IX.

THE massy Ways, carried across these heights
By Roman perseverance, are destroyed,
Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms.
How venture then to hope that Time will spare
This humble Walk? Yet on the mountain's side
A Poet's hand first shaped it; and the steps
Of that same Bard-repeated to and fro
At morn, at noon, and under moonlight skies
Through the vicissitudes of many a year-
Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line.
No longer, scattering to the heedless winds.

The vocal raptures of fresh poesy,

Shall he frequent these precincts; locked no more

In earnest converse with beloved Friends,

Here will he gather stores of ready bliss,

As from the beds and borders of a garden
Choice flowers are gathered! But, if Power may spring
Out of a farewell yearning-favoured more
Than kindred wishes mated suitably
With vain regrets-the Exile would consign
This Walk, his loved possession, to the care
Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse.

1826.

X.

INSCRIPTIONS SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND IN AND NEAR A HERMIT'S CELL.

1818.

1.

HOPES what are they?-Beads of morning

Strung on slender blades of

grass;

Or a spider's web adorning
In a strait and treacherous pass.

What are fears but voices airy?
Whispering harm where harm is not;
And deluding the unwary

Till the fatal bolt is shot!

What is glory?—in the socket
See how dying tapers fare!

What is pride?-a whizzing rocket

That would emulate a star.

What is friendship?-do not trust her,
Nor the vows which she has made;
Diamonds dart their brightest lustre
From a palsy-shaken head.

Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the Traveller's eye it shone:
He hath hailed it re-appearing-
And as quickly it is gone;

Such is Joy-as quickly hidden,
Or mis-shapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.

What is youth?-a dancing billow, (Winds behind, and rocks before!) Age?-a drooping, tottering willow On a flat and lazy shore.

What is

peace

?-when pain is over,

And love ceases to rebel,

Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing-knell!

XI.

INSCRIBED UPON A ROCK.

II.

PAUSE, Traveller! whosoe'er thou be Whom chance may lead to this retreat, Where silence yields reluctantly

Even to the fleecy straggler's bleat;

hand shall trace,

Give voice to what my
And fear not lest an idle sound
Of words unsuited to the place
Disturb its solitude profound.

I saw this Rock, while vernal air
Blew softly o'er the russet heath,
Uphold a Monument as fair

As church or abbey furnisheth.

Unsullied did it meet the day,
Like marble, white, like ether, pure ;
As if, beneath, some hero lay,
Honoured with costliest sepulture.

My fancy kindled as I gazed;
And, ever as the sun shone forth,
The flattered structure glistened, blazed,
And seemed the proudest thing on earth.

But frost had reared the gorgeous Pile
Unsound as those which Fortune builds-
To undermine with secret guile,
Sapped by the very beam that gilds.

And, while I gazed, with sudden shock
Fell the whole Fabric to the ground;
And naked left this dripping Rock,
With shapeless ruin spread around!

XII.

III.

HAST thou seen, with flash incessant,

Bubbles gliding under ice,

Bodied forth and evanescent,

No one knows by what device?

Such are thoughts!-A wind-swept meado v

Mimicking a troubled sea,

Such is life; and death a shadow

From the rock eternity!