Part 3 — 1833

Among the dwellings framed by birds In field or forest with nice care, Is none that with the little Wren's In snugness may compare. No door the tenement requires, 5 And seldom needs a laboured roof; Yet is it to the fiercest sun Impervious, and storm-proof. So warm, so beautiful withal, In perfect fitness for its aim, 10 That to the Kind by special grace Their instinct surely came. And when for their abodes they seek An opportune recess, The hermit has no finer eye 15 For shadowy quietness. These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls, A canopy in some still nook; Others are pent-housed by a brae That overhangs a brook. 20 There to the brooding bird her mate Warbles by fits his low clear song; And by the busy streamlet both Are sung to all day long. Or in sequestered lanes they build, 25 Where, till the flitting bird's return, Her eggs within the nest repose, Like relics in an urn. But still, where general choice is good, There is a better and a best; 30 And, among fairest objects, some Are fairer than the rest; This, one of those small builders proved In a green covert, where, from out The forehead of a pollard oak, 35 The leafy antlers sprout; For She who planned the mossy lodge, Mistrusting her evasive skill, Had to a Primrose looked for aid Her wishes to fulfil. 40 High on the trunk's projecting brow And fixed an infant's span above The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest, The prettiest of the grove! The treasure proudly did I show 45 To some whose minds without disdain Can turn to little things; but once Looked up for it in vain: 'Tis gone—a ruthless spoiler's prey, Who heeds not beauty, love, or song, 50 'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved Indignant at the wrong. Just three days after, passing by In clearer light the moss-built cell I saw, espied its shaded mouth; 55 And felt that all was well. The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus, for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives. 60 Concealed from friends who might disturb Thy quiet with no ill intent, Secure from evil eyes and hands On barbarous plunder bent, Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young 65 Take flight, and thou art free to roam, When withered is the guardian Flower, And empty thy late home, Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, Amid the unviolated grove 70 Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft In foresight, or in love.

"Tum porro puer, ut sævis projectus ab undis Navita, nudus humi jacet," etc.—Lucretius.[768]

Like a shipwreck'd Sailor tost By rough waves on a perilous coast, Lies the Babe, in helplessness And in tenderest nakedness, Flung by labouring nature forth 5 Upon the mercies of the earth. Can its eyes beseech?—no more Than the hands are free to implore: Voice but serves for one brief cry; Plaint was it? or prophecy 10 Of sorrow that will surely come? Omen of man's grievous doom! But, O Mother! by the close Duly granted to thy throes; By the silent thanks, now tending 15 Incense-like to Heaven, descending Now to mingle and to move With the gush of earthly love, As a debt to that frail Creature, Instrument of struggling Nature 20 For the blissful calm, the peace Known but to this one release— Can the pitying spirit doubt That for human-kind springs out From the penalty a sense 25 Of more than mortal recompense? As a floating summer cloud, Though of gorgeous drapery proud, To the sun-burnt traveller, Or the stooping labourer, 30 Oft-times makes its bounty known By its shadow round him thrown; So, by chequerings of sad cheer, Heavenly Guardians, brooding near, Of their presence tell—too bright 35 Haply for corporeal sight! Ministers of grace divine Feelingly their brows incline O'er this seeming Castaway Breathing, in the light of day, 40 Something like the faintest breath That has power to baffle death— Beautiful, while very weakness Captivates like passive meekness. And, sweet Mother! under warrant 45 Of the universal Parent, Who repays in season due Them who have, like thee, been true To the filial chain let down From his everlasting throne,[769] 50 Angels hovering round thy couch, With their softest whispers vouch, That—whatever griefs may fret, Cares entangle, sins beset, This thy First-born, and with tears 55 Stain her cheek in future years— Heavenly succour, not denied To the babe, whate'er betide, Will to the woman be supplied! Mother! blest be thy calm ease; 60 Blest the starry promises,— And the firmament benign Hallowed be it, where they shine! Yes, for them whose souls have scope Ample for a wingèd hope, 65 And can earthward bend an ear For needful listening, pledge is here, That, if thy new-born Charge shall tread In thy footsteps, and be led By that other Guide, whose light 70 Of manly virtues, mildly bright, Gave him first the wished-for part In thy gentle virgin heart; Then, amid the storms of life Presignified by that dread strife 75 Whence ye have escaped together, She may look for serene weather; In all trials sure to find Comfort for a faithful mind; Kindlier issues, holier rest, 80 Than even now await her prest, Conscious Nursling, to thy breast!

