"SWEET is the holiness of Youth "-So felt
Time-honour'd Chaucer speaking through that
Lay

By which the Prioress beguiled the way,
And many a pilgrim's rugged heart did melt.
Hadst thou, loved Bard! whose spirit often dwelt
In the clear land of vision, but foreseen
King, child, and seraph, blended in the mien
Of pious Edward kneeling as he knelt
In meek and simple infancy, what joy
For universal Christendom had thrill'd

Thy heart! what hopes inspired thy genius, skill'd
(O great Precursor, genuine morning Star)

The lucid shafts of reason to employ,

Piercing the Papal darkness from afar !

WINGS have we,--and as far as we can go
We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood,
Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood
Which with the lofty sanctifies the low.

N

Chaucer

Shakespeare. Spenser.

Shake

speare.

Spenser.

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books we

know,

Are a substantial world, both pure and good :
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and

blood,

Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

There find I personal themes, a plenteous store,
Matter wherein right voluble I am,

To which I listen with a ready ear;

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear,—
The gentle Lady married to the Moor;
And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.

-SHEPHERDS were the men that pleased me first;
Not such as Saturn ruled 'mid Latian wilds,
With arts and laws so temper'd, that their lives
Left, even to us toiling in this late day,
A bright tradition of the golden age;
Not such as, 'mid Arcadian fastnesses
Sequester'd, handed down among themselves
Felicity, in Grecian song renown'd;

Nor such as-when an adverse fate had driven,
From house and home, the courtly band whose
fortunes

Enter'd, with Shakespeare's genius, the wild woods
Of Arden-amid sunshine or in shade

Cull'd the best fruits of Time's uncounted hours,
Ere Phoebe sigh'd for the false Ganymede;
Or there where Perdita and Florizel

Together danced, Queen of the feast, and King;
Nor such as Spenser fabled.

From Dedication to

The White Doe of Rylstone. [1807
IN trellis'd shed with clustering roses gay,
And Mary! oft beside our blazing fire,
When years of wedded life were as a day
Whose current answers to the heart's desire,
Did we together read in Spenser's Lay
How Una, sad of soul-in sad attire,
The gentle Una of celestial birth,

To seek her Knight went wandering o'er the earth.

Ah, then, Beloved! pleasing was the smart,
And the tear precious in compassion shed
For Her, who, pierced by sorrow's thrilling dart
Did meekly bear the pang unmerited;

Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart

The milk-white Lamb which in a line she led,—
And faithful, loyal in her innocence,

Like the brave Lion slain in her defence.

Notes could we hear as of faery shell

Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught;

Free Fancy prized each specious miracle,
And all its finer inspiration caught;

Till in the bosom of our rustic cell,
We by a lamentable change were taught
That "bliss with mortal man may not abide."
How nearly joy and sorrow are allied!

For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow,
For us the voice of melody was mute.

-But, as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow,

Spenser.

Milton.

And give the timid herbage leave to shoot,
Heaven's breathing influence fail'd not to bestow
A timely promise of unlook'd-for fruit,

Fair fruit of pleasure and serene content
From blossoms wild of fancies innocent.

It sooth'd us-it beguiled us-then, to hear
Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell;
And griefs whose aery motion comes not near
The pangs that tempt the Spirit to rebel :
Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer,
High over hill, and low adown the dell
Again we wander'd, willing to partake
All that she suffer'd for her dear Lord's sake.

1802.

MILTON! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
O, raise us up, return to us again!

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart;

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

From The Excursion.

AMONG the hills

He gazed upon that mighty orb of song,

The divine Milton.

[1814

Milton.

From Lines written in a blank leaf of

Macpherson's Ossian.

HAIL, Bards of mighty grasp! on you
I chiefly call, the chosen Few,

[1824

Who cast not off the acknowledged guide,
Who falter'd not, nor turn'd aside;
Whose lofty genius could survive
Privation, under sorrow thrive;
In whom the fiery Muse revered
The symbol of a snow-white beard,
Bedew'd with meditative tears

Dropp'd from the lenient cloud of years.

Brothers in soul! though distant times
Produced you nursed in various climes,
Ye, when the orb of life had waned,
A plenitude of love retain'd:
Hence, while in you each sad regret
By corresponding hope was met,
Ye linger'd among human kind,
Sweet voices for the passing wind;
Departing sunbeams, loth to stop,
Though smiling on the last hill top !
Such to the tender-hearted maid
Even ere her joys begin to fade;
Such haply, to the rugged chief