Imágenes de páginas

And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall
With trailing plants and trees were intertwined, -
Which soon composed a little sylvan Hall,
A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.

And thither, when the summer-days were long,
Sir Walter led his wondering Paramour;
And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song
Made merriment within that pleasant Bower.

The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time,
And his bones lie in his paternal vale.-
But there is matter for a second rhyme,
And I to this would add another cale.

PART II. The moving accident is not my trade, To freeze the blood I have no ready arts : 'T is my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.

As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair,
It chanced that I saw standing in a dell
Three Aspeos at three corners of a square :
And one, not four yards distant, near a Well.

What this imported I could ill divine:
And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop,
I saw three Pillars standing in a line,
The last Stone Pillar on a dark hill-top.

The trees were grey, with neither arms nor head;
Half-wasted the square Mound of tawny green;
So that you just might say, as then I said,
«Here in old time the hand of man hath been,»

I look'd upon the hill both far and near,
More doleful place did never eye survey;
It seemed as if the spring-time came not here,
And Nature here were willing to decay.

I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost,
When one, who was in Shepherd's garb attired,
Came up the hollow:-him did I accost,
And what this place might be I then inquired.

The Shepherd stopp'd, and that same story told
Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed.
« A jolly place,» said he, « in times of old!
But something ails it now; the spot is curs d.

«You see these lifeless Stumps of aspen woodSome say that they are beeches, others elmsThese were the Bower: and here a mansion stood, The finest palace of a hundred realms !

« The Arbour does its own condition tell;
You see the Stones, the Fountain, and the Stream;
But as to the great Lodge! you might as well
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

« Some say that here a murder has been done,
And blood cries out for blood: but, for my part,
I've guess'd, when I've been sitting in the sun,
That it was all for that unhappy Hart.

What thoughts must through the Creature's brain bave

Even from the topmost Stone, upon the Steep,
Are but three bounds--and look, Sir, at this last-
-O Master! it has been a cruel leap.
« For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race;
And in my simple mind we cannot tell
What cause the Hart might have to love this place,
And come and make his death-bed near the Well.
« Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank,
Lulld by this fountain in the summer-tide;
This water was perhaps the first he drank
When he had wander'd from his mother's side.

« In April here beneath the scented thorn
He heard the birds their morning carols sing;
And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born
Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.
« Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade;
The sun on drearier Hollow never shope;
So will it be, as I have often said,
Till Trees, and Stones, and Fountain, all are gone.»
« Grey-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well;
Small difference lies between thy creed and mine:
This Beast not unobserved by nature fell;
His death was mouro'd by sympathy divine.
«The Being that is in the clouds and air,
That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep and reverential care
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.
« The Pleasure-house is dust:--behind, before,
This is no common waste, no common gloom ;
But Nature, in due course of time, once more
Shall lere put on her beauty and her bloom.
« She leaves these objects to a slow decay,
That what we are, and have been, may we known;
But, at the coming of the milder day,
These monuments shall all be overgrown.
« One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,
Taught both by what she shows, and what couceals,
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels,



Higu in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,
And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song:-
The words of ancient time I thus translate,
A festal Strain that hath been silent long.

Henry Lord Clifford, etc. etc., who is the subject of this poem. was the son of John Lord Clifford, who was slain at Towton Field. which John Lord Clifford, as is known to the Reader of English llis

« There's neither dog por heifer, horse nor sheep,
Will wet his lips within that Cup of stone;
And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep,
This water doth send forth a dolorous groan.

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a From Town to Town, from Tower to Tower, Behold her how She smiles to-day
The Red Rose is a gladsome Flower.

On this great throng, this bright array !
Her thirty years of Winter past,

. Fair greeting doth she send to all
The Red Rose is revived at last;


every corner of the llall;
She lifts her head for endless spring,

But, chicfly, from above the Board
For everlasting blossoming :

Where sits in state our rightful Lord,
Both Roses flourish, Red and White.

A Clifford to his own restored !
To love and sisterly dciig!it
The two that were at strife are blended,

« They came with banner, spear, and shield; And all old troubles low are ended.

And it was proved in Bosworth-field.
Joy! joy to both! but most to her

Not long the Avenger was withstood -
Who is the Flower of Lancaster!

