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Thy lost, maternal heart to re-infuse! Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my

wings, Upon the act a blessing I implore, Of which the rivers in their secret springs, 2 5 The rivers stained so oft with human gore, Are conscious;—may the like return no

more! May Discord—for a Seraph's care Shall be attended with a bolder prayer— 29 May she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss

These mortal spheres above, Be chained for ever to the black abyss! And thou, 0 rescued Earth, by peace and

love, And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!"

The Spirit ended his mysterious rite, 35 And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite.

XII.

LINES

WRITTEN 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,
Did I deliver this unfinished Song;
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.

1814.

XIII.

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

(ADDRESSED TO SIR G. H. B. UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER-IN-LAW.)

1824.

0 For a dirge! But why complain?

Ask rather a triumphal strain

When Termor's race is run;

A garland of immortal boughs

To twine around the Christian's brows, 5

Whose glorious work is done.

We pay a high and holy debt;

No tears of passionate regret

Shall stain this votive lay;

111-worthy, Beaumont! were the grief 10

That flings itself on wild relief

When Saints have passed away.

Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel,

For ever covetous to feel,

And impotent to bear! 15

Such once was hers—to think and think

On severed love, and only sink

From anguish to despair!

But nature to its inmost part

Faith had refined; and to her heart 20

A peaceful cradle given:

Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest
Within a breeze-fanned rose's breast
Till it exhales to Heaven.

Was ever Spirit that could bend 25

So graciously ?—that could descend,

Another's need to suit,

So promptly from her lofty throne ?—

In works of love, in these alone,

How restless, how minute! 30

Pale was her hue; yet mortal cheek

Ne'er kindled with a livelier streak

When aught had suffered wrong,—

When aught that breathes had felt a wound;

Such look the Oppressor might confound, 35

However proud and strong.

But hushed be every thought that springs

From out the bitterness of things;

Her quiet is secure;

~No thorns can pierce her tender feet, 40

Whose life was, like the violet, sweet,

As climbing jasmine, pure—

As snowdrop on an infant's grave,

Or lily heaving with the wave

That feeds it and defends; 45

As Yesper, ere the star hath kissed

The mountain top, or breathed the mist

That from the vale ascends.

Thou takest not away, 0 Death!

Thou strikest—absence perisheth, 50

Indifference is no more;

The future brightens on our sight;

For on the past hath fallen a light

That tempts us to adore.

XIV.

ELEGIAC MUSINGS.

IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT OF THE LATE SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART.

In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument bearing an Inscription which, in deference to the earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words:— "Enter not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!"

With copious eulogy in prose or rhyme
Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time,
Alas, how feebly! but our feelings rise
And still we struggle when a good man dies.
Such offering Beaumont dreaded and forbade, 5
A spirit meek in self-abasement clad.
Yet here at least, though few have numbered

days
That shunned so modestly the light of praise,
His graceful manners, and the temperate ray
Of that arch fancy which would round him

play, 10

Brightening a converse never known to swerve
From courtesy and delicate reserve;
That sense, the bland philosophy of life,
Which checked discussion ere it warmed to

strife; 14

Those rare accomplishments, and varied powers,
Might have their record among sylvan bowers.
Oh, fled for ever! vanished like a blast
That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed;—
Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky,
From all its spirit-moving imagery, 20

Intensely studied with a painter's eye,

A poet's heart; and, for congenial view,
Portrayed with happiest pencil, not untrue
To common recognitions while the line
Flowed in a course of sympathy divine;— 25
Oh! severed, too abruptly, from delights
That all the seasons shared with equal rights;—
Eapt in the grace of undismantled age,
From soul-felt music, and the treasured page
Lit by that evening lamp which loved to shed 30
Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head;
While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice,

mien, More than theatric force to Shakspeare's

scene;— If thou hast heard me—if thy Spirit know Aught of these bowers and whence their

pleasures flow; 35

If things in our remembrance held so dear, And thoughts and projects fondly cherished

here, To thy exalted nature only seem Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's

dream— Eebuke us not!—The mandate is obeyed 40 That said, "Let praise be mute where I am

laid;"
The holier deprecation, given in trust
To the cold marble, waits upon thy dust;
Yet have we found how slowly genuine grief
From silent admiration wins relief. 45

Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose
That doth "within itself its sweetness close ;"
A drooping daisy changed into a cup
In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up.
Within these groves, where still are flitting by 50
Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh,
Shall stand a votive Tablet, haply free,

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