His mandates, given rash impulse to control 10 VIII. FIT retribution, by the moral code Determined, lies beyond the State's embrace, broad, Downward it is and 5 And, the main fear once doomed to banishment, Far oftener then, bad ushering worse event, Blood would be spilt that in his dark abode Crime might lie better hid. And, should the change 10 Take from the horror due to a foul deed, IX. THOUGH to give timely warning and deter To which her judgments reverently defer. 5 Speaking through Law's dispassionate voice the State Endues her conscience with external life And being, to preclude or quell the strife The grovelling mind, the erring to recall, 10 x. Our bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine Of an immortal spirit, is a gift lift For earthly sight. "Eternity and Time" lights." Even so; but measuring not by finite sense ΧΙ. Ан, think how one compelled for life to abide 5 In life-long exile on a savage coast, Whose goodness knows no change, whose love is sure, Who sees, foresees; who cannot judge amiss, And wafts at will the contrite soul to bliss. XII. SEE the Condemned alone within his cell Heaven 10 Does in this change exceedingly rejoice; XIII. CONCLUSION. YES, though He well may tremble at the sound Of his own voice, who from the judgment-seat Sends the pale Convict to his last retreat In death; though Listeners shudder all around, They know the dread requital's source profound; 5 Nor is, they feel, its wisdom obsolete- rod, But leave it thence to drop for lack of use: XIV. APOLOGY. THE formal World relaxes her cold chain For One who speaks in numbers; ampler scope His utterance finds; and, conscious of the gain, Imagination works with bolder hope beats 5 Against all barriers which his labour meets flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I. EPISTLE TO SIR GEORGE HOWLAND BEAUMONT, BART. From the South-west Coast of Cumberland. -1811. Far from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake, From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake, Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar; While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black Comb 5 Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom, 10 be free From heaviness, oft fly, dear Friend, to thee; Turn from a spot where neither sheltered road Nor hedge-row screen invites my steps abroad; Where one poor Plane-tree, having as it might Attained a stature twice a tall man's height, 15 Hopeless of further growth, and brown and sere Through half the summer, stands with top cut sheer, Like an unshifting weathercock which proves How cold the quarter that the wind best loves, Or like a Centinel that, evermore 20 |