Volume 8 — 1844

So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive, Would that the little Flowers were born to live, Conscious of half the pleasure which they give; That to this mountain-daisy’s self were known[272] The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown 5 On the smooth surface of this[273] naked stone! And what if hence a bold desire should mount High as the Sun, that he could take account Of all that issues from his glorious fount! So might he ken how by his sovereign aid 10 These delicate companionships are made; And how he rules the pomp of light and shade; And were the Sister-power that shines by night So privileged, what a countenance of delight Would through the clouds break forth on human sight! 15 Fond fancies! wheresoe’er shall turn thine eye On earth, air, ocean, or the starry sky, Converse with Nature in pure sympathy;[274] All vain desires, all lawless wishes quelled, Be Thou to love and praise alike impelled, 20 Whatever boon is granted or withheld.[275][276]

Is then no nook of English ground secure From rash assault?[278] Schemes of retirement sown In youth, and ’mid the busy world kept pure As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown, Must perish;—how can they this blight endure? 5 And must he too the ruthless change bemoan Who scorns a false utilitarian lure ’Mid his paternal fields at random thrown? Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from Orrest-head[279] Given to the pausing traveller’s rapturous glance: 10 Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance Of nature; and, if human hearts be dead, Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your strong And constant voice, protest against the wrong. October 12th, 1844.

Proud were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old, Your patriot sons, to stem invasive war, Intrenched your brows; ye gloried in each scar: Now, for your shame, a Power, the Thirst of Gold, That rules o’er Britain like a baneful star, 5 Wills that your peace, your beauty, shall be sold, And clear way made for her triumphal car Through the beloved retreats your arms enfold! Heard YE that Whistle? As her long-linked Train Swept onwards, did the vision cross your view? 10 Yes, ye were startled;—and, in balance true, Weighing the mischief with the promised gain, Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on you To share the passion of a just disdain.

A CRY FROM DERWENTWATER Shall then the stream of ruinous Lodore Not fill the valley with its changeful sound Unchallenged! shall grey Derwent’s sacred bound Hear the harsh brawl and intermittent roar Of mocking waves upon an iron shore, Whereby nor health nor happiness is found!— While steam-wains drag from Honister’s heart wound The long cooled ashes of its fiery core! Burst forth ye sulphurous fountains, as ye broke On Skiddaw, lick the waters, blast the trees, And let men have the earth they would desire,— As well go pass our children through the fire With shrieks, Cath-Belus, round thine altar’s smoke, As let old Derwent hear such sounds as these. H.D. Rawnsley. Wray Vicarage, Ambleside.

Here, where, of havoc tired and rash undoing, Man left this Structure to become Time’s prey A soothing spirit follows in the way That Nature takes, her counter-work pursuing. See how her Ivy clasps the sacred Ruin[281] 5 Fall to prevent or beautify decay; And, on the mouldered walls, how bright, how gay, The flowers in pearly dews their bloom renewing! Thanks to the place, blessings upon the hour; Even as I speak the rising Sun’s first smile 10 Gleams on the grass-crowned top of yon tall Tower[282] Whose cawing occupants with joy proclaim Prescriptive title to the shattered pile Where, Cavendish,[283] thine seems nothing but a name!