List, the winds of March are blowing; Her ground-flowers shrink, afraid of showing Their meek heads to the nipping air, Which ye feel not, happy pair! Sunk into a kindly sleep. 5 We, meanwhile, our hope will keep; And if Time leagued with adverse Change (Too busy fear!) shall cross its range, Whatsoever check they bring, Anxious duty hindering, 10 To like hope[770] our prayers will cling. Thus, while the ruminating spirit feeds Upon the events of home[771] as life proceeds, Affections pure and holy in their source Gain a fresh impulse, run a livelier course; 15 Hopes that within the Father's heart prevail, Are in the experienced Grandsire's slow to fail; And if the harp pleased his gay youth, it rings To his grave touch with no unready strings, While thoughts press on, and feelings overflow, 20 And quick words round him fall like flakes of snow.[772] Thanks to the Powers that yet maintain their sway, And have renewed the tributary Lay. Truths of the heart flock in with eager pace, And Fancy greets them with a fond embrace; 25 Swift as the rising sun his beams extends She shoots the tidings forth to distant friends; Their gifts she hails (deemed precious, as they prove For the unconscious Babe so prompt a love!)—[773] But from this peaceful centre of delight 30 Vague sympathies have urged her to take flight: Rapt[774] into upper regions, like the bee That sucks from mountain heath her honey fee; Or, like the warbling lark intent to shroud His head in sunbeams or a bowery cloud, 35 She soars—and here and there her pinions rest On proud towers, like this humble cottage, blest With a new visitant, an infant guest— Towers where red streamers flout the breezy sky In pomp foreseen by her creative eye, 40 When feasts shall crowd the hall, and steeple bells Glad proclamation make, and heights and dells Catch the blithe music as it sinks and swells,[775] And harboured ships, whose pride is on the sea, Shall hoist their topmost flags in sign of glee, 45 Honouring the hope of noble ancestry. But who (though neither reckoning ills assigned By Nature, nor reviewing in the mind The track that was, and is, and must be, worn With weary feet by all of woman born)— 50 Shall now by such a gift with joy be moved, Nor feel the fulness of that joy reproved? Not He, whose last faint memory will command The truth that Britain was his native land;[776] Whose infant soul was tutored to confide 55 In the cleansed faith for which her martyrs died; Whose boyish ear the voice of her renown With rapture thrilled; whose Youth revered the crown Of Saxon liberty that Alfred wore,[777] Alfred, dear Babe, thy great Progenitor! 60 —Not He, who from her mellowed practice drew His social sense of just, and fair, and true; And saw, thereafter, on the soil of France Rash Polity begin her maniac dance,[778] Foundations broken up, the deeps run wild, 65 Nor grieved to see (himself not unbeguiled)— Woke from the dream, the dreamer to upbraid, And learn how sanguine expectations fade When novel trusts by folly are betrayed,— To see Presumption, turning pale, refrain 70 From further havoc, but repent in vain,— Good aims lie down, and perish in the road Where guilt had urged them on with ceaseless goad. Proofs thickening round her that on public ends Domestic virtue vitally depends, 75 That civic strife can turn the happiest hearth Into a grievous sore of self-tormenting earth.[779] Can such a One, dear Babe! though glad and proud To welcome thee, repel the fears that crowd Into his English breast, and spare to quake 80 Less for his own than[780] for thy innocent sake? Too late—or, should the providence of God Lead, through dark[781] ways by sin and sorrow trod, Justice and peace to a secure abode, Too soon—thou com'st into this breathing world; 85 Ensigns of mimic outrage are unfurled. Who shall preserve or prop the tottering Realm? What hand suffice to govern the state-helm? If, in the aims of men, the surest test Of good or bad (whate'er be sought for or profest) 90 Lie in the means required, or ways ordained, For compassing the end, else never gained; Yet governors and govern'd both are blind To this plain truth, or fling it to the wind; If to expedience principle must bow; 95 Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incumbent Now; If cowardly concession still must feed The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede; Nor turn aside, unless to shape a way For domination at some riper day; 100 If[782] generous Loyalty must stand in awe Of subtle Treason, in[783] his mask of law, Or with bravado insolent and hard, Provoking punishment, to win reward; If office help the factious to conspire, 105 And they who should extinguish, fan the fire— Then, will the sceptre be a straw, the crown Sit loosely, like the thistle's crest of down; To be blown off at will, by Power that spares it In cunning patience, from the head that wears it. 110 Lost people, trained to theoretic feud! Lost above all, ye labouring multitude! Bewildered whether ye, by slanderous tongues Deceived, mistake calamities for wrongs; And over fancied usurpations brood, 115 Oft snapping at revenge in sullen mood; Or, from long stress of real injuries fly To desperation for a remedy; In bursts of outrage spread your judgments wide, And to your wrath cry out, "Be thou our guide;" 120 Or, bound by oaths, come forth to tread earth's floor In marshalled thousands, darkening street and moor With the worst shape mock-patience ever wore; Or, to the giddy top of self-esteem By Flatterers carried, mount into a dream 125 Of boundless suffrage, at whose sage behest Justice shall rule, disorder be supprest, And every man sit down as Plenty's Guest! —O for a bridle bitted with remorse To stop your Loaders in their headstrong course![784] 130 Oh may the Almighty scatter with his grace These mists, and lead you to a safer place, By paths no human wisdom can foretrace! May He pour round you, from worlds far above Man's feverish passions, his pure light of love, 135 That quietly restores the natural mien To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen! Else shall your blood-stained hands in frenzy reap Fields gaily sown when promises were cheap.— Why is the Past belied with wicked art, 140 The Future made to play so false a part, Among a people famed for strength of mind, Foremost in freedom, noblest of mankind? We act as if we joyed in the sad tune Storms make in rising, valued in the moon 145 Nought but her changes. Thus, ungrateful Nation! If thou persist, and, scorning moderation, Spread for thyself the snares of tribulation, Whom, then, shall meekness guard? What saving skill Lie in forbearance, strength in standing still? 150 —Soon shall the widow (for the speed of Time Nought equals when the hours are winged with crime) Widow, or wife, implore on tremulous knee, From him who judged her lord, a like decree; The skies will weep o'er old men desolate: 155 Ye little-ones! Earth shudders at your fate, Outcasts and homeless orphans—— But turn, my Soul, and from the sleeping pair Learn thou the beauty of omniscient care! Be strong in faith, bid anxious thoughts lie still; 160 Seek for the good and cherish it—the ill Oppose, or bear with a submissive will.

If this great world of joy and pain Revolve in one sure track; If freedom, set, will rise again, And virtue, flown, come back; Woe to the purblind crew who fill 5 The heart with each day's care; Nor gain, from past or future, skill To bear, and to forbear!

The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire, Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire, Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams, Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams. Look round;—of all the clouds not one is moving; 5 'Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving. Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky, The boundless plain of waters seems to lie:— Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore? No; 'tis the earth-voice of the mighty sea, 11 Whispering how meek and gentle he can be![786] Thou Power supreme! who, arming to rebuke Offenders, dost put off the gracious look, And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood 15 Of ocean roused into his fiercest mood, Whatever discipline thy Will ordain For the brief course that must for me remain; Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice In admonitions of thy softest voice! 20 Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace, Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace, Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear, Glad to expand; and, for a season, free 25 From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee!

The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest; And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; Air slumbers—wave with wave no longer strives, Only a heaving of the deep survives,[787] A tell-tale motion! soon will it be laid, 5 And by the tide alone the water swayed. Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild Of light with shade in beauty reconciled— Such is the prospect far as sight can range, The soothing recompense, the welcome change. 10 Where now the ships that drove before the blast, Threatened by angry breakers as they passed; And by a train of flying clouds bemocked; Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked As on a bed of death? Some lodge in peace, 15 Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease; And some, too heedless of past danger, court Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port; But near, or hanging sea and sky between, Not one of all those wingèd powers is seen, 20 Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard; Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, Soft in its temper as those vesper lays Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars 25 Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores; A sea-born service through the mountains felt Till into one loved vision all things melt: Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound; 30 And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies. Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine, Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine On British waters with that look benign?[788] 35 Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay, May silent thanks at least to God be given With a full heart; "our thoughts are heard in heaven!"[789]

What mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret, How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset; How baffled projects on the spirit prey, And fruitless wishes eat the heart away, The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast 5 On the relentless sea that holds him fast On chance dependent, and the fickle star Of power, through long and melancholy war. O sad it is, in sight of foreign shores, Daily to think on old familiar doors, 10 Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors; Or, tossed about along a waste of foam, To ruminate on that delightful home, Which with the dear Betrothèd was to come; Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye 15 Never but in the world of memory; Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change, And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep A thing too bright for breathing man to keep. 20 Hail to the virtues which that perilous life Extracts from Nature's elemental strife; And welcome glory won in battles fought As bravely as the foe was keenly sought. But to each gallant Captain and his crew 25 A less imperious sympathy is due, Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play On the mute sea in this unruffled bay; Such as will promptly flow from every breast, Where good men, disappointed in the quest 30 Of wealth and power and honours, long for rest; Or, having known the splendours of success, Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.

Adieu, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown And spread as if ye knew that days might come When ye would shelter in a happy home, On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own, One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown 5 To sue the God; but, haunting your green shade[792] All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid[793] Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown.[794] Farewell! no Minstrels now with harp new-strung For summer wandering quit their household bowers; Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue 11 To cheer the Itinerant on whom she pours Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors, Or musing sits forsaken halls among.

Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle, Repine as if his hour were come too late? Not unprotected in her mouldering state, Antiquity salutes him with a smile, 'Mid fruitful fields that ring with jocund toil, 5 And pleasure-grounds where Taste, refined Co-mate Of Truth and Beauty, strives to imitate, Far as she may, primeval Nature's style. Fair Land! by Time's parental love made free, By Social Order's watchful arms embraced; 10 With unexampled union meet in thee, For eye and mind, the present and the past; With golden prospect for futurity, If that be reverenced which ought to last.[795]

They called Thee Merry England, in old time; A happy people won for thee that name With envy heard in many a distant clime; And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same Endearing title, a responsive chime 5 To the heart's fond belief; though some there are Whose sterner judgments deem that world a snare For inattentive Fancy, like the lime Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask, This face of rural beauty be a mask 10 For discontent, and poverty, and crime; These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will? Forbid it, Heaven!-and[796] Merry England still Shall[797] be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme!

Greta, what fearful listening! when huge stones Rumble along thy bed, block after block: Or, whirling with reiterated shock, Combat, while darkness aggravates the groans: But if thou (like Cocytus from the moans[798] 5 Heard on his rueful margin[799]) thence wert named The Mourner, thy true nature was defamed, And the habitual murmur that atones For thy worst rage, forgotten. Oft as Spring Decks, on thy sinuous banks, her thousand thrones, 10 Seats of glad instinct and love's carolling, The concert, for the happy, then may vie With liveliest peals of birth-day harmony: To a grieved heart, the notes are benisons.

"Was it for this That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song, And, from his alder shades and rocky falls, And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice That flowed along my dreams? * * * * * Make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts To more than infant softness."

Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream! Thou near the eagle's nest[801]—within brief sail, I, of his bold wing floating on the gale, Where thy deep voice could lull me! Faint the beam Of human life when first allowed to gleam 5 On mortal notice.—Glory of the vale, Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail, Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam Of thy soft breath!—Less vivid wreath entwined Nemæan victor's brow;[802] less bright was worn, 10 Meed of some Roman chief—in triumph borne With captives chained; and shedding from his car The sunset splendours of a finished war Upon the proud enslavers of mankind!

