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SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom
The holy time is quiet as a Nun But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun That spot which no vicissitude can find ?
Is sinking down in its tranquillity; Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind- The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea : But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, Even for the least division of an hour,
And doth with his eternal motion make Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
A sound like thunder-everlastingly. To my most grievous loss !—That thought's return Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
here, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; Thy nature is not therefore less divine: That neither present time, nor years unborn Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. And worship’st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.
METHought I saw the footsteps of a throne
Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go ? shroudNor view of who might sit thereon allowed ;
Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,
Festively she puts forth in trim array ;
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
What boots the inquiry ?-Neither friend nor foe Ever put on; a miserable crowd, Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,
She cares for ; let her travel where she may, “ Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan.”
She finds familiar names, a beaten way Those steps I clomb; the mists before me gave
Ever before her, and a wind to blow,
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark? Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one
And, almost as it was when ships were rare, Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have (From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone ;
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,
Of the old Sea some reverential fear, A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!
Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark !
Even so for me a Vision sanctified
With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, The sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Thy countenance-the still rapture of thy mien- Some lying fast at anchor in the road, When thou, dear Sister! wert become Death's Some veering up and down, one knew not why. No trace of pain or languor could abide [Bride: | A goodly Vessel did I then espy That change :-age on thy brow was smoothed— Come ke a giant from a haven broad; thy cold
And lustily along the bay she strode, Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold Her tackling rich, and of apparel high. A loveliness to living youth denied.
This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her, Oh! if within me hope should e'er decline, Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look; The lamp of faith, lost Friend ! too faintly burn; This Ship to all the rest did I prefer : Then may that heaven-revealing smile of thine, When will she turn, and whither? She will brook The bright assurance, visibly return :
No tarrying; where She comes the winds must And let my spirit in that power divine Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn. On went She, and due north her journey took.
TO THE MEMORY OF RAISLEY CALVERT.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
CALVERT ! it must not be unheard by them
A VOLANT Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them
play, On coignes of vantage' hang their nests of clay; How quickly from that aery hold unbound, Dust for oblivion ! To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye ; Convinced that there, there only, she can lay Secure foundations. As the year runs round, Apart she toils within the chosen ring ; While the stars shine, or while day's purple eye Is gently closing with the flowers of spring ; Where even the motion of an Angel's wing Would interrupt the intense tranquillity Of silent hills, and more than silent sky.
Scorn not the Sonnet ; Critic, you have frowned,
« WEAK is the will of Man, his judgment blind ; • Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays ; • Heavy is woe ;—and joy, for human-kind, "A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!' Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days Who wants the glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind, And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays. Imagination is that sacred power, Imagination lofty and refined : 'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
TO B. R. HAYDON.
Higu is our calling, Friend !-Creative Art
I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret
From the dark chambers of dejection freed,
I HEARD (alas ! 't was only in a dream)
Fair Prime of life ! were it enough to gild
If the whole weight of what we think and feel,
* See the Phædon of Plato, by which this Sonnet was suggested.
Not Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell
they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.'
MARK the concentred hazels that enclose
SEPTEMBER, 1815. Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields, Of noontide suns:-and even the beams that play
With ripening harvest prodigally fair, And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air, Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom,
His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields The very image framing of a Tomb,
Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware; In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose And whispers to the silent birds, “Prepare Among the lonely mountains.—Live, ye trees !
Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields.” And thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep
who under kindlier laws belong
Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky, When solitary Nature condescends
Announce a season potent to renew,
Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,
COMPOSED AFTER A JOURNEY ACROSS THE HAMBLETON
How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright
And all her twinkling stars. Who now would tread, Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower
If so he might, yon mountain's glittering headSubstantially expressed-a place for bell
Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight Or clock to toll from! Many a tempting isle, Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing, With groves that never were imagined, lay Unswept, unstained? Nor shall the aérial Powers 'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure, Of silent rapture; but we felt the while
White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure, We should forget them; they are of the sky, Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring And from our earthly memory fade away.
Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.
COMPOSED DURING A STORM.
TO LADY BEAUMONT.
One who was suffering tumult in his soul
LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove Went forth_his course surrendering to the care
While I was shaping beds for winter flowers ; Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
While I was planting green unfading bowers, Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;
And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove, While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear And sheltering wall; and still, as Fancy wove The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
The dream, to time and nature's blended powers And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl I gave this paradise for winter hours, As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove. Soul-smitten ; for, that instant, did appear
Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines, Large space (mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky, Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom An azure disc-shield of Tranquillity;
Or high gladness you shall hither bring; Invisible, unlooked-for, minister
And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines Of providential goodness ever nigh!
Be gracious as the music and the bloom
TO A SNOW-DROP.
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as
Which only Poets know ;—'t was rightly said ;
Haunts him belated on the silent plains ! With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear, On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers; At last, of hindrance and obscurity, Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn;
The moment it has left the virgin's eye,
TO THE LADY MARY LOWTHER,
With a selection from the Poems of Anne, Connters of Winchilrea;
and extraits of similar character from other Writers; transcribed
by a female friend. LADY! I rifled a Parnassian Cave
The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said, (But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore; “ Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!”. And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave And penetrated all with tender light, The azure brooks, where Dian joys to lave She cast away, and showed her fulgent head Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore Uncovered; dazzling the Beholder's sight Dim shades—for reliques, upon Lethe's shore, As if to vindicate her beauty's right, Cast up at random by the sullen wave.
Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagèd. To female hands the treasures were resigned; Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside, And lo this Work !-a grotto bright and clear Went floating from her, darkening as it went; From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind | And a huge mass, to bury or to hide, May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere; Approached this glory of the firmament; Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined
Who meekly yields, and is obscured-content To holy musing, it may enter here.
With one calm triumph of a modest pride.