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Gives to that rapture an accordant Rhyme.
O suffering Earth! be thankful ; sternest clime
And rudest age are subject to the thrill
Of heaven-descended Piety and Song.
The turbaned Race are poured in thickening swarms
Along the west ; though driven from Aquitaine,
The Crescent glitters on the towers of Spain;
And soft Italia feels renewed alarms;
The scimitar, that yields not to the charms
Of ease, the narrow Bosphorus will disdain ;
Nor long (that crossed) would Grecian hills detain
Their tents, and check the current of their arms.
Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever
Known to the moral world, Imagination,
Upheave, so seems it, from her natural station
All Christendom :-they sweep along (was never
So huge a host !)—to tear from the Unbeliever
The precious Tomb, their haven of salvation !
RECORD we too, with just and faithful pen,
That many hooded Cenobites there are,
Who in their private cells have yet a care
Of public quiet ; unambitious Men,
Counsellors for the world, of piercing ken;
Whose fervent exhortations from afar
Move Princes to their duty, peace or war;
And oft-times in the most forbidding den
Of solitude, with love of science strong,
How patiently the yoke of thought they bear;
How subtly glide its finest threads along !
Spirits that crowd the intellectual sphere
With mazy boundaries, as the astronomer
With orb and cycle girds the starry throng.
ON LEAVING SCHOOL.
DEAR native regions, I foretell,
From what I feel at this farewell,
That wheresoe'er my steps shall tend,
And wheresoe'er my course shall end,
If in that hour a single tie
Survive of local sympathy,
My soul will cast the backward view,
The longing look alone on you :
Thus when the sun, prepared for rest,
Hath gain'd the precincts of the west,
Though his departing radiance fail
To illuminate the hollow vale,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.
STEAMBOATS, VIADUCTS, AND RAILWAYS.
Motions and means on land and sea, 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
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
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.
They call 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
To the heart's fond belief; though some there are
Whose sterner judgments deem that word a snare
For unattentive Fancy, like the lime
Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask,
This face of rural beauty be a mask
For discontent, and poverty, and crime ;
These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will ?
Forbid it, Heaven !—and Merry England still
Shall be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme !
BY WORDSWORTH. “ 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." Far and wide A plain below stretched seaward, while descried 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 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.
ODE TO DUTY.
STERN Daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
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 humanity!
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: Oh! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around
them cast. 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 they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed ; Yet find thy firm support, 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: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, If I may. Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought: