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The lintwhites sing in chorus; There's pleasant Teviotdale, a land

"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn Mill meadow;
The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake

Float double, swan and shadow!
We will not see them; will not go .

Made blithe with plough and harrow: Why throw away a needful day

To go in search of Yarrow?

My true-love sighed for sorrow, And looked me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow!

"What's Yarrow but a river bare,

That glides the dark hills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder."

- Strange words they seemed of slight

and scorn;

To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.

"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us;

And Dryburgh, where with chiming ON A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE IN

Tweed

A STORM.

PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.

I WAS thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile!

Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee:

"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!
It must, or we shall rue it :
We have a vision of our own;

Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past,
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow!
For when we're there, although 't is fair,
'T will be another Yarrow!

"If care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,
Should we be loath to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;

Should life be dull, and spirits low,
"T will soothe us in our sorrow
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!"

I saw thee every day; and all the while
Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea.

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air!
So like, so very like, was day to day!
Whene'er I looked, thy image still was
there;

It trembled, but it never passed away.

How perfect was the calm! It seemed | That_hulk which labors in the deadly no sleep,

No mood, which season takes away, or
brings :

I could have fancied that the mighty
Deep

Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.

Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand

To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,

The light that never was on sea or land,
The consecration, and the poet's dream,

I would have planted thee, thou hoary
pile,

Amid a world how different from this!
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.

A picture had it been of lasting ease,
Elysian quiet, without toil or strife;
No motion but the moving tide, a breeze;
Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such picture would I at that time have made;

And seen the soul of truth in every part, A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed.

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Not for a moment could I now behold
A smiling sea, and be what I have been:
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be
old;
This, which I know, I speak with mind

serene.

Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would
have been the friend,
If he had lived, of him whom I deplore,
This work of thine I blame not, but com-
mend;

This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.

swell,

This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!

O, 't is a passionate work!-yet wise and well,

Well chosen is the spirit that is here;

And this huge castle, standing here sublime,

I

love to see the look with which it

braves

Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone,

Housed in a dream, at distance from the kind!

ODE TO DUTY.

STERN daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love,

more;

I have submitted to a new control:

So once it would have been, 't is so no Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe,
From vain temptations dost set free,
And calm'st the weary strife of frail hu-
manity!

A power is gone, which nothing can

restore;

A deep distress hath humanized my soul.

Such happiness, wherever it be known,
Is to be pitied; for 't is surely blind.

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne !

Such sights, or worse, as are before me here:

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
May joy be theirs while life shall last!
And thou, if they should totter, teach
them to stand fast!

Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And blest are they who in the main
This faith, even now, do entertain:

Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet find that other strength, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried,
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust;
Full oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task imposed, from day to day;
But thee I now would serve more strict-
ly, if I may.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance desires:
My hopes no more must change their

name,

I long for a repose which ever is the same.

Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees,

And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face.
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,
And the most ancient heavens, through
thee, are fresh and strong.

Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay,

And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:

So do not let me wear to-night away: Without thee what is all the morning's wealth?

Come, blesséd barrier between day and day,

Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

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THE WORLD.

THE world is too much with us; late and

soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our

TO SLEEP.

A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds
and seas,

Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;

;

I've thought of all by turns, and still I
lie
Sleepless; and soon the small birds'
melodies

powers:

Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This sea that bares her bosom to the moon,

The

winds that will be howling at all hours

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, For this, for everything, we are out of

tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be

A

pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn,

Have sight of Proteus coming from the

sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathéd horn.

TO THE RIVER DUDDON.

I THOUGHT of thee, my partner and my guide,

As being passed away, —vain sympathies!

For backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,

I see what was, and is, and will abide: Still glides the stream, and shall forever glide;

The form remains, the function never

dies;

While we, the brave, the mighty, and | "O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in the wise,

war,

We men, who in our morn of youth Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord defied Lochinvar ?"

The elements, must vanish;-be it so! Enough, if something from our hands have power

To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,

Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,

We feel that we are greater than we know.

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"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied:

Love

swells like the Solway, but ebbs like

its tide!

And

now am I come, with this lost love of mine,

To lead but one measure, drink one cup

of wine!

There be maidens in Scotland more
lovely by far,

That would gladly be bride to the young
Lochinvar!"

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