Nor in one clime we oped the infant eye
To the blank light of yet unmeaning day ;
Nor in one language timely taught to pray,
Did we lisp out the babies' liturgy.
But even then, we both alike did sing
Our joys and sorrows in the self-same way,
Instinct the same sweet native tune did play,
From laugh to smile, from sob to chasten'd sigh,
Our tutor❜d spirits were alike subdued.
What wonder, then, if, meeting in this isle,
We eke imperfect speech with sigh and smile,
The catholic speech of infancy renew'd.
True love is still a child, and then most true
When most it talks, and does as children do.
Two nations are there of one common stock;
One in the heart of Europe fortified,
The other freshen'd by the daily tide
Shaping from age to age her bulwark rock.
Two faithful members of the holy flock,
In the most holy bond of love allied,
Unite the valour, worth, and selfless pride
Of two great kindreds, like a braided lock-
A braided lock, I've seen-so nicely braided,
With softest interchange of brown and gold,
Each into each so exquisitely shaded,
That they were ever twain could not be told.
E'en so for thee, sweet daughter of my friend,
May Albion and Allmain their virtues blend.
RIGHT merry lass, thy overweening joy
Turns an old man into a merry boy.
One hour with thee pays off the long arrears,
The heavy debt of almost fifty years.
Oft have I view'd that lake so beautiful,
And felt its quiet power, benign, to lull
The inward being to a soft repose ;
Patient, yet not forgetful of the woes
That are the heritage of mortal breath,
As if one note divided life and death.
But thou, sweet maid, with ready mirth dost fill
The wide survey of water, wood, and hill.
I feel a pulse of pleasure newly born,
And scarce believe that "man was made to mourn.”
THE Church is holy still, and consecrate
To mute attention and meek whispering prayer,
Though he,the mighty voice, no more is there,
That gave the high roof a religious weight,
And the tall shaft upraised with hope elate,
And hallow'd all the holy well of air.
With duteous footstep to the church repair
Where lies the good, the kind, the wise, the great.
Old Skiddaw stands upon his base so long,
And Wallow Crag is yet a bastion proud,
And rough Lodore with thunder-rain is loud,
And Greta murmurs yet her ancient song.
Revere the vale, where SOUTHEY's corpse is laid,
Nor fear to pray-where he so long has pray'd.
EDWARD-CHILD AND MAN.
I SAW thee, Edward, when thy baby cries
Sounded in mother's ears a swift alarm;
I saw thee cradled on thy father's arm,
When he, with many smiles and many sighs,
Guess'd in the quick gleam of thy new wak'd eyes
The inward stirrings, not matured to thought,
Not broken to the curb of must and ought,
And yet instinct with all thy destinies.
I see thee now a far experienced man,
Who from late boyhood to the rear of youth
Hast seen in many lands new forms of truth,
And haply learned with foreign eye to scan
Old England's faults; yet dost thou fondly love her,
And with a true friend's boldness, dost reprove her.
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