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Note 20, page 4, col. 1.
She tells of time misspent, of comfort lost,
or fair occasions gone for ever by ; Sweet bird : thy truth shall Haarlem's walls attest.
Or hopes too fondly nursed, too rudely cross'd,
of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die; During the siege of Haarlem, when that city was
For what, except th' instinctive fear reduced to the last extremity, and on the point of
Lest she survive, detains me here,
When "all the life of life" is fled ? opening its gates to a base and barbarous enemy, a
What, but the deep inherent dread, design was formed to relieve it; and the intelligence
Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign, was conveyed to the citizens by a letter which was And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign ? tied under the wing of a pigeon.—THUANUS, lib. lv.
Note 25, page 6, col. 1. c. 5.
Hast thou through Eden's wild-wood vales pursued. The same messenger was employed at the siege of Mutina, as we are informed by the elder Pliny.
On the road-side, between Penrith and Appleby, Hist. Nat. x, 37.
thero stands a small pillar with this inscription :
“ This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Note 21, page 4, col. 2.
Countess-Dowager of Pembroke, etc. for a memorial Hark! the bee, etc.
of her last parting, in this place, with her good and This little animal, from the extreme convexity of
pious mother, Margaret, Countess-Dowager of Cum.
berland, on the 2d of April, 1616; in memory whereher eye, cannot see many inches before her.
of she hath left an annuity of 41. to be distributed to Note 22, page 5, col. 1.
the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2d day
of April for ever, upon the stone-lable placed hard These still exist, etc.
by. Laus Deo!" There is a future Existence even in this world, an| The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, Existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall and rises in the wildest part of Westmoreland. live after us. It is in reserve for every man, how
Note 26, page 6, col. 1. ever obscure ; and his portion, is he be diligent, must
O'er his dead son the gallant Ormond sigh'd. be equal to his desires. For in whose remembrance
Ormond bore the loss with patience and dignity: can we wish to hold a place, but such as know, and are known by us? These are within the sphere of
thongh he ever retained a pleasing, however melan. our influence, and among these and their descend-/
choly, sense of the signal merit of Ossory. “I would
not exchange my dead son,” said he, “ for any living ants we may live evermore.
It is a state of rewards and punishments; and, like / son in Christendom."--HUME. that revealed to us in the Gospel, has the happiest..
The same sentiment is inscribed on Miss Dolman's
urn at the Leasowes. “Heu, quanto minus est cum influence on our lives. The latter excites us to gain the favor of God, the former to gain the love and rent
reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse!" esteem of wise and good men; and both lead to the
Note 27, page 6, col. 2. sime end; for, in framing our conceptions of the High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose. Deity, we only ascribe to Him exalted degrees of This bird is remarkable for his exultation during Wisdom and Goodness.
the spring. Note 23, page 5, col. 2.
Note 28, page 6, col. 2.
Derwent's clear mirror.
Keswick-Lake in Cumberland.
Note 29, page 7, col. 2. emplification of this idea. See the Rake's Progress,
Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove. plaie 8.
A small island covered with trees, among which
were formerly the ruins of a religious house.
Note 30, page 7, col. 2.
When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew. · The following stanzas are said to have been writ. In a lake surrounded with mountains, the agitaten on a blank leaf of this Poem. They present so tions are often violent and momentary. The winds affecting a reverse of the picture, that I cannot resist blow in gusts and eddies; and the water no sooner the opportunity of introducing them here.
swells, than it subsides.—See BOURN's Hist. of WestPleasures of Memory!-oh! supremely blest,
Note 31, page 7, col. 2.
To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere.
The several degrees of angels may probably have
| larger views, and some of them be endowed with Memory makes her influence known By sighs, and tears, and grief alone :
capacities able to retain together, and constantly set I greet her as the fiend, to whorn belong
before them, as in one picture, all their past knowThe vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral song. Tledge at once.-Locke.
1 Yet, all forgot, how oft the eye-lids close, Introduction-Ringing of bells in a neighboring Vil How oft, as dead, on the warm turf we lie,
And from the slack hand drops the gather'd rose! lage on the birth of an heir-General Reflections w
While many an emmet comes with curious eye; an Human Life-The Subject proposed —Child.
