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| will come hither with my Paramour;
And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song
We will make merry in that pleasant Bower.

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dent is not m

- y trade:

o o blood I have no ready arts:

o o old. * in summer shade

* A simple song for thinking hearts.

I'll build a Pleasure-house upon this spot, As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair,
And a small Arbour, made for rural joy; It chanced that I saw standing in a dell
Twill be the Traveller's shed, the Pilgrim's cot, Three Aspens at three corners of a square;

Aplace of love for Damsels that are coy. And one, not four yards distant near a Well.
A cunning Artist will I have to frame What this imported I could ill divine:
A basin for that fountain in the dell! And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop,
And they who do make mention of the same I saw three Pillars standing in a line,
From this day forth, shall call it HART-LEAP WELL. The last Stone Pillar on a dark hill-top.
And, gallant Stag! to make thy prises known, The trees were gray, with neither arms nor head
Another monument shall here be raised; Half-wasted the square Mound of tawny green;
Three several Pillars, each a rough-hewn Stone, So that you just might say, as then I said,
And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed. “Here in old time the hand of man hath been.”
And, in th -ti h -

in the summer-time when days are long, I looked upon the hill both far and near,

More doleful place did never eye survey;
It seemed as if the spring-time came not here,
And Nature here were willing to decay.

I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost,
When one, who was in Shepherd's garb attired,
Came up the Hollow:—Him did I accost,
And what this place might be I then inquired.

The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told
Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed.
“A jolly place,” said he, “in times of old !
But something ails it now; the spot is curst.

You see these lifeless Stumps of aspen wood–
Some say that they are beeches, others elms—
These were the Bower; and here a Mansion stood,
The finest palace of a hundred realms:

The Arbour does its own condition tell;
You see the Stones, the Fountain, and the Stream;
But as to the great Lodge you might as well
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep,
Will wet his lips within that Cup of stone;
And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep,
This water doth send forth a dolorous groan.

Some say that here a murder has been done,
And blood cries out for blood: but, for my part,
I’ve guessed, when I’ve been sitting in the sun,
That it was all for that unhappy Hart.

What thoughts must through the Creature's brain have past!

Even from the topmost Stone, upon the Steep,

Are but three bounds—and look, Sir, at this last

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High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,
And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.—
The words of ancient time I thus translate,
A festal strain that hath been silent long.

“From Town to Town from Tower to Tower, The Red Rose is a gladsome flower. Her thirty years of winter past, The Red Rose is revived at last; She lifts her head for endless spring, For everlasting blossoming: Both Roses flourish, Red and White, In love and sisterly delight The two that were at strife are blended, And all old troubles now are ended. — Joy Joy to both but most to her Who is the Flower of Lancaster! Behold her how She smiles to-day On this great throng, this bright array! Fair greeting doth she send to all From every corner of the Hall; But, chiefly from above the Board Where sits in state our rightful Lord, A Clifford to his own restored :

“They came with banner, spear, and shield; And it was proved in Bosworth-field. Not long the Avenger whs withstood — Earth helped him with the cry of blood:" St George was for us, and the might Of blessed Angels crowned the right. Loud voice the Land has uttered forth, We loudest in the faithful North: Our Fields rejoice, our Mountains ring, Our Streams proclaim a welcoming : Our Strong-abodes and Castles see The glory of their loyalty.

“How glad is Skipton at this hour— Though she is but a lonely Tower! To vacancy and silence left; Of all her guardian sons berest; Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page or Groom: We have them at the feast of Brough'm. How glad Pendragon — though the sleep Of years be on her – She shall reap A taste of this great pleasure, viewing As in a dream her own renewing. Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem Beside her little humble Stream ; And she that keepeth watch and ward Her statelier Eden's course to guard; They both are happy at this hour, Though each is but a lonely Tower: But here is perfect joy and pride For one fair house by Emont's side, This day distinguished without peer To see her Master and to cheer Him, and his Lady Mother dear!


* See Note.

*This line is from the “The Battle of Bosworth Field." to Sir John Beaumont (brother to the Dramatist), whose poetreat" written with much spirit, elegance, and harmony: and have deservedly been reprinted lately in Chalmer's CollectionEnglish Poets.

