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Yet, while each useful Art augments her store,
What boots the gain if Nature should lose more?
And Wisdom, as she holds a Christian place
In man's intelligence sublimed by grace?
When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,
Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd:
She knelt in prayer—the waves their wrath appease ;
And, from hervow well weighed in Heaven's decrees,
Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry

of St. Bees.


Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed,
The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore;
And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore
Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed !
And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud
Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,
When a soft summer gale at evening parts
The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud)
She smiled; but Time, the old Saturnian seer,
Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand,
With step prelusive to a long array
Of woes and degradations hand in hand-
Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear
Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay!

“Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand,'
Who in these Wilds then struggled for command ;
The strong were merciless, without hope the weak;
Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break,
And as a cresset true that darts its length
Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength;
Guiding the mariner through troubled seas,
And cheering oft his peaceful reveries,
Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of

St. Bees.



To aid the Votaress, miracles believed
STANZAS SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF SAINT Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved ;

So piety took root; and Song might tell
IF Life were slumber on a bed of down,

What humanizing virtues near her cell
Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown,

Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around;
Sad were our lot: no hunter of the hare

How savage busoms melted at the sound
Exults like him whose javelin from the lair Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies
Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose, Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees,
Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.
'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries,
With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees, When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love,
For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees. Was glorified, and took its place, above

The silent stars, among the angelic quire,
This independence upon oar and sail,

Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire,
This new indifference to breeze or gale,

And perished utterly; but her good deeds
This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea, Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds
And regular as if locked in certainty-

Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze
Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm! With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas,
That Courage may find something to perform; And lo! a statelier pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.
That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze
At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas, There are the naked clothed, the hungry fed ;
Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees. And Charity extendeth to the dead

Her intercessions made for the soul's rest
Dread cliff of Baruth! that wild wish may sleep, Of tardy penitents; or for the best
Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep

Among the good (when love might else have slept,
Breathed the same element; too many wrecks Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept.
Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees,
Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought | Who, to that service bound by venial fees,
Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought : Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees.
With thy stern aspect better far agrees
Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease, Are not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties
As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees. Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies,


Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities,
To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart?

Aspire to more than earthly destinies ;
The prayer for them whose hour is past away Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees.
Says to the Living, profit while ye may !
A little part, and that the worst, he sees

Yet more; around those Churches, gathered Towns
Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys

Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns; That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees.

Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold

Her scales with even hand, and culture mould Conscience, the timid being's inmost light,

The heart to pity, train the mind in care Hope of the dawn and solace of the night,

For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear.
Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray

Nor dost thou fail, thro' abject love of ease,
In many an hour when judgment goes astray. Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes,
Ah! scorn not hastily their rule who try

To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.
Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify ;
Consume with zeal, in winged ecstasies
Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries,

Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors,
Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees.

And to green meadows changed the swampy shores?

Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful Yet none so prompt to succour and protect

grange The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked

Made room where wolfand boar were used to range? On the bare coast ; nor do they grudge the boon

Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler

Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon
Claim for the pilgrim : and, though chidings sharp Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains ?
May sometimes greet the strolling minstreľ's harp, The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please,
It is not then when, swept with sportive ease,

For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies
It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees,

Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees !
Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees.

But all availed not; by a mandate given
How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven
What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice, Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low
Imploring, or commanding with meet pride, In Reformation's sweeping overthrow.
Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside, But now once more the local Heart revives,
And under one blest ensign serve the Lord The inextinguishable Spirit strives.
In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword ! Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas,
Flaming till thou from Panym hands release And cleared a way for the first Votaries,
That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities

Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees !
Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees.

Alas! the Genius of our age, from Schools
But look we now to them whose minds from far

Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules.
Follow the fortunes which they may not share. To Prowess guided by her insight keen
While in Judea Fancy loves to roam,

Matter and Spirit are as one Machine ;
She helps to make a Holy-land at home :

Boastful Idolatress of formal skill
The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites She in her own would merge the eternal will :
To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights ; Better, if Reason's triumphs match with these,
And wedded Life, through scriptural mysteries, Her flight before the bold credulities
Heavenward ascends with all her charities, That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees. *
Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees.


* See Excursion, seventh part; and Ecclesiastical Sketches, second part, near the beginning.

