It may be worth while to observe that as there are Scotch Poems on this subject in simple ballad strain, I thought it would be both presumptuous and superfluous to attempt treating it in the same way; and, accordingly, I chose a construction of stanza quite new in our language; in fact, the same as that of Bürgher's Leonora, except that the first and third lines do not, in my stanzas, rhyme. At the outset I threw out a classical image to prepare the reader for the style in which I meant to treat the story, and so to preclude all comparison.

FAIR Ellen Irwin, when she sate
Upon the braes of Kirtle,
Was lovely as a Grecian maid
Adorned with wreaths of myrtle;
Young Adam Bruce beside her lay,
And there did they beguile the day
With love and gentle speeches,
Beneath the budding beeches.

1 The Kirtle is a river in the southern part of Scotland, on the banks of which the events here related took place.

'Tis a look which at this time is hardly his

own,

But tells a plain tale of the days that are flown.

He once had a heart which was moved by the wires

Of manifold pleasures and many desires : And what if he cherished his purse? 'Twas

no more

Than treading a path trod by thousands before.

'Twas a path trod by thousands; but Daniel is one

Who went something farther than others have gone,

And now with old Daniel you see how it fares;

You see to what end he has brought his grey hairs.

The pair sally forth hand in hand: ere the

sun

Has peered o'er the beeches, their work is begun :

And yet, into whatever sin they may fall, This child but half knows it, and that, not at all.

They hunt through the streets with deliberate tread,

And each, in his turn, becomes leader or led; And, wherever they carry their plots and their wiles,

Every face in the village is dimpled with smiles.

Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam;

For the grey-headed Sire has a daughter at home,

Who will gladly repair all the damage that's done;

And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one.

Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed,

I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side:

Long yet may'st thou live! for a teacher

we see

That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee. 1800.

A CHARACTER

The principal features are taken from that of my friend Robert Jones.

I MARVEL how Nature could ever find space For so many strange contrasts in one human face:

There's thought and no thought, and there's paleness and bloom

And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom.

There's weakness, and strength both redundant and vain ;

Such strength as, if ever affliction and pain Could pierce through a temper that's soft to disease,

Would be rational peace-a philosopher's

ease.

There's indifference, alike when he fails or succeeds,

And attention full ten times as much as there needs;

Pride where there's no envy, there's so much of joy ;

And mildness, and spirit both forward and coy.

There's freedom, and sometimes a diffident stare

Of shame scarcely seeming to know that she's there,

There's virtue, the title it surely may claim, Yet wants heaven knows what to be worthy the name.

This picture from nature may seem to depart,

Yet the Man would at once run away with your heart;

And I for five centuries right gladly would be Such an odd such a kind happy creature as he. 1800.

INSCRIPTIONS

FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENTWATER.

IF thou in the dear love of some one Friend Hast been so happy that thou know'st what thoughts

'Will sometimes in the happiness of love Make the heart sink, then wilt thou rever

ence

This quiet spot; and, Stranger! not unmoved

Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones,

The desolate ruins of St. Herbert's Cell. Here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof

That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man,
After long exercise in social cares
And offices humane, intent to adore
The Deity, with undistracted mind,
And meditate on everlasting things,
In utter solitude.-But he had left

A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved

As his own soul. And, when with eye upraised

To heaven he knelt before the crucifix, While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced Along the beach of this small isle and thought

Of his Companion, he would pray that

both

(Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain

So prayed he:-as our chronicles report, Though here the Hermit numbered his last day

Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved Friend, Those holy Men both died in the same hour. 1800.

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE
IN THE WALL OF THE HOUSE (AN OUT-
HOUSE), ON THE ISLAND AT GRASMERE.
RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained
Proportions more harmonious, and ap-
proached

To closer fellowship with ideal grace.
But take it in good part:-alas! the poor
Vitruvius of our village had no help
From the great City; never, upon leaves
Of red Morocco folio, saw displayed,
In long succession, pre-existing ghosts
Of Beauties yet unborn-the rustic Lodge

Antique, and Cottage with verandah graced, Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove, Green-house, shell-grot, and moss-lined

hermitage.

Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls

The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here

The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind.

And hither does one Poet sometimes row His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled With plenteous store of heath and withered

fern,

(A lading which he with his sickle cuts, Among the mountains) and beneath this

roof

He makes his summer couch, and here at

noon

Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn,

the Sheep,

Panting beneath the burthen of their wool, Lie round him, even as if they were a part Of his own Household: nor, while from his bed

He looks, through the open door-place, toward the lake

And to the stirring breezes, does he want Creations lovely as the work of sleep— Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy!

1800.

WRITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL UPON A STONE, THE LARGEST OF A HEAP LYING NEAR A DESERTED QUARRY, UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS AT RYDAL.

STRANGER! this hillock of mis-shapen

stones

Is not a Ruin spared or made by time,
Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the
Cairn

Of some old British Chief: 'tis nothing

more

Than the rude embryo of a little Dome Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built

Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle. But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned

That from the shore a fuil-grown man

might wade,

And make himself a freeman of this spot At any hour he chose, the prudent Knight

Desisted, and the quarry and the mound
Are monuments of his unfinished task.
The block on which these lines are traced,
perhaps,

Was once selected as the corner-stone

Of that intended Pile, which would have been

Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill,

So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush, And other little builders who dwell here, Had wondered at the work. But blame

him not,

For old Sir William was a gentle Knight,
Bred in this vale, to which he appertained
With all his ancestry. Then peace to him,
And for the outrage which he had devised
Entire forgiveness !—But if thou art one
On fire with thy impatience to become
An inmate of these mountains, -if, dis-
turbed

By beautiful conceptions, thou hast hewn
Out of the quiet rock the elements

Of thy trim Mansion destined soon to blaze In snow-white splendour,-think again; and, taught

By old Sir William and his quarry, leave Thy fragments to the bramble and the

rose;

There let the vernal slow-worm sun himself, And let the redbreast hop from stone to stone. 1800.

THE SPARROW'S NEST

Written in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere. At the end of the garden of my father's house at Cockermouth was a high terrace that commanded a fine view of the river Derwent and Cockermouth Castle. This was our favourite play-ground. The terrace-wall, a low one, was covered with closelyclipt privet and roses, which gave an almost impervious shelter to birds that built their nests there. The latter of these stanzas alludes to one of those nests.

BEHOLD, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
I started-seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,

The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by
My Father's house, in wet or dry

My sister Emmeline and I Together visited.

She looked at it and seemed to fear it;
Dreading, tho' wishing, to be near it:
Such heart was in her, being then
A little Prattler among men.
The Blessing of my later years
Was with me when a boy:

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.

1801.

"PELION AND OSSA FLOURISH SIDE BY SIDE"

PELION and Ossa flourish side by side,
Together in immortal books enrolled :
His ancient dower Olympus hath not sold;
And that inspiring Hill, which did divide
Into two ample horns his forehead wide,"
Shines with poetic radiance as of old;
While not an English Mountain we behold
By the celestial Muses glorified.

Yet round our sea-girt shore they rise in crowds:

What was the great Parnassus' self to Thee, Mount Skiddaw? In his natural sovereignty

Our British Hill is nobler far; he shrouds His double front among Atlantic clouds, And pours forth streams more sweet than Castaly. 1801.

THE PRIORESS'S TALE

FROM CHAUCER

"Call up him who left half told

The story of Cambuscan bold."

In the following Poem no further deviation from the original has been made than was necessary for the fluent reading and instant understanding of the Author: so much, however, is the language altered since Chaucer's time, especially in pronunciation, that much was to be removed, and its place supplied with as little incongruity as possible. The ancient accent has been retained in a few conjunctions, as also and alway, from a conviction that such sprinklings of antiquity would be admitted, by persons of taste, to have a graceful accordance with the subject. The fierce bigotry of the Prioress forms a fine back