XIII. NEAR THE SPRING OF THE HERMITAGE. IV. TROUBLED long with warring notions, What avails the kindly shelter Parching Summer hath no warrant Thus, dishonouring not her station, XIV. V. Nor seldom, clad in radiant vest, 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 outspread, But Thou art true, incarnate Lord, I bent before thy gracious throne, XV. FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT-WATER, IF thou in the dear love of some one Friend Hast been so happy that thou know'st what thoughts Will sometimes in the happiness of love Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones, The desolate ruins of St. Herbert's Cell. Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof After long exercise in social cares And offices humane, intent to adore The Deity, with undistracted mind, A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A CHILD. 1800. SMALL service is true service while it lasts; 1834. LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF THE COUNTESS OF LONSDALE. NOV. 5, 1834. LADY! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard, And feeling, suited to the place and time That gave them birth:-months passed, and still this hand, Whether he shine on them or not; and some, Where'er he moves along the unclouded sky, Turn a broad front full on his flattering beams: |