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Where Reynolds, mid our Country's noblest Dead, IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT In the last sanctity of fame is laid. OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART. —There, though by right the excelling Painter sleep LEICESTERSHIRE.

Where Death and glory a joint sabbath keep, Tøe embowering Rose, the Acacia, and the Pine,

Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear Will not unwillingly their place resigo;

Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private tear : If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands,

Heace, on my patrimonial Grounds, have I

Raised this frail tribute to his memory,
Planted by Beaumont's and by Wordsworth's hands.
One wooed the silent Arl with studious pains,-

From youth a zealous follower of the Art
These Groves have heard the Other's pensive strains;

That he professed, attached to him in beart; Devoted thus, their spirits did unile

Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride
By interchange of knowledge and delight.

Feeling what England lost wben Reynolds died.
May Nature's kindliest powers sustain the Tree,
And Love protect it from all injury!
And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown,

FOR A SEAT IN THE GROVES OF COLEORTON. Darkeo the brow of this memorial Stone,

Beneath yon eastern Ridge, the craggy Bound, llere may some Painter sit in future days,

Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest ground, Some future Poet meditate his lays;

Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy view, Not mindless of that distapt age renowned

The ivied Ruins of forlorn GRACE Dieu; When Inspiration hovered o'er tliis cround,

Erst a religious House, which day and night The haunt of Him who sang how spear and shield

With hymns resounded, and the chanted rite : In civil conflict met on Bosworth Field;

And when those rites had ceased, the Spot gave birth And of that famous Youth, full soon removed

To honourable Men of various worth : From earth, perhaps by Shakspeare's self approved,

There, on the margin of a Streamlet wild,
Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved.

Did Francis Beaumont sport, an eager Child;
There, under shadow of the neighbouring rocks,

Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their flocks;
IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME.

Unconscious prelude to heroic themes, Orr is the Medal faithful to its trust

Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams

Of slighted love, and scorn, and jealous race,
When Temples, Columns, Towers are laid in dust;
And 't is a common ordinance of fate

With which his genius shook the buskined Stage.

Communities are lost, and Empires die,
That things obscure and small outlive the great :
Hence, when yon Mansion and the flowery trim

And things of Joly use unhallowed lie;
Of this fair Garden, and its alleys dim,

They perish;- but the Intellect can raise,
And all its stately trees, are passed away,

From airy words alone, a Pile that ne'er decays.
This little Niche, unconscious of decay,
Perchance may still survive. - And be it known
That it was scooped within the living stone, -

WRITTEN
Not by the sluggish and ungrateful pains

WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE IN THE WALL OF THE Of labourer plodding for his daily gains;

HOUSE (AN OUT-HOUSE) ON THE ISLAND AT Bai by an industry that wrought in love, With help from femde hands, that proudly strove To aid the work, what time these walks and bowers

RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
Were shaped to cheer dark winter's lonely hours.

Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained
Proportions more harmonious, and approached
To somewhat of a closer fellowship

With the ideal grace. Yet, as it is,
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE Do take it in good part :--alas! the poor
BEAUMONT, BART.,

Vitruvius of our village liad no lielp AND IN HIS NAME, FOR AN URN, PLACED BY HIM AT

From the great City; never, on the leaves

Of red Morocco folio saw displayed
THE TERMINATION OF A NEWLY-PLANTED AVENUE,

The skeletons and pre-existing ghosts
IN THE SAME GROUNDS.

Of Beauties yet unborn, the rustic Box,
Y& Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn, Snug Cot, with Coach-house, Shed, and Hermitage.
Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return; Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls
And be pot slow a stately growth to rear

The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here Of Pillars, branching off from year to year,

The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind. Till they have learned to frame a darksome Aisle;- And hither does one Poet sometimes row That may recal to mind that awful Pile

His Pinnace, a small vagrant Barge, up-piled

GRASMERE.

With plenteous store of heath and withered fern,
(A lading which he with his sickle cuts
Among the mountains) and beneath this roof
He makes his summer couch, and here at noon
Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the Sheep,
Panting beneath the burthen of their wool,
Lie round him, even as if they were a part
Of his own llousehold : nor, while from his bed
Ile through that door-place looks toward the lake
And to the stirring breezes, does he want
Creations lovely as the work of sleep,
Fair sights-and visions of romantic joy!

