I SEND you mosses:-once they grew
On lofty Mell-Fell's highest brow;
They witness how I wished for you
While gazing on the world below-
A world so fair, and yet so rude,
Your own sweet Blanche's wandering feet Ne'er gained a deeper solitude,
Or found a more sublime retreat.
The spirit of the mountain smiled,
And as I trod the steep ascent,
Fresh air and glowing beams beguiled
The toilsome way; and oft I bent,
Half trembling, and with proud delight,
To find myself advanced so high,
That I had reached the envied height,
Where the green mountain kissed the sky.
The long clear lake before me spread-
A crystal mirror, where, enshrined,
The cot, the copse, the edge-bound mead,
Deep in the watery world reclined;
With such a soft reflected grace,
As youth's more brilliant tints disclose;
When we the mother's beauties trace
In her first girl-her blooming rose.
I looked o'er glens and dingles dank, Where many a streamlet glides unseen; I gazed on many a glowing bank,
Of golden furze and brackens green ;~~
Then mountains piled on mountains rise,
Of every form and every hue;
Here, huge Helvellyn meets the skies,
There frowning Skiddaw towers to view :
And now, the mighty circle round,
A giant rampart strikes the sense,
Within whose limits scenes are found
Close to the sight, yet far, far hence;
And scarcely can the dazzled eye,
Inebriate with its eager glance,
Distinguish what it can descry
Through such a vast and fair expanse.
Yes! there is Hallstead's noble seat,
Reposing like the dappled fawn;
The blue lake winds around its feet,
The dark oaks spot its emerald lawn :
Beneath gray Stybraw's craggy brow
(The mountain-queen of Patrick's dale),
Beams Asken's dwelling, sweetly low,
The sheltered" lily of the vale."
But here in Rampsbeck's lovely dome ;-
The light smoke, curling through the trees,
Seems as if beckoning those who roam,
To rest them here in joyous ease;
For ne'er was hospitable board
More freely given, more freely spread,
And ne'er was polished mind more stored
Than his who welcomes at its head.
My own dear home beneath my feet
Recalls the fond excursive flight;
Yet, distant Penrith! I must hail
Thy turrets red, thy dwellings white;
For minds as pure, and hearts as warm,
Within those social dwellings rest:
Thine kindled love, thine beauty's charm,
And kindness to the stranger-guest.
The sun declines; we must return ;-
But, ah, my giddy brain turns round;
I cannot hear the trickling burn,
Nor dare I dread the slippery ground:
My dear companion's arm my stay,
She leads me trembling, faltering, blind, Unused to such adventurous way,
Till the steep greensward path we find.
Oh! 'twas a wise and hardy wight,
Of nerve untamed, and sinews braced,
That down the mountain's fearful height,
This side-long pathway boldly traced;
The blood that warms my recreant veins,
From the same source its being gained,
But time, the sea, and southern plains,
The mountaineer's bold drops have drained.
Safe on the lower ground I stand,
Exulting in the labour past-
My sylvan prize is in my hand,
Which, Mitford! at thy feet I cast;
Assured that e'en my humble lay
That gentle bosom will not scorn,
Though genius poured the brilliant ray
That your own truthful works adorn.
TO FANNY B., AGED THREE YEARS.
Even so, this happy creature of herself
Is all-sufficient; solitude to her
As young and pretty as the bud
Of the strawberry in the wood;
As restless as the fawn that's there,
Playing like a thing of air,-
Chasing the wind, if there be any,—
Like these thou art, my little Fanny!
I look on thee, and in thy face,
The life is there of childish grace:
I see the silent thought that breaks
Into young smiles, as fancy wakes;
And newly winged intelligence,
Trying its little flights from thence;
I see a strife 'twixt health and beauty,
Which shall the best achieve its duty;
A gentle strife, for both contend;
But both, like bees, their labour blend.
Thy cheek, by health, is rounded well,
By its hand invisible;
But sweet and rosy hues there are,
And you may trace young beauty there.
Health made thy gentle lips to be
So glad in their own company;
So lavish of the cherry's dyes,
So like the leaf, when autumn flies :-
But beauty claims thy young blue eyes;
And, oh! thy little light, soft hair,
Parted on thy forehead fair,
Doth seem to take its own delight
In leaning smooth and looking bright.
Thy figure small, and tiny feet,
Dotting the carpet round us, greet
Our hearts with joy, and feed the sense
Of love for utter innocence.
These beauties, Fanny, are to thee,
As yet, unknown society;-
And so, there a befitting dress
For thy mental prettiness;-
For thy simple thoughts, that seem
Fragments of a summer dream;
For thy merry lips' first sayings,
For thy fancy's fairy strayings :
Thou art wiser far than many
That in years are richer, Fanny !
The best of wisdom dwells with thee,
In thy white simplicity,-
In thy young imaginings,
Which float about on spotless wings;
In thy prattlings, kindly meant,
And in thy beautiful content.
Thine is the bloom of life, and we
Are jarrers in society,—
Opposers of each other's good,
Despoilers of all neighbourhood;
Prone to pain, and serious folly,
And frames of self melancholy.
Thou dost wander light and free,
In thine own heart's company;
Making mirth wherever chance
May lead thee in thy mazy dance;
Like the linnet wild, that weaves
Glad liberty amid the leaves :
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