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"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;
At times a low from them was heard,

Far off, for all was still.

"The hills returned that lonely sound

Upon the tranquil air;
The only sound it was, which then

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,
Were they at Brough, that we might not
Hear plainly from this upland spot
That craning of the kine?'

"' That were a crune, indeed,' replied
His comrade, 'which, I ween,

Might at the Spital well be heard,
And in all dales between.

"'Up Mallerstang to Eden's springs
The eastern wind upon its wings

The mighty voice could bear;
And Appleby would hear the sound,

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,
John Brunskill will remember'd be,

When he is dead and gone;

"As one who in his later years,

Contented with enough,
Gave freely what he well could spare

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
To herdsman, or to shepherd boy,
Whiling in indolent employ

The solitary day;

"That when his brethren were convened

To meet for social prayer,
He too, admonish'd by the call,

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,
The sound should stir his blood, and give

An English impulse there."

Such thoughts were in the old man's mind,
When he that eve look'd down

From Stanemore's side, on Borrodaile,
And on the distant town.

And had I store of wealth, methinks,

Another herd of kine,
John Brunskill, I would freely give,

That they may crune with thine.

R. Southey

CCXL

TO THE WIND IN AN EOLIAN HARP

Ethereal race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your God amid the secret grove,
Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair,
And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.

Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid!
With what soft woe they thrill the listener's heart!
Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid,
Who died in youth, these sweet complainings part.

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,
When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint;
And to such sadly solemn tones are strung
Angelic harps, to soothe a dying saint

Methinks I hear the full celestial choir
Thro' heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise;
Now chanting clear, and now they all conspire
To swell the lofty hymn from praise to praise.

Let me, ye wand'ring spirits of the wind,
Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string,
Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd,
For till you cease my muse forgets to sing.

J. Thomson

CCXLI

GOD IN NATURE AND GRACE

God is love; the heavens tell it
Through their glorious orbs of light,

In that glad and golden language
Speaking to us day and night,

Their great story,
God is love, and God is light.

And the teeming earth rejoices

In that message from above,
With ten thousand thousand voices

Telling back, from hill and grove,
Her glad story,

God is might, and God is love.

Through these anthems of creation,
Struggling up with gentle strife,

Christian songs of Christ's salvation
To the world, with blessings rife,

Tell their story,
God is love, and God is life.

Up to Him let each affection

Duly rise, and round Him move;
Our whole lives one resurrection
To the life of life above;

Our glad story,
God is life, and God is love.

Anon.

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