The River Duddon
A Series Of Sonnets, 1820.
XXX


          WHO swerves from innocence, who makes divorce
          Of that serene companion--a good name,
          Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame,
          With doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse:
          And oft-times he--who, yielding to the force
          Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end,
          From chosen comrade turns, or faithful friend--
          In vain shall rue the broken intercourse.
          Not so with such as loosely wear the chain
          That binds them, pleasant River! to thy side:--             10
          Through the rough copse wheel thou with hasty stride;
          I choose to saunter o'er the grassy plain,
          Sure, when the separation has been tried,
          That we, who part in love, shall meet again.

The River Duddon
A Series Of Sonnets, 1820.
XXXI


          THE KIRK of ULPHA to the pilgrim's eye
          Is welcome as a star, that doth present
          Its shining forehead through the peaceful rent
          Of a black cloud diffused o'er half the sky:
          Or as a fruitful palm-tree towering high
          O'er the parched waste beside an Arab's tent;
          Or the Indian tree whose branches, downward bent,
          Take root again, a boundless canopy.
          How sweet were leisure! could it yield no more
          Than 'mid that wave-washed Churchyard to recline,           10
          From pastoral graves extracting thoughts divine;
          Or there to pace, and mark the summits hoar
          Of distant moonlit mountains faintly shine,
          Soothed by the unseen River's gentle roar.

The River Duddon
A Series Of Sonnets, 1820.
XXXII


          NOT hurled precipitous from steep to steep;
          Lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands
          And blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands
          Held; but in radiant progress toward the Deep
          Where mightiest rivers into powerless sleep
          Sink, and forget heir nature--'now' expands
          Majestic Duddon, over smooth flat sands
          Gliding in silence with unfettered sweep!
          Beneath an ampler sky a region wide
          Is opened round him:--hamlets, towers, and towns,           10
          And blue-topped hills, behold him from afar;
          In stately mien to sovereign Thames allied
          Spreading his bosom under Kentish downs,
          With commerce freighted, or triumphant war.

The River Duddon
A Series Of Sonnets, 1820.
XXXIII. Conclusion


          BUT here no cannon thunders to the gale;
          Upon the wave no haughty pendants cast
          A crimson splendour: lowly is the mast
          That rises here, and humbly spread, the sail;
          While, less disturbed than in the narrow Vale
          Through which with strange vicissitudes he passed,
          The Wanderer seeks that receptacle vast
          Where all his unambitious functions fail
          And may thy Poet, cloud-born Stream! be free--
          The sweets of earth contentedly resigned,                   10
          And each tumultuous working left behind
          At seemly distance--to advance like Thee;
          Prepared, in peace of heart, in calm of mind
          And soul, to mingle with Eternity!

The River Duddon
A Series Of Sonnets, 1820.
XXXIV. After-Thought


          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              10
          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 dower,
          We feel that we are greater than we know.

A Parsonage In Oxfordshire


          WHERE holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
          Is marked by no distinguishable line;
          The turf unites, the pathways intertwine;
          And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep tends,
          Garden, and that domain where kindred, friends,
          And neighbours rest together, here confound
          Their several features, mingled like the sound
          Of many waters, or as evening blends
          With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub and flower,
          Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave;               10
          And while those lofty poplars gently wave
          Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky
          Bright as the glimpses of eternity,
          To saints accorded in their mortal hour.

To Enterprise


          KEEP for the Young the impassioned smile
          Shed from thy countenance, as I see thee stand
          High on that chalky cliff of Britain's Isle,
          A slender volume grasping in thy hand--
          (Perchance the pages that relate
          The various turns of Crusoe's fate)--
          Ah, spare the exulting smile,
          And drop thy pointing finger bright
          As the first flash of beacon light;
          But neither veil thy head in shadows dim,
          Nor turn thy face away
          From One who, in the evening of his day,
          To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn!

                                   I

          Bold Spirit! who art free to rove
          Among the starry courts of Jove,
          And oft in splendour dost appear
          Embodied to poetic eyes,
          While traversing this nether sphere,
          Where Mortals call thee ENTERPRISE.
          Daughter of Hope! her favourite Child,
          Whom she to young Ambition bore,
          When hunter's arrow first defiled
          The grove, and stained the turf with gore;
          Thee winged Fancy took, and nursed
          On broad Euphrates' palmy shore,
          And where the mightier Waters burst
          From caves of Indian mountains hoar!
          She wrapped thee in a panther's skin;
          And Thou, thy favourite food to win,
          The flame-eyed eagle oft wouldst scare
          From her rock-fortress in mid air,
          With infant shout; and often sweep,
          Paired with the ostrich, o'er the plain;
          Or, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleep
          Upon the couchant lion's mane!
          With rolling years thy strength increased
          And, far beyond thy native East,
          To thee, by varying titles known
          As variously thy power was shown,
          Did incense-bearing altars rise,
          Which caught the blaze of sacrifice,
          From suppliants panting for the skies!

                                   II

          What though this ancient Earth be trod
          No more by step of Demi-god
          Mounting from glorious deed to deed
          As thou from clime to clime didst lead;
          Yet still, the bosom beating high,
          And the hushed farewell of an eye
          Where no procrastinating gaze
          A last infirmity betrays,
          Prove that thy heaven-descended sway
          Shall ne'er submit to cold decay.
          By thy divinity impelled,
          The Stripling seeks the tented field;
          The aspiring Virgin kneels; and, pale
          With awe, receives the hallowed veil,
          A soft and tender Heroine
          Vowed to severer discipline;
          Inflamed by thee, the blooming Boy
          Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy,
          And of the ocean's dismal breast
          A play-ground,--or a couch of rest;
          'Mid the blank world of snow and ice,
          Thou to his dangers dost enchain
          The Chamois-chaser awed in vain
          By chasm or dizzy precipice;
          And hast Thou not with triumph seen
          How soaring Mortals glide between
          Or through the clouds, and brave the light
          With bolder than Icarian flight?
          How they, in bells of crystal, dive--
          Where winds and waters cease to strive--
          For no unholy visitings,
          Among the monsters of the Deep;
          And all the sad and precious things
          Which there in ghastly silence sleep?
          Or, adverse tides and currents headed,
          And breathless calms no longer dreaded,
          In never-slackening voyage go
          Straight as an arrow from the bow;
          And, slighting sails and scorning oars,
          Keep faith with Time on distant shores?
          --Within our fearless reach are placed
          The secrets of the burning Waste;
          Egyptian tombs unlock their dead,
          Nile trembles at his fountain head;
          Thou speak'st--and lo! the polar Seas
          Unbosom their last mysteries.
          --But oh! what transports, what sublime reward,
          Won from the world of mind, dost thou prepare
          For philosophic Sage; or high-souled Bard
          Who, for thy service trained in lonely woods,
          Hath fed on pageants floating through the air,
          Or calentured in depth of limpid floods;
          Nor grieves--tho' doomed thro' silent night to bear
          The domination of his glorious themes,
          Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams!

                                  III

          If there be movements in the Patriot's soul,
          From source still deeper, and of higher worth,
          'Tis thine the quickening impulse to control,
          And in due season send the mandate forth;
          Thy call a prostrate Nation can restore,
          When but a single Mind resolves to crouch no more.

                                   IV

          Dread Minister of wrath!
          Who to their destined punishment dost urge
          The Pharaohs of the earth, the men of hardened heart!
          Not unassisted by the flattering stars,
          Thou strew'st temptation o'er the path
          When they in pomp depart
          With trampling horses and refulgent cars--
          Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge;
          Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands;
          Or caught amid a whirl of desert sands--
          An Army now, and now a living hill
          That a brief while heaves with convulsive throes--
          Then all is still;
          Or, to forget their madness and their woes,
          Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!