A point of life between my Parents' dust, And yours, my buried Little-ones![803] am I; And to those graves looking habitually In kindred quiet I repose my trust. Death to the innocent is more than just, 5 And, to the sinner, mercifully bent; So may I hope, if truly I repent And meekly bear the ills which bear I must: And You, my Offspring! that do still remain, Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 10 If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain We breathed together for a moment's space, The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, And only love keep in your hearts a place.

"Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, Poet! that, stricken as both are by years, We, differing once so much, are now Compeers, Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link 5 United us; when thou, in boyish play, Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink Of light was there;—and thus did I, thy Tutor, Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave; While thou wert chasing the wing'd butterfly 11 Through my green courts;[804] or climbing, a bold suitor Up to the flowers whose golden progeny Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave."[805]

The cattle crowding round this beverage clear To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod The encircling turf into a barren clod; Through which the waters creep, then disappear, Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near; 5 Yet, o'er the brink, and round the lime-stone cell Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well," Name that first struck by chance my startled ear) A tender Spirit broods—the pensive Shade Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid 10 By hooded Votaresses[806] with saintly cheer;[807] Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled Into the shedding of "too soft a tear."[808]

Pastor and Patriot!—at whose bidding rise These modest walls, amid a flock that need, For one who comes to watch them and to feed, A fixed Abode—keep down presageful sighs.[810] Threats, which the unthinking only can despise, 5 Perplex the Church; but be thou firm,—be true To thy first hope, and this good work pursue, Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke[811] Of thy new hearth; and sooner shall its wreaths, 10 Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes, From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke, And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain.

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![813] And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud[814] 5 Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,[815] When a soft summer gale at evening parts The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) She smiled;[816] but Time, the old Saturnian seer, Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 10 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![817]

If Life were slumber on a bed of down, Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown, Sad were our lot: no hunter of the hare Exults like him whose javelin from the lair Has roused the lion; no one plucks the rose, 5 Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows 'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries, With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees, For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees. This independence upon oar and sail, 10 This new indifference to breeze or gale, This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea, And regular as if locked in certainty— Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm! That Courage may find something to perform; 15 That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas, Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees. Dread cliff of Baruth! that wild wish may sleep, Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep 20 Breathed the same element; too many wrecks Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought: With thy stern aspect better far agrees 25 Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease, As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees. Yet, while each useful Art augments her store, What boots the gain if Nature should lose more? And Wisdom, as she holds[819] a Christian place 30 In man's intelligence sublimed by grace? When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,[820] Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross'd: She[821] knelt in prayer—the waves their wrath appease; And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees, Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. Bees. 36 "Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand," Who in these Wilds then struggled for command;[822] The strong were merciless, without hope the weak; Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break, 40 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. 45 To aid the Votaress, miracles believed Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved; So piety took root; and Song might tell What humanising virtues near her cell[823] Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around; How savage bosoms melted at the sound 51 Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees, From her religious Mansion of St. Bees. When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love, 55 Was glorified, and took its place, above The silent stars, among the angelic quire, Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire, And perished utterly; but her good deeds Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds 60 Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas, And lo! a statelier pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.[824] There are[825] the naked clothed, the hungry fed; And Charity extendeth[826] to the dead, 65 Her intercessions made for the soul's rest Of tardy penitents; or for the best Among the good (when love might else have slept, Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept. Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees, 70 Who, to that service bound by venial fees, Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees. Are[827] not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties[828] Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies, Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, 75 To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart? The prayer for them whose hour is past away Says[829] to the Living, profit while ye may! A little part, and that the worst, he sees Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys 80 That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees. Conscience, the timid being's inmost light, Hope of the dawn and solace of the night, Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray In many an hour when judgment goes astray. 85 Ah! scorn not hastily their rule who try Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify; Consume with zeal, in wingèd ecstasies Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries, Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees. 90 Yet none so prompt to succour and protect The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked On the bare coast; nor do they grudge the boon Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon Claim for the pilgrim: and, though chidings sharp 95 May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp, It is not then when, swept with sportive ease, It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees, Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees. How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice 100 What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice, Imploring, or commanding with meet pride, Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside, And under one blest ensign serve the Lord In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword! 105 Flaming till thou from Panym hands release That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees. But look we now to them whose minds from far[830] Follow the fortunes which they may not share. 110 While in Judea Fancy loves to roam, She helps to make a Holy-land at home: The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights;[831] And wedded Life, through scriptural mysteries, 115 Heavenward ascends with all her charities, Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees. 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 120 Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe; As at this day men seeing what they saw, Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities, Aspire to more than earthly destinies; 125 Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees.[832] Yet more; around those Churches, gathered Towns[833] Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns; Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold Her scales with even hand, and culture mould 130 The heart to pity, train the mind in care For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear. Nor dost thou fail, thro' abject love of ease, Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes, To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees.[834] 135 Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors, And to green meadows changed the swampy shores? Thinned the rank woods; and for the cheerful grange Made room where wolf and boar were used to range? Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains 140 Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains? The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please, For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees! But all availed not; by a mandate given 145 Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven Forth from their cells; their ancient House laid low In Reformation's sweeping overthrow. But now once more the local Heart revives, The inextinguishable Spirit strives. 150 Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas, And cleared a way for the first Votaries, Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees![835] Alas! the Genius of our age, from Schools Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules. 153 To Prowess guided by her insight keen Matter and Spirit are as one Machine; Boastful Idolatress of formal skill She in her own would merge the eternal will:[836] Better,[837] if Reason's triumphs match with these, 160 Her flight before the bold credulities That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.[838]

Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Black-Comb,[843] 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 5 Of all her peaks and ridges.[844] 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 10 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.

