I build a Pleasure-house upon this spot, And a small Arbour, made for rural joy;
T be the Traveller's shed, the Pilgrim's cot, A:ace of love for Damsels that are coy.
A canning Artist will I have to frame
A basin for that fountain in the dell!
And they who do make mention of the same
From this day forth, shall call it HARt-leap Well.
A gallant Stag! to make thy praises known,
Lather monument shall here be raised;
Tree several Pillars, each a rough-hewn Stone,
tod planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed.
Aa, in the summer-time when days are long, I will come hither with my Paramour;
And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song We will make merry in that pleasant Bower.
Tthe foundations of the mountains fail
Yy Mansion with its Arbour shall endure;
They of them who till the fields of Swale,
And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!"
Ten à me be went, and left the Hart, stone-dead,
W breathless nostrils stretched above the spring.
-Soon did the Knight perform what he had said,
A far and wide the fame thereof did ring.
Ex thrice the Moon into her port had steered,
A Cep of stone received the living Well;
Three Pillars of rude stone Sir Walter reared,
Aad but a house of Pleasure in the dell.
And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall
With trailing plants and trees were intertwined,
Mach soon composed a little sylvan Hall,
A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.
had thither, when the summer-days were long,
Ar Walter led his wondering Paramour;
And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song
Vade merriment within that pleasant Bower.
The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time,
And his bones lie in his paternal vale. —
But there is matter for a second rhyme,
Aat I to this would add another tale.
Ta moving accident is not my trade:
T freeze the blood I have no ready arts:
Try delight, alone in summer shade,
Top a simple song for thinking hearts.
For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race;
And in my simple mind we cannot tell
What cause the Hart might have to love this place,
And come and make his death-bed near the Well.
Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, Lulled by the Fountain in the summer-tide; This water was perhaps the first he drank When he had wandered from his mother's side.
In April here beneath the scented thorn
He heard the birds their morning carols sing;
And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born
Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.
Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade;
The sun on drearier Hollow never shone;
So will it be, as I have often said,
Till Trees, and Stones, and Fountain, all are gone."
"Gray-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well;
Small difference lies between thy creed and mine:
This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell;
His death was mourned by sympathy divine.
The Being, that is in the clouds and air,
That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep and reverential care
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.
The Pleasure-house is dust: - behind, before, This is no common waste, no common gloom; But Nature, in due course of time, once more Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.
She leaves these objects to a slow decay,
That what we are, and have been, may be known;
But, at the coming of the milder day,
These monuments shall all be overgrown.
One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,
Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals,
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels."
AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE,
UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, THE SHEPHERD,
TO THE ESTATES AND HONOURS OF HIS ANCESTORS.*
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 was 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 bereft;
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!
*This line is from the "The Battle of Bosworth Field," b Sir John Beaumont (brother to the Dramatist), whose poerns ar written with much spirit, elegance, and harmony: and hav deservedly been reprinted lately in Chalmer's Collection.4 English Poets.
"Oh! it was a time forlorn
Wen the fatherless was born-
ve her wings that she may fly,
me sees her infant die!
Sors that are with slaughter wild
Hat the Mother and the Child?
Who will take them from the light?
-Yonder is a Man in sight-
Lader is a House - but where?
N. they must not enter there.
To the Caves, and to the Brooks,
To the Clouds of Heaven she looks;
Ste is speechless, but her eyes
Pray in ghostly agonies.
Bful Mary, Mother mild,
Mid and Mother undefiled,
Ere a Mother and her Child!
"Now who is he that bounds with joy
Carrock's side, a Shepherd Boy?
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass
Ight as the wind along the grass.
as this be He who hither came
E secret, like a smothered flame!
for whom such thankful tears were shed
For shelter and a poor Man's bread!
Gd bres the Child; and God hath willed
Tat those dear words should be fulfilled,
Te Lady's words, when forced away
The last she to her Babe did say,
Mr own, my own, thy Fellow-guest
may not be; but rest thee, rest,
Fr lowly Shepherd's life is best!'
"Alas! when evil men are strong
Wolfe is good, no pleasure long.
Te By must part from Mosedale's Groves,
tod leave Blencathra's rugged Coves,
And quit the flowers that summer brings
T: Genderamakin's lofty springs;
Vst vanish, and his careless cheer
Be turned to heaviness and fear.
-Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise!
Bear it, good Man, old in days!
Ta Tree of covert and of rest!
For this young Bird that is distrest;
Anng thy branches safe he lay,
And he was free to sport and play,
When files were abroad for prey.
"A recreant Harp, that sings of fear And beaviness in Clifford's ear Ied, when evil Men are strong, No fe a good, no pleasure long, A weak and cowardly untruth! Ord was a happy Youth, And thankful through a weary time, That brought him up 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 Vales, 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?
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 canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!
To the last point of vision, and beyond,
Mount, daring Warbler! that love-prompted strain,
("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.
Leave to the Nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!
It is no Spirit who from Heaven hath flown,
And is descending on his embassy;
Nor Traveller gone from Earth the Heavens to espy
'Tis Hesperus- there he stands with glittering crow
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 - 't is 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 abov
My Soul, an Apparition in the place,
Tread there, with steps that no one shall reprove!
AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COMMENCEMENT
REPRINTED FROM "THE FRIEND."
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! timer,
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 th Class, are from the unpublished Poem of which some aco is given in the preface to the EXCURSION.
At some moment might not be unfelt
the bowers of paradise itself) ading rose above the rose full blown. at Temper at the prospect did not wake 1pness unthought of? The inert
used, and lively Nature rapt away! - who had fed their childhood upon dreams, playfellows of fancy, who had made xwers of swiftness, subtilty and strength * maisters, — who in lordly wise had stirred the grandest objects of the sense, Sealt with whatsoever they found there if they had within some lurking right
d it, they, too, who of gentle mood, watched all gentle motions, and to these
ted their own thoughts, schemers more inild, m the region of their peaceful selves; — A was it that both found, the Meek and Lofty *th find helpers to their heart's desire, vs staff at hand, plastic as they could wish; Here called upon to exercise their skill, Vn Utopia, subterranean Fields,
→ secreted Island, Heaven knows where! Am the very world, which is the world
of us, the place where in the end Wefnd our happiness, or not at all!*
TEE soaring Lark is blest as proud,
When at Heaven's gate she sings;
The roving Bee proclaims aloud
Her flight by vocal wings;
Wale Ye, in lasting durance pent,
Your silent lives employ
For something "more than dull content
Though haply less than joy."
Yet might your glassy prison seem
A place where joy is known,
Where golden flash and silver gleam
Have meanings of their own;
While, high and low, and all about,
Yer motions, glittering Elves!
Ye weave-no danger from without,
And peace among yourselves.
Tre of a sunny human breast
Four transparent Cell;
Where Fear is but a transient Guest,
No sullen humours dwell;
Where, sensitive of every ray
That smites this tiny sea,
Your scaly panoplies repay
The loan with usury.
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