And on her nest the watchful wren sits by! bood-Youth-Manhood-Love Marriage-Do
Nor do we speak or move, or hear or see; mestic Happiness and Affliction—War—PeaceCivil Dissension-Retirement from active Life
So like what once we were, and once again shall be!
And say, how soon, where, blithe as innocent, Old Age and its Enjoyments—Conclusion.
The boy at sun-rise whistled as he went,
An aged pilgrim on his staff shall lean, Tas lark has sung his carol in the sky :
Tracing in vain the footsteps o'er the green; The bees have humm'd their noon-tide lullaby. The man himself how alter'd, not the scene! Still in the vale the village-bells ring round, Now journeying home with nothing but the name ; Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound :
Wayworn and spent, another and the same!
No eye observes the growth or the decay:
And we shall look to-morrow as to-day :
Yet while the loveliest smiles, her locks grow grey! A few short years and then these sounds shall hail And in her glass could she but see the face The day again, and gladness fill the vale;
She'll see so soon amidst another race, So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
How would she shrink-Returning from afar, Lager to run the race his fathers ran.
After some years of travel, some of war,
And such is Human Life, the general theme. 'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
Ah, what at best, what but a longer dream ? The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled, Though with such wild romantic wanderings fraught, ** T was on these knees he sate so oft and smiled." Such forms in Fancy's richest coloring wrought,
And soon again shall music swell the breeze; That, like the visions of a love-sick brain,
And all must follow, fearful as it is!
On, 't is decreed. We tremble and obey. While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
A thousand ills beset us as we go. Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
-“Still, could I shan the fatal gulf”-Ah, no, And once, alas, nor in a distant hour,
"Tis all in vain-the inexorable law!
We fly; no resting for the foot we find ; (2)
At length the brink appears—but one step more! I glimmers like a meteor, and is gone!
We faint-On, on we falter- and 't is o'er! Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange,
Yet here high passions, high desires unfold, As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change, Prompting to noblest deeds; here links of gold As any that the wandering tribes require,
Bind soul to soul; and thoughts divine inspire
That will not, cannot but with life expire!
Bom in a trance, we wake, observe, inquire; Now distant ages, like a day, explore, And the green earth, the azure sky admire.
And judge the act, the actor now no more ; Elfin-size--for ever as we run,
Or, in a thankless hour condemn'd to live,
From others claim what these refuse to give,
Through the dim curtains of Futurity.(3)
Behold hini now unbar the prison-door,
Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove, And, listing Guilt, Contagion from the floor, And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love! To Peace and Health, and Light and Life restore ; | But soon a nobler task demands her care. Now in Thermopyiæ remain to share
Apart she joins his little hands in prayer, Death nor look back, nor urn a footstep there, Telling of Him who sees in secret there Leaving his story to the birds of air;
And now the volume on her knee has caught And now like Pylades (in Heaven they write His wandering eye-now many a written thought Names such as his in characters of ligbt)
Never to die, with many a lisping sweet Jong with his friend in generous enmity,
His moving, murmuring lips endeavor to repeat. Pleading, insisting in his place to die!
Released, he chases the bright butterfly ; Do what he will, he cannot realize
Oh he would follow-follow through the sky! Half he conceives--the glorions vision fies.
Climbs the gaunt mastiff slumbering in his chain, Go where he may, he cannot hope to find
And chides and buffets, clinging by the mane; The truth, the beanty pictured in his mind.
Then runs, and, kneeling by the fountain-side, But if by chance an object strike the sense,
Sends his brave ship in triumph down the tide, The faintest shadow of that Excellence,
A dangerous voyage ; or, if now he can, Passions, that slept, are stirring in his trame;
If now he wears the habit of a man, Thoughts undefined, leelirgs without a name!
Flings off the coat so long his pride and pleasure, And some, not here call'd forth, may slumber on
And, like a miser digging for his treasure, Till this vain pageant of a world is gone;
His tiny spade in his own garden plies, Lying too deep for things that perish here,
And in green letters sees his name arise ! Waiting for life-but in a nobler sphere!
