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XIV.

COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE VALLEYS OF WEST

MORELAND, ON EASTER SUNDAY,

With each recurrence of this glorious morn
That saw the Saviour in his human frame
Rise from the dead, erewhile the Cottage-dame
Put on fresh raiment - till that hour unworn:
Domestic hands the home-bred wool had shorn,
And she who span it culled the daintiest fleece,
In thoughtful reverence to the Prince of Peace
Whose temples bled beneath the platted thorn.
A blest estate when piety sublime
These humble

props
disdained not! O green

dales !
Sad may I be who heard your sabbath chime
When Art's abused inventions were unknown;
Kind Nature's various wealth was all

your own; And benefits were weighed in Reason's scales !

XV.

GRIEF, thou hast lost an ever ready Friend
Now that the cottage spinning-wheel is mute;
And Care -

-a Comforter that best could suit Her froward mood, and softliest reprehend; And Love

- a Charmer's voice, that used to lend, More efficaciously than aught that flows From harp or lute, kind influence to compose The throbbing pulse, -else troubled without end : Even Joy could tell, Joy craving truce and rest From her own overflow, what power sedate On those tevolving motions did await Assiduously, to sooth her aching breast; And to a point of just relief — abate The mantling triumphs of a day too blest.

XVI.

TO THE RIVER DERWENT.

AMONG the mountains where we nursed, loved

Stream Thou; near the eagle's nest within brief sail, 1, of his bold wing floating on the gale, Where thy deep voice could lull me! - Faint the

beam Of human life when first allowed to gleam On mortal notice. Glory of the Vale, Such thy meek outset, with a crown though frail Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam Of thy soft breath! - Less vivid wreaths entwined Nemæan Victor's brow ; less bright was worn, Meed of some Roman Chief - in triumph borne With captives chained ; and shedding from his car The sunset splendors of a finished war Upon the proud enslavers of mankind !

XVII.

I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret
Yon slowly-sinking Star, – immortal Sire
(So might he seem) of all the glittering quire !
Blue ether still surrounds him yet — and yet ;
But now the horizon's rocky parapet
Is reached; where, forfeiting his bright attire,
He burns transmuted to a sullen fire,
That droops and dwindles ; and, the appointed debt
To the flying moments paid, is seen no more.
Angels and Gods ! we struggle with our fate,
While health, power, glory, pitiably decline,
Depressed and then extinguished : and our state,
In this, how different, lost Star, from thine,
That no to-morrow shall our beams restore !

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XVIII.

TO A SNOW-DROP, APPEARING VERY EARLY IN THE SEASON.

LONE Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as

they But hardier far, though modestly thou bend Thy front

as if such presence could offend! Who guards thy slender stalk while, day by day, Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, way-lay The rising sun, and on the plains descend? Accept the greeting that befits a friend Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May Shall soon behold this border thickly set With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing On the soft west-wind and his frolic

peers ; Yet will I not thy gentle grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, vent'rous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!

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