The One for whom my heart shall ever

beat

With tenderest love; or, if a safer seat Atween his downy wings be furnished,

there

Would lodge her, and the cherished burden bear

O'er hill and valley to this dim retreat! Rough ways my steps have trod;-too rough and long

For her companionship; here dwells soft

ease:

With sweets that she partakes not some distaste

Mingles, and lurking consciousness of

wrong;

Languish the flowers; the waters seem to

waste

Their vocal charm; their sparklings cease to please.

Flung from yon cliff a shadow large and cold.

There dwelt the gay, the bountiful, the bold;

Till nightly lamentations, like the sweep Of winds-though winds were silentstruck a deep

And lasting terror through that ancient Hold. Its line of Warriors fled;--they shrunk when tried

By ghostly power:-but Time's unsparing hand

Hath plucked such foes, like weeds, from out the land;

And now, if men with men in peace abide, All other strength the weakest may withstand, All worse assaults may safely be defied.

XXVIII

JOURNEY RENEWED

I ROSE while yet the cattle, heat-opprest, Crowded together under rustling trees Brushed by the current of the water-breeze; And for their sakes, and love of all that rest,

On Duddon's margin, in the sheltering nest;

For all the startled scaly tribes that slink
Into his coverts, and each fearless link
Of dancing insects forged upon his breast;
For these, and hopes and recollections

worn

Close to the vital seat of human clay; Glad meetings, tender partings, that upstay

The drooping mind of absence, by vows

sworn

In his pure presence near the trysting thorn

I thanked the Leader of my onward way.

XXIX

No record tells of lance opposed to lance, Horse charging horse, 'mid these retired domains;

Tells that their turf drank purple from the veins

Of heroes, fallen, or struggling to advance, Till doubtful combat issued in a trance

NOT hurled precipitous from steep to steep; Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands

And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands

Held; but in radiant progress toward the Deep

Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep Sink, and forget heir nature--now expands Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands

Beneath an ampler sky a region wide Is opened round him:-hamlets, towers, and towns,

And blue-topped hills, behold him from afar;

In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied Spreading his bosom under Kentish downs, With commerce freighted, or triumphant

XXXIV

AFTER-THOUGHT

I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide,

As being past away.—Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon, as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;

The Form remains, the Function never dies;

While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,

We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish;—be it so! Enough, if something from our hands have

power

To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,

We feel that we are greater than we know.1

A PARSONAGE IN OXFORDSHIRE

This Parsonage was the residence of my friend Jones, and is particularly described in another

note.

WHERE holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,

Is marked by no distinguishable line;
The turf unites, the pathways intertwine;
And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep
tends,

Garden, and that domain where kindred, friends,

And neighbours rest together, here confound

Their several features, mingled like the sound

Of many waters, or as evening blends With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub and flower,

Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave;

And while those lofty poplars gently wave Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky

Bright as the glimpses of eternity,

To saints accorded in their mortal hour. 1 See Note. 1820.

TO ENTERPRISE

KEEP for the Young the impassioned smile Shed from thy countenance, as I see thee stand

High on that chalky cliff of Britain's Isle,
A slender volume grasping in thy hand-
(Perchance the pages that relate
The various turns of Crusoe's fate)—
Ah, spare the exulting smile,
And drop thy pointing finger bright
As the first flash of beacon light;
But neither veil thy head in shadows dim,
Nor turn thy face away

From One who, in the evening of his day, To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn!

I

Bold Spirit! who art free to rove
Among the starry courts of Jove,
And oft in splendour dost appear
Embodied to poetic eyes,

While traversing this nether sphere,
Where Mortals call thee ENTERPRISE.
Daughter of Hope! her favourite Child,
Whom she to young Ambition bore,
When hunter's arrow first defiled
The grove, and stained the turf with gore ;
Thee winged Fancy took, and nursed
On broad Euphrates' palmy shore,
And where the mightier Waters burst
From caves of Indian mountains hoar!
She wrapped thee in a panther's skin;
And Thou, thy favourite food to win,
The flame-eyed eagle oft wouldst scare
From her rock-fortress in mid air,
With infant shout; and often sweep,
Paired with the ostrich, o'er the plain;
Or, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleep
Upon the couchant lion's mane !
With rolling years thy strength increased
And, far beyond thy native East,
To thee, by varying titles known
As variously thy power was shown,
Did incense-bearing altars rise,
Which caught the blaze of sacrifice,
From suppliants panting for the skies!

