TRANQUILLITY! the sovereign aim wert thou
In heathen schools of philosophic lore;
Heart-stricken by stern destiny of
The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow;
And what of hope Elysium could allow


Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore
Peace to the Mourner.

But when He who wore

The crown of thorns around His bleeding brow
Warmed our sad being with celestial light,

Then Arts which still had drawn a softening grace
From shadowy fountains of the Infinite
Communed with that Idea face to face:
And move around it now as planets run,
Each in its orbit round the central Sun.

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Suggested by the Foregoing

THE floods are roused, and will not soon be weary; Nunnery
Down from the Pennine Alps how fiercely sweeps
CROGLIN, the stately Eden's tributary!

He raves, or through some moody passage creeps
Plotting new mischief-out again he leaps

Into broad light, and sends, through regions airy,
That voice which soothed the Nuns while on the


They knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary.
That union ceased: then, cleaving easy walks
Through crags, and smoothing paths beset with

Came studious Taste; and many a pensive stranger
Dreams on the banks, and to the river talks.
What change shall happen next to Nunnery Dell?
Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway, tell!

Steamboats, MOTIONS and Means, on land and sea at war
Viaducts, With old poetic feeling, not for this,
and Railways Shall ye, by Poets even, be judged amiss!
Nor shall your presence, howsoe'er it mar
The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar

To the Mind's gaining that prophetic sense
Of future change, that point of vision, whence
May be discovered what in soul
ye are.
In spite of all that beauty may disown
In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace
Her lawful offspring in Man's art; and Time,
Pleased with your triumphs o'er his brother Space,
Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown
Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime.

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"Long Meg A WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne,
and her Fell suddenly upon my Spirit-cast
Daughters" From the dread bosom of the unknown past,
When first I saw that family forlorn.

Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature


The power of years-pre-eminent, and placed
Apart, to overlook the circle vast-

Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn
While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;
Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;
At whose behest uprose on British ground
That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round
Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite
The inviolable God, that tames the proud!

LOWTHER! in thy majestic Pile are seen
Cathedral pomp and grace, in apt accord
With the baronial castle's sterner mien ;
Union significant of God adored,

And charters won and guarded by the sword
Of ancient honour; whence that goodly state
Of polity which wise men venerate,
And will maintain, if God his help afford.
Hourly the democratic torrent swells;
For airy promises and hopes suborned

The strength of backward-looking thoughts is

Fall if ye must, ye Towers and Pinnacles,
With what ye symbolise; authentic Story
Will say, Ye disappeared with England's Glory!

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LONSDALE! it were unworthy of a Guest,
Whose heart with gratitude to thee inclines,
If he should speak, by fancy touched, of signs
On Thy abode harmoniously imprest,
Yet be unmoved with wishes to attest
How in thy mind and moral frame agree
Fortitude, and that Christian Charity
Which, filling, consecrates the human breast.
And if the Motto on thy 'scutcheon teach
That searching test thy public course has stood;
As will be owned alike by bad and good,
Soon as the measuring of life's little span.
Shall place thy virtues out of Envy's reach.


To the Earl

of Lonsdale


To Cordelia NoT in the mines beyond the western main,
You say, Cordelia, was the metal sought,
Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought
Into this flexible yet faithful Chain;
Nor is it silver of romantic Spain

But from our loved Helvellyn's depths was brought,
Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought
Mix strangely; trifles light, and partly vain,
Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being:
Yes, lady, while about your neck is wound

(Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord,
What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing,
Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord,
For precious tremblings in your bosom found!

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Conclusion MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes

Το pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,

The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.




NoT envying Latian shades-if yet they throw
A grateful coolness round that crystal Spring,
Bandusia, prattling as when long ago

The Sabine Bard was moved her praise to sing;
Careless of flowers that in perennial blow
Round the moist marge of Persian fountains cling;
Heedless of Alpine torrents thundering
Through ice-built arches radiant as heaven's bow;
I seek the birth-place of a native Stream.-
All hail, ye mountains! hail, thou morning light!
Better to breathe at large on this clear height
Than toil in needless sleep from dream to dream:
Pure flow the verse, pure, vigorous, free, and bright,
For Duddon, long-loved Duddon, is my theme!

The Birthplace of the Duddon

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