Silent, deserted of her best, Without an Inmate or a Guest, Knight, Squire, or Yeoman, Page, or Groom; 40 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, 50 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.
Oh! it was a time forlorn When the Fatherless was born-- Give her wings that she may fly, Or she sees her Infant die! 60 Swords that are with slaughter wild Hunt the Mother and the Child.
Who will take them from the light?
--Yonder is a Man in sight-- Yonder is a House--but where?
No, they must not enter there.
To the Caves, and to the Brooks, To the Clouds of Heaven she looks; She is speechless, but her eyes Pray in ghostly agonies. 70 Blissful Mary, Mother mild, Maid and Mother undefiled, Save a Mother and her Child!
Now Who is he that bounds with joy On Carrock"s side, a Shepherd Boy?
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pa.s.s Light as the wind along the gra.s.s.
Can this be He who hither came In secret, like a smothered flame?
O"er whom such thankful tears were shed 80 For shelter, and a poor Man"s bread?
G.o.d loves the Child; and G.o.d hath will"d That those dear words should be fulfill"d, The Lady"s words, when forc"d away, The last she to her Babe did say, "My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest I may not be; but rest thee, rest, For lowly Shepherd"s life is best!"
Alas! when evil men are strong No life is good, no pleasure long. 90 The Boy must part from Mosedale"s Groves, And leave Blencathara"s rugged Coves, And quit the Flowers that Summer brings To Glenderamakin"s lofty springs; Must vanish, and his careless cheer Be turned to heaviness and fear.
--Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise!
Hear it, good Man, old in days!
Thou Tree of covert and of rest For this young Bird that is distrest, 100 Among thy branches safe he lay, And he was free to sport and play, When Falcons were abroad for prey.
A recreant Harp, that sings of fear And heaviness in Clifford"s ear!
I said, when evil Men are strong, No life is good, no pleasure long, A weak and cowardly untruth!
Our Clifford was a happy Youth, And thankful through a weary time, 110 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 n.o.ble mien; Among the Shepherd-grooms no Mate Hath he, a Child of strength and state!
Yet lacks not friends for solemn glee, And a chearful company, That learn"d of him submissive ways; 120 And comforted his private days.
To his side the Fallow-deer Came, and rested without fear; The Eagle, Lord of land and sea, Stoop"d 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, 130 To and fro, for his delight.
He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt On the Mountains visitant; He hath kenn"d them taking wing: And the Caves where Faeries sing He hath entered; and been told By Voices how Men liv"d of old.
Among the Heavens his eye can see Face of thing that is to be; And, if Men report him right, 140 He can whisper words of might.
--Now another day is come, Fitter hope, and n.o.bler 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-- 150 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, Mail"d and hors"d, with lance and sword, To his Ancestors restored, Like a reappearing Star, Like a glory from afar, First shall head the Flock of War!" 160
Alas! the fervent Harper did not know That for a tranquil Soul the Lay was framed, Who, long compell"d in humble walks to go, Was softened into feeling, sooth"d, 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: 170 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 honour"d more and more: And, ages after he was laid in earth, "The Good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore.
_LINES_, Composed at GRASMERE, during a walk, one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of MR. FOX was hourly expected.
Loud is the Vale! the Voice is up With which she speaks when storms are gone, A mighty Unison of streams!
Of all her Voices, One!
Loud is the Vale;--this inland Depth In peace is roaring like the Sea; Yon Star upon the mountain-top Is listening quietly.
Sad was I, ev"n to pain depress"d, Importunate and heavy load! 10 The Comforter hath found me here, Upon this lonely road;
And many thousands now are sad, Wait the fulfilment of their fear; For He must die who is their Stay, Their Glory disappear.
A Power is pa.s.sing from the earth To breathless Nature"s dark abyss; But when the Mighty pa.s.s away What is it more than this, 20
That Man, who is from G.o.d sent forth, Doth yet again to G.o.d return?-- Such ebb and flow must ever be, Then wherefore should we mourn?
_ELEGIAC STANZAS_, Suggested by a Picture of PEELE CASTLE, in a Storm, _painted_ BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.
I was thy Neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: I saw thee every day; and all the while Thy Form was sleeping on a gla.s.sy sea.
So pure the sky, so quiet was the air!
So like, so very like, was day to day!
Whene"er I look"d, thy Image still was there; It trembled, but it never pa.s.s"d away.
How perfect was the calm! it seem"d no sleep; No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 10 I could have fancied that the mighty Deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things.
Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter"s hand, To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet"s dream;
I would have planted thee, thou h.o.a.ry Pile!
Amid a world how different from this!
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss: 20
Thou shouldst have seem"d a treasure-house, a mine Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven:-- Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine The very sweetest had to thee been given.
A Picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature"s breathing life.
Such, in the fond delusion of my heart, Such Picture would I at that time have made: 30 And seen the soul of truth in every part; A faith, a trust, that could not be betray"d.
So once it would have been,--"tis so no more; I have submitted to a new controul: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humaniz"d my Soul.
Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea and be what I have been: The feeling of my loss will ne"er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 40
Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This Work of thine I blame not, but commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal sh.o.r.e.
Oh "tis a pa.s.sionate Work!--yet wise and well; Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!
And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, I love to see the look with which it braves, 50 Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, The light"ning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.