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Thy fate 't is easy to foreshow,
LINES WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF
CELEBRATED BY COWPER. *
This sole survivor of a race
A thousand years are like a day,
* See Hayley's "Letters and Life of W. Cowper, Exq.'
But mournful Cowper, wandering nigh,
ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.
HIGHER, higher will we climb
Up the mount of glory, That our names may live through time
In our country's story; Happy, when our welfare calls, He who conquers, he who falls. Deeper, deeper let us toil
In the mines of knowledge; Nature's wealth and learning's spoil
Win from school or college; Delve we there for richer gems Than the stars of diadems. Onward, onward may we press
Through the path of duty;
Excellence true beauty.
Hearts and hands together,
In the wildest weather:
THE PEAK MOUNTAINS.
IN TWO PARTS.
Written at Buxton, in August, 1812.
It may be useful to remark, that the scenery in the neighbourhood of Buxton, when
surveyed from any of the surrounding eminences, consists chiefly of numerous and naked hills, of which many are yet unenclosed, and the rest poorly cultivated; the whole district, except in the immediate precincts of the Baths and the village of Fairfield, being miserably bare of both trees and houses.
HEALTH on these open hills I seek,
By these delicious springs, in vain;
Shall never bloom again;
Than sorrow torn away,
Falls to decay.
Restless and fluttering to expire,
Life's vapour sheds a cold dim light,
Amidst the murky night,
To follow, o'er the heath,
To snares of death.
A dreary torpor numbs my brain;
Now shivering pale,-now flushed with heat;
Unequal pulses beat;
Anon it seems to sink;
From shadows shrink.
Bear me, my failing limbs! Oh, bear
A melancholy sufferer forth,
To view the prospect, waste and wild,
Tempestuous or serene,
The mother's mien.
Ah! who can look on Nature's face,
And feel unholy passions move? Her forms of majesty and grace
I cannot choose but love:
Care and repining cease;
My thoughts to peace.
Already through mine inmost soul,
A deep tranquillity I feel,
Her consolations steal;
Jarring 'midst doubts and fears,
Delight in tears.
I quit the path, and track with toil
The mountain's unfrequented maze; Deep moss and heather clothe the soil,
And many a springlet plays,
Down rugged dells is tost,
The flocks and herds, that freely range
These moorlands, turn a jealous eye,
To watch me stealing by;
The colt comes boldly on:
Starts, and is gone.
I seek the valley :--all alone
I seem in this sequestered place;-Not so; I meet, unseen yet known, My Maker face to face;
My heart perceives His presence nigh,
And hears His voice proclaim, While bright His glory passes by,
His noblest name.
LOVE is that name,--for God is LOVE!
Here, where, unbuilt by mortal hands, Mountains below and heaven above,
His awful Temple stands, I worship :-“ LORD! though I am dust
And ashes in Thy sight, Be Thou my strength; in Thee I trust;
Be Thou my light.”
Emerging from the caverned glen,
From steep to steep I slowly climb,
I tread in air sublime;
Yet higher crags impend,
And rills descend.
Now on the ridges bare and bleak,
Cool round my temples sighs the gale; Ye winds! that wander o'er the Peak,
Ye mountain spirits ! hail ! Angels of health! to man below
Ye bring celestial airs;
Our praise and prayers.
I take my proud and dizzy stand;
Look down upon the land: Oh for the eagle's eye to gaze
Undazzled through this light! Oh for the eagle's wings to raise O’er all my flight!