific gladdens with the freight Upon the Lakes of Asia 'tis bestowed- The Arabian desert shapes a willing road Across her burning breast, For this refreshing incense from the West! Where snakes and lions breed, Where towns and cities thick as stars appear,
England's illustrious sons of long, long ages; Be it not unordained that solemn rites, Within the circuit of those Gothic walls, Shall be performed at pregnant intervals; Commemoration holy that unites The living generations with the dead; By the deep soul-moving sense Of religious eloquence,-
For a brief moment, terrible;
But to thy sovereign penetration fair, Before whom all things are, that were, All judgments that have been, or e'er shall be, Links in the chain of thy tranquillity! Along the bosom of this favoured nation, Breathe thou, this day, a vital undulation! Let all who do this land inherit Be conscious of Thy moving spirit! Oh, 'tis a goodly Ordinance,—the sight, Though sprung from bleeding war, is one of pure delight; Bless thou the hour, or ere the hour arrive, When a whole people shall kneel down in prayer,
And, at one moment, in one spirit, strive With lip and heart to tell their gratitude For thy protecting care, Their solemn joy-praising the Eternal Lord For tyranny subdued,
And for the sway of equity renewed, For liberty confirmed, and peace restored!
O! enter now his temple-gate! The drops that point the melting icicles :-
Inviting words-perchance already flung, (As the crowd press devoutly down the aisle Of some old minster's venerable pile) From voices into zealous passion stung, While the tubed engine feels the inspiring blast,
And has begun-its clouds of sound to cast Towards the empyreal Heaven, As if the fretted roof were riven. Us, humbler ceremonies now await; But in the bosom, with devout respect, The banner of our joy we will erect, For to a few collected in his name And strength of love our souls shall elevate: Their heavenly Father will incline his ear, Hallowing himself the service which they frame;-
Awake! the majesty of God revere! Go-and with foreheads meekly bowed Present your prayers - go-and rejoice aloud-
The Holy One will hear! And what 'mid silence deep, with faith sin
Ye, in your low and undisturbed estate, Shall simply feel and purely meditate Of warnings from the unprecedented might, Which, in our time, the impious have dis- closed; And of more arduous duties thence imposed Upon the future advocates of right;
Through primrose-tufts,in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played : Their thoughts I cannot measure :— But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there.
If I these thoughts may not prevent, If such be of my creed the plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
For why, unless for liberty enrolled And sacred home, ah! why should hoary age be bold?— Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind, Which from Siberian caves the monarch freed,
And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind, And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,
And to the battle ride;- No pitying voice commands a halt- No courage can repel the dire assault,— Distracted, spiritless, benumbed and blind, Whole legions sink- and, in one instant, find Burial and death: look for them-and descry, When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy.
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE-CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.
I was thy Neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! Four summer-weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: I saw thee every day; and all the while
IN RECOLLECTION OF THE EXPEDITION OF THE Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.
HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflexion of her own decay,
So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! So like, so very like, was day to day!
Hath painted Winter like a shrunken, old, Whene'er I look'd, thy Image still was there; And close-wrapt Traveller through the | It trembled, but it never pass'd away. weary day
Propped on a staff, and limping o'er the plain, As though his weakness were disturbed by pain;
Or, if a juster fancy should allow An undisputed symbol of command, The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,
if mine had been the Painter's | But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, hand, And frequent sights of what is to be born! To express what then I saw; and add the Such sights, or worse, as are before me
The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream;
I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile! Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss:
Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house, a mine
Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven:- Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine The very sweetest had to thee been given.
A Picture had it been of lasting case, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.
Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such Picture would I at that time have made:
And seen the soul of truth in every part; A faith, a trust, that could not be betray'd.
So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humaniz'd my Soul.
Not for a moment could I now behold A siniling sea and be what I have been: The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind
Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend;
This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.
Oh 'tis a passionate work!-yet wise and well;
Well chosen is the spirit that is, here; That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!
And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, I love to see the look with which it braves, Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling
Farewell, farewell the Heart that lives alone, Hous'd in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be piticd; for 'tis surely blind.
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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 Sca; Yon Star upon the mountain-top Is listening quietly.
Sad was I, ev'n to pain depress'd, 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.
To breathless Nature's dark abyss; A Power is passing from the earth But when the Mighty pass away 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?
LET us quit the leafy arbour, And the torrent murmuring by; Sol has dropped into his harbour, Weary of the open sky.
Evening now unbinds the fetters Fashioned by the glowing light; All that breathe are thankful debtors To the harbinger of night.
Yet by some grave thoughts attended Eve renews her calm career; For the day that now is ended, Is the Longest of the Year.
Laura! sport, as now thou sportest, On this platform, light and free, Take thy bliss, while longest, shortest, Are indifferent to thee!
Who would check the happy feeling That inspires the linnet's song g? Who would stop the swallow wheeling On her pinions swift and strong?
Yet, at this impressive season, Words, which tenderness can speak From the truths of homely reason, Might exalt the loveliest cheek;
And, while shades to shades succeeding Steal the landscape from the sight, I would urge this moral pleading, Last forerunner of "Good night!"
SUMMER ebbs;-each day that follows Is a reflux from on high, Tending to the darksome hollows Where the frosts of winter lie.
He who governs the creation, In his providence assigned Such a gradual declination To the life of humankind.
Yet we mark it not;-fruits redden,
Fresh flowers blow as flowers have blown, And the heart is loth to deaden Hopes that she so long hath known.
Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden! And, when thy decline shall come, Let not flowers, or boughs fruit-laden, Hide the knowledge of thy doom.
Now, even now, ere wrapped in slumber, Fix thine eyes upon the sea
That absorbs time, space, and number, Look towards Eternity!
Follow thou the flowing River On whose breast are thither borne All Deceiv'd, and each Deceiver, Through the gates of night and morn;
Through the years' successive portals; Through the bounds which many a star Marks, not mindless of frail mortals When his light returns from far.
Thus, when Thou with Time hast travell'd Tow'rds the mighty gulph of things, And the mazy Stream unravell'd With thy best imaginings;
Tkink, if thou on beauty leanest, Think how pitiful that stay, Did not virtue give the meanest Charms superior to decay.
Duty, like a strict preceptor, Sometimes frowns, or seems to frown; Choose her thistle for thy sceptre, While thy brow youth's roses crown.
Grasp it, if thou shrink and tremble, Fairest Damsel of the green! Thou wilt lack the only symbol That proclaims a genuine Queen;
And ensures those palms of honour Which selected spirits wear, Bending low before the Donor, Lord of Heaven's unchanging Year!
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,
ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR.
SMILE of the Moon!-for so I name That silent greeting from above; A gentle flash of light that came
From Her whom drooping captives love; Or art thou of still higher birth? Thou that didst part the clouds of earth, My torpor to reprove!
Bright boon of pitying Heaven—alas, I may not trust thy placid cheer! The threshold of another year; Pondering that Time to-night will pass For years to me are sad and dull; My very moments are too full Of hopelessness and fear.
And yet, the soul-awakening gleam, That struck perchance the farthest cone Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem To visit me, and me alone;
Me, unapproach'd by any friend, Save those who to my sorrows lend Tears due unto their own.
To-night, the church-tower-bells shall ring, Through these wide realms, a festive peal; To the new year a welcoming;
A tuneful offering for the weal Of happy millions lulled in sleep; While I am forced to watch and weep, By wounds that may not heal.
Born all too high, by wedlock raised Still higher-to be cast thus low: Would that mine eyes had never gaz'd On aught of more ambitious show Than the sweet flow'rets of the fields! It is my royal state that yields This bitterness of woe.
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