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, 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. * Importuna e grave salma. MICHAEL ANGELO. A Power is passing from the earth But when the Mighty pass away That Man, who is from God sent forth, Such ebb and flow must ever be; Then wherefore should we mourn? Written, November 13, 1814, on a blank leaf in a Copy of the Author's Poem THE EXCURSION, upon hearing of the death of the late Vicar of Kendal. To public notice, with reluctance strong, Did I deliver this unfinished Song; Yet for one happy issue ;-and I look With self-congratulation on the Book Which pious, learned MURFITT saw and read ;- He conn'd the new-born Lay with grateful heart; Unweeting that to him the joy was given Which good Men take with them from Earth to Heaven. VIII. 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! So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! How perfect was the calm! it seem'd no sleep; Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things. VOL. II. Ꮓ 1 Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; 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. Picture hind A Picture had it been of lasting ease, No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, A faith, a trust, that could not be betray'd. So once it would have been,-'tis so no more; A power is gone, which nothing can restore; Not for a moment could I now behold This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 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 shore. Oh'tis a passionate Work!-yet wise and well; Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 1 |