At any hour he chose, the Knight forth with
Desisted, and the quarry and the mound
Are monuments of his unfinished task.--
The block on which these lines are traced, perhaps,
Was once selected as the corner-stone
Of the intended Pile, which would have been
Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill,
So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush,
And other liule builders who dwell here,
Had wondered at the work. But blame him not,
For old Sir William was a gentle Knight
Bred in this vale, to which he appertained
With all his ancestry. Then peace to him,
And for the outrage which he had devised
Entire forgiveness !-- But if thou art one
Ou fire with thy impatience to become
An inmate of these mountains,-if, disturbed
By beautiful conceptions, thou liast hewn
Out of the quiet rock the elements
of thy trim mansion destined soon to blaze
In snow-white splendour,-think again, and, taught
By old Sir William and his quarry, leave
Thy fragments to the bramble and the rose;
There let the vernal Slow-worm sun himself,
And let the Redbreast hop from stone to stone.

WRITTEN

WITH A SLATE-PENCIL ON A STONE, ON TJIE SIDE OF

THE MOUNTAIN OF BLACK COMB.

Stay, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs
On this commodious Seat! for much remains
Of hard ascent before thou reach the top
Of this huge Eminence,-from blackness named,
And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land,
A favourite spot of tournament and war!
But thee may no such boisterous visitants
Molest; may gentle breezes fan thy brow;
And neither cloud conceal, nor misty air
Bedim, the grand terraqueous spectacle,
From centre to circumference, unveiled !
Know, if thou grudge not to prolong thy rest,
That on the summit whither thou art bound,
A geographic Labourer pitched liis tent,
With books supplied and instruments of art,
To measure height and distance; lonely task,
Week after week pursued !--To hiin was given
Full many a glimpse (but sparingly bestowed
On timid man) of Nature's processes
Upon the exalted hills. He made report
That once, while there he plied bis studious work
Within that canvass Dwelling, suddenly
The many-coloured map before his eyes
Became invisible: for all around
Hlad darkness fallen-unthreatened, uoproclaimed-
As if the golden day itself had been
Extinguished in a moment; total gloom,
In which he sate alone, with unclosed eyes,
l'pon the blinded mountain's silent top!'

INSCRIPTIONS
SUPPOSED TO BE FOUND IN AND NEAR A PERMIT'S CELL.

Hopes what are they?-Beads of morning
Strung on slender blades of grass;
Or a spider's web adorning
In a strait and treacherous pass.

What are fears but voices airy?
Whispering harm where harm is not;
And deluding the unwary
Till the fatal bolt is shot!

What is glory?-in the socket
See how dying tapers fare!
What is pride?-a whizzing rocket
That would emulate a star.

What is friendship ?-do not trust her, Nor the vows which she has made; Diamonds dart their brightest lustre From a palsy-shaken head.

WRITTEN

What is truth ?-a staff rejected;
Duty?-an unwelcome clog;
Joy?—a moon by fits reflected
In a swamp or watery bog;

WITH A SLATE-PENCIL UPON A STONE, THE LARGEST OF A BEAP LYING NEAR A DESERTED QUARRY,

UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS AT RYDALE. STRANGER! this hillock of mis-shapen stones Is not a Ruin of the ancient time, Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the Cairn Of some old British Chief : 't is nothing more Than the rude embryo of a little Dome Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle. But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned That from the shore a full-grown man might wade, And make himself a freeman of this spot

Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the Traveller's cye it shone :
He bath hailed it re-appearing-
And as quickly it is gone;

Gone, as if for ever hidden;
Or mis-shapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.

See View from the top of Black Cuin', in Poems of the Imacination.

What is youth ?-a dancing billow, (Winds bebind, and rocks before!) Age?-a drooping, tollering willow On a flat and lazy shore.

What avails the kindly shelter Yielded by this cracey rent, If my spirit toss and welter On the waves of discontent?

What is peace?-when pain is over,
And love ceases to rebel,
Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passiog knell!

Parching Summer hath no warrant
To consume this crystal Well;
Rains, that make each rill a torrent,
Neither sully it nor swell.

