« AnteriorContinuar »
"Behind them, on the lowland's verge,
In the evening light serene; Brough's silent tower, then newly built
By Blenkinsop, was seen.
"Slowly they came in long array,
With loitering pace at will;
Far off, for all was still.
"The hills returned that lonely sound
Upon the tranquil air;
Awoke the echoes there.
"' Thou hear'st that lordly bull of mine, Neighbour,' quoth Brunskill then;
'How loudly to the hills he crunes, That crune to him again?
"' Think'st thou, if yon whole herd at once
Their voices should combine,
"' That were a crune, indeed,' replied
Might at the Spital well be heard,
"'Up Mallerstang to Eden's springs
The mighty voice could bear;
Methinks, when skies are fair.
"' Then shall the herd,' John Brunskill cried,
'From yon dumb steeple crune, And thou, and I, on this hill side
Will listen to their tune.'
"So, while the merry bells of Brough
For many an age ring on,
When he is dead and gone;
"As one who in his later years,
Contented with enough,
To buy the bells of Brough.
"Thus it hath proved: three hundred years
Since these have passed away, And Brunskill's is a living name
Remember'd to this day."
"More pleasure," I returned, " shall I
From this time forth partake, When I remember Helbeck woods,
For old John Brunskill's sake.
"He knew how wholesome it would be
Among these wild wide fells, And upland vales, to catch at time
The sound of Christian bells;
"What feelings, and what impulses
That cadence might convey
The solitary day;
"That when his brethren were convened
To meet for social prayer,
In spirit might be there.
"Or when a glad thanksgiving sound,
Upon the winds of heaven, Was sent to speak a nation's joy,
For some great blessing given—
"For victory by sea or land,
And happy peace at length; Peace by his country's valour won,
And 'stablish'd by her strength.
"When such exultant peals were borne
Upon the mountain air,
An English impulse there."
Such thoughts were in the old man's mind,
From Stanemore's side, on Borrodaile,
And had I store of wealth, methinks,
Another herd of kine,
That they may crune with thine.
TO THE WIND IN AN EOLIAN HARP
Ethereal race, inhabitants of air,
Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid!
But hark! that strain was of a graver tone,
On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws;
Or he the sacred Bard who sat alone
In the drear waste, and wept his peoples' woes.
Such was the song which Zion's children sung,
Methinks I hear the full celestial choir
Let me, ye wand'ring spirits of the wind,
GOD IN NATURE AND GRACE
God is love; the heavens tell it
In that glad and golden language
Their great story,
And the teeming earth rejoices
In that message from above,
Telling back, from hill and grove,
God is might, and God is love.
Through these anthems of creation,
Christian songs of Christ's salvation
Tell their story,
Up to Him let each affection
Duly rise, and round Him move;
Our glad story,