"Oh! it was a time forlorn When the fatherless was bornGive her wings that she may fly, Or she sees her infant die! Swords that are with slaughter wild Hunt the Mother and the Child? Who will take them from the light! —Yonder is a Man in sight— Yonder is a House — but where? No, they must not enter there. To the Caves, and to the Brooks, To the Clouds of Heaven she looks; She is speechless, but her eyes Pny in ghostly agonies. Blissful Mary, Mother mild, Maid and Mother undefiled, Save a Mother and her Child

"Now who is he that bounds with joy Oh Castock's side, a Shepherd Boy! \o though's hath he but thoughts that pass light as the wind along the grass. "in this be He who hither came hotel, like a smothered flame! "" whom such thankful tears were shed * Heller and a poor Man's bread: "Wes the Child; and God hath willed To the dear words should be fulfilled, The lady's words, when forced away The last she to her Babe did say, 'My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest I may not be; but rest thee, rest, Fr lowly Shepherd's life is best!"

"Alis' when evil men are strong No life is good, no pleasure long. * By must part from Mosedale's Groves, * leave Blencathra's rugged Coves, * Til the flowers that summer brings "Glendenmakin's lofty springs; > "it wanish, and his careless cheer Be one. to heaviness and fear. Fo Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise! Hat it, good Man, old in days: Thou Tree of covert and of rest For this young Bird that is distrest; Among thy branches safe he lay, * he was flee to sport and play, When floons were abroad for prey.

...” Harp that sings of fear " **iness in Clifford's ear

lso when evil Men are strong,

: life is good, no pleasure long,

* * cowardly untruth: "Clifford was a happy Youth, And thankfill through a weary time,

hat brought him "P to manhood's prime.

– Again he wanders forth at will, And tends a Flock from hill to hill: His garb is humble; ne'er was seen Such garb with such a noble mien; Among the Shepherd-grooms no Mate Hath he, a Child of strength and state: Yet lacks not friends for solemn glee, And a cheerful company, That learned of him submissive ways; And comforted his private days. To his side the Fallow-deer Came, and rested without fear; The Eagle, Lord of land and sea, Stooped down to pay him fealty; And both the undying fish that swim Through Bowscale Tarn did wait on him;” The Pair were servants of his eye In their immortality; They moved about in open sight, To and fro, for his delight. He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt On the Mountains visitant; He hath kenned them taking wing: And the Caves where Faeries sing He hath entered; and been told By Voices how men lived of old. Among the Heavens his eye can see Face of thing that is to be; And, if Men report him right, He could whisper words of might. — Now another day is come, Fitter hope, and nobler doom; He hath thrown aside his Crook, And hath buried deep his Book; Armour rusting in his Halls On the blood of Clifford calls; +– “Quell the Scot,’ exclaims the Lance— Bear me to the heart of France, Is the longing of the Shield – Tell thy name, thou trembling Field; Field of death where'er thou be, Groan thou with our victory ! Happy day and mighty hour, When our Shepherd, in his power, Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword, To his Ancestors restored

• It is imagined by the people of the country that there are two immortal Fish, inhabitants of this Tarn, which lies in the mountains not far from Threlkeld. —Blencathara, mentioned before, is the old and proper name of the mountain vulgarly called Saddle-back.

+ The martial character of the Cliffords is well known to the readers of English history; but it may not be improper here to say, by way of comment on these lines and what follows, that besides several others who perished in the same manner. the four immediate Progenitors of the Person in whose hearing this is supposed to be spoken, all died in the Field.

Like a re-appearing Star,
Like a glory from afar,
First shall head the Flock of War !”

Alas ! the fervent harper did not know
That for a tranquil Soul the Lay was framed,
Who, long compelled in humble walks to go,
Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed.

Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie;
His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills,
The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

In him the savage virtue of the Race,
Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead:
Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place
The wisdom which adversity had bred.

Glad were the Wales, and every cottage hearth;
The Shepherd Lord was honoured more and more;
And, ages after he was laid in earth,
“The Good Lord Clifford” was the name he bore.

Yes, it was the mountain Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,
Answering to the shouting Cuckoo.
Giving to her sound for sound !