Earth helped him with the cry of blood :'

St George was for us, and the might tory, was the person who after the battle of Wakefield slew, in the

Of blessed Angels crowned the right. persult, the young Earl of Rutlaud, son of the Duke of York, wbo has falleu iu ibe hartlo, in part of revenge (say the Authors of

Loud voice the Land has uttered forth, the listory of Cumberland and Westmorla:d); for the Earl's Fa- We loudest in the faithful North : ther had slain his.. A deed which wortbily blemisbed the author

Our Fields rejoice, our Mountains ring, (saish Speed); hat who, as he odds, dare promise any thing tem

Our Streams proclaim a welcoming; gerat of time in the beat of martial fury? chiefly, when it was Faulved not to leave any braocb of the York line standing; for so

Our Strong-abodes and Castles see Bakech this Lord 10 speak,. This, no doubt, I would observe The glory of their loyaliy. by the longe, was an avion sufficiently in the vindictive spirit of the u, bod yet not altogether so bad as represented; for tho Ear!

« Ilow glad is Skipton at this hourWas Bocbill, as some writers would bave him, but able to lear

Though she is but a lonely Tower! artan, being sixteca or seventeen years of age, as is evident from Ibis (say ibe Nervoirs of the Countess of Potabroke, who was lau

To vacancy and silence left; daily ansious to wipe away, as far as could be, this sti; ma from Of all her guardian sons bereftthHlasirious name to which she was born), that he was the next Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page or Grooin; (bild to Nin: Edward ibe Fourth, which his mother had by Ricbard

We have them at the Feast of Brough'm, Duke of York, and that king was thin cixbteen years of age: and for thu amall distance betwist lier Childrun, see Austin Vincent in

llow glad Pendragon-though the sleep bolel of Subiliis, page 622, where he writes of thom all. It may Of years be on her!-She shall reap further be observed, that Lord Chifford, who was thon himself only A taste of this great pleasure, viewing waty-two years of age, bad been a leading Man and Commander,

As in a dream her owu renewing. two or three years together in bo army of Lancaster, before this tim; and, therefore, would be less likely to think that th: Earl of

Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem latland might be entitled to merey froin bis youth.-But, indepen

Beside her little humble Stream; Jest of this art, at bext a cruel and savage one, the Family of Clif- And she that keepeth watch and ward lord bad dose enough to draw upon them the vchement hatred of Her statelier Eden's course to guard; ibor House of York; so that after the Battle of Towton there was no hope for them but in flight and concealment. lleory, the sub

They both are happy at this hour, jex1 ufibo Por, was deprived of bis estate and honours during tlie Though each is but a lonely Tower :ace of twenty-four years; all wbieb time he lived as a shepherd But here is perfect joy and pride in Yorkshire, or in Cumberland, wbere ibe estate of his father-in

For one fair House by Emont's side, law (Sir Locelot Threlkeld) lay. He was restored to his estate and

This day distinguished without peer bubours in the first year of Henry the Seveoil. It is recorded that,

ben called 10 parliament, he Lebaved nobly and wisely; but To see her Master and to cheer; ohrwise be seldom to London or the Court; and rather de

Him, and bis Lady Mother dear! fighted to live in the country, where he repaired suveral of his Casiles, abub had gone to de ay during the late troutiles.. Tbas far

« Oh! it was a time forlorn is bietly collected from Nicholson and Buru; au I coadu, from

When the Fatherless was bornmy own knowledge, that there is a tradition current in the villago Threeld and its neighbourhood, his principal retreat, that, in

Give her wings that she may fly, ih course of his shepbered-life, he bad equired great astronomi

Or she sees her Infant die! callsoulade. I cannot conclude this nute without addin ja sord

Swords that are with slaughter wild *pos ibe subject of those audierous and poble feudal Edifices, spo

Bunt the Moiher and the Child.
I ken of in the Poem, the ruins of some of which are, at ibis day, so
IT ornament to ibat interesting country. The Cliffords had

Who will take them from the light?
saya teru dintinguishel for an honour:ble pride in these Castles ; -Yonder is a Man in sight--
and we have wrn that after the war. of York and Lancaster ibay

Yonder is a House—but where ? mere rebuilt in the civil wars of Charles the first they were again

No, they must not enter there. laid waste, and agaio restored almost to their former magoiticence buy the culebrated Lady Anne Clifford, Countes. of Pembroke, etc.

