And in her Catholic attributes, hath trod: ΙΟ Catch, in the pauses of their keenest play, XLI. TO THE PLANET VENUS. Upon its approximation (as an Evening Star) to the Earth, Jan., 1838. WHAT strong allurement draws, what spirit guides, Thee, Vesper! brightening still, as if the nearer Science advances with gigantic strides ; ness? Aught dost thou see, bright Star! of pure and wise More than in humbler times graced human story; ΙΟ That makes our hearts more apt to sympathize With heaven, our souls more fit for future glory, When earth shall vanish from our closing eyes, Ere we lie down in our last dormitory? XLII. WANSFELL! this Household has a favoured lot, Living with liberty on thee to gaze, To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her rays, Or when along thy breast serenely float Evening's angelic clouds. Yet ne'er a note 5 Hath sounded (shame upon the Bard!) thy praise For all that thou, as if from heaven, hast brought Of glory lavished on our quiet days. Bountiful Son of Earth! when we are gone ΙΟ How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest. XLIII. Dec. 24, 1842. WHILE beams of orient light shoot wide and high, Deep in the vale a little rural Town 2 Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own, That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky, But, with a less ambitious sympathy, Hangs o'er its Parent waking to the cares 5 1 The Hill that rises to the south-east, above Ambleside. 2 Ambleside. Endears that Lingerer. And how blest her sway, ΙΟ (Like influence never may my soul reject), XLIV. IN my mind's eye a Temple, like a cloud still; And might of its own beauty have been proud, But it was fashioned and to God was vowed 5 By Virtues that diffused, in every part, Spirit divine through forms of human art: Faith had her arch-her arch, when winds blow loud, Into the consciousness of safety thrilled; And Love her towers of dread foundation laid 10 Under the grave of things; Hope had her spire Star-high, and pointing still to something higher; Trembling I gazed, but heard a voice—it said, 'Hell-gates are powerless Phantoms when we build." 66 XLV. 1827. (?) ON THE PROJECTED KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY. Is then no nook of English ground secure sown The degree and kind of attachment which many In youth, and mid the busy world kept pure As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown, Must perish;-how can they this blight endure? And must he too the ruthless change bemoan 6 Who scorns a false utilitarian lure Mid his paternal fields at random thrown? Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from Orrest-head Given to the pausing traveller's rapturous glance: 10 Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance Of nature; and, if human hearts be dead, Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your strong And constant voice, protest against the wrong. October 12, 1844. XLVI. PROUD were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old, Your patriot sons, to stem invasive war, Intrenched your brows; ye gloried in each scar: Now, for your shame, a Power, the Thirst of Gold, 5 That rules o'er Britain like a baneful star, Wills that your peace, your beauty, shall be sold, of the yeomanry feel to their small inheritances can scarcely be over-rated. Near the house of one of them stands a magnificent tree, which a neighbour of the owner advised him to fell for profit's sake. "Fell it!" exclaimed the yeoman, "I had rather fall on my knees and worship it." It happens, I believe, that the intended railway would pass through this little property, and I hope that an apology for the answer will not be thought necessary by one who enters into the strength of the feeling. And clear way made for her triumphal car Through the beloved retreats your arms enfold! Heard YE that Whistle? As her long-linked Train Swept onwards, did the vision cross your view? ΙΟ Yes, ye were startled;-and, in balance true, Weighing the mischief with the promised gain, Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on you To share the passion of a just disdain. 1844. XLVII. AT FURNESS ABBEY. HERE, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing, That Nature takes, her counter-work pursuing. 5 And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay, The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing! Thanks to the place, blessings upon the hour; Even as I speak the rising Sun's first smile Gleams on the grass-crowned top of yon tall Tower, Whose cawing occupants with joy proclaim ΙΟ Where, Cavendish, thine seems nothing but a name! 1845. (?) |