(LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE DERWENT, WORKINGTON.)
DEAR to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed,
The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore;
While to the throng that on the Cumbrian shore
Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed!
And like a Star (that, from a sombre cloud
Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts,
When a soft summer gale at evening parts
The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud)
She smiled; but Time, the old Saturnian Seer,
Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand,
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!
IN THE CHANNEL, BETWEEN THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND
AND THE ISLE OF MAN.
RANGING the heights of Scawfell or Black-comb,
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
Of all her peaks and ridges. 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
Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory
That satisfies the simple and the meek,
Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak
cope with Sages undevoutly free.
AT SEA, OFF THE ISLE OF MAN,
BOLD words affirmed, in days when faith was strong
And doubts and scruples seldom teazed the brain,
That no adventurer's bark had power to gain
These shores if he approached them bent on wrong;
For suddenly up-conjured from the Main,
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,
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
Truths 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,
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,
In progress toward the fount of Love,—the throne
Of Power whose ministers the records keep
Of periods fixed, and laws established, less
Flesh to exalt than prove its nothingness.
ON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY, ISLE OF MAN.
Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori,'
THE fendal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn,
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
This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence;
Blest work it is of love and innocence,
A Tower of refuge to the else forlorn.
Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner,
Struggling for life, into its saving arms!
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 *.
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