XVII. TO THE POET, JOHN DYER. BARD of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made Nor hallowed less with musical delight Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed, Those southern tracts of Cambria, deep embayed, With green hills fenced, with ocean's murmur lulled;' Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar Hill! XVIII. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED THE PUBLICATION OF A CERTAIN POEM. See Milton's Sonnet, beginning,' A Book was writ of late called "Tetrachordon."' A Book came forth of late, called PETER BELL; Heed not, wild Rover once through heath and glen, To thee appear not an unmeaning voice, XIX. GRIEF, thou hast lost an ever ready friend The mantling triumphs of a day too blest. XX. TO S. H. EXCUSE is needless when with love sincere Of occupation, not by fashion led, Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread; When twilight shades darken the mountain's head. Torn from the Poor! yet shall kind Heaven protect Heed not the pillage of man's ancient heart. XXI. COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE VALLEYS OF WESTMORELAND, WITH each recurrence of this glorious morn green dales! |