But Jesus Christ, as in the books ye find, Will that his glory last, and be in mind; And, for the worship of his Mother dear, Yet may I sing, O Alma! loud and clear.
«This well of mercy Jesu's Mother sweet After my knowledge I have loved alway, And in the hour when I my death did meet To me she came, and thus to me did say, 'Thou in thy dying sing this holy lay,' As ye have heard; and soon as I had sung Methought she laid a grain upon my tongue.
« Wherefore I sing, nor can from song refrain, In honour of that blissful Maiden free, Till from my tongue off-taken is the grain; And after that thus said she unto me,
My little Child, then will I come for thee Soon as the grain from off thy tongue they take, Be not dismayed, I will not thee forsake!'
This holy Monk, this Abbot-him mean I, Touched then his tongue, and took away the grain;
And he gave up the ghost full peacefully ; And, when the Abbot had this wonder seen,
His salt tears trickled down like showers of rain, And on his face he dropped upon the ground, And still he lay as if he had been bound.
Eke the whole Convent on the pavement lay, Weeping and praising Jesu's Mother dear; And after that they rose, and took their way And lifted up this Martyr from the Bier, And in a tomb of precious marble clear Enclosed his uncorrupted body sweet.Where'er he be, God grant us him to meet!
Young Hew of Lincoln ! in like sort laid low By cursed Jews-thing well and widely known, For not long since was dealt the cruel blow, Pray also thou for us, while here we tarry Weak sinful folk, that God, with pitying eye, In mercy would his mercy multiply On us, for reverence of his Mother Mary!'
Nor envying shades which haply yet may throw A grateful coolness round that rocky spring, Bandusia, once responsive to the string Of the Horatian lyre with babbling flow; Careless of flowers that in perennial blow Round the moist marge of Persian fountains cling; Heedless of Alpine torrents thundering Through icy portals radiant as heaven's bow; I seek the birth-place of a native Stream.— All hail, ye mountains! hail, thou morning light! Better to breathe upon this aery height Than pass in needless sleep from dream to dream: Pure flow the verse, pure, vigorous, free, and bright, For Duddon, long-loved Duddon, is my theme!
CHILD of the clouds ! remote from every taint Of sordid industry thy lot is cast; Thine are the honours of the lofty waste; Not seldom, when with heat the valleys faint, Thy hand-maid Frost with spangled tissue quaint Thy cradle decks;-to chant thy birth, thou hast
No meaner Poet than the whistling Blast,
And Desolation is thy Patron-saint!
She guards thee, ruthless Power! who would not spare Those mighty forests, once the bison's screen, Where stalked the huge deer to his shaggy lair Through paths and alleys roofed with sombre green, Thousand of years before the silent air
Was pierced by whizzing shaft of hunter keen!
How shall I paint thee?-Be this naked stone My seat while I give way to such intent; Pleased could my verse, a speaking monument, Make to the eyes of men thy features known. But as of all those tripping lambs not one Outruns his fellows, so hath Nature lent To thy beginning nought that doth present Peculiar grounds for hope to build upon. To dignify the spot that gives thee birth, No sign of hoar Antiquity's esteem Appears, and none of modern Fortune's care; Yet thou thyself hast round thee shed a gleam Of brilliant moss, instinct with freshness rare; Prompt offering to thy Foster-mother, Earth!
TAKE, cradled Nursling of the mountain, take This parting glance, no negligent adieu!
A Protean change seems wrought while I pursue The curves, a loosely-scattered chain doth make; Or rather thou appear'st a glistering snake, Silent, and to the gazer's eye untrue, Thridding with sinuous lapse the rushes, through Dwarf willows gliding, and by feruy brake. Starts from a dizzy steep the undaunted Rill Robed instantly in garb of snow-white foam;
And laughing dares the Adventurer, who hath clomb So high, a rival purpose to fulfil;
Else let the Dastard backward wend, and roam, Seeking less bold achievement, where he will!