Thus, dishonouring not her station,
Would my Life present to Thee,
Gracious God, the pure oblation
Of divine Tranquillity!

INSCRIBED UPON A ROCK. Pause, Traveller! wboxoe'er thou be Whom chance may lead to this retreat, Where silence yields reluctantly Even to the fleecy straggler's bleat;

Give voice to what my hand shall trace,
And fear pot lest an idle sound
Of words unsuited to the place
Disturb its solitude profound.

I saw this Rock, while vernal air
Blew softly o'er the russct heath,
Uphold a Monument as fair
As Church or Abbey furnisheth.

Nor seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the Morn;
Not seldom Evening in the west
Sinks smilingly forsworn.
The smoothest seas will sometimes prove,
To the confiding Bark, untrue;
And, if she trust the stars above,
They can be treacherous too.
The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outsprcad,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It promised to defend.
Biit Thou art true, incarnate Lord,
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;
Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word
No change cau falsify!
I bent before thy gracious throne,
And asked for peace on suppliant knee;
And peace was given,-por peace alone,
But faith sublimed to ecstasy!

[blocks in formation]

FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD ON ST HERBERT'S ISLAND,

DERWENT-WATER. STRANGER! this shapeless heap of stones and carth Is the last relic of St Herbert's Cell. Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man, After long exercise in social cares And offices humine, intent to adere The Deity, with undistracted mind, And meditate on everlasting things, In utter solitude.—But he had left A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved As his own soul. And, when with eye upraised To heaven he knelt before the crucifix, While o'er the Lake the cataract of Lodore Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced Along the beach of this small isle and thought Of liis Companion, he would pray that both (Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain So prayed he:-as our Chronicles report, Though here the Hermit numbered bis last day, Far from St Cuthbert his beloved Friend, Those lioly Men bo:h died in the same hour.

NEAR THE SPRING OF THE HERMITAGE.

TEOCBLED long with warring golions,
Long impatient of thy rod,
| resign sny soul's emotions
Unto Thee, mysterious God !

Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty.

True power

COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SJDE, NEAR CALAIS, To genuine greatness but from just desires,
AUGUST, 1802.

And knowledge such as he could never gaio?

*T is not in battles that from youth we train Fara Star of Evening, Splendour of the West,

The Governor who must be wise and good, Star of my country!-on the horizon's brink

And temper with the sternness of the brain Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink

Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanbood. On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest,

Wisdom doth live with children round her knees : Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest

Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,

Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk Shouldst be my Country's emblem; and shouldst wink,

Of the mind's business : these are the degrees Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest

By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot

doth grow on; and her rights are these. Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory! I with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,

CALAIS, AUGUST 15, 1802.
Among Men who do not love her, linger here.

Festivals have I seen that were not names :
This is

young Bonaparte's natal day,

And his is henceforth an established sway,
CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802.

Consul for life. With worship France proclaims Is it a Reed that's shaken by the wind,

Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
Or what is it that ye go forth to see?

Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
Lords, Lawyers, Slatesmen, Squires of low degree, Calais is not : and I have bent my way
Men known, and men unknowo, Sick, Lame, and Blind, To the sea-coast, noting that each man frames
Post forward all, like Creatures of one kind,

His business as he likes. Far other show With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time; la France, before the new-born Majesty.

The senselessness of joy was then sublime! "T is ever thus. Ye Men of prostrare mind!

Happy is he, who, caring not for pope, A seemly reverence may be paid to power;

Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
But that's a loyal virtue, never sown

The destiny of Man, and live in hope,
In haste, nor springing with a transient shower :
When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown,
What hardship had it been to wait an hour ?

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!

REPUBLIC.

Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee;
TO A FRIEND.

And was the safeguard of the West : the worth

Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS, ON THE ROAD LEADING Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
TO ARDRES, AUGUST 7, 1802.

She was a Maiden City, bright and free;
Jones! while from Calais southward

you
and I

No guile seduced, no force could violate;
Urged our accordant steps, this public Way

And, when She took unto herself a Mate, Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day,'

She must espouse the everlasting Sea. When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty:

And what if she had seen those glories fade, A homeless sound of joy was in the Sky;

Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; The antiquated Earth, as one might say,

Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid Beat like the heart of Man : songs, garlands, play,

When her long life hath reached its final day: Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!

Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade And now, sole register that these things were,

Of that which once was great, is passed away.
Two solitary greetings have I heard,
« Good morrow, Citizen !» a hollow word,
As if a dead Man spake it! Yet despair

THE KING OF SWEDEN.
Touches ine not, though pensive as a Bird

The Voice of Song from distant lands shall call Whose vernal coverts winter halla laid bare.

To that great King; shall hail the crowned Youth

Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth, 1801.

Dy one example hath set forth to all

How they with dignity may stand; or fall, I GRIEVED for Bonaparte, with a vain

If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend?
And an unthinking grief! for, who aspires

And what to him and his shall be the end?
Ifth July, 1790.

That thought is one which neither can appal

Nor cheer him; for the illustrious Swede hath done
The thing which ought to be: He stands above

SEPTEMBER, 1802.
All consequences : work he hath begun

INLAND, within a hollow Vale, I stood; Of fortitude, and piety, and love,

And

saw, while sea was calm and air was clear, Which all bis glorious Ancestors approve :

The Coast of France, the Coast of France how near! The Heroes bless him, him their rightful Son.

Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood.
I shrunk, for verily the barrier flood
Was like a Lake, or River bright and fair,

A span of waters; yet what power is there!
TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.

What mightiness for evil and for good!
TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy Man of Men!

Even so doth God protect us if we be Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough

Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and Waters roll, Within thy hearing, or thy head be now

Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity, Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den ;

Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree O miserable Chieftain! where and when

Spake laws to them, and said that by the Soul
Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou

Only the Nations shall be great and free.
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again,
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind

THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGA. Powers that will work for thee, air, earth, and skies;

TION OF SWITZERLAND.
There 's not a breathing of the common wiud
That will forget thee; thou bast great allies;

Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea,
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,

One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice :
Aud love, and Man's unconquerable mind.

In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen Music, Liberty !

'There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee
SEPTEMBER 1, 1802.

Thou fought'st against Him; but hast vairly striven.
Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven,

Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thce.
Asong the capricious acts of Tyranny that disgraced these times. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft :

was the basing of all Negroes from France by decree of the
Government: we had a Fellow-passenger who was one of the For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be

Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; espelled.

That mountain Floods should thunder as before, DRIVEN from the soil of France, a Female came

And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
From Calais with us, brilliant in array, -

And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!
A Negro Woman, like a Lady gay,
Yet downcast as a Woman fearing blame;
Meek, destitute, as seemed, of hope or aim

WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802.
Sbe sate, from police turning not away,
But on all proffered intercourse did lay

O Friend! I know not which way I must look

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
A weight of languid speech,-or at the same
Was silent, motionless in eyes and face.

To think that now our Life is only drest
Meanwhile those eyes retained their tropic fire,

For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Which, burning independent of the mind,

Or groom!-We must run glittering like a Brook Joined with the lustre of her rich attire

In the open sunshine, or we are unblest : To mock the outcast-Oye Heavens, be kind!

The wealthiest man among us is the best :
And feel, thou Earth, for this afflicted Race!

No grandeur pow in nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore :

Plain living and high thinking are no more :
COMPOSED IN THE VALLEY, NEAR DOVER,

The homely beauty of the good old cause
ON THE DAY OF LANDING.

Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
HERE, on our native soil we breathe once more. And pure religion breathing household laws.
The Cock that crows, the Smoke that curls, that sound
Of Bells,-those Boys who in yon meadow-ground
la white-sleeved shirts are playing, --and the roar

LONDON, 1802.
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore, -
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour :
With joy in Keoi's green vales; but never found England hath need of thee : she is a fen
Myself so satisfied in heart before.

Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and

pen, Europe is yet in Boods; but let that pass,

Fireside, the heroic wealth of ball and bower, Thought for another moment. Thou art free, Have forfeited their ancient Euglish dower My Country! and 'l is joy enough and pride

of inward happiness. We are selfish men; For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass

Oh! raise us up, return to us again ; Of England once again, and hear and sec,

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. With such a dear Companion at my side.

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart :

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