Unsolicited reply
To a babbling wanderer sent;
Like her ordinary cry,
Like—but oh, how different:

Hears not also mortal Life
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures
Slaves of Folly, Love, or Strife,
Voices of two different Natures 1

Have not We too !—yes, we have Answers, and we know not whence, Echoes from beyond the grave, Recognised intelligence:

Often as thy inward ear
Catches such rebounds, beware, —
Listen, ponder, hold them dear;
For of God, – of God they are.


EthereAl Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou cansf drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

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Nor Traveller gone from Earth the Heavens to espy:
'T is Hesperus—there he stands with glittering crown
First admonition that the sun is down,
For yet it is broad daylight ! clouds pass by:
A few are near him still — and now the sky.
He hath it to himself— 'tis all his own.
O most ambitious Star ! thy Presence brough.
A startling recollection to my mind
Of the distinguished few among mankind,
Who dare to step beyond their natural race,
As thou seem'st now to do: — nor was a thought
Denied — that even I might one day trace
Some ground not mine; and, strong her strength above,
My Soul, an Apparition in the place,
Tread there, with steps that no one shall reprove'

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OH ! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!
For mighty were the Auxiliars, which then stood
Upon our side, we who were strong in love!
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very heaven – Oh times.
In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways
Of custom, law, and stature, took at once
The attraction of a country in Romance:
When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights,
When most intent on making of herself
A prime Enchantress–to assist the work
Which then was going forward in her name!
Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth,
The beauty wore of promise—that which sets

*This, and the Extract, page 80, and the first Piece of the Class, are from the unpublished Poem of which some atonio is given in the presace to the Excursion.

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o, (As at some moment might not be unfelt o Among the bowers of paradise itself) * The building rose above the rose full blown. * What Temper at the prospect did not wake * Thappiness unthought of: The inert * Wereroused, and lively Nature rapt away ! They who had fed their childhood upon dreams, The playfellows of fancy, who had made * A powers of swiftness, subtilty and strength * Their ministers, - who in lordly wise had stirred * ALng the grandest objects of the sense, And dealt with whatsoever they found there As if they had within some lurking right To wield it;-they, too, who of gentle mood, lad watched all gentle motions, and to these lid fitted their own thoughts, schemers more mild, to And in the region of their peaceful selves; — Now was it that both found, the Meek and Lofty F- Did both find helpers to their heart's desire, ... And suf at hand, plastic as they could wish; l Were called upon to exercise their skill, * \sin Utopia, subterranean Fields, o: "ome secreted Island, Heaven knows where: • *n the very world, which is the world - "all of us-the place where in the end "flour happiness, or not at all!"

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How beautiful! yet none knows why
This ever-graceful change,
Renewed—renewed incessantly —
Within your quiet range.
Is it that ye with conscious skill
For mutual pleasure glide;
And sometimes, not without your will
Are dwarfed, or magnified ?

Fays — Genii of gigantic size —
And now, in twilight dim,
Clustering like constellated Eyes
In wings of Cherubim,
When they abate their fiery glare:
Whate'er your forms express,
Whate'er ye seem, whate'er ye are,
All leads to gentleness.

Cold though your nature be, 'tis pure;
Your birthright is a fence
From all that haughtier kinds endure
Through tyranny of sense.
Ah! not alone by colours bright
Are ye to Heaven allied,
When, like essential Forms of light,
Ye mingle, or divide.

For day-dreams soft as eler beguiled
Day-thoughts while limbs repose;
For moonlight fascinations mild
Your gift, ere shutters close;
Accept, mute Captives! thanks and praise ;
And may this tribute prove
That gentle admirations raise
Delight resembling love.


(SEQUEL to the Above.)

[Addressed to a Friend; the Gold and Silver Fishes having been removed to a pool in the pleasure-ground of Rydal Mount.)

“The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made for themselves, under whatever form it be of government, The liberty of a private man, in being mas ter of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his countrey. Of this latter we are here to discourse.”—CowLEY.

Those breathing Tokens of your kind regard,
(Suspect not, Anna, that their fate is hard;
Not soon does aught to which mild fancies cling,
In lonely spots, become a slighted thing :)

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