To the Caves, and to the Brooks, Not more than twenty-five years after ibis was done, when To the Clouds of Heaven she looks; be estairs of Clifford had passed into the family of Toftoa, three

She is speechless, but her eyes of threr Cantles, namely, Brough, I'rougbam, and Pendragon, were

Pray in gliostly agonies. I demolished, and the timber and other materials sold by Thomas Eur!

of Tband. We will hope that, when thin onder was issued, ib. Eur Blissful Mary, Mother mild, I bad not consulted ibe text of luaiah, 58th chapter, 12th Verse, 10 Maid and Mother undefiled, I wbic tbe inscriptios placed over i be cate of Peodragon Castle, by

Save a Mother and her Child ! i be seentese of Pembroke (I believe this Grandmother) at the time she repairelthul struturo, refers Ibe reader. And they that shall

Now Who is he that bounds with joy ! be of the skill twill the old waste pluces ; thou shalt ruise up the livescotas el muny generations : anul thou shalt he called the repairer Ou Carrock's side, a Shepherd Boy?

time breach, the restorer of paths to duell in. The Earl of Thaner, I've preveel possessor of the Estates, witb a duu respect for the me This line is from the battle of Bosworth Field Ly Sir Jolie

of his ancestors, and a proper wone of the value and beauty Beaumont (Brother to the Dramatist), whose poems are written with of tires remaior of antiquity, bas (I am told) civen orders that much spirit, elegance, and harmony; and have deservedly been rethey shall be preserved from all depredations.

printed fately in Chalmers's Collection of English Poets.

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No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass

He hath eptered, and been told Light as the wind along the grass.

By Voices how Men lived of old. Can this be He who hither came

Among the Heavens his eye can see In secret, like a smothered flame ?

Face of thing that is to be; O'er whom such thankful tears were shed

And, if Men report him right, For shelter, and a poor Man's bread!

He could whisper words of might. God loves the Child; and God hatha willed

-Now another day is come, That those dear words should be fulfilled,

Fitter hope, and nobler doom : The Lady's words, when forced away,

He hath thrown aside his Crook, The last she to her Babe did say,

And hath buried deep his Book; My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest

Armour rusting in his Halls I may not be; but rest thce, rest,

On the blood of Clifford calls; For lowly Shepherd's life is best!'

Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance

Bear me to the heart of France, « Alas! when evil men are strong

Is the longing of the ShieldNo life is good, no pleasure long.

Tell thy name, thou trembling Field; The Boy must part from Mosedale's Groves,

Field of death, where'er thou be, And leave Blencathara's rugged Coves,

Groan thou with our victory! And quit the Flowers that Summer brings

Happy day, and mighty hour, To Glenderamakia's lofty springs;

When our Sheplierd, in his power, Must vanish, and his careless cheer

Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword, Be turned to heaviness and fear.

To bis Ancestors restored, - Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise !

Like a re-åppearing Star, Hear it, good Man, old in days !

Like a glory from afar,
Thou Tree of covert and of rest

First shall head the Flock of War!»
For this young Bird that is distrest;
Among thy branches safe he lay,

Alas! the fervent Harper did not know
And he was free to sport and play,

That for a tranquil Soul the Lay was framed, When Falcons were abroad for prey.

Who, long compelled in humble walks to go, « A recreant Harp, that sings of fear

Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed.
And heaviness in Clifford's ear!
I said, when evil Men are strong,

Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie;
No life is good, no pleasure long,

llis daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, A weak and cowardly untruth !

The silence that is in the starry sky,
Our Clifford was a happy Youth,

The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
And thankful through a weary time,
That brought him up to manhood's prime.

In him the savage Virtue of the Race,
-Again he wanders forth at will,

Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead: And tends a Flock from hill to hill:

Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place
His garb is humble; ne'er was seen

The wisdom which adversity had bred.
Such garb with such a noble mien;
Among the Shepherd-grooms no Mate

Glad were the Vales, and every cottage hearth;
Hath he, a Child of strength and state!

The Shepherd Lord was honoured more and more : Yet lacks not friends for solemn glee,

And, ages after he was laid in earth, And a cheerful company,

« The Good Lord Clifford» was the oame he bore.
That learned of him submissive ways;
And comforted his privale days.

Yes, it was the mountain Echo,
To his side the Fallow-deer
Came, and rested without fear;

Solitary, clear, profound,
The Eagle, Lord of land and sea,

Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, Stooped down to pay him fealty;

Giving to her sound for sound ! And both the undying Fish that swim

Unsolicited reply Through Bowscale-Tarn' did wait on him,

To a babbling wanderer sent; The pair were Servants of his eye

Like her ordinary cry,
In their immortality;

Like-but oh how different!
They moved about in open sight,
To and fro, for bis delight.