Bold words affirmed, in days when faith was strong And doubts and scruples seldom teazed the brain, That[845] no adventurer's bark had power to gain These shores if he approached them bent on wrong; For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main, 5 Mists rose to hide the Land—that search, though long And eager, might be still pursued in vain. O Fancy, what an age was that for song! That age, when not by laws inanimate, As men believed, the waters were impelled, 10 The air controlled, the stars their courses held; But element and orb on acts did wait Of Powers endued with visible form, instinct With will, and to their work by passion linked.

Desire we past illusions to recal? To reinstate wild Fancy, would we hide Truth whose thick veil Science has drawn aside? No,—let this Age, high as she may, instal In her esteem the thirst that wrought man's fall, 5 The universe is infinitely wide; And conquering Reason, if self-glorified, Can nowhere move uncrossed by some new wall Or gulf of mystery, which thou alone, Imaginative Faith! canst overleap, 10 In progress toward the fount of Love,—the throne Of Power whose ministers the[846] records keep Of periods fixed, and laws established, less Flesh to exalt than prove its nothingness.

The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn,[848] 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 5 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.[849] Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner, Struggling for life, into its saving arms! 10 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.[850]

Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine, With wonder smit by its transparency, And all-enraptured with its purity?— Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline, Have ever in them something of benign; 5 Whether in gem, in water, or in sky, A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye Of a young maiden, only not divine. Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm For beverage drawn as from a mountain-well. 10 Temptation centres in the liquid Calm; Our daily raiment seems no obstacle To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea! And revelling[851] in long embrace with thee.[852]

A youth too certain of his power to wade On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea,[854] To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee, Leapt from this rock, and but for timely aid He, by the alluring element betrayed, 5 Had perished. Then might Sea-nymphs (and with sighs Of self-reproach) have chanted elegies[855] Bewailing his sad fate, when he was laid[856] In peaceful earth: for, doubtless, he was frank, Utterly in himself devoid of guile; 10 Knew not the double-dealing of a smile; Nor aught that makes men's promises a blank, Or deadly snare: and He survives to bless The Power that saved him in his strange distress.

Did[858] pangs of grief for lenient time too keen, Grief that devouring waves had caused—or guilt[859] Which they had witnessed, sway[860] the man who built This Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen, Nought heard, of ocean troubled or serene? 5 A tired Ship-soldier[861] on paternal land, That o'er the channel holds august command, The dwelling raised,—a veteran Marine![862] He, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea[863] To shun the memory of a listless life 10 That hung between two callings. May no strife More hurtful here beset him, doomed though free, Self-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky!

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. 5 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, 10 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.

Broken in fortune, but in mind entire And sound in principle, I seek repose Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose,[867] In ruin beautiful. When vain desire Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire 5 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.[868] And when I note The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams 10 Of sunset ever there,[869] albeit streams[870] 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!"

Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound (Still marked with green turf circles narrowing[871] Stage above stage)[872] would sit this Island's King, The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned; While, compassing the little mount around,[873] 5 Degrees and Orders stood, each under each: Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach,[874] The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found. Off with yon cloud,[875] old Snafell![876] that thine eye Over three Realms may take its widest range; 10 And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy, If the whole State must suffer mortal change, Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty.

Despond who will—I heard a voice exclaim, "Though fierce the assault, and shatter'd the defence,[877] It cannot be that Britain's social frame, The glorious work of time and providence, Before a flying season's rash pretence,[878] 5 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,[879] 10 That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone: Then laugh, ye innocent Vales! ye Streams, sweep on, Nor let one billow of our heaven-blest Isle[880] Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume."

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,[882] 5 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 10 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[883] transient Shows.

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? 5 That he might fly, where no one could pursue, From this dull Monster and her sooty crew; And, as[885] a God, light on thy topmost cliff. Impotent wish! which reason would despise If the mind knew no union of extremes, 10 No natural bond between the boldest schemes Ambition frames, and heart-humilities.[886] Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies, And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams.

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 5 Of art mosaic, in a roofless floor,[887] An Eagle with stretched wings, but beamless eye— An Eagle that could neither wail nor soar. Effigy[888] of the Vanished[889]—(shall I dare To call thee so?) or symbol of fierce deeds 10 And of the towering courage which past times Rejoiced in—take, whate'er thou be, a share,[890] Not undeserved, of the memorial rhymes That animate my way where'er it leads!