Mounting from glorious deed to decd
As thou from clime to clime didst lead;
Yet still, the bosom beating high,
And the hushed farewell of an eye
Where no procrastinating gaze
A last infirmity betrays,

Prove that thy heaven-descended sway
Shall ne'er submit to cold decay.
By thy divinity impelled,

The Stripling seeks the tented field;
The aspiring Virgin kneels; and, pale
With awe, receives the hallowed veil,
A soft and tender Heroine
Vowed to severer discipline;
Inflamed by thee, the blooming Boy
Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy,
And of the ocean's dismal breast
A play-ground,—or a couch of rest;
'Mid the blank world of snow and ice,
Thou to his dangers dost enchain
The Chamois-chaser awed in vain
By chasm or dizzy precipice;

And hast Thou not with triumph seen

How soaring Mortals glide between

How they, in bells of crystal, dive—
Where winds and waters cease to strive-
For no unholy visitings,

Among the monsters of the Deep;
And all the sad and precious things
Which there in ghastly silence sleep?
Or, adverse tides and currents headed,
And breathless calms no longer dreaded,
In never-slackening voyage go
Straight as an arrow from the bow;
And, slighting sails and scorning oars,
Keep faith with Time on distant shores?
-Within our fearless reach are placed
The secrets of the burning Waste;
Egyptian tombs unlock their dead,
Nile trembles at his fountain head;
Thou speak'st--and lo! the polar Seas
Unbosom their last mysteries.

-But oh! what transports, what sublime reward,

Won from the world of mind, dost thou

prepare

For philosophic Sage; or high-souled Bard Who, for thy service trained in lonely woods,

Hath fed on pageants floating through the air,

Or calentured in depth of limpid floods;

Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown

strands;

Or caught amid a whirl of desert sands—
An Army now, and now a living hill1
That a brief while heaves with convulsive
throes-

Then all is still;

Or, to forget their madness and their woes, Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!

V

Back flows the willing current of my Song: If to provoke such doom the Impious dare, Why should it daunt a blameless prayer?

-Bold Goddess! range our Youth among; Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat In hearts no longer young;

Still may a veteran Few have pride
In thoughts whose sternness makes them
sweet;

In fixed resolves by Reason justified;
That to their object cleave like sleet
Whitening a pine tree's northern side,
When fields are naked far and wide,
And withered leaves, from earth's cold
breast

Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can find

rest.

1 See Note.

VI

But, if such homage thou disdain
As doth with mellowing years agree,
One rarely absent from thy train
More humble favours may obtain
For thy contented Votary.
She, who incites the frolic lambs
In presence of their heedless dams,
And to the solitary fawn

Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph
That wakes the breeze, the sparkling lymph
Doth hurry to the lawn;

She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy,

Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead

for me;

And vernal mornings opening bright
With views of undefined delight,
And cheerful songs, and suns that shine
On busy days, with thankful nights, be
mine.

VII

But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite Isle (Freedom's impregnable redoubt,

The wide earth's store-house fenced about
With breakers roaring to the gales
That stretch a thousand thousand sails)
Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile!-
Thy impulse is the life of Fame;
Glad Hope would almost cease to be
If torn from thy society;

And Love, when worthiest of his name,
Is proud to walk the earth with Thee!

1820.

ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS1

IN SERIES 1821-22.

My purpose in writing this Series was, as much as possible, to confine my view to the introduction, progress, and operation of the Church in England, both previous and subsequent to the Reformation. The Sonnets were written long before ecclesiastical history and points of doctrine had excited the interest with which they have been recently enquired into and discussed. The former particular is mentioned as an excuse for my having fallen into error in respect to an incident which had been selected as setting forth the height to which the

1 See Note.

power of the Popedom over temporal sovereignty had attained, and the arrogance with which it was displayed. I allude to the last Sonnet but one in the first series, where Pope Alexander the third at Venice is described as setting his foot on the neck of the Emperor Barbarossa. Though this is related as a fact in history, I am told it is a mere legend of no authority. Substitute for it an undeniable truth not less fitted for my purpose, namely, the penance inflicted by Gregory the Seventh upon the Emperor Henry the Fourth.

Before I conclude my notice of these Sonnets, let me observe that the opinion I pronounced in favour of Laud (long before the Oxford Tract movement) and which had brought censure upon me from several quarters, is not in the least changed. Omitting here to examine into his conduct in respect to the persecuting spirit with which he has been charged, I am persuaded that most of his aims to restore ritual practices which had been abandoned were good and wise, whatever errors he might commit in the manner he sometimes attempted to enforce them. I further believe that, had not he, and others who shared his opinions and felt as he did, stood up in opposition to the reformers of that period, it is questionable whether the Church would ever have recovered its lost ground and become the blessing it now is, and will, I trust, become in a still greater degree, both to those of its communion and to those who unfortunately are separated

from it.

PART I

FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY INTO BRITAIN, TO THE CONSUMMATION OF THE PAPAL DOMINION

"A verse may catch a wandering Soul, that flies Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise Convert delight into a Sacrifice."

I

INTRODUCTION

I, WHO accompanied with faithful pace Cerulean Duddon from his cloud-fed spring, And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing Of mountain quiet and boon nature's grace; I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace Of Liberty, and smote the plausive string Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing, Won for herself a lasting resting-place; Now seek upon the heights of Time the

source

Of a HOLY RIVER, on whose banks are found