Where'er he goes, for ever in her sight,
She looks, and looks, and still with new delight! Look where he comes! Rejoicing in his birth, Awhile he moves as in a heaven on earth!
Ah who, when fading of itself away, Sun, moon, and stars the land, the sea, the sky
Would cloud the sunshine of his little day! To him shine out as 't were a galaxy!
Now is the May of Life. Careering round, But soon 't is past-the light has died away!
Joy wings his feet, Joy lifts him from the ground! With him it carne (it was not of the day)
Pointing to such, well might Cornelia say, And he himself diffused it, like the stone
When the rich casket shone in bright array,
* These are my Jewels !" (7) Well of such as he, That sheds awhile a lustre all its own, (4) Making night beautiful. "Tis past, 't is gone,
When Jesus spake, well might his language be. And in his darkness as he journeys on,
“Suffer these little ones to come to me!" (8) Nothing revives him but the blessed ray
Thoughtful by fits, he scans and he reveres That now breaks in, nor ever knows decay,
The brow engraven with the Thoughts of Years ; (9) Sent from a better world to light him on his way.
Close by her side his silent homage given
As to some pure Intelligence from Heaven; How great the Mystery! Let others sing
His eyes cast downward with ingenuous shame, The circling Year, the promise of the Spring,
His conscious cheeks, conscious of praise or blame, The Summer's glory, and the rich repose
At once lit up as with a holy flame! Of Autumn, and the Winter's silvery snows.
Hè thirsts for knowledge, speaks but to inquire ; Man through the changing scene let me pursue,
And soon with lears relinquish'd to the Sire, Himself how wondrous in his changes too!
Soon in his hand to Wisdom's temple led, Not Man, the sullen savage in his den;
Holds secret converse with the Mighty Dead; But Man call'd forth in fellowship with men ;
Trembles and thrills and weeps as they inspire, School'd and train'd up to Wisdom from his birth;(5) Burns as they burn, and with congenial fire! God's noblest work—His image upon earth!
Like Her most gentle, most unfortunate, (10) The hour arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd;(6) Crown'd but to die-who in her chamber sate The child is born, by many a pang endear'd.
Musing with Plato, though the horn was blown, And now the mother's ear has caught his cry; And every ear and every heart was won, Oh grant the cherub to her asking eye!
And all in green array were chasing down the sun! He comes she clasps him. To her bosom press'd, Then is the Age of Admiration (11)-Then He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest. Gods walk the earth, or beings more than men,
Her by her smile how soon the Stranger knows; Who breathe the soul of Inspiration round,
Ah, then comes thronging many a wild desire,
As in the Cave athwart the Wizard's glass;
And, with his beaver up, discovering there Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart; One who lov'd less to conquer than to spare,
Lo, the Black Warrior, he, who, battle-spent, “Am I awake? or is it-can it be
-That strain," she cries, “as from the water rose,
Comes forth and speaks and bids her lover stay. Scenes such as Milton sought, but sought in vain:(12) Still, like aèrial music heard from far, And Milton's self (13) (at that thrice-honored name Nightly it rises with the evening-star. Well may we glow--as men, we share his fame) -“She loves another! Love was in that sigh!" And Milton's self, apart with beaming eye, On the cold ground he throws himself to die. Planning he knows not what-that shall not die! Fond Youth, beware. Thy heart is most deceiving. Oh in thy truth secure, thy virtue bold,
Who wish are fearful; who suspect, believing. Beware the poison in the cup of gold,
—And soon her looks the rapturous truth avow The asp among the flowers. Thy heart beats high, Lovely before, oh, say how lovely now! (15) As bright and brighter breaks the distant sky! She flies not, frowns not, though he pleads his cause; But every step is on enchanted ground;
Nor yet-nor yet her hand from his withdraws; Danger thou lovest, and Danger haunts thee round. But by some secret Power surprised, subdued Who spurs his horse against the mountain-side ;
|(Ah how resist? Nor would she if she could), Then, plunging, slakes his fury in the tide ?