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 5 He dwells, and hears indignant tempests howl, Kennelled and chained. Ye tame domestic fowl,[891] 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; 10 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.

or strayed From hope and promise, self-betrayed,

Oft have I caught, upon a fitful breeze,[895] 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 5 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. 10 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 15 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, 20 Albeit shattered and impaired) Subsist thy dignity to guard, In concert with memorial claim Of old grey stone, and high-born name That cleaves to rock or pillared cave 25 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! 30 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 35 Into the land of mystery. No tongue is able to rehearse One measure, Orpheus! of thy verse;[896] Musæus, stationed with his lyre Supreme among the Elysian quire, 40 Is, for the dwellers upon earth Mute as a lark ere morning's birth,[897] Why grieve for these, though past away The music, and extinct the lay? When thousands, by severer doom, 45 Full early to the silent tomb Have sunk, at Nature's call; or strayed From hope and promise, self-betrayed; The garland withering on their brows; Stung with remorse for broken vows; 50 Frantic—else how might they rejoice? And friendless, by their own sad choice! Hail, Bards of mightier grasp! on you I chiefly call, the chosen Few, Who cast-not off the acknowledged guide, 55 Who faltered not, nor turned aside; Whose lofty genius could survive Privation, under sorrow thrive; In whom the fiery Muse revered The symbol of a snow-white beard, 60 Bedewed with meditative tears Dropped from the lenient cloud of years. Brothers in soul! though distant times Produced you nursed in various climes, Ye, when the orb of life had waned, 65 A plenitude of love retained: Hence, while in you each sad regret By corresponding hope was met, Ye lingered among human kind, Sweet voices for the passing wind; 70 Departing sunbeams, loth to stop, Though smiling on the last hill top![898] Such to the tender-hearted maid Even ere her joys begin to fade; Such, haply, to the rugged chief 75 By fortune crushed, or tamed by grief; Appears, on Morven's lonely shore, Dim-gleaming through imperfect lore, The Son of Fingal; such was blind Mæonides of ampler mind;[899] 80 Such Milton, to the fountain head Of glory by Urania led!

We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd, Not one of us has felt the far-famed sight; How could we feel it? each the other's blight, Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud. O for those motions only that invite 5 The Ghost of Fingal to his tuneful Cave By the breeze entered, and wave after wave Softly embosoming the timid light! And by one Votary who at will might stand Gazing, and take into his mind and heart, 10 With undistracted reverence, the effect Of those proportions where the almighty hand That made the worlds, the sovereign Architect, Has deigned to work as if with human Art![901]

Thanks for the lessons of this Spot—fit school For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign Mechanic laws to agency divine; And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule, 5 Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed,[904] Might seem designed to humble man, when proud Of his best workmanship by plan and tool. Down-bearing with his whole Atlantic weight Of tide and tempest on the Structure's base, 10 And flashing to that Structure's topmost height,[905] Ocean has proved its strength, and of its grace In calms is conscious,[906] finding for his freight Of softest music some responsive place.

Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims In every cell of Fingal's mystic Grot, Where are ye? Driven or venturing to the spot, Our fathers glimpses caught of your thin Frames, And, by your mien and bearing, knew your names; 5 And they could hear his ghostly song who trod Earth, till the flesh lay on him like a load, While he struck his desolate harp without hopes or aims. Vanished ye are, but subject to recal; Why keep we else the instincts whose dread law 10 Ruled here of yore, till what men felt they saw, Not by black arts but magic natural! If eyes be still sworn vassals of belief, Yon light shapes forth a Bard, that shade a Chief.

Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer![907] Ye fresh Flowers that brave What Summer here escapes not, the fierce wave, And whole artillery of the western blast, Battering the Temple's front, its long-drawn nave 5 Smiting, as if each moment were their last. But ye, bright Flowers, on frieze and architrave Survive,[908] and once again the Pile stands fast; Calm as the Universe, from specular towers Of heaven contemplated by Spirits pure 10 With mute astonishment, it stands sustained Through every part in symmetry, to endure,[909] Unhurt, the assault of Time with all his hours, As the supreme Artificer ordained.[910]

On to Iona!—What can she afford To us save matter for a thoughtful sigh, Heaved over ruin with stability In urgent contrast? To diffuse the Word (Thy Paramount, mighty Nature! and Time's Lord) Her Temples rose,[912] 'mid pagan gloom; but why, 6 Even for a moment, has our verse deplored Their wrongs, since they fulfilled their destiny? And when, subjected to a common doom Of mutability, those far-famed Piles 10 Shall disappear from both the sister Isles, Iona's Saints, forgetting not past days, Garlands shall wear of amaranthine bloom, While heaven's vast sea of voices chants their praise.

How sad a welcome! To each voyager[913] Some ragged child holds up for sale a store[914] Of wave-worn pebbles, pleading on the shore[915] Where once came monk and nun with gentle stir, Blessings to give, news ask, or suit prefer. 5 Yet is[916] yon neat trim church[917] a grateful speck Of novelty amid the sacred wreck Strewn far and wide. Think, proud Philosopher![918] Fallen though she be, this Glory of the west,[919] Still on her sons, the beams of mercy shine; 10 And "hopes, perhaps more heavenly bright than thine, A grace by thee unsought and unpossest, A faith more fixed, a rapture more divine, Shall gild their passage to eternal rest."[920]

Here on their knees men swore; the stones were black,[924] Black in the people's minds and words,[925] yet they Were at that time, as now, in colour grey. But what is colour, if upon the rack Of conscience souls are placed by deeds that lack 5 Concord with oaths? What differ night and day Then, when before the Perjured on his way Hell opens, and the heavens in vengeance crack Above his head uplifted in vain prayer To Saint, or Fiend,[926] or to the Godhead whom 10 He had insulted—Peasant, King, or Thane? Fly where the culprit may, guilt meets a doom; And, from invisible worlds at need laid bare, Come links for social order's awful chain.

Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell, Where Christian piety's soul-cheering spark (Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark Of time) shone like the morning-star, farewell!— And fare thee well, to Fancy visible, 5 Remote St. Kilda, lone and loved sea-mark[927] For many a voyage made in her swift bark,[928] When with more hues than in the rainbow dwell Thou a mysterious intercourse dost hold, Extracting from clear skies and air serene, 10 And out of sun-bright waves, a lucid veil, That thickens, spreads, and, mingling fold with fold, Makes known, when thou no longer canst be seen, Thy whereabout, to warn the approaching sail.

We have not passed into a doleful City, We who were led to-day down a grim dell, By some too boldly named "the Jaws of Hell:"[930] Where be the wretched ones, the sights for pity? These crowded streets resound no plaintive ditty:— 5 As from the hive where bees in summer dwell, Sorrow seems here excluded; and that knell, It neither damps the gay, nor checks the witty. Alas! too busy Rival of old Tyre,[931] Whose merchants Princes were, whose decks were thrones; Soon may the punctual sea in vain respire 11 To serve thy need, in union with that Clyde Whose nursling current brawls o'er mossy stones,[932] The poor, the lonely, herdsman's joy and pride.

"There!" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, "Is Mosgiel Farm; and that's the very field Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy."[933] Far and wide A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried 5 Above sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose; And, by that simple notice, the repose Of earth, sky, sea, and air, was vivified. Beneath "the random bield of clod or stone" Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower 10 Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the One That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.

["Nature gives thee flowers That have no rivals among British bowers."

Eden! till now thy beauty had I viewed By glimpses only, and confess with shame That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood, Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name:[934] Yet fetched from Paradise[935] that honour came, 5 Rightfully borne; for Nature gives thee flowers That have no rivals among British bowers; And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame.[936] Measuring thy course, fair Stream! at length I pay[937] To my life's neighbour dues of neighbourhood; 10 But I have traced thee on thy winding way[938] With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained For things far off we toil, while many a good[939] Not sought, because too near, is never gained.[940]

Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies dead Her new-born Babe; dire ending[941] of bright hope! But Sculpture here, with the divinest scope Of luminous faith, heavenward hath raised that head So patiently; and through one hand has spread 5 A touch so tender for the insensate Child— (Earth's lingering love to parting reconciled, Brief parting, for the spirit is all but fled)— That we, who contemplate the turns of life Through this still medium, are consoled and cheered; Feel with the Mother, think the severed Wife 11 Is less to be lamented than revered; And own that Art, triumphant over strife And pain, hath powers to Eternity endeared.

Tranquillity! the sovereign aim wert thou In heathen schools of philosophic lore;[943] Heart-stricken by stern destiny of yore The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow; And what of hope Elysium could allow 5 Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore Peace to the Mourner. But when He who wore[944] The crown of thorns around his bleeding brow Warmed our sad being with celestial light,[945] Then Arts which still had drawn a softening grace 10 From shadowy fountains of the Infinite, Communed with that Idea face to face: And move around it now as planets run, Each in its orbit round the central Sun.

The floods are roused, and will not soon be weary; Down from the Pennine Alps[947] how fiercely sweeps Croglin, the stately Eden's tributary![948] He raves, or through some moody passage creeps Plotting new mischief—out again he leaps 5 Into broad light, and sends, through regions airy,[949] That voice which soothed the Nuns while on the steeps They knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary.[950] That union ceased: then, cleaving easy walks Through crags, and smoothing paths beset with danger, Came studious Taste; and many a pensive stranger 11 Dreams on the banks, and to the river talks. What change shall happen next to Nunnery Dell?[951] Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway, tell![952]

Motions and Means, on land and sea[954] at war With old poetic feeling, not for this, Shall ye, by Poets even, be judged amiss! Nor shall your presence, howsoe'er it mar The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar 5 To the Mind's gaining that prophetic sense Of future change, that point of vision, whence May be discovered what in soul ye are. In spite of all that beauty may disown In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace 10 Her lawful offspring in Man's art; and Time, Pleased with your triumphs o'er his brother Space, Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime.[955]

A weight of awe, not easy to be borne, Fell suddenly upon my Spirit—cast From the dread bosom of the unknown past, When first I saw that family forlorn.[957] Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn[958] The power of years—pre-eminent, and placed 6 Apart, to overlook the circle vast— Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night; Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud; 10 At whose behest uprose on British ground That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite The inviolable God, that tames the proud![959][960]

Lowther! in thy majestic Pile are seen[962] Cathedral pomp and grace, in apt accord[963] With the baronial castle's sterner mien;[964] Union significant of God adored, And charters won and guarded by the sword 5 Of ancient honour; whence that goodly state Of polity which wise men venerate,[965] And will maintain, if God his help afford. Hourly the democratic torrent swells;[966] For airy promises and hopes suborned 10 The strength of backward-looking thoughts is scorned. Fall if ye must, ye Towers and Pinnacles, With what ye symbolise; authentic Story Will say, Ye disappeared with England's Glory!

