That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionery plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed:
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks
That humor interposed too often makes;
All this still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such honors to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in Heaven, though little noticed here.
WRITTEN IN THE PORCH OF BINSTEAD CHURCH, ISLE OF
AREWELL, sweet Binstead! take a fond farewell
From one unused to sight of woods and seas.
Amid the strife of cities doomed to dwell,
Yet roused to ecstasy by scenes like these,
Who could forever sit beneath thy trees,
Inhaling fragrance from the flowery dell;
Or, listening to the murmur of the breeze,
Gaze with delight on Ocean's awful swell.
Again farewell! nor deem that I profane
Thy sacred porch; for while the Sabbath strain
May fail to turn the sinner from his ways,
These are impressions none can feel in vain,
These are the wonders that perforce must raise
The soul to God, in reverential praise.
ROMAN ANTIQUITIES DISCOVERED AT BISHOPSTONE, HEREFORDSHIRE.
WHILE poring antiquarians search the ground
Upturned with curious pains, the bard, a seer,
Takes fire, the men that have been reappear;
Romans for travel girt, for business gowned;
And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned,
In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear,
As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that mound
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins,
Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil;
Or a fierce impress issues with its foil
Of tenderness, -— the wolf, whose suckling twins
The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins
The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.
VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK COMB.
HIS height a ministering angel might select:
For from the summit of Black Comb (dread name Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range Of unobstructed prospect may be seen
That British ground commands: - low dusky tracts,
Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian hills
To the southwest, a multitudinous show;
And, in a line of eyesight linked with these,
The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth
To Teviot's stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde :-
Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth,
Gigantic mountains rough with crags; beneath,
Right at the imperial station's western base,
Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched
Far into silent regions blue and pale;
And visibly engirding Mona's Isle,
That, as we left the plain, befor
Stood like a lofty mount, uplif
(Above the convex of the w
Into clear view the culture
Her habitable shores, bu
A dwindled object, an
At the spectator's f
Is it a perishable
Do we behold
(Like the bright confines of another world)
Not doubtfully perceived. Look homeward now!
In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene
The spectacle, how pure! — Of Nature's works,
In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea,
A revelation infinite it seems;
Display august of man's inheritance,
Of Britain's calm felicity and power!
ON BEHOLDING BODIHAM CASTLE,
ON THE BANK OF THE ROTHER IN SUSSEX.
THOU, brave ruin of the passéd time,
When glorious spirits shone in burning arms, And the brave trumpet, with its sweet alarms, Called honor at the matin hour sublime, And the gray evening; thou hast had thy prime, And thy full vigor, and the sating harms Of age have robbed thee of thy warlike charms, And placed thee here, an image in my rhyme; The owl now haunts thee, and, oblivious plant, The creeping ivy, has o'er-veiled thy towers; And Rother, looking up with eye askant, Recalling to his mind thy brighter hours, Laments the time, when, fair and elegant, Beauty first laughed from out thy joyous bowers! Lord Thurlow.
HAVE a startling tale to tell
Of what in Bodmin town befell
In the distant time long, long ago,
When every man was his neighbor's foe,
And lords like tigers prowled the land,
Each with his own well-chosen band,
To do his work of savagery;
When princes fought for sovereignty;
Who loyal was to-day to-morrow
Might be called traitor, to his sorrow.
In Edward's time, at Bodmin town
When sturdy Boyer wore the gown,
The Royal provost wrote a line
He on a day with him would dine,
And begged he would meanwhile prepare
A gibbet for some stout rebels there.
The mayor obeyed him to the letter,
Thinking the strongest side the better;
And, to meet the great man, at the gate
His worship stood in all his state.
And then into the common hall
Mayor, provost, aldermen, burghers all
Went with a rush and made good cheer,
With beef and venison, wine and beer;
And many a loyal toast was given,
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