Nor be it e'er forgotten how by skill
Of cloistered Architects, free their souls to fill
With love of God, throughout the Land were raised
Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed
Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe;
As at this day men seeing what they saw,

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Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Black-comb,
In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause,
And strive to fathom the mysterious laws
By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom,
On Mona settle, and the shapes assume
Of all her peaks and ridges. What he draws
From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause,
He will take with him to the silent tomb.
Or, by his fire, a child upon his knee,
Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak
Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory
That satisfies the simple and the meek,
Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak
To cope with Sages undevoutly free.


Digoum lande virum Musa vetat mori.'
The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn,
Even when they rose to check or to repel
Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well
Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn
Just limits; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn
This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence;
Blest work it is of love and innocence,
A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn.
Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner,
Struggling for life, into its saving arms!
Spare, too, the human helpers! Do they stir
'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid to die?
No; their dread service nerves the heart it warms,
And they are led by noble HillarY*.






Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine,

With wonder smit by its transparency,
Bold words affirmed, in days when faith was strong And all-enraptured with its purity ?-
And doubts and scruples seldom teazed the brain, Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline,
That no adventurer's bark had power to gain Have ever in them something of benign;
These shores if he approached them bent on wrong; Whether in gem, in water, or in sky,
For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main,

A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye Mists rose to hide the Land—that search, though of a young maiden, only not divine. long

Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm And eager, might be still pursued in vain.

For beverage drawn as from a mountain-well. O Fancy, what an age was that for song !

Temptation centres in the liquid Calm ;
That age, when not by laws inanimate,

Our daily raiment seems no obstacle
As men believed, the waters were impelled, To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea !
The air controlled, the stars their courses held; And revelling in long embrace with thee t.
But element and orb on acts did wait
Of Powers endued with visible form, instinct
With will, and to their work by passion linked.

A YOUTH too certain of his power to wade

On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea, xiv.

To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee DESIRE we past illusions to recal?

Leapt from this rock, and but for timely aid To reinstate wild Fancy, would we hide

He, by the alluring element betrayed, Truths whose thick veil Science has drawn aside?

Had perished. Then might Sea-nymphs (and with No,-let this Age, high as she may, instal

Of self-reproach) have chanted elegies [sighs In her esteem the thirst that wrought man's fall, Bewailing his sad fate, when he was laid The universe is infinitely wide;

In peaceful earth : for, doubtless, he was frank,
And conquering Reason, if self-glorified,

Utterly in himself devoid of guile ;
Can nowhere move uncrossed by some new wall Knew not the double-dealing of a smile ;
Or gulf of mystery, which thou alone,

Nor aught that makes men's promises a blank,
Imaginative Faith! canst overleap,

Or deadly snare: and He survives to bless In progress toward the fount of Love,-the throne The Power that saved him in his strange distress. Of Power whose ministers the records keep Of periods fixed, and laws established, less

+ The sea-water on the coast of the Isle of Man is sinFlesh to exalt than prove its nothingness.

gularly pure and beautiful.


* See Note.

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Did pangs of grief for lenient time too keen,

Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound
Grief that devouring waves had caused-or guilt

(Still marked with green turf circles narrowing
Which they had witnessed, sway the man who built Stage above stage) would sit this Island's King,
This Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen,

The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned ;
Nought heard, of ocean troubled or serene !

While, compassing the little mount around,
A tired Ship-soldier on paternal land,

Degrees and Orders stood, each under each:
That o'er the channel holds august command,

Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach,
The dwelling raised,-a veteran Marine.

The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found.
He, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea

Off with yon cloud, old Snafell! that thine eye
To shun the memory of a listless life

Over three Realms may take its widest range;
That hung between two callings. May no strife

And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange
More hurtful here beset him, doomed though free, Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy,
Self-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye If the whole State must suffer mortal change,
Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky! Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty.




From early youth I ploughed the restless Main,
My mind as restless and as apt to change ;
Through every clime and ocean did I range,
In hope at length a competence to gain;
For poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.
Year after year I strove, but strove in vain,
And hardships manifold did I endure,
For Fortune on me never deign’d to smile;
Yet I at last a resting-place have found,
With just enough life's comforts to procure,
In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle,
A peaceful spot where Nature's gifts abound;
Then sure I have no reason to complain,
Though poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain.

DESPOND who will — 1 heard a voice exclaim,
“Though fierce the assault, and shatter'd the defence,
It cannot be that Britain's social frame,
The glorious work of time and providence,
Before a flying season's rash pretence,
Should fall; that She, whose virtue put to shame,
When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror's aim,
Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense
The cloud is; but brings that a day of doom
To Liberty? Her sun is up the while,
That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone:
Then laugh, ye innocent Vales ! ye Streams, sweep

Nor let one billow of our heaven-blest Isle
Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume.”