                                   V

          Back flows the willing current of my Song:
          If to provoke such doom the Impious dare,
          Why should it daunt a blameless prayer?
          --Bold Goddess! range our Youth among;
          Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat
          In hearts no longer young;
          Still may a veteran Few have pride
          In thoughts whose sternness makes them sweet;
          In fixed resolves by Reason justified;
          That to their object cleave like sleet
          Whitening a pine tree's northern side,
          When fields are naked far and wide,
          And withered leaves, from earth's cold breast
          Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can find rest.

                                   VI

          But, if such homage thou disdain
          As doth with mellowing years agree,
          One rarely absent from thy train
          More humble favours may obtain
          For thy contented Votary.
          She, who incites the frolic lambs
          In presence of their heedless dams,
          And to the solitary fawn
          Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph
          That wakes the breeze, the sparkling lymph
          Doth hurry to the lawn;
          She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy
          Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy,
          Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me;
          And vernal mornings opening bright
          With views of undefined delight,
          And cheerful songs, and suns that shine
          On busy days, with thankful nights, be mine.

                                  VII

          But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite Isle
          (Freedom's impregnable redoubt,
          The wide earth's store-house fenced about
          With breakers roaring to the gales
          That stretch a thousand thousand sails)
          Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile!--
          Thy impulse is the life of Fame;
          Glad Hope would almost cease to be
          If torn from thy society;
          And Love, when worthiest of his name,
          Is proud to walk the earth with Thee!
                                                              1820.

Ecclesiastical Sonnets
In Series, 1821-22.
Part I. From The Introduction Of Christianity Into Britain, To The Consummation Of The Papal Dominion 
               "A verse may catch a wandering Soul, that flies
                  Profounder Tracts, and by a blest surprise
                  Convert delight into a Sacrifice."


I. Introduction

          I, WHO accompanied with faithful pace
          Cerulean Duddon from his cloud-fed spring,
          And loved with spirit ruled by his to sing
          Of mountain quiet and boon nature's grace;
          I, who essayed the nobler Stream to trace
          Of Liberty, and smote the plausive string
          Till the checked torrent, proudly triumphing,
          Won for herself a lasting resting-place;
          Now seek upon the heights of Time the source
          Of a HOLY RIVER, on whose banks are found                   10
          Sweet pastoral flowers, and laurels that have crowned
          Full oft the unworthy brow of lawless force;
          And, for delight of him who tracks its course,
          Immortal amaranth and palms abound.

Ecclesiastical Sonnets
In Series, 1821-22.
II. Conjectures


          IF there be prophets on whose spirits rest
          Past things, revealed like future, they can tell
          What Powers, presiding o'er the sacred well
          Of Christian Faith, this savage Island blessed
          With its first bounty. Wandering through the west,
          Did holy Paul a while in Britain dwell,
          And call the Fountain forth by miracle,
          And with dread signs the nascent Stream invest?
          Or He, whose bonds dropped off, whose prison doors
          Flew open, by an Angel's voice unbarred?                    10
          Or some of humbler name, to these wild shores
          Storm-driven; who, having seen the cup of woe
          Pass from their Master, sojourned here to guard
          The precious Current they had taught to flow?

Ecclesiastical Sonnets
In Series, 1821-22.
III. Trepidation Of The Druids


          SCREAMS round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew--white
          As Menai's foam; and toward the mystic ring
          Where Augurs stand, the Future questioning,
          Slowly the cormorant aims her heavy flight,
          Portending ruin to each baleful rite,
          That, in the lapse of ages, hath crept o'er
          Diluvian truths, and patriarchal lore.
          Haughty the Bard: can these meek doctrines blight
          His transports? wither his heroic strains?
          But all shall be fulfilled;--the Julian spear               10
          A way first opened; and, with Roman chains,
          The tidings come of Jesus crucified;
          They come--they spread--the weak, the suffering, hear;
          Receive the faith, and in the hope abide.