Lonsdale! it were unworthy of a Guest, Whose heart with gratitude to thee inclines, If he should speak, by fancy touched, of signs On thy Abode harmoniously imprest, Yet be unmoved with wishes to attest 5 How in thy mind and moral frame agree Fortitude, and that Christian Charity Which, filling, consecrates the human breast. And if the Motto on thy 'scutcheon teach With truth, "The Magistracy shows the Man;" That searching test thy public course has stood;[967] 11 As will be owned alike by bad and good, Soon as the measuring of life's little span Shall place thy virtues out of Envy's reach.[968]

List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower[970][971] At eve; how softly then Doth Aira-force, that torrent hoarse, Speak from the woody glen![972] Fit music for a solemn vale! 5 And holier seems the ground[973] To him who catches[974] on the gale The spirit of a mournful tale, Embodied in the sound. Not far from that fair site whereon 10 The Pleasure-house is reared, As story says, in antique days A stern-brow'd house appeared; Foil to a Jewel rich in light There set, and guarded well; 15 Cage for a Bird of plumage bright, Sweet-voiced, nor wishing for a flight Beyond her native dell. To win this bright Bird from her cage, To make this Gem their own, 20 Came Barons bold, with store of gold, And Knights of high renown; But one She prized, and only one; Sir Eglamore was he; Full happy season, when was known, 25 Ye Dales and Hills! to you alone Their mutual loyalty—[975] Known chiefly, Aira! to thy glen, Thy brook, and bowers of holly; Where Passion caught what Nature taught, 30 That all but love is folly; Where Fact with Fancy stooped to play; Doubt came not, nor regret— To trouble hours that winged their way, As if through an immortal day 35 Whose sun could never set. But in old times[976] Love dwelt not long Sequester'd with repose; Best throve the fire of chaste desire, Fanned by the breath of foes. 40 "A conquering lance is beauty's test, And proves the Lover true;" So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed The drooping Emma[977] to his breast, And looked a blind adieu. 45 They parted.—Well with him it fared Through wide-spread regions errant; A knight of proof in love's behoof, The thirst of fame his warrant: And She her happiness[978] can build 50 On woman's quiet hours; Though faint, compared with spear and shield, The solace beads and masses yield, And needlework and flowers. Yet blest was Emma[979] when she heard 55 Her Champion's praise recounted; Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim, And high her blushes mounted; Or when a bold heroic lay She warbled from full heart; 60 Delightful blossoms for the May Of absence! but they will not stay, Born only to depart. Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills Whatever path he chooses; 65 As if his orb, that owns no curb, Received the light hers loses. He comes not back; an ampler space Requires for nobler deeds; He ranges on from place to place, 70 Till of his doings is no trace, But what her fancy breeds. His fame may spread, but in the past Her spirit finds its centre; Clear sight She has of what he was, 75 And that would now content her. "Still is he my devoted Knight?" The tear in answer flows; Month falls on month with heavier weight; Day sickens round her, and the night 80 Is empty of repose. In sleep She sometimes walked abroad, Deep sighs with quick words blending, Like that pale Queen whose hands are seen With fancied spots contending;[980] 85 But she is innocent of blood,— The moon is not more pure That shines aloft, while through the wood She thrids her way, the sounding Flood Her melancholy lure! 90 While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe, And owls alone are waking, In white arrayed, glides on the Maid The downward pathway taking, That leads her to the torrent's side 95 And to a holly bower; By whom on this still night descried? By whom in that lone place espied? By thee, Sir Eglamore![981] A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight, 100 His coming step has thwarted, Beneath the boughs that heard their vows, Within whose shade they parted. Hush, hush, the busy Sleeper see! Perplexed her fingers seem, 105 As if they from the holly tree Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly Flung from her to the stream. What means the Spectre? Why intent To violate the Tree, 110 Thought Eglamore, by which I swore Unfading constancy? Here am I, and to-morrow's sun, To her I left, shall prove That bliss is ne'er so surely won 115 As when a circuit has been run Of valour, truth, and love. So from the spot whereon he stood, He moved with stealthy pace; And, drawing nigh, with his living eye,[982] 120 He recognised the face; And whispers caught, and speeches small, Some to the green-leaved tree, Some muttered to the torrent-fall;— "Roar on, and bring him with thy call; 125 I heard, and so may He!" Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew If Emma's Ghost[983] it were, Or boding Shade, or if the Maid Her very self stood there. 130 He touched; what followed who shall tell? The soft touch snapped the thread Of slumber—shrieking back she fell, And the Stream whirled her down the dell Along its foaming bed. 135 In plunged the Knight!—when on firm ground The rescued Maiden lay, Her eyes grew bright with blissful light, Confusion passed away; She heard, ere to the throne of grace 140 Her faithful Spirit flew, His voice—beheld his speaking face; And, dying, from his own embrace, She felt that he was true. So was he reconciled to life: 145 Brief words may speak the rest;[984] Within the dell he built a cell, And there was Sorrow's guest; In hermits' weeds repose he found, From vain temptations[985] free;[986] 150 Beside the torrent dwelling—bound By one deep heart-controlling sound, And awed to piety. Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course, Nor fear memorial lays, 155 Where clouds that spread in solemn shade, Are edged with golden rays! Dear art thou to the light of heaven, Though minister of sorrow; Sweet is thy voice at pensive even; 160 And thou, in lovers' hearts forgiven, Shalt take thy place with Yarrow!

Not in the mines beyond the western main, You say, Cordelia,[988] was the metal sought, Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought Into this flexible yet faithful Chain; Nor is it silver of romantic Spain 5 But from our loved Helvellyn's[989] depths was brought, Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought Mix strangely; trifles light, and partly vain, Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being: Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound 10 (Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord, What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing, Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord, For precious tremblings in your bosom found!

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies[991] Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 5 The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone.[992] If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: 10 With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay.