Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.
THE sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; Air slumbers-wave with wave no longer strives, Only a heaving of the deep survives,
A tell-tale motion ! soon will it be laid, And by the tide alone the water swayed. Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild Of light with shade in beauty reconciled— Such is the prospect far as sight can range, The soothing recompence, the welcome change. Where, now, the ships that drove before the blast, Threatened by angry breakers as they passed; And by a train of flying clouds bemocked; Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked As on a bed of death? Some lodge in peace, Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease; And some, too heedless of past danger, court Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port;
But near, or hanging sea and sky between, Not one of all those wingèd powers is seen, Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard; Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirred By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, Soft in its temper as those vesper lays
Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores; A sea-born service through the mountains felt Till into one loved vision all things melt: Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound; And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies. Hush, not a voice is here! but why repine, Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine On British waters with that look benign? Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay,
May silent thanks at least to God be given
With a full heart; 'our thoughts are heard in heaven!'
BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew ;
And whom the curious Painter doth pursue Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,
And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks; If wish were mine some type of thee to view, Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks,
Channels for tears; no Naiad should'st thou be,— Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs: It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee With purer robes than those of flesh and blood, And hath bestowed on thee a safer good;
Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.
O MOUNTAIN Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot Are privileged Inmates of deep solitude; Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude A field or two of brighter green, or plot
Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot Of stationary sunshine :-thou hast viewed These only, Duddon ! with their paths renewed By fits and starts, yet this contents thee not.
Thee hath some awful Spirit impelled to leave, Utterly to desert, the haunts of men, Though simple thy companions were and few ;
And through this wilderness a passage cleave Attended but by thy own voice, save when The clouds and fowls of the air thy way pursue!
I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away.—Vain sympathies ! For, backward, Duddon, as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide ;
Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish ;-be it so! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent
We feel that we are greater than we know.
YARROW UNVISITED
See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow !'-
FROM Stirling castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my winsome Marrow," "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow."
"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own ; Each maiden to her dwelling!
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