Falls on his neck as half unconscious where, Draws, and cries ho; and, where the sun-beams fall,
Glad to conceal her tears, her blushes there.
Then come those full confidings of the past; At his own shadow thrusts along the wall ?
All sunshine now where all was overcast.
Then do they wander till the day is gone,
Lost in each other; and when Night steals on, Glides in the moon-shine by a maiden's grave ?
Covering them round, how sweet her accents are ! Come hither, boy, and clear thy open brow:
Oh when she turns and speaks, her voice is far, Yon summer-clouds, now like the Alps, and now
Far above singing But soon nothing stirs A ship, a whale, change not so fast as thou.
To break the silence-Joy like his, like hers,
| Deals not in words : and now the shadows close, He hears me not—Those sighs were from the heart;
Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows Too, too well taught, he plays the lover's part.
Less and less earthly! As deparls the day He who at masques, nor feigning nor sincere,
All that was mortal seems to melt away, With sweet discourse would win a lady's ear,
Till, like a gift resumed as soon as given, Lie at her feet, and on her slipper swear
She fades at last into a Spirit from Heaven! That none were half so faultless, half so fair,
Then are they blest indeed ; and swift the hours Now through the forest hies, a stricken deer,
Till her young Sisters wreathe her hair in flowers, A banish'd man, flying when none are near;
Kindling her beauty-while, unseen, the least And writes on every tree, and lingers long
Twitches her robe, then runs behind the rest, Where most the nightingale repeats her song ;
Known by her laugh that will not be suppress'd. Where most the nymph, that haunts the silent grove,
| Then before All they stand—the holy vow Delights to syllable the names we love.
And ring of gold, no fond illusions now, Two on his steps attend, in motley clad;
Bind her as his. Across the threshold led, One woeful-wan, one merrier yet as mad;
And every tear kiss'd off as soon as shed, Called Hope and Fear. Hope shakes his capand bells, / His house she enters—there to be a light, And flowers spring up among the woodland dells. Shining within, when all without is night: To Hope he listens, wandering without measure
A guardian-angel o'er his life presiding, Through sun and shade, lost in a trance of pleasure; Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing: And, if to Fear but for a weary mile,
Winning him back, when mingling in the throng, Hope follows fast and wins him with a sinile.
Back from a world we love, alas, too long, At length he goes—a Pilgrim to the Shrine, To fire-side happiness, to hours of case, And for a relic would a world resign!
Blest with that charm, the certainty to please. A glove, a shoe-tie, or a flower let fall
How oft her eyes read his; her gentle mind What though the least, Love consecrates them all! To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined ; And now be breathes in many a plaintive verse; Still subject-ever on the watch to borrow Now wins the dull ear of the wily nurse
Mirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrow. At early matins ('t was at matin-time (14)
The soul of music slumbers in the shell, That first he saw and sicken'd in his prime), Till waked and kindled by the master's spell ; And soon the Sibyl, in her thirst for gold, And feeling hearts-touch them but rightly-pour Plays with young hearts that will not be controllid. A thousand melodies unheard before! (16)
Absence from Thee--as self from self it seems!” Nor many moons o'er hill and valley rise Scaled is the garden-wall! and lo, her beams | Ere to the gate with nymph-like stop she flies, Silvering the east, the moon comes up, revealing And their first-born holds forth, their darling boy, His well-known form along the terrace stealing. With smiles how sweet, how full of love and joy, -Oh, ere in sight he came, 't was his to thrill To meet him coming; theirs through every year A heart that loved him though in secret still. Pure transports, such as each to each endear!
And laughing eyes and laughing voices fill Whispers and sighs, and smiles all tenderness Their halls with gladness. She, when all are still, That would in vain the starting tear repress. Comes and undraws the curtain as they lie,
Such grief was ours-it seems but yesterdayIn sleep how beautiful! He, when the sky
When in thy prime, wishing so much to stay.
