XXIV.

A FACT, AND AN IMAGINATION;

OR,

CANUTE AND ALFRED, ON THE SEA-SHORE.

THE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair,
Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty,
To aid a covert purpose, cried—“ 0 ye
Approaching Waters of the deep, that share
With this green isle my fortunes, come not where
Your Master's throne is set."-Deaf was the Sea;
Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree
Less than they heed a breath of wanton air.
-Then Canute, rising from the invaded throne,
Said to his servile Courtiers,- "Poor the reach,
The undisguised extent, of mortal sway!

He only is a King, and he alone

Deserves the name (this truth the billows preach)

Whose everlasting laws, sea, earth, and heaven, obey."

This just reproof the prosperous Dane

Drew from the influx of the main,

For some whose rugged northern mouths would strain

At oriental flattery;

And Canute (fact more worthy to be known)

From that time forth did for his brows disown

The ostentatious symbol of a crown;
Esteeming earthly royalty
Contemptible as vain.

Now hear what one of elder days, Rich theme of England's fondest praise, Her darling Alfred, might have spoken ; To cheer the remnant of his host

When he was driven from coast to coast,

Distressed and harassed, but with mind unbroken:

My faithful followers, lo! the tide is spent That rose, and steadily advanced to fill The shores and channels, working Nature's will Among the mazy streams that backward went, And in the sluggish pools where ships are pent: And now, his task performed, the flood stands still, At the green base of many an inland hill, In placid beauty and sublime content! Such the repose that sage and hero find; Such measured rest the sedulous and good Of humbler name; whose souls do, like the flood Of Ocean, press right on; or gently wind, Neither to be diverted nor withstood,

Until they reach the bounds by Heaven assigned.”

XXV.

'A LITTLE onward lend thy guiding hand To these dark steps, a little further on!'

-What trick of memory to my voice hath brought This mournful iteration? For though Time, The Conqueror, crowns the Conquered, on this brow Planting his favourite silver diadem,

Nor he, nor minister of his-intent

To run before him, hath enrolled me yet,

Though not unmenaced, among those who lean
Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight.

-O my Antigone, beloved child!

Should that day come-but hark! the birds salute
The cheerful dawn, brightening for me the east;
For me, thy natural leader, once again
Impatient to conduct thee, not as erst

A tottering infant, with compliant stoop
From flower to flower supported; but to curb
Thy nymph-like step swift-bounding o'er the lawn,
Along the loose rocks, or the slippery verge
Of foaming torrents.-From thy orisons

Come forth; and, while the morning air is yet

Transparent as the soul of innocent youth,
Let me, thy happy guide, now point thy way,
And now precede thee, winding to and fro,
Till we by perseverance gain the top

Of some smooth ridge, whose brink precipitous
Kindles intense desire for powers withheld
From this corporeal frame; whereon who stands,
Is seized with strong incitement to push forth
His arms, as swimmers use, and plunge-dread thought,
For pastime plunge-into the abrupt abyss,'
Where ravens spread their plumy vans, at ease!

And yet more gladly thee would I conduct
Through woods and spacious forests,-to behold
There, how the Original of human art,
Heaven-prompted Nature, measures and erects
Her temples, fearless for the stately work,
Though waves, to every breeze, its high-arched roof,
And storms the pillars rock. But we such schools
Of reverential awe will chiefly seek

In the still summer noon, while beams of light,
Reposing here, and in the aisles beyond
Traceably gliding through the dusk, recal
To mind the living presences of nuns ;
A gentle, pensive, white-robed sisterhood,
Whose saintly radiance mitigates the gloom
Of those terrestrial fabrics, where they serve,
To Christ, the Sun of righteousness, espoused.

Now also shall the page of classic lore,
To these glad eyes from bondage freed, again
Lie open; and the book of Holy Writ,
Again unfolded, passage clear shall yield
To heights more glorious still, and into shades
More awful, where, advancing hand in hand,
We may be taught, O Darling of my care!
To calm the affections, elevate the soul,
And consecrate our lives to truth and love.

XXVI.

ODE TO LYCORIS.

MAY, 1817.

ΑΝ

age hath been when Earth was proud

Of lustre too intense

To be sustained; and Mortals bowed
The front in self-defence.

Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed,
Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed
While on the wing the Urchin played,
Could fearlessly approach the shade?
-Enough for one soft vernal day,
If I, a bard of ebbing time,

1816.