SOLE listener, Duddon! to the breeze that played With thy clear voice, I caught the fitful sound Wafted o'er sullen moss and craggy mound, Unfruitful solitudes, that seemed to upbraid The sun in heaven!--but now to form a shade For Thee, green alders have together wound Their foliage; ashes flung their arms around; And birch-trees risen in silver colonnade. And thou hast also tempted here to rise, 'Mid sheltering pines, this Cottage rude and grey; Whose ruddy children, by the mother's eyes Carelessly watched, sport through the summer day, Thy pleased associates :-light as endless May On infant bosoms lonely Nature lies.
The deer alluded to is the Leigh, a gigantic species long simx extinct.
ERE yet our course was graced with social trees It lacked not old remains of hawthorn bowers, Where small birds warbled to their paramours; And, earlier still, was heard the hum of bees; I saw them ply their harmless robberies, And caught the fragrance which the sundry flowers, Fed by the stream with soft perpetual showers, Plenteously yielded to the vagrant breeze. There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness; The trembling eyebright showed her sapphire blue, (1) The thyme her purple, like the blush of even; And, if the breath of some to no caress Invited, forth they peeped so fair to view, All kinds alike seemed favourites of Heaven.
CHANGE me, some God, into that breathing rose !»> The love-sick Stripling fancifully sighs, The envied flower beholding, as it lies On Laura's breast, in exquisite repose;
Or he would pass into her Bird, that throws The darts of song from out its wiry cage; Enraptured, could he for himself engage The thousandth part of what the Nymph bestows, And what the little careless Innocent Ungraciously receives. Too daring choice! There are whose calmer mind it would content To be an uncalled floweret of the glen,
Fearless of plough and scythe; or darkling wren, That tunes on Duddon's banks her slender voice.
WHAT aspect bore the Man who roved or fled, First of his tribe, to this dark dell-who first In this pellucid Current slaked his thirst?
Succeeding-still succeeding! Here the Child Puts, when the high-swoln Flood runs fierce and wild, His budding courage to the proof;-and here Declining Manhood learns to note the sly And sure encroachments of infirmity, Thinking how fast time runs, life's end how near!
Nor so that Pair whose youthful spirits dance With prompt emotion, urging them to pass; A sweet confusion checks the Shepherd-lass; Blushing she eyes the dizzy flood askance,— To stop ashamed—too timid to advance; She ventures once again-another pause! His outstretched hand He tauntingly withdraws- She sues for help with piteous utterance! Chidden she chides again; the thrilling touch Both feel when he renews the wished-for aid: Ah! if their fluttering hearts should stir too much, Should beat too strongly, both may be betrayed. The frolic Loves who, from yon high rock, see The struggle, clap their wings for victory!
THE FAERY CHASM.
No fiction was it of the antique age:
A sky-blue stone, within this sunless cleft,
Is of the very foot-marks unbereft
Which tiny Elves impressed;-on that smooth stage Dancing with all their brilliant equipage
In secret revels-haply after theft
Of some sweet babe, flower stolen, and coarse weed left For the distracted mother to assuage
Her grief with, as she might!-But, where, oh! where Is traceable a vestige of the notes
What hopes came with him? what designs were spread That ruled those dances wild in character?
HAIL to the fields-with Dwellings sprinkled o'er, And one small hamlet, under a green hill, Clustered with barn and byre, and spouting mill! A glance suffices;-should we wish for more, Gay June would scorn us; but when bleak winds roar Through the stiff lance-like shoots of pollard ash, Dread swell of sound! loud as the gusts that lash The matted forests of Ontario's shore
By wasteful steel unsmitten, then would I Turn into port,-and, reckless of the gale, Reckless of angry Duddon sweeping by,
While the warm hearth exalts the mantling ale, Laugh with the generous household heartily, At all the merry pranks of Donnerdale !