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BROKEN in fortune, but in mind entire
And sound in principle, I seek repose
Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose*,
In ruin beautiful. When vain desire
Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire
To cast a soul-subduing shade on me,
A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee;
A shade—but with some sparks of heavenly fire
Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when I note
The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams
Of sunset ever there, albeit streams
Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought,
I thank the silent Monitor, and say
“Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!”

* Rushen Abbey.



Since risen from ocean, ocean to defy,
Appeared the Crag of Ailsa, ne'er did morn
With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn
His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead high:
Now, faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse,
Still is he seen, in lone sublimity,
Towering above the sea and little ships ;
For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by,
Each for her haven ; with her freight of Care,
Pleasure, or Grief, and Toil that seldom looks
Into the secret of to-morrow's fare ;
Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books,
Or aught that watchful Love to Nature owes
For her mute Powers, fix'd Forms, or transient



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(IN A STEAM-BOAT.) Arran! a single-crested Teneriffe, A St. Helena next-in shape and hue, Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue; Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiff Built for the air, or winged Hippogriff ! That he might fly, where no one could pursue, From this dull Monster and her sooty crew; And, as a God, light on thy topmost cliff. Impotent wish! which reason would despise If the mind knew no union of extremes, No natural bond between the boldest schemes Ambition frames, and heart-humilities. Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies, And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams.


[See former series, p. 337.)
The captive Bird was gone ;—to cliff or moor
Perchance had flown, delivered by the storm;
Or he had pined, and sunk to feed the worm :
Him found we not: but, climbing a tall tower,
There saw, impaved with rude fidelity
Of art mosaic, in a roofless floor,
An Eagle with stretched wings, but beamless eye-
An Eagle that could neither wail nor soar.
Effigy of the Vanished—(shall I dare
To call thee so?) or symbol of fierce deeds
And of the towering courage which past times
Rejoiced in-take, whate’er thou be, a share,
Not undeserved, of the memorial rhymes
That animate my way where'er it leads !

Oft have I caught, upon a fitful breeze,
Fragments of far-off melodies,
With ear not coveting the whole,
A part so charmed the pensive soul:
While a dark storm before my sight
Was yielding, on a mountain height
Loose vapours have I watched, that won
Prismatic colours from the sun ;
Nor felt a wish that heaven would show
The image of its perfect bow.
What need, then, of these finished Strains !
Away with counterfeit Remains !
An abbey in its lone recess,
A temple of the wilderness,
Wrecks though they be, announce with feeling
The majesty of honest dealing.
Spirit of Ossian ! if imbound
In language thou may’st yet be found,
If aught (intrusted to the pen
Or floating on the tongues of men,
Albeit shattered and impaired)
Subsist thy dignity to guard,
In concert with memorial claim
Of old grey stone, and high-born nar

That cleaves to rock or pillared cave
Where moans the blast, or beats the wave,
Let Truth, stern arbitress of all,
Interpret that Original,
And for presumptuous wrongs atone ;-
Authentic words be given, or none !


THE DUNOLLY EAGLE. Not to the clouds, not to the cliff, he flew; But when a storm, on sea or mountain bred, Came and delivered him, alone he sped Into the castle-dungeon's darkest mew. Now, near his master's house in open view He dwells, and hears indignant tempests howl, Kennelled and chained. Ye tame domestic fowl, Beware of him! Thou, saucy cockatoo, Look to thy plumage and thy life !—The roe, Fleet as the west wind, is for him no quarry; Balanced in ether he will never tarry, Eyeing the sea's blue depths. Poor Bird ! even so Doth man of brother man a creature make That clings to slavery for its own sad sake.

Time is not blind ;-yet He, who spares
Pyramid pointing to the stars,
Hath preyed with ruthless appetite
On all that marked the primal flight
Of the poetic ecstasy
Into the land of mystery.
No tongue is able to rehearse
One measure, Orpheus ! of thy verse;
Musæus, stationed with his lyre
Supreme among the Elysian quire,
Is, for the dwellers upon earth,
Mute as a lark ere morning's birth.
Why grieve for these, though past away
The music, and extinct the lay?
When thousands, by severer doom,
Full early to the silent tomb
Have sunk, at Nature's call; or strayed
From hope and promise, self-betrayed ;

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