Transferred to bowers imperishably green, Had beautified Elysium! But these chains Will soon be broken ;—a rough course remains, Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien, Innocuous as a firstling of the flock,
And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky, Shalt change thy temper; and, with many a shock Given and received in mutual jeopardy, Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock, Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!
WHENCE that low voice ?—A whisper from the heart, That told of days long past, when here I roved With friends and kindred tenderly beloved; Some who had early mandates to depart, Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart By Duddon's side; once more do we unite, Once more, beneath the kind Earth's tranquil light; And smothered joys into new being start. From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall Of Time, breaks forth triumphant Memory; Her glistening tresses bound, yet light and free As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall On gales that breathe too gently to recal Aught of the fading year's inclemency!
A LOVE-LORN Maid, at some far-distant time, Came to this hidden pool, whose depths surpass In crystal clearness Dian's looking-glass; And, gazing, saw that Rose, which from the prime Derives its name, reflected, as the chime
Of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound: The starry treasure from the blue profound She longed to ravish ;-shall she plunge, or climb The humid precipice, and seize the guest Of April, smiling high in upper air?
Desperate alternative! what fiend could dare
To prompt the thought ?-Upon the steep rock's breast The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom, Untouched memento of her hapless doom!
SAD thoughts, avaunt!-partake we their blithe cheer Who gathered in betimes the unshorn flock To wash the fleece, where haply bands of rock, Checking the stream, make a pool smooth and clear
As this we look on. Distant Mountains hear, Hear and repeat, the turmoil that unites Clamour of boys with innocent despites
Of barking dogs, and bleatings from strange fear. And what if Duddon's spotless flood receive Unwelcome mixtures as the uncouth noise Thickens, the pastoral River will forgive Such wrong; nor need we blame the licensed joys, Though false to Nature's quiet equipoise: Frank are the sports, the stains are fugitive.
MID-NOON is past;-upon the sultry mead No zephyr breathes, no cloud its shadow throws: If we advance unstrengthened by repose, Farewell the solace of the vagrant reed!
This Nook—with woodbine hung and straggling weed, Tempting recess as ever pilgrim chose, Half grot, half arbour-proffers to enclose Body and mind, from molestation freed, In narrow compass-narrow as itself: Or if the Fancy, too industrious Elf,
Be loth that we should breathe awhile exempt From new incitements friendly to our task,
Here wants not stealthy prospect, that may tempt Loose Idless to forego her wily mask.
METHINKS 'twere no unprecedented feat Should some benignant Minister of air Lift, and encircle with a cloudy chair, The One for whom my heart shall ever beat With tenderest love ;—or, if a safer seat Atween his downy wings be furnished, there Would lodge her, and the cherished burden bear O'er hill and valley to this dim retreat!
Rough ways my steps have trod ;-too rough and long For her companionship; here dwells soft ease: With sweets that she partakes not some distaste Mingles, and lurking consciousness of wrong; Languish the flowers; the waters seem to waste Their vocal charm; their sparklings cease to please.
RETURN, Content! for fondly I pursued, Even when a child, the Streams-unheard, unseen; Through tangled woods, impending rocks between ; Or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed The sullen reservoirs whence their bold brood- Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keen, Green as the salt-sea billows, white and green- Poured down the hills, a choral multitude!
Nor have I tracked their course for scanty gains; They taught me random cares and truant joys, That shield from mischief and preserve from stains Vague minds, while men are growing out of boys; Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise Impetuous thoughts that brook not servile reins.
FALLEN, and diffused into a shapeless heap, Or quietly self-buried in earth's mould, Is that embattled House, whose massy Keep Flung from yon cliff a shadow large and cold. There dwelt the gay, the bountiful, the bold; Till nightly lamentations, like the sweep
Of winds-though winds were silent-struck a deep And lasting terror through that ancient Hold. Its line of Warriors fled ;-they shrunk when tried By ghostly power:-but Time's unsparing hand Hath plucked such foes, like weeds, from out the land; And now, if men with men in peace abide, All other strength the weakest may withstand, All worse assaults may safely be defied.
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