Oh thou wert lovely-lovely was thy frame, Break in upon a dream not half so fair,
And pure thy spirit as from Heaven it came ! Up to the hill-top leads their little feet;
And, when recall'd to join the blest above, Or by the forest-lodge, perchance to meet
Thou diedst a victim to exceeding love, The stag-herd on its march, perchance to hear
Nursing the young to health. In happier hours, The otter rustling in the sedgy mere ;
When idle Fancy wove luxuriant flowers, Or to the echo near the Abbot's tree,
Once in thy mirth thou bad'st me write on thee; That gave him back his words of pleasantry
And now I write—what thou shalt never see! When the House stood, no merrier man than he!
At length the Father, vain his power to save, And, as they wander with a keen delight,
Follows his child in silence to the grave, If but a leveret catch their quicker sight
(That child how cherish'd, whom he would not give, Down a green alley, or a squirrel then Climb the gnarld oak, and look and climb again,
Sleeping the sleep of death, for all that live! If but a moth flit by, an acorn fall,
Takes a last look, when, not unheard, the spade He turns their thoughts to Him who made them all;
Scatters the earth as “dust to dust" is said, These with unequal footsteps following fast,
Takes a last look and goes; his best relief
Consoling others in that hour of grief, These clinging by his cloak, unwilling to be last.
And with sweet tears and gentle words infusing The shepherd on Tornaro's misty brow, The holy calm that leads to heavenly musing. And the swart sea-man, sailing far below,
-But hark, the din of arms! no time for sorrow Not undelighted watch the morning ray
To horse, to horse! A day of blood to-morrow! Purpling the orient-till it breaks away,
One parting pang, and then—and then I fly, And burns and blazes into glorious day!,
Fly to the field, to triumph-or to die ! But happier still is he who bends to trace
He goes, and Night comes as it never came! (17) That sun, the soul, just dawning in the face;
With shrieks of horror and a vault of flame ! The burst, the glow, the animating strife,
And lo! when morning mocks the desolate, The thoughts and passions stirring into life;
Red runs the river by; and at the gate The forming utterance, the inquiring glance,
Breathless a horse without his rider stands ! The giant waking from his ten-fold trance,
But hush a shout from the victorious bands! Till up he starts as conscious whence he came,
And oh the smiles and tears, a sire restored ! And all is light within the trembling frame!
One wears his helm, one buckles on his sword; What then a Father's feelings? Joy and Fear One hangs the wall with laurel-leaves, and all Prevail in turn, Joy most; and through the year Spring to prepare the soldier's festival ; Tempering the ardent, urging night and day While She best-loved, till then forsaken never, Him who shrinks back or wanders from the way, Clings round his neck as she would cling for ever! Praising each highly-from a wish to raise
Such golden deeds lead on to golden days, Their merits to the level of his Praise.
Days of domestic peace-by him who plays Onward in their observing sight he moves, On the great stage how uneventful thought; Fearful of wrong, in awe of whom he loves ! Yet with a thousand busy projects fraught, Their sacred presence who shall dare profane?
A thousand incidents that stir the mind Who, when He slumbers, hope to fix a stain ?
To pleasure, such as leaves no sling behind!
Such as the heart delights in-and records
On the fresh herbage near the fountain-head
there Laughter within we hear, or wood-notes wild Scatters her loose notes on the sultry air, As of a mother singing to her child.
What time the king-fisher sits perch'd below, All now in anguish from that room retire,
Wherg, silver-bright, the water-lilies blow:Where a young cheek glows with consuming fire. A Wake-the booths whitening the village-green, And Innocence breathes contagion-all but one, Where Punch and Scaramouch aloft are seen; But she who gave it birth—from her alone Sign beyond sign in close array unfurl'd, The medicine-cup is taken. Through the night, Picturing at large the wonders of the world; And through the day, that with its dreary light And far and wide, over the vicar's pale, Comes unregarded, she sits silent by,
Black hoods and scarlet crossing hill and dale, Watching the changes with her anxious eye: All, all abroad, and music in the gale:While they without, listening below, above, A Wedding-dance-a dance into the night (Who but in sorrow know how much they love ?) On the barn-floor, when maiden-feet are light; From every little noise catch hope and fear, When the young bride receives the promised dower, Exchanging still, still as they turn to hear, And flowers are flung, herself a fairer flower :