Hears not also mortal Life 1
He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt

Hear not we, unthinking Creatures ! On the Mountains visitant;

Slaves of Folly, Love, or Strife, He hath kenned them taking wing:

Voices of two different Natures ? And the Caves where Faeries sing

" The martial character of the Cliffords is well known in the reside "It is imagined by the people of the country, that there are two e 's of Englisb History, but it may not be improper bere to ev, by immorial Fish, inbabitants of this Tarn, which lies in the moun

way of comment on these lines and what follows, bat, besides se tains not far from Threlkeld.-Bleacaibara, mentioned before, is veral others wbo perisbed in the same manner, the foer immediate tha old and proper name of the mountain ralzarly called Sadulo Progenitors of the Person in whose hearing this is supposed to be back.

spoken, all died in the field.


Have not We too ?--yes, we have Answers, and we know not whence ; Echoes from beyond the grave, Recognized intelligence?

Such rebounds our inward ear
Often catches from afar;-
Giddy Mortals! hold them dear;
For of God, -of God they are.

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TO A SKY-LARK. ETHEREAL Miastrel! Pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? Or, while the wings aspire, are beart and eye Doth with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Tly nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still! To ibe last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring Warbler! that love-prompted strain, (Twixt thee and thine a never failing bond) Thrills not the less ibe bosom of the plain : Yet miyhist thou scem, proud privilege! to sing All independent of the leafy spring.

Of custom, law, and statute, took at once
The attraction of a country in Romance !
When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights,
When most intent on making of herself
A prime Enchantress—to assist the work,
Which then was going forward in her name !
Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth,
The beauty wore of promise-that which sets
(To take an image which was felt no doubt
Among the bowers of paradise itself)
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
What Temper at the prospect did not wake
To happiness unthought of? The inert
Were roused, and lively Natures rapt away!
They who had fed their childhood upon dreams,
The playfellows of fancy, who had made
All powers of swiftness, subtilty and strength
Their ministers,—who in lordly wise had stirred
Among the grandest objects of the sense,
And dealt with whatsoever they found there
As if they had within some lurking right
To wield it ;-they, too, who of gentle mood
Had watched all gentle motions, and to these
llad fitted their own thoughts, schemers more mild,
And in the region of their peaceful selves;
Now was it that both found, the Meek and Lofty
Did both find helpers to their heart's desire,
And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish, -
Were called upon to exercise their skill,
Not in Utopia,– subterraneous Fields, -
Or some secreted Island, Heaven kuows wliere!
But in the very world, which is the world
Of all of us,-the place where in the end
We find our happiness, or not at all!

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| Leave to the Nightingale her shady wood;

A privacy of glorious light is ibine ;
Whence thou dost pour upon tbe world a flood
Of harmony, with rapture more divine ;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Ileaven and Home!



Ti is no Spirit who from Heaven haih tlowp,
And is descending on bis embassy;
Sur Traveller gone from Earth the Heavens to espy!
*T is tesperus -- there he stands with glittering crowa,
First admonition that the sun is down,
For yet it is broad daylight! clouds pass by;
A few are near bim still-and now the sky,
lle hath it to himself-'t is all bis own.
O most ambitious Star! thy Presence brought

A startling recollection to my mind
| Of the distinguished few among mankind,

Who dare lo step beyond their natural race,
As thou seem'st now to do :-nor was a thought
Denied that even I might one day trace
Some ground not mine; and, strong her strength above,
My Soul, an Apparition in the place,
Tread there, with steps that no one shall reprove !

Wirun the mind strong fancies work,
A deep delight the bosom ibrills,
Oft as I pass along the fork
Of these fraternal hills:
Where, save the rugged road, we find
No appanage of human kind;
Nor hint of man, if stone or rock
Seem not his handy-work to mock
Ry something cognizably shaped ;
Mockery-or model roughly hewn,
And left as if hy earthquake strewn,
Or from the Flood escaped:-
Altars for druid service fil;
(But where no fire was ever lit,
Unless the glow-worm to the skies
Thence offer nightly sacrifice:)
Wrinkled Egyptian monument;
Green inoss-grown tower; or hoary tent;
Tents of a camp that never shall be raised;
On which four thousand years have gazed !



OR! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!

