A Power is passing from the earth That Man, who is from God sent forth, Such ebb and flow must ever be ; Then wherefore should we mourn? VIII. LINES WRITTEN, NOVEMBER 13, 1814, ON A BLANK LEAF IN A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEM "THE EXCURSION," UPON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF THE LATE VICAR OF KENDAL. To public notice, with reluctance strong, Yet for one happy issue ;- and I look With self-congratulation on the Book Which pious, learned MURFITT saw and read; Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed; He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart – Foreboding not how soon he must depart; Unweeting that to him the joy was given Which good Men take with them from Earth to Heaven. IX. ELEGIAC STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. I WAS thy Neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! So like, so very like, was day to day! How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep; Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, Το express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, The lustre, known to neither sea nor land, But borrowed from the youthful Poet's dream; I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; A Picture had it been of lasting ease, 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 faith, a trust, that could not be betrayed. So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humanized my Soul. Not for a moment could I now behold 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 commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O'tis a passionate Work! - yet wise and well; That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, X. TO THE DAISY. SWEET Flower! belike one day to have A place upon thy Poet's grave, I welcome thee once more : Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day His wish was gained: a little time Would bring him back in manhood's prime, And free for life, these hills to climb, With all his wants supplied. |