O MOUNTAIN Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot Are privileged Inmates of deep solitude; Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude A field or two of brighter green, or plot Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot Of stationary sunshine:—thou hast viewed These only, Duddon! with their paths renewed By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not. Thee hath some awful spirit impelled to leave, Utterly to desert, the haunts of men, Though simple thy companions were and few; And through this wilderness a passage cleave Attended but by thy own voice, save when The Clouds and Fowls of the air thy way pursue!
Mounted through every intricate defile, Triumphant.-Inundation wide and deep, O'er which his Fathers urged, to ridge and steep Else unapproachable, their buoyant way; And carved, on mural cliff's undreaded side, Sun, moon, and stars, and beast of chase or prey; Whate'er they sought, shunned, loved, or deified!
A DARK plume fetch me from yon blasted Yew, Perched on whose top the Danish Raven croaks; Aloft, the imperial Bird of Rome invokes Departed ages, shedding where he flew Loose fragments of wild wailing, that bestrew The clouds, and thrill the chambers of the rocks, And into silence hush the timorous flocks, That, calmly couching while the nightly dew Moistened each fleece, beneath the twinkling stars Slept amid that lone Camp on Hardknot's height, Whose Guardians bent the knee to Jove and Mars: Or, near that mystic Round of Druid frame Tardily sinking by its proper weight
Deep into patient Earth, from whose smooth breast it came! (2)
SEATHWAITE CHAPEL.
SACRED Religion, « mother of form and fear,» Dread Arbitress of mutable respect,
New rites ordaining when the old are wrecked, Or cease to please the fickle worshipper; If one strong wish may be embosomed here, Mother of LOVE! for this deep vale, protect Truth's holy lamp, pure source of bright effect, Gifted to purge the vapoury atmosphere That seeks to stifle it;-as in those days
FROM this deep chasm—where quivering sunbeams play When this low Pile a Gospel Teacher knew,
Upon its loftiest crags-mine eyes behold
A gloomy NICHE, capacious, blank, and cold; A concave free from shrubs and mosses grey; In semblance fresh, as if, with dire affray, Some Statue, placed amid these regions old For tutelary service, thence had rolled, Startling the flight of timid Yesterday! Was it by mortals sculptured?-weary slaves Of slow endeavour! or abruptly cast Into rude shape by fire, with roaring blast Tempestuously let loose from central caves? Or fashioned by the turbulence of waves, Then, when o'er highest hills the Deluge past?
AMERICAN TRADITION.
SUCH fruitless questions may not long beguile Or plague the fancy, 'mid the sculptured shows Conspicuous yet where Oroonoko flows; There would the Indian answer with a smile Aimed at the White Man's ignorance, the while Of the GREAT WATERS telling how they rose, Covered the plains, and, wandering where they chose,
Whose good works formed an endless retinue: Such Priest as Chaucer sang in fervent lays; Such as the heaven-taught skill of Herbert drew; And tender Goldsmith crowned with deathless praise!
My frame hath often trembled with delight When hope presented some far-distant good, That seemed from heaven descending, like the flood
Of yon pure waters, from their aery height Hurrying, with lordly Duddon to unite; Who, 'mid a world of images imprest On the calm depth of his transparent breast, Appears to cherish most that Torrent white, The fairest, softest, liveliest of them all! And seldom hath ear listened to a tune More lulling than the busy hum of Noon, Swoln by that voice-whose murmur musical Announces to the thirsty fields a boon Dewy and fresh, till showers again shall fall.
See HCMBOLDT's Personal Narrative. 2 See Note to Sonnet xvii.
THE PLAIN OF DONNERDALE.
Tas old inventive Poets, had they seen, Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains, The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, 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-LOBN 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
METHINKS 't were 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 which 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.
To prompt the thought?—Upon the steep rock's breast RETURN, Content! for fondly I pursued,
The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom, Untouched memento of her hapless doom!
SAD thoughts, avaunt!-the fervour of the year, Poured on the fleece-encumbered flock, invites To laving currents, for prelusive rites Duly performed before the Dales-men shear Their panting charge. The distant Mountains hear, flear and repeat, the turmoil that unites
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.
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