For mighty were ibe Auxiliars, which then stood
I'pon our side, we who were strong in love!
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young vas very heaven :-Ob! times,
la wlaich the meagre, stole, forbidding ways

"This, sed the Extract, page aa, and i ho frst Pieco of this Class, are from the anpablished Poem of whicb some account is givu in tt Prelace to ibe Escension.

Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes!
Ye snow-white lambs dat trip
Imprisoned 'mid the formal props
of restless ownersbip!
Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall
To feed the iosatiate Prodigal!

Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and ficlds,
All that the fertile valley shields;
Wages of folly-baits of crime, -
Of life's uneasy game the stake,
Playthings that keep the eyes awake
Of drowsy, dotard Time;-
O care! O guilt!-O vales and plains,
llere, 'mid his own unvexed domains,
A Genius dwells, that can subdue
At once all memory of You,-
Most potent when mists veil the sky,
Mists that distort and magnify;
While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze,
Sigh forth their ancient melodies!

List to those shriller notes !--that march
Perchance was on the blast,
When, through this Height's inverted arch,
Rome's earliest legion passed !
-They saw, adventurously impelled,
And older eyes than theirs beheld,
This block-and yon, whose Church-like frame
Gives to the savage Pass its naine.
Aspiring Road! that lov'st to bide
Thy daring in a vapoury bourn,
Not seldom may the hour return
When thou shalt be my Guide;
And I (as often we fiod cause,
When life is at a weary pause,
And we have panted up the hill
Of duty witli reluctant will)
Be thankful, even though tired and faint,
For the rich bounties of Constraint;
Whence oft invigorating transports flow
That Choice lacked courage to bestow!

My Soul was grateful for delight That wore a tlıreatening hrow; A veil is lifted-can she slight The scene that opens now! Though habitation none appear, The greenness tells, man must be there; The shelter--that the perspective Is of the clime in which we live; Where Toil pursues his daily round; Where Pity sheds sweet tears, and Love, In woodbine bower or birchen grove, Inflicts his tender wound. -Who comes not hitler ne'er shall know How beautiful the world below; Nor can he guess how lightly leaps The brook adown the rocky steeps. Farewell, thou desolate Domain! Hope, pointing to the cultured Plain, Carols like a shepherd boy; And who is she?--Can that be Joy! Who, with a sunbeam for her guide, Smoothly skims the meadows wide; While Faith, from yonder opening cloud, To hill and vale proclaims aloud, « Whatc'er the weak may dread, the wicked darc, Thy los, O Man, is good, thy portion fair!»




Had this effulgence disappeared
With flying baste, I miglit liave sent,
Among the specchless clouds, a look
Of blank astonishment;
But 't is endued with power to stay,
And sanctify one closing day,
That frail Mortality may see-
What is?—ah no, but what can be!
Time was when field and watery cove
Willi inodulated echoes rang,
While choirs of fervent Angels sang
Their vespers in the

Or, ranged like stars along some sovereigo lieight,
Warbled, for heaven above and carth below,
Strains suitable to both.-Such holy rite,
Methiuks, if audibly repeated now
From hill or valley, could not move
Sublimer transport, purer love,
Than doth this silent spectacle-the gleam-
The shadow-and the peace supreme!

No sound is uttered, - but a deep
And solemn harmony pervades
The hollow vale from steep to steep,
And penetrates the clades.
Far-distant images draw nigh,
Called forth by wondrous potency
Of beamy radiance, that imbues
Wate'er it str with gem-like hues!
In vision exquisitely clear,
Herds range along the mountain side;
And glistening anters are descried;
And gilded tlocks appear.
Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!
But long as god-like wish, or liope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
---From worlds not quickened by the sun
A portion of the gift is won;
An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread
On ground which Critisha shepherds (read!

And, if there be whom broken ties
Aftlici, or injuries assail,
Yon hazy ridges to their eyes
Present a glorious scale,
Climbing suffused with sunny air,
To stop-no record hath told wliere!
And templing faney to ascend,
Aud with immortal Spirits blend !
--Wings at my shoulder seem to play; '
But, rooted here, I stand and gaze
On those briglit steps that heaven-ward raise
Their practicable way.
Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad,
And see to what fair countries ye are bound!
And if some Traveller, weary of his road,
Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground,

' In these lines I am under obligation to the exquisite picture of Jacob's Dream, by Mr Alstone, now in America. It is pleasant fa make this public arknowledgmen: 10 a man of genius, wbora I